Springtime 1681 CE, Paris
It was late evening, and the City of Lights was, as always, teeming with life. Nyx was at a grand masquerade, poking subtle fun at Hera, who though not in attendance, might have scowled at Night bedecked in a glorious peacock colored dress. The deep greens and blues of the silk shimmered iridescently by design, rather than divine will, which only
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When she spoke, he felt her breath against his mouth. The heat. The moisture. He was reminded of the way it felt to brand her with his kiss, to take absolute possession of her, and he felt the sting of desire run down his spine. His eyes grew darker.
"A lady," he said huskily, "May not. But mortals' laws of etiquette should not apply to a goddess so perfect as you. Give in, my Night."
The fragrance of her skin was rising off her heated form, and he took a breath. It was torture, being this close and refusing to do what he felt was right. Refusing to drag her down, to drive into her over and over again, to make her cry out his name, to...
He forced the thoughts away with violence. But his voice betrayed the desire he felt.
"Say what you want me to do to you," he said, his mouth barely escaping the sinful trap of her neck, her delicate earlobe, her perfect shoulders. "Tell me."
For the love of Creation, tell me soon.
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But no! It was her game. She wanted him to court her; she wanted him to lose that blasted, damnable control of his and have her, to admit with his body that he wanted just as much as she.
She gave him a fine, sloe-eyed moue when he stopped the movement of her hips with that arm of his.
Always stronger. But.
"Perfect? O, my Ere, you are too kind," she murmured just against his mouth, her own free arm now reaching up to scratch her nails slowly, ungently, down his neck before her hand reached between both their legs to stroke the inside of his thigh.
"But give in? To such a beast?" she teased throatily, smiling slyly at him.
"Tell you... that I want you to touch me? That I want my taste on your lips...? That I want to feel you inside me, taking me hard, again and again, until I scream?"
She looked at him innocently - as innocently as she could while flushed, with caught breath and heavy-lidded eyes.
"Why I just couldn't, my husband," she purred. "That would be simply scandalous."
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"Ah," he murmured. "But you just did."
Thinking it safe for the time being to remove his arm from barring her hips, he traced the lines of her dress slowly down her sides.
"And yet," he said, mentally kicking himself over and over again for what he was about to do, "You deny yourself in the same breath. So contradictory, Nyx... Tsk..."
He ducked his head, nipping lightly against her neck, then soothing the area with a kiss. Steeling himself, he grated out, "But if my wife demands a decided lack of scandals... She shall have it."
He was going to suffer for this. But was it not what Nyx wanted? He twined his arms about her again, and when he stood, he held her firmly against his chest. Slowly, slowly, he let her slide down his body and onto her feet again.
He hated this courting.
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But then - but then!
He set her down! Her skirts fell gently back into place! And she was aching, and he hadn't done anything at all about it!
Nyx rolled her eyes, set her jaw, and gave him a consternated huff.
She was not pleased.
It was beyond her comprehension that for the sake of his stupid man-pride, he would deny them what they both so eagerly, so obviously wanted. It was all she could do not to stamp her foot in sheer frustration.
She turned and looked up at him over her shoulder, still flush against him, and gave him a most righteous frown.
"You, my husband, are no fun. No fun whatsoever."
With that, she turned her face forward, now simply petulant. She did not, however, attempt to escape his embrace. Rather, she crossed her arms mutinously over his, just under her chest.
Accursed, oafish, unyielding, treacherous beast.
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She earned herself a stern look. He was not as immune to her charms as he would want her to believe. Their little teasing exercise in frustration on the bench pushed him farther into restrained wanting than he had wanted, and it had not paid off because his little Nyxie loved playing games. She loved it too much.
And now she had woken the true beast inside him.
He seized those complacent arms crossed just over his and whirled her around, in a violent mockery of the dance they just completed. The garden faded away...
... and they were on the balcony. The corner of the balcony, in the place where the shadows grew as the moon passed over the nobleman's home. There was a waltz filtering through the glass doors a distance away from them. And they were alone. Alone for now. Who knew who would come in a second, a minute, thirty...?
He pressed her forward, hard, so that her delicate little frame bent forward over the gilded balcony railing. With one hand, he wrapped her own pale fingers around one of the railing irons. The other closed over her mouth. Her skirts were hitching themselves up over those perfect legs of hers, over the maddening curve of her ass, as he whispered dangerously to her...
"I would suggest that you not make a sound. You would not desire a scandal, would you, my dearest, my darkest, my love?"
Before she could try to answer by word or action, his mouth was there, there, against the sensitive curve of her neck, ravishing the skin with lips and tongue and teeth. He made short work of the fastening to the ridiculous breeches he wore, freeing the part of him that most ached for her.
And then that hand that forced her fingers to wrap themselves around the iron hardness of the railing support sought out the softest parts of her.
"You naughty, wanton goddess," he hissed, when he found that she did not wear anything under those voluminous skirts of hers. "You filthy, dirty woman." His fingers sunk deeply, slicking themselves with her wetness, and stroking, pressing, stroking, stretching her, preparing her. His longest finger searched and found the bell of pleasure hidden deep inside her and circled it, letting the pad of his finger tease sensation into her. It was slow, it was exquisite, and he could feel the tension within her building. She had already been ready for him. She was more than ready now.
Drawing his wet fingers from her, he closed his hand over his member once, dragging her juices down it, and then...
Oh yes.
And then he thrust into her, hard. The sensation tore into him like spikes of daylight, forcing a groan from his throat. Yesss.
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Unsurprised would be the wrong word to describe Nyx's reaction when her husband suddenly took hold of her and moved them to the balcony. His warning to be silent shocked and pleased her, but she had little more time for thought as then he was there, his lips and teeth and tongue nipping and burning and licking flames down her neck.
And then, there he was, hard against her, but not inside her, and she whimpered against his hand, because she wanted him so badly, but it was all she could do to hold on to the iron of the railing.
His fingers found her, and her whimpers gave over to quiet, strangled little moans as she struggled vainly for discretion, for control, for any shred of memory that they could easily be caught.
(Of course, such a memory only served to heighten her fiendish excitement.)
And then... and then...
Yesss.
Her gratitude for his hand over her mouth was incalculable as she barely held back a groan of deep, deep satisfaction. The force of him finally surging into her pushed her up onto the balls of her feet, onto her silk-shod toes, and her hand went white-knuckled as she held onto the railing for dear life.
Oh, yes, Ere, yes, she chanted to herself as he held her there for a moment, and she began to rock back and forth on him, her hips moving as they did before, only this time with more determination, with more deliberate rhythm, grinding her against him as her breath came in short pants against his hand. Her undulating pushed that most sensitive part of her against him, and her eyes closed most of the way as she pushed back to meet him as he drove into her, and pulled away again.
"Oh, yes, Ere, yes," she thought to him, this time, so that he could hear her.
"Now this," she thought wickedly, just before he overtook her with another hard thrust, "is courting."
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Oh, she pleased him.
He drew away momentarily, only to surge back into her, and this time his hand snaked around her, under the falls of the dress, pulling her away from the railing only long enough to get his hand to where it needed to be for her...
...yes, there...
His fingers parted the folds that protected the lovely bit of flesh he knew could give her pleasure uncontained. And then, when he had settled the flats of his fingers against it, he took up their rhythm once more, adding to the vicious, deep, violent thrusts with the movements of his fingers, fast and circular.
Her silent voice cut through the fog in his head and made him smirk, just slightly, just once, before the twist of his lips turned to something not quite a grimace.
She made him lose his mind.
It wasn't the sex. The sex was good. The sex was more than good. No, it was not that at all.
When he was inside her, when he was with her like this, feeling her body in his thrall, drinking in her reactions, knowing that she gave herself to him with abandon ... like no one else ... he felt Her, not just her beautiful body, not just her lovely reactions, but Her, her essence twining itself around him, perhaps unconsiously, uniting them as only this could, reaffirming that She. Was his.
And he belonged totally to her. It was the first thing he ever desired. It was the only thing he ever truly needed from anyone else. His Nyx. His Night.
He groaned, reveling in her. Though it was rough, though it was hard, the underlining truth behind it all was their irrepressible bond.
And that meant everything. He would cover the world in darkness and slay every living thing if it meant it could keep her with him. He needed her. He needed this.
Tonight, he would have it. He would have it all. He picked up their pace, his mouth once more descending on her throat, against the sensitive nape of her neck, down the delicate bones of her spine, exposed by the cut of her dress...
"Nyx," he said to her silently. It was all he could manage, because he was getting lost, and fast. Faster. Faster.
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There was no one else to entreat. There was no one else's name to praise. There was no one else to thank for this glorious, glorious moment as he took her, as his fingers found her, as he thrust faster and harder into her, as she felt Him, her own Ere, everything that was Him and Her and Them pushing harder and harder together, higher, faster, with more intensity than any other feeling anywhere.
She was His Goddess; He was Her God.
Her awareness wrapped around every moment of this; there were no accidents, there was nothing given that was not meant for Him to have. He was the only one who would have her - who would ever truly have her. She gave herself to him with abandon, even as he took her roughly, even as he crashed into her relentlessly.
She was shuddering. Her fingers gripped the metal of the railing so hard that it was cutting her, and that felt good - that felt incredible - too, because every cell in her body was singing, screaming, for Him.
"Erebos. Erebos. Erebos."
She felt the shudders beginning as he burned kisses onto her skin, felt them as he thrust harder and faster. And when he spoke her name into her mind, she threw her head back, and contracted around him, coming hard. She cried out, cried out the name of the only thing that mattered - of the only thing that existed, the only thing she would ever, ever need.
Erebos.
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Then she broke his control. Watching her, feeling her lose herself completely with him, it sent pinpricks of pleasure all through him, pinpricks that widened and spread and joined together until they threatened to overwhelm him. The breath caught in his throat and the hand that covered her mouth went to her hip, using it as leverage to ride out her waves, to pull himself forward harder, once more, once again, and... and...
"Erebos!"
And he couldn't stop the clipped, desperate sound that forced itself from his throat, he couldn't stop from falling headlong into her essence, tumbling for what seemed like forever in this spinning, heady pleasure world that robbed him of coherence and control. That captured him in her. Satisfied him completely. Reached him in places no other could ever touch. It was exquisite.
Sweet Elemental Gods, he loved her.
With a shaky breath, he drew her gently up into his arms, held her up against him, guided her hand to go back behind his head and hold there. He traced the curve of her hip through the material that had bunched itself up at her waist, then gently smoothed out the skirt, righting her clothing for her. The tenderness in his actions spoke more than he could have. Then again, Erebos was not one for verbal exchanges.
He kissed the softness of the skin behind her ear, the flat plane of her porcelain cheek, the top of her shoulder.
"I should court you more often, then," he responded to her earlier comment.
But he was not in a joking mood. The fastenings to his clothes closed themselves, and he drew her out onto the balcony, seating her on one of the long, curved stone benches carved intricately out of the stone of the balcony itself. It was a strange bit of architecture, and Erebos liked it. Joining her on the bench, he wrapped an arm about her waist again, heedless of what the others through the glass doors might think of their display, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"You please me," he said simply, closing his eyes.
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The possibility of being seen by the other party guests was the furthest thing from her mind, and in truth, she couldn't care less. She left her hair down, though her dress was 'just so' once more. He liked it that way, and in moments such as these, she wanted nothing more than to please him.
So, when he sat down next to her, put his arm around her, and spoke to her again, telling her that she did, in fact, please him, she smiled. Nyx smiled, and put her hand to his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. It followed the angle of his jaw until her fingers reached up to tenderly trace over his lips.
She hadn't yet kissed him properly, this Night, so she shifted her position slightly while his eyes were still closed, and did so, softly and sweetly saying, without truly having to, how much she loved her dearest, beautiful, tricksy beast.
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