Voiceless (Aphrodite/Pandora, NC-17)
Title: Voiceless
10_whores prompt: 8. Pandora's Box (My table) (I know, not exactly the most inspiring interpretation of the prompt, but it's goddess!sex, so I'm sure nobody minds, right? :) )
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,000
Pairing: Aphrodite/Pandora
Summary: They all need to give Pandora a little of themselves to give her life - so Aphrodite gives her what matters most.
Hephaistos' mountain was as angry as its inhabitant - it sputtered and trembled, licking at her boundaries with tongues of hot air. The fire was shimmering sleepily in the deeper corridors; its colour deceptively warm and peaceful. Hephaistos' face was a mask of coldness as he greeted her and she remembered how these explosions went (slow at first, his bitterness eating at his resolve, and then the twitching of his body as he tried not to lash out at her. It was a thing she liked about him against all odds: how he so resembled his mountain, how he was so unpredictable in his hate of her).
The fire was really the reason she was here, although she herself had little to no interest in the fact that humans were now basking in its warmth as well. Somehow she felt that Prometheus had stolen something that had always been yearning to be stolen, and that he couldn't be blamed for listening to the kind of plea fire put forward in a cold night. It wanted to be shared. It spread quickly, it ate wood and stone and living things. She thought it would eat at Prometheus in quite the same way, and was resentful of having to be here at all. It wasn't their job to spread evil, it was their job to simply not stop its thriving. (Zeus had forced her to come, in the end, by pulling at her hair and tearing at her with his nails - it wasn't the pain that made her cave, it was the need to put more distance between them.)
Vesuvius spat at her, thick ropes of sun-hot earth's entrails. She leaned against the rock for support and found that it, too, was warm.
She raised an eyebrow at Hephaistos in understated greeting. His bared teeth shone back at her in the reddish gloom.
“Do whatever you feel you need to do,” he grumbled, and limped out; a different corridor, the same fire, his laboured footsteps clunking away in the depth.
She waited until she couldn't hear his breathing anymore, then stepped forward carefully. The soles of her feet were warming up in her sandals. This fire, this overstated heat; she hated it because she had no control over it. She much preferred the heat flowing out of a lover's mouth and hands, and giving it back to each other, sharing, sweating navel to navel.
Light-headed. Exhale. Flurry of sparks at her lips. The cave was brown-red and spinning a little.
Pandora was already looking at her from the other side of the cave, which took Aphrodite a little aback. She knew Athena had already infused the statue with soul and knowledge, but somehow it was strange to see her eyes and find that they were watching.
“Can you speak?” Aphrodite asked, feeling thoroughly spied upon - Pandora had wide eyes that stared without shame. Her scrutiny was clear and somehow invasive; Aphrodite was almost angry with her child-like intense look. She wasn't used to feeling uncomfortable under someone else's eye, let alone a clay woman who had only been alive for a couple of hours.
If she was alive at all.
The answer was - nothing, really, only a flash of the dark eyes. Aphrodite didn't push it; maybe the woman wasn't used to her voice yet, or maybe she simply didn't know how to use it. She couldn't imagine Hephaistos would've told her how to (in fact, she assumed Hephaistos hadn't spoken to his creation at all, and don't all children need to learn their language from their parents?).
Head thumping. Hot, red, rumbling Vesuvius resisting her presence. Aphrodite shrugged her thin peplos off her shoulders (it felt better to be naked in this pressing pushing warmth, just like the almost-statue before her, and with the task ahead of her it felt like the most logical thing to do - even if Pandora's interested looking over of her body made her feel strangely like a child).
Make flesh out of stone. Make clay into life. “I'm going to show you feeling,” Aphrodite mumbled, stepping closer to Pandora. “Teach you how to love.”
Pandora's face was a mask staring up at her as Aphrodite took her left hand. The statue was cooler than its surroundings, the clay still setting, resisting its hot environment. Aphrodite knelt to have better access to the hand, which was stiff in its position. Every surface. Touch. Aphrodite ran her own, warm fingers over the rough surface of Pandora's hand; she slipped her fingertips in-between the spaces that separated her fingers. Softly, she squeezed the wrist, before covering the entire hand with her own hands. Something was heating up inside. When she took her hands away, the hand was shining in the gloom, golden-coloured, twitching. Pandora rotated her hand on her now living wrist. Her eyes, the only other living thing, closed.
Aphrodite worked upwards, getting to her feet - the smooth expanses of Pandora's arms, the strong shoulder. Under her fingers the muscles flexed, jumped, were surprised at themselves. The colour changed in the fire-glow - real skin now, not earth.
Her neck. The throbbing flurry of life fighting its way through her stony veins, the start of a pulse point in Aphrodite's hands. Pandora's arm clawed helplessly at Aphrodite's back, maybe to pull her closer, maybe to push her away. Aphrodite felt the beginning heat of Pandora growing as she poured more life into the clay, strangely contrasted with the remaining still coolness of her lower body.
She took her time with Pandora's face. The woman would need every feature to be as alluring as possible - Aphrodite trailed her palms and fingers over every inch of skin again and again until all of it was pink and glowing, and the newly red mouth parted to show a darkly shining tongue and white teeth. She was beautiful, Pandora, when Aphrodite traced every single one of her eyelashes with a fingernail; they fluttered open and closed - long, thick, small shadows on her finely sculpted cheekbones as Vesuvius breathed fire near them.
The hair was easy, the swift tangling of fingers in it was enough to make it live, tumble. Aphrodite ran her hands several times through the wild mass of black curls - to make sure she had touched all of it, and to treasure the feel of the soft strands and, higher, Pandora's sweaty scalp, throbbing with her newly found blood flow.
The other arm, sliding swiftly downward, catching on the new, flexible skin with her fingernails. Pandora grabbed Aphrodite's shoulders as soon as both her arms were free. Her grasp was harsh, and she pulled at the goddess until Aphrodite stepped out of reach. “Give me time,” she told Pandora, resting her hands on her collarbones (muscles jumping, blood thumping, trying to find its way to the still-dormant heart). Pandora closed her eyes and Aphrodite stroked the skin above her breasts - the crazy, fast awakening of the heart then, over-brave, still needing to get to know its limits. Pandora's blush heightened. Her lungs sprung into action and she sighed, a long, warm stream of new air leaving her lips.
Aphrodite knelt. The breasts, then. Fine works of art with a dark, already pebbled nipple crowning the bold strong lines. Aphrodite cupped them until they relaxed into her palms, shining pinkly in the red gloom. She brushed her thumb over the nipples, softly, deliberately - until Pandora started clawing at her again, mouth open in a voiceless moan. Aphrodite let go, stroking the skin around the nipples once more to make sure she'd had everything, then trailed downward, sliding over the expanse of stomach. She dipped her finger into the navel, once, twice. She slid her hands over Pandora's sides, reached backwards to touch her back. Pandora was really moving now, her entire upper body freed. Aphrodite slid her hands over her navel again and, softly, placed a kiss on Pandora's shoulder. Lower still. She rested her hands for a moment, felt the inside of Pandora grow warmer - her women's organs waking up, her desires unfolding themselves. The new-found breathing quickened - but no, not yet: first, her legs.
Her hips, full and round, leading Aphrodite to her buttocks, where she couldn't resist a squeeze that made Pandora gasp. Her thighs were strong, her knees dainty, curving down into elegant calves and small feet. The veins on top of the foot blushed blueish as Aphrodite touched them. Almost ready. One last thing.
Aphrodite got to her feet and looked Pandora in the face. The other woman stared back, face flushed.
“You still can't speak?” Aphrodite asked. Pandora shook her head almost angrily. Vesuvius rumbled.
“Fine,” Aphrodite responded airily, and leaned in abruptly for a hard kiss. She bit at Pandora's lips, thrust her tongue in without delay, tasted blood in this red-hot cave. Still, when she pulled back, Pandora was silent, although her eyes were wide and dark and her lips flushed deeply red.
“Still nothing?” Nothing, except the baring of teeth.
Aphrodite shrugged, leaned back in and kissed Pandora jaws, her neck across the still-crazed new blood flow, and grabbed Pandora's breasts none too gently. She swiped her nails across the nipples, sucked and kissed downwards until her mouth was on one of those dark pulsing nipples, and felt Pandora's arms coming to pull at her again - closer, further away, harder, softer, please (only she never said it).
Still nothing, so she released the nipple, fondly trailing her fingers over it one more time, and moved further downward. Pandora tangled her hands in Aphrodite's hair.
She trailed her tongue over the spot just under Pandora's breast, where the skin was hot and soft and damp, and licked a path down, with a swipe of tongue in her navel. She felt light-headed, and unbearably hot inside and out.
Pandora's cunt was open, enthusiastic, new to all of this. It was flushed beautifully, a dark red that was warm in such a different way than their surroundings. Aphrodite kissed it lightly, the firm lips, the dark stiff hairs and Pandora arched, tightening her grip on Aphrodite's head.
Still no sound - and even if there had been, it would be cruel to stop here - so Aphrodite began to lick in earnest, sucking and blowing cool air onto the shiny flesh. Pandora's body trembled, and she rocked her hips to gain more contact. Her knees buckled, and Aphrodite allowed her to slide down the stony wall until she sat, legs flung apart widely. Aphrodite knelt between her thighs and slid a finger into her warm, red cunt. She flexed it a couple of times, watching Pandora's face (tight, almost as if in pain, her mouth a perfect 'o') before she lowered her head and once more sucked on Pandora's clit.
They rocked in the heat, the only sound rumbling Vesuvius around them, until Pandora practically clawed at Aphrodite's face and clenched her thighs so tightly air was hard to come by - and then, finally, her cry, her shrill scream, her voice finally awake at the height of her orgasm. Aphrodite waited until she was completely still again before disentangling herself. She quickly slid into her peplos, sweat gathering at her temples in the oppressive heat. She had an intense need to come, but she wasn't going to let Pandora make it happen.
She smiled down on the spent form of the beautiful woman. “Make good use of your voice, girl - despite everything, it's still the best weapon you have.”
The answer was a soft whimper, and then Aphrodite had left her already, stepping quickly through the red insides of the mountain, trying not to listen too hard to Hephaistos' clanging footsteps, hurrying away as if he hadn't been watching.
10_whores prompt: 8. Pandora's Box (My table) (I know, not exactly the most inspiring interpretation of the prompt, but it's goddess!sex, so I'm sure nobody minds, right? :) )
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,000
Pairing: Aphrodite/Pandora
Summary: They all need to give Pandora a little of themselves to give her life - so Aphrodite gives her what matters most.
Hephaistos' mountain was as angry as its inhabitant - it sputtered and trembled, licking at her boundaries with tongues of hot air. The fire was shimmering sleepily in the deeper corridors; its colour deceptively warm and peaceful. Hephaistos' face was a mask of coldness as he greeted her and she remembered how these explosions went (slow at first, his bitterness eating at his resolve, and then the twitching of his body as he tried not to lash out at her. It was a thing she liked about him against all odds: how he so resembled his mountain, how he was so unpredictable in his hate of her).
The fire was really the reason she was here, although she herself had little to no interest in the fact that humans were now basking in its warmth as well. Somehow she felt that Prometheus had stolen something that had always been yearning to be stolen, and that he couldn't be blamed for listening to the kind of plea fire put forward in a cold night. It wanted to be shared. It spread quickly, it ate wood and stone and living things. She thought it would eat at Prometheus in quite the same way, and was resentful of having to be here at all. It wasn't their job to spread evil, it was their job to simply not stop its thriving. (Zeus had forced her to come, in the end, by pulling at her hair and tearing at her with his nails - it wasn't the pain that made her cave, it was the need to put more distance between them.)
Vesuvius spat at her, thick ropes of sun-hot earth's entrails. She leaned against the rock for support and found that it, too, was warm.
She raised an eyebrow at Hephaistos in understated greeting. His bared teeth shone back at her in the reddish gloom.
“Do whatever you feel you need to do,” he grumbled, and limped out; a different corridor, the same fire, his laboured footsteps clunking away in the depth.
She waited until she couldn't hear his breathing anymore, then stepped forward carefully. The soles of her feet were warming up in her sandals. This fire, this overstated heat; she hated it because she had no control over it. She much preferred the heat flowing out of a lover's mouth and hands, and giving it back to each other, sharing, sweating navel to navel.
Light-headed. Exhale. Flurry of sparks at her lips. The cave was brown-red and spinning a little.
Pandora was already looking at her from the other side of the cave, which took Aphrodite a little aback. She knew Athena had already infused the statue with soul and knowledge, but somehow it was strange to see her eyes and find that they were watching.
“Can you speak?” Aphrodite asked, feeling thoroughly spied upon - Pandora had wide eyes that stared without shame. Her scrutiny was clear and somehow invasive; Aphrodite was almost angry with her child-like intense look. She wasn't used to feeling uncomfortable under someone else's eye, let alone a clay woman who had only been alive for a couple of hours.
If she was alive at all.
The answer was - nothing, really, only a flash of the dark eyes. Aphrodite didn't push it; maybe the woman wasn't used to her voice yet, or maybe she simply didn't know how to use it. She couldn't imagine Hephaistos would've told her how to (in fact, she assumed Hephaistos hadn't spoken to his creation at all, and don't all children need to learn their language from their parents?).
Head thumping. Hot, red, rumbling Vesuvius resisting her presence. Aphrodite shrugged her thin peplos off her shoulders (it felt better to be naked in this pressing pushing warmth, just like the almost-statue before her, and with the task ahead of her it felt like the most logical thing to do - even if Pandora's interested looking over of her body made her feel strangely like a child).
Make flesh out of stone. Make clay into life. “I'm going to show you feeling,” Aphrodite mumbled, stepping closer to Pandora. “Teach you how to love.”
Pandora's face was a mask staring up at her as Aphrodite took her left hand. The statue was cooler than its surroundings, the clay still setting, resisting its hot environment. Aphrodite knelt to have better access to the hand, which was stiff in its position. Every surface. Touch. Aphrodite ran her own, warm fingers over the rough surface of Pandora's hand; she slipped her fingertips in-between the spaces that separated her fingers. Softly, she squeezed the wrist, before covering the entire hand with her own hands. Something was heating up inside. When she took her hands away, the hand was shining in the gloom, golden-coloured, twitching. Pandora rotated her hand on her now living wrist. Her eyes, the only other living thing, closed.
Aphrodite worked upwards, getting to her feet - the smooth expanses of Pandora's arms, the strong shoulder. Under her fingers the muscles flexed, jumped, were surprised at themselves. The colour changed in the fire-glow - real skin now, not earth.
Her neck. The throbbing flurry of life fighting its way through her stony veins, the start of a pulse point in Aphrodite's hands. Pandora's arm clawed helplessly at Aphrodite's back, maybe to pull her closer, maybe to push her away. Aphrodite felt the beginning heat of Pandora growing as she poured more life into the clay, strangely contrasted with the remaining still coolness of her lower body.
She took her time with Pandora's face. The woman would need every feature to be as alluring as possible - Aphrodite trailed her palms and fingers over every inch of skin again and again until all of it was pink and glowing, and the newly red mouth parted to show a darkly shining tongue and white teeth. She was beautiful, Pandora, when Aphrodite traced every single one of her eyelashes with a fingernail; they fluttered open and closed - long, thick, small shadows on her finely sculpted cheekbones as Vesuvius breathed fire near them.
The hair was easy, the swift tangling of fingers in it was enough to make it live, tumble. Aphrodite ran her hands several times through the wild mass of black curls - to make sure she had touched all of it, and to treasure the feel of the soft strands and, higher, Pandora's sweaty scalp, throbbing with her newly found blood flow.
The other arm, sliding swiftly downward, catching on the new, flexible skin with her fingernails. Pandora grabbed Aphrodite's shoulders as soon as both her arms were free. Her grasp was harsh, and she pulled at the goddess until Aphrodite stepped out of reach. “Give me time,” she told Pandora, resting her hands on her collarbones (muscles jumping, blood thumping, trying to find its way to the still-dormant heart). Pandora closed her eyes and Aphrodite stroked the skin above her breasts - the crazy, fast awakening of the heart then, over-brave, still needing to get to know its limits. Pandora's blush heightened. Her lungs sprung into action and she sighed, a long, warm stream of new air leaving her lips.
Aphrodite knelt. The breasts, then. Fine works of art with a dark, already pebbled nipple crowning the bold strong lines. Aphrodite cupped them until they relaxed into her palms, shining pinkly in the red gloom. She brushed her thumb over the nipples, softly, deliberately - until Pandora started clawing at her again, mouth open in a voiceless moan. Aphrodite let go, stroking the skin around the nipples once more to make sure she'd had everything, then trailed downward, sliding over the expanse of stomach. She dipped her finger into the navel, once, twice. She slid her hands over Pandora's sides, reached backwards to touch her back. Pandora was really moving now, her entire upper body freed. Aphrodite slid her hands over her navel again and, softly, placed a kiss on Pandora's shoulder. Lower still. She rested her hands for a moment, felt the inside of Pandora grow warmer - her women's organs waking up, her desires unfolding themselves. The new-found breathing quickened - but no, not yet: first, her legs.
Her hips, full and round, leading Aphrodite to her buttocks, where she couldn't resist a squeeze that made Pandora gasp. Her thighs were strong, her knees dainty, curving down into elegant calves and small feet. The veins on top of the foot blushed blueish as Aphrodite touched them. Almost ready. One last thing.
Aphrodite got to her feet and looked Pandora in the face. The other woman stared back, face flushed.
“You still can't speak?” Aphrodite asked. Pandora shook her head almost angrily. Vesuvius rumbled.
“Fine,” Aphrodite responded airily, and leaned in abruptly for a hard kiss. She bit at Pandora's lips, thrust her tongue in without delay, tasted blood in this red-hot cave. Still, when she pulled back, Pandora was silent, although her eyes were wide and dark and her lips flushed deeply red.
“Still nothing?” Nothing, except the baring of teeth.
Aphrodite shrugged, leaned back in and kissed Pandora jaws, her neck across the still-crazed new blood flow, and grabbed Pandora's breasts none too gently. She swiped her nails across the nipples, sucked and kissed downwards until her mouth was on one of those dark pulsing nipples, and felt Pandora's arms coming to pull at her again - closer, further away, harder, softer, please (only she never said it).
Still nothing, so she released the nipple, fondly trailing her fingers over it one more time, and moved further downward. Pandora tangled her hands in Aphrodite's hair.
She trailed her tongue over the spot just under Pandora's breast, where the skin was hot and soft and damp, and licked a path down, with a swipe of tongue in her navel. She felt light-headed, and unbearably hot inside and out.
Pandora's cunt was open, enthusiastic, new to all of this. It was flushed beautifully, a dark red that was warm in such a different way than their surroundings. Aphrodite kissed it lightly, the firm lips, the dark stiff hairs and Pandora arched, tightening her grip on Aphrodite's head.
Still no sound - and even if there had been, it would be cruel to stop here - so Aphrodite began to lick in earnest, sucking and blowing cool air onto the shiny flesh. Pandora's body trembled, and she rocked her hips to gain more contact. Her knees buckled, and Aphrodite allowed her to slide down the stony wall until she sat, legs flung apart widely. Aphrodite knelt between her thighs and slid a finger into her warm, red cunt. She flexed it a couple of times, watching Pandora's face (tight, almost as if in pain, her mouth a perfect 'o') before she lowered her head and once more sucked on Pandora's clit.
They rocked in the heat, the only sound rumbling Vesuvius around them, until Pandora practically clawed at Aphrodite's face and clenched her thighs so tightly air was hard to come by - and then, finally, her cry, her shrill scream, her voice finally awake at the height of her orgasm. Aphrodite waited until she was completely still again before disentangling herself. She quickly slid into her peplos, sweat gathering at her temples in the oppressive heat. She had an intense need to come, but she wasn't going to let Pandora make it happen.
She smiled down on the spent form of the beautiful woman. “Make good use of your voice, girl - despite everything, it's still the best weapon you have.”
The answer was a soft whimper, and then Aphrodite had left her already, stepping quickly through the red insides of the mountain, trying not to listen too hard to Hephaistos' clanging footsteps, hurrying away as if he hadn't been watching.