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[aphros_born]

Aphrodite's bedroom is very much a room for her, even though the most beautiful things in it speak eloquently of the hand of her husband in them. The vast bed is upheld by four graceful golden peacocks, gems set into each individual finely sculpted feather. Delicate gauze hangs from the canopy, shimmering gently in the scented breeze that flows in

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[forge_fire]

He leans down and presses a kiss into her hair, breathing in deep before settling back against the pillow.

[aphros_born]

She makes a light noise, moving a little further into his arms, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. The goddess, when sated, is the very personification of satisfaction. Also of laziness.

Hephaestos is, whether or not he knows this, one of the very few people ever to see her that thoroughly sated.

[forge_fire]

He doesn't like to think about anything besides him with her, her with him, the two of them together. He was far too aware for far too long of her other paramours. Which is why he tends to keep to the moment. If anything was to be the cause for him to forget the past, to put aside the lonely bitterness of his life, it would be her, beautiful and alive and sated in his arms.

His hand runs feather-light down her back, careful not to scratch her with the calloused pads of his hands.

[aphros_born]

Human throats can't make the sound she's making right now - but then, her throat isn't human. She's purring. Her back arches, ever so slightly, before she settles onto him again, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

She's thinking only of him - there's no space, anywhere, for anything else.