dovelike | OOM: The Raid

He eases his face away from hers, ever so slightly, in an attempt to give her better access to trace her fingers wherever she'd like, staring down at her all th while with half-lidded eyes. If she's memorizing him with her touch, it seems he's trying to do the same visually.

Eirene can't even begin to understand the flutter of feelings running through her, magnified each time she touches him with a subtle thrill of electric current.

It makes her unable to concentrate on anything but him.

"I..."

He can feel the heat of her touch, light as it is, sparks igniting under his skin following along the patterns her fingers take. It's making thinking difficult.

"What?" Clark asks softly, drawing a finger down the side of her face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Hold me. Kiss me. Make me forget about everything else but you."

Please.

"Okay."

Clark isn't entirely certain he can achieve that, but he'll try. He gathers her back up in his arms, not that he'd really let go to start, and lowers his head, pressing his lips against hers once more.

It's enough.

Her eyes slide shut, senses other than 'human' opening, expanding for the first time they've met. She feels safe enough to do so there. Now. With him.

To Clark, it might feel like the faint warmth of a friendly hand brushing across his skin.

That's about what it feels like, although Clark doesn't have the presence of mind at the moment to realize it's her doing it, and this isn't just some random reaction reaction from himself.

Regardless, the effect on him is the same: the tension in his body all but melts away and his grip on her tightens, pulling her even closer against him. Her feet might not be in as solid contact with the wall as they have been up to this point because of it.

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."

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