(Untitled)

[forge_fire]

He'd made dinner. It wasn't the finest fare, but he'd always had a hand at whipping together the simple and edible and thus a light soup, a side of shellfish, and a rather juicy roast had been prepared and set out. THe phoenix was settled in a small niche near the ceiling from where he would make his entrance and he's... well, waiting and hoping

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[aphros_born]

Anything that she hasn't had a lovely, dainty hand in is of necessity better than anything she dared to touch. Tiny, lovely feet step as lightly as falling cherry blossoms as she enters; eyes closed to take in the scents.

As deprived as she's been, any sensuality is better than nothing at all,

"It smells wonderful, Hephaestus."

[forge_fire]

He smiles and nods his head, hobbling over to pull out one of the two chairs. There was, of course, a room with a larger dining table, but he hadn't needed it and it would have just gotten into the way of things, and so it's a smaller room with just the one small table... and the dinner.

[aphros_born]

Pale, soft fingers; as soft as his cheeks are rough, or softer, trail along his jaw and down his neck slightly as she settles into the chair with a soft murmur of thanks in a voice just low enough and rough enough to raise certain nerves to fever pitch.

[forge_fire]

And just low enough and rough enough to put every single one of his hairs on end in all the best sort of ways. He almost melts and nearly trips as he steps away from the chair... but ignores anything like the slip to sit down in his own chair.

"I'm glad you came."

[aphros_born]

"You just have to call me."

She informs him, gazing up from under lashes the red of heated metal ready to be forged into something else. Her lips curve in a smile, slow and easy and promising. She promised, and she's been keeping her promise. For months.

[forge_fire]

He shivers... and that's really rather difficult for him.

He shifts in his seat.

"I... made you something."

Looking at her, at the beauty, the sensuality, everything that was his wife... it felt positively ridiculous, what he was about to give her. His little spark of life, his little scrap of metal, the glimmer of stones.

[aphros_born]

The smile only gets wider, richer, in its way deeper. She is a vain and silly creature, she knows this...and he makes the best trinkets and gifts. She doesn't lean forward, no, nothing so vulgar; but she turns her head to look at him at an angle, lips parting just an instant before she speaks,

"Did you, now?"

[forge_fire]

He can't look at her. It only strikes him again how positively paltry his arts could be to... to someone like her. A trinket. Just a trinket. Something pretty, but nothing worthy of her.

"Yes."

[aphros_born]

"May I see it?"

Its wheedling, a little bit, but she is what she is and the ability to keep from this sort of teasing is simply not in her.

[forge_fire]

He nods and raises his hand above his head, snapping his fingers before bending his arm to provide a perch.

The bird flies down, brilliant rose gold with a faintly opalescent sheen that threw colors across the metal to sparkle along the various jewels scattered perfectly among the golden feathers. The plum is a vibrant gold and the beak: opague obsidian. Little onyx eyes peer curiously at him, noticing the shift of his mood before opening the beak and beginning to sing a lulling melody in it's bell-like voice.

He holds it out to her.

"If you'll have him."

[aphros_born]

Its probably a good thing that he's sitting down. His leg could never have held him if she'd stood up, taken those shifting, swaying steps toward him, and thrown herself into his arms in a flood of softest silks and cherry-scented skin.

"He's beautiful."

She asserts, and she's been so good, and waited so long, and she's in love, and loving, and she's waited until she wants to scream and rant...and she hasn't thrown so much as a delicate vase against a wall.

But it has been far too long, and he's been so good to her, and she's getting the idea through her spoiled little head that he's never going to take the next step.

So dainty hands cup his face, and lips soft enough to define sin capture his, and she's drinking him in and down like only the goddess of sex and sexuality can do...with enough love in there to make sure that he knows this is real. More than real.

The only thing real.

[forge_fire]

Dinner... is summarily forgotten.

Hephaestos is summarily overwhelmed. And quite pleased with that, really.