dovelike | OOM: The Raid

Eirene doesn't care if her feet touch the ground, or the wall, or dangle in thin air. She has to show him how she feels, without crossing the line she's made for herself, and simply

lets go.

Clark is not kissing a blonde woman now. He's kissing Peace.

There's no ignoring or discounting that there's something different now. And that's it's Eirene doing it. It's just Clark can't seem to be bothered by it.

On the contrary, everything feels right and the last thing he wants to do is give this up before he absolutely has to.

Clark. Don't be afraid. I am Peace.

The voice is in his mind, because Eirene's lips are occupied with his own, and she either won't, or can't, let him go. Not unless he asks.

She told him once, almost a week ago, that her heart had become involved. The subtle light radiating around them is physical proof.

You don't scare me, Thallo Eirene.

He said as much to her earlier in the day, and it's no less true now. He's not afraid, not of her. It's himself he's scared of.

But even now, that doesn't seem to be much on his mind.

'Good'.

It's not so much a word as a mental gesture. A lowering of barriers all across the board, with the exception of one or two that would only be dropped in a more intimate setting.

As it is, even with the added sensory perception, Clark is still making her dizzy, igniting a slow burn everywhere his hands touch, leaving her sole sane option in the 'hang on tight' category.

Those hands are getting a little more daring, sliding around to her front, brushing lightly over her stomach and abdomen, still feeling the glow and the heat even through the fabric of her robes.

As for holding on, Eirene can cling as tight as she likes. Clark isn't letting her go anytime and he's not even remotely tired of kissing her yet.

Daring -- daring is okay when it's Clark. His fingers will draw response; physical - when she moves against his hands, verbal - a soft moan and the sigh, or coo, of a dove. Her own hands slide away from his shoulders, slipping around to splay against his back.

And the air permeates with the scent of fresh rain and rose petals.

Clark has always loved the smell of rain, spring his favourite season. This, along with her reactions which are decidedly positive, and noted and filed away, are ever so slowly starting to chip away at his impressive resolve not to let this get out of hand.

(It already is.)

He wants... he doesn't know what he wants. Part of him is saying more, the other part stop. It's hard to say which one is winning.

Make me forget.

That's what she asked and the result she gets, in spades. Senses overlap, slowly, like the ripples produced when a stone is skipped across a lake: the first point of impact, and the others that follow, producing stronger results the farther away they reach.

Five fingers thread through dark hair, five fingers curl against the nape of Clark's neck, his mouth and tongue sweeping Eirene headlong towards the event horizon.

And the heat flares, consuming common sense in it's path.

It's threatening to do away with Clark's common sense, as well.

Everything's been tuned out but her: the way she feels, the way she tastes, her smell and the rhythm of her heartbeat. And of course, the heat and glow building around them. Clark hasn't felt anything like this before, and he doubts it will be something he'll ever forget.

More! demands her body. What in the name of Tarartus are you doing?! protests her brain. It's the former in charge, molding her curves to his, hands sliding across his shoulders and down his back restlessly.

Until someone coughs behind them.

Apparently the mountain isn't as always as abandoned as Eirene believes. The intruder is a tall, dark haired, dark eyed man in -- surprise, surprise -- dark clothing.

"Eirene, may I have a word with you?"

It takes a moment or two for it to sink in that someone else has just said something, but when it does, Clark jumps back almost a foot away immediately, that infamous blush heating up his face in short order.

"Sorry," he mumbles, trying to regain his composure and glancing at Eirene curiously to see if this is a good or a bad arrival depending on her reaction. "I didn't think anyone else was up here."

It takes more than a few seconds for Eirene's sense of sobriety to assert itself, and then for her to recognize the man hovering in the archway.

"There isn't, mortal. Eirene. Now."

He watches in silence as the goddess steps down from the wall awkwardly, pausing briefly to squeeze Clark's hand before shambling forward. If the boyscout can accurately read her body language now, it will tell him she's bordering on fright.

"What are you doing here? With him."

Clark watches her carefully, squeezing her hand back as she passes, her heartbeat racing in his ears. She's scared; he can tell.

He's also not entirely convinced this is his place to step in - yet. Not until he knows who this man, no god, is and what he wants. So for the time being, Clark will just keep his place and a careful eye on both of them.

Eirene approaches the stranger cautiously, halting a respectful distance away and bowing her head briefly. "I brought him here, and he's under my protection, Phobos." Her voice is deliberately quiet, unassuming. It is the best way to appease this particular god.

"Under your protection?" He reaches out and tugs her close against him. "When I felt your presence here, I thought perhaps your father had already spoken to you."

Eirene tilts her head. "About what?"

Phobos offers, for him, a wide smile. "Our impending nuptials." Like Clark, he lifts a hand to brush against her hair, even leaning forward to inhale the floral scent still clinging.

"I did not agree to a wedding, Phobos. Nor will I. You must be mistaken."

Phobos? Clark tries to think back to what little he remembers about mythology and comes up empty.

The manhandling of Eirene, however, snaps him out of it and he takes a step toward them before he has time to even think about it. The words stop him from going any further.

Nuptials? Wedding? Clark is as lost as Eirene appears to be and starting to think this is something him getting in the middle of isn't going to help. For now.

Phobos looks down at her like she's crazy, and Eirene agrees for all of a second. Who is she to deny the words of her own father? Common sense sneaks back in a few moments later.

"Eirene, my love, I think you've been spending too much time with those humans. It's affecting your personality." He glances over at Clark dismissively. "Take him back to wherever he came from. Say goodbye. We have much to discuss before the equinox."

...

"Phobos, I'm not your wife. You can't order me around." Eirene's trying to keep her voice low; this is a little humiliating, especially in front of Clark. She also yanks her arm away.

Which only prompts a backhand across the face, hard enough to knock her down. "You will obey me, woman."

Yeah, that's enough of that. Clark is at Eirene's side in a split second, helping her to her feet and brushing her hair aside to see how badly she's been hurt.

Then he glares over at Phobos, not really caring at this point if a god can kick his ass or not.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

Eirene didn't expect that. She should have, which speaks volumnes about how far separated she is from her own era now, in years and in self image. Mostly. It takes every ounce of courage she has in reserves to look up at Phobos while Clark helps her to her feet.

Phobos remains impassive, his hand flexing just once in her direction. Clark is beneath him, he does not acknowledge his existence, and won't unless Clark does something worthy of attention.

"Take your pet home. Do not disappoint me again, Eirene." The expression on his face suggests another smack will be the least of her worries if she does not.

It's an expression she shrinks from, remembering a similar look on his father's face.

Phobos can insult and ignore Clark all he likes. Clark's only concern right now is the fact that Eirene is all but shaking in fear, and he slides a steadying arm around her waist, holding her close to his chest.

Phobos is still getting glared at, of course. "She's not yours to order around. She's her own person and she's already given you an answer, so take it and leave." Pause. "Before I find out if I can make you."

Phobos looks singularly unimpressed. He is a god - and what could harm a god but another. Clark isn't quite registering on his worried scale yet, or so says his expression.

"Until later, Lady." At least his bow borders on politeness, though the tone promises there will be a conversation --of sorts-- in the near future, before the god turns and vanishes.

Eirene emits a frightened squeak, unsure whether lean against Clark or straighten up, the instincts to accept comfort and stand on her own warring with one another.

"Oh, Zeus, no."

Edited 2008-03-10 15:03 (UTC)

Clark isn't egotistical enough to think the god has left because Clark told him to, and he's smart enough to realize that this isn't over yet. At least, not for Eirene.

Once Phobos is gone, however, Clark turns his attention back to the goddess in front of him, a hand rubbing her back lightly in a measure of comfort. "You okay?"

Is she okay? No, of course she's not okay. She's just been engaged to a psychopath. There isn't a realm in which that is 'okay'. She'd like to tell him all that, but what comes out of her mouth is a quiet,

"No."

There is a several minute span of silence, during which her posture relaxes only slightly, and her gaze does not lift from the ground.

"In ... in the customs of my people... " Eirene's voice is not cracking, thank you, "... when a woman marries, she becomes the property of her husband to do with as he will. It is why I have never considered marriage."

And now she has no choice.

It's a human thing, to ask someone if they're all right even when it's painfully obvious they aren't.

"You're not married to him," Clark replies. No point in mentioning how utterly stupid that particular 'custom' is. That isn't going to change it. "He doesn't have that... right until you are."

Pause.

"You're going to find a way out of it, aren't you?"

Which only proves that Clark is all too human, despite having been born somewhere else. Eirene slumps forward after a few more moments of fighting the urge and buries her face against his shirt.

"I'm going to try," she mutters when the trembling has lessened. "That involves pleading with my father not to ... Oh, Zeus. Clark, I don't want to be married to Phobos. I don't love him and he hates me, like his father does."

Beat.

"Phobos is one of the sons of Ares."

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