For alwyshrt1uluv, because... Because. Because you wanted this and maybe it will make you smile. I hope you're okay.

Title: Impossible
100moods prompt 7. Aroused (My table)
Pairing: Ares/Aphrodite
Rating: PG-13, maybe R
Word count: 600
Notes: um, heterosexual sex. Which is fast and undetailed.
Summary: Opposites really do attract.

He can't help but think sometimes: they are the perfect pair.

It’s how they hold themselves, it’s what they represent, it’s how they are: opposites in every way, equal in their differences. Their conversations have the tendency to fall short – because they’re too different, because they attract each other too much. He can only give her twenty words before his pulse quickens and he just has to have her, fuck her until they are too spent to speak. She’s too much/not enough, he can’t choose. He only knows that the sight of her makes his blood boil and his loins burn.

It is about sex, but further at the base of it is power. By birth they are placed at opposite ends of the world and they are driven by a desire to destroy what is different. It’s insane; he worships her and her ways strange to him, yet he wants to see her conform. She longs for the same, wishes he would be like her while attracted to his otherness.

She: with her body like the sun and her hair like ripe grain, spends her day in wispy clothing amongst flowers and sex. Sex goes with her, her treacherous worldly companion. She’s abundance, richness – the coming of spring, the shining seed, the orgasm.

He: with his only companion the disloyalty of passion, of impulse, prefers any battlefield over the bed of any woman. He goes to bed with nothing but war on him and he can’t orgasm if he hasn’t made her bleed in some way. He’s inconsistency, flightiness – the knife, the kiss lined with teeth, the empty bed.

Do they love each other?

They meet by accident; the day is young and the flowers fresh.

“Don’t you have some war to fight?” she says as way of greeting. Her body is open, accepting, waiting for the warmth of an early sun.

“Always,” he answers gruffly, feeling on edge (it’s what she does to him). Already her sun-crowned form makes him sweat. “Some wars are about spears, some are about flesh.”

“Must you be such a man, Ares?”

“Would you prefer me to be a woman, then?” He knows the answer is no, despite Aphrodite’s broad sexual interests. He knows she enjoys a woman’s softness, caring, tenderness; he also knows she still craves, needs his roughness helplessly. It’s about the difference. It’s about power.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Not when I do this.” He steps up to her and bites her neck, drawing blood, pressing his already painfully hard cock against her stomach.

She smiles without showing her teeth and shrugs her fine robe of silk off her shoulders. The sun is rivalled by the splendour of her body and Ares has to bite down on his tongue.

They don’t even take the time to lie down. It’s frantic, it’s fast (it always is): she with her long, willowy legs clamped firmly around his hips, he thrusting into her cunt that was already wet and waiting. She scratches his back roughly and whines when he yanks at her hair. He’s supporting her with one hand, kneading her breast with the other – and she’s warm, and she’s smooth and she comes easily. When she comes, she shudders and says nothing but “Man”, but it’s more than enough for him. Groaning, he thrusts upward one last time and spills himself inside of her. “Be mine,” he sighs (although he means “be me”).

“I am yours,” she says (and she doesn’t mean “I am you”). They kiss – slowly this time, without hurry.

Do they love each other? Yes, with the endless passion of impossible things.