Harry's Apartment [B36] - Olympian Meadows - NYC

[forge_fire]

The door is open, the warm flicker of the fireplace glowing on the wall opposite his door. Harry is inside, making a simple soup and, at this very moment, slicing a sandwich in two and setting both halves neatly on a small, simple earthenware plate. A blink and he checks the soup, lifting the lid to take a smiling wiff of it before dipping a

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[sheila_nagig]

She doesn't even knock; just breezes in with a smile.

"Harry, you busy? I've been up to my elbows in vagina all day and could really use some male conversation to keep my mind off it," she says, barely stopping for breath. "Can you believe it? I mean, really, why'd I bloody take the job anyway? Why am I working for shit? Harry? Harry, are you even listening?"

She turns around to look at him as she sits down.

"Ooh, soup. Got any spare?"

[sheila_nagig]

She wipes the lipstick from his cheek - it's definitely not his color, after all - and lets go, only to sit on the table in front of him.

"No, it really is."

A foot either side of his knees on his chair, skirt reaching her knees and knees pressed together, hands arms curled around them.

"So. Thai. No shirt. Friday. And then back here to get shit-faced, how's that sound?"

[forge_fire]

He rolls his eyes.

"Trying to get in with Mother?"

Because he doesn't like to drink. Because the one time he did resulted in another god in Olympus, resulted in another bout of laughter at his expense and a humiliation that could be seen on a thousand tapestries and a thousand urns. He would never forget what Dionysis had done to him that day, and he would never forget the laughter. He never did. And there was ever so much of it.

[sheila_nagig]

Her hand on his cheek.

"Trying to get you into bed, sweety," she says with a grin and a wink, and he's probably not sure if she's teasing or not. "Just like I always do when I want to get people drunk."

She laughs again, and smooths down her skirt.

"Okay, so we don't need to drink. What'll we do? Go see a movie, go skating? What?"

[forge_fire]

He blinks at her, eyes flitting to the hand on his cheek, to the grin on her face, and he does wonder if she's teasing or not because he's not the most desirable deity on this floor, let alone in the building or the city. And because he's unsure and because he's nervous and because he doesn't have the best people skills when it comes to anything other than listening to other's problems and providing a sympathetic ear, he's honest.

"Ask?"

[sheila_nagig]

"Ask what, sweety?" she asks, a quirk of her head, dropping both hands between her knees. "I don't have many questions."

[forge_fire]

And he doesn't quite know how to explain what he'd meant because he's not quite sure why he said it in the first place, but somehow he'd thought he could tell her what she could do if she wanted him just about anywhere including bed.

So he blinks.

And looks s a little self-conscious.

And looks everywhere but her.

[sheila_nagig]

"Harry, sweety?" she asks, eyebrows raised and full lips pursed in a smile as she licks them, "are you propositioning me without saying anything?"

Not that she wasn't used to him saying anything. It was one of the reasons she wanted him - to see if he was as tight-lipped in bed as well as out.

"Because, if you are," she continued, sliding down from the table and easily onto his lap to pull his face gently around to look at her, "then we don't need shirt or tie on Friday."

[forge_fire]

It's warmer. And that's not just an emotional or psychological effect. It never really is when the gods are involved. Because she's in his lap and he has feelings and those feelings have emotions and those emotions have base emotions and those base emotions have physical reactions and she'll probably notice one of them soon enough because it's her speciality if not because she's sitting in his lap.

"No."

Because he's not propositioning her without saying anything. Because he'd said a few things, more than he usually did, even if it'd gotten him in trouble and her breasts were pressing into his chest and making it rather hard to think because she's beautiful and right there and he'd been twisted so so many times by someone who'd known they could do it and it's this that finally gives him back his brain because she's not Aphrodite and thoughts like that about her aren't fair or charitable.

"You deserve better than that."

[sheila_nagig]

Her skirt sits mostly at the top of her thighs, and she is pressing against him, frowning.

"You're turning me down? Harry, sweety? No, I don't deserve more than that. If I can't do my job, then what can I do?"

[forge_fire]

And he stares up at her with grey eyes opened farther than they usual are, because usually he's squinting, trying to figure something or someone out, trying to see how things work and fit and function. But right now he's looking up at her, at her familiar face because he doesn't need to look at her body as it's pressed against him and he can feel that, feel it more than she probably even thinks

[sheila_nagig]

It's the kind of kiss that promises and doesn't let you down. The kind of kiss that steals you, body and soul, until you're panting against them.

The kind of kiss she was used to seeing in her people, but never experienced, herself. It spoke of things she'd never had, things she'd always thrown aside in favour of the quickness, the short-term pleasure, the helping those who need it.

And so if he can feel her shaking, feel her hands tighten on his shoulders and her legs around his waist, drawing her closer, then that's the answer to those unasked questions.

She just doesn't know how to say them, either.

[forge_fire]

And he swallows because she's closer, so close, and warm in a way that has nothing to do with how he's warm, present in a way he never has been till perhaps this moment.

And he looks up at her, lost but willing to be found.

[sheila_nagig]

She's catching her breath, taking it back from him, from his lips, and the smile keeps on coming and going before she speaks, swallowing first, raising her hand to cup the back of his head.

And it's not often that people can knock Sheila N. Eostre speechless, but he seems to have managed quite easily so that all she can do is nod and kiss him back, sudden and soft and shy.

[forge_fire]

And if anything, he's a little softer, a little more shy, but not really sudden because he's never been sudden. He was as even as a forge flame, calm as the liquid lines of a fine piece of metalwork.

[sheila_nagig]

And she's just a little bit more demanding; her tongue seeking entrance, her breath on his mouth, her hand on his, guiding it up her thigh and the kiss itself is as hot as fire, as new as spring, as fresh as rain and she breaks it to watch him for a moment.

"And I thought the Gods were resistent to me and my charms," she says with a smile.