Waking From Silence
by Mythdefied
September 2003

I don't think I really get just what exactly she does. She put in a new room at the back of the temple, large windows, potted plants and a couch where the gods who talk to her lie down. And that's all she does, talk to them. Or rather, they lie there, talk and she takes notes on parchment. She won't say much about it to me, something about "patient confidentiality," but she's throwing around a lot of terms I don't understand lately. That's okay. She's never completely understood my job either so I'm not gonna pry into hers, and I'm pretty sure it is her job, her godhood starting to assert itself while she accommodates its requirements. At least it seems to be a relatively sedate godhood. I'm happy for her.

So that leaves me most days and one or two occasional nights without her company. That usually works out well enough; my job takes up a huge amount of time and caring for Bliss when Psyche can't keeps me occupied during my free time. Sometimes we drop Bliss off with either Aphrodite or Ares so we can have time to ourselves, with each other or another lover, but it's rare for either of us to be completely on our own. For a few minutes I'm not really sure what to do, whether to just spend the evening munching on treats and reading a good scroll or two, or to go out and visit some of the family, but then I don't have to decide.

Strife is in the bedroom. I don't know how or even when he got there but then I never do. He never uses the door, never knocks, never even asks permission; I've never been able to figure out how he knows when it's a good time to come over. I came in here to change out of my work clothes, but now I can see I won't have to bother with doing more than stripping. Strife's naked on the bed, stretched out on his stomach, watching me with raised eyebrows. I know that look. He can say so much without words and right now it's a variation on, "Well? Why are you still dressed and over there?" Which means he's in a relatively laid-back mood. Other times I've been greeted by a scowl or even a sub-vocal snarl letting me know that I have bare seconds to get undressed or he'll do it for me and I might just be missing a piece or two when he's done.

I really can't say that I know Strife other than what he chooses to show me in here. I don't talk to him outside of this and I wouldn't want to. This is something I know, it's why he comes here; he doesn't wanna talk about his job or Ares or anything else and I learned that lesson early on. I do know I was his first -- god or man -- and he wants me enough to come back time and again over the years. But he's never given me any reasons and I've never asked. It's enough for me that I can give him something he enjoys, a way to relax, and something about him has always said to me that he has very little of either in his life.

I pull off my clothes as I walk over to the bed. The corner of his mouth turns up and it's almost a smile as he spreads his legs. So he wants me to top tonight, I can work with that. He seems a bit playful too, which I'm glad to see. It means things haven't been going too badly for him in whatever he does out there.

Strife's never been one for extended foreplay or teasing. If you get him off a couple times first he'll tolerate a bit of stroking and petting, but only if you follow it up with another orgasm. Knowing that, I'm not at all surprised to see that he's gotten himself ready, oil dripping from his ass, an invitation I'm certainly not gonna refuse. He gets up on his hands and knees and I kneel behind him, sliding into him with a single, long stroke that has us both sighing in a mix of pleasure and relief.

My other lovers are female. It didn't used to be that way but over the years both the quantity and type of my lovers has dwindled until I only have three regular ones and Strife is the only male, and the one I see most often. Still, it's not so often that I get used to how tight he is, or how good he is at squeezing me and fucking himself on me. I've often thought that this is a cathartic act for him, or maybe every encounter is that for him. He defines the term "topping from the bottom." I don't think I've ever truly topped him, not even his first time. He's always very certain of what he wants and he has no problems taking it.

He's slamming back against me now and I'm just holding on for the ride. He'll have bruises on his hips in the shape of my hands but that's no different than any other time we've done this. I'll end up with bruises myself and I'll wear them happily. I spread my wings out, as much for balance as in reaction to the pleasure singing through me every time he clenches down around me. The bed is rocking beneath his movements, I am too, and I'm not at all surprised when I come. I say his name, a single, drawn out syllable as I push deep into him, and I know it pleases him to hear that. He tightens down on me one last time and it's almost painful in its intensity.

When I pull back he immediately turns over and of course he's still hard. Strife never comes when I'm inside him. He prefers my mouth and I give that to him now. If it's been a bad day, week, whatever, sometimes Strife will push me onto my back, kneel over me and fuck my mouth viciously; there's nothing I can do then but ride it out and let him purge the anger. But at times like now, when he's more relaxed, he lets me play a little. I still don't tease him, only licking him a few times before swallowing him down. Every time I go down I swallow, and each time I pull back I slide my tongue over the leaking head of his cock. His hands aren't gripping my hair, pulling at it as he sometimes does, now they're just carding through it, massaging my scalp and I could just purr when he does that. I guess I do purr because I hear a surprised, pleased grunt just before he comes down my throat. I pull back a little to taste it. His taste reminds me of blood and metal and I don't care if I am the God of Love, I like his taste.

He pulls me up into a long, deep kiss, undoubtedly tasting himself on my tongue. When we draw apart he's smiling and I can't help but smile back. Having him in my arms, trusting me, wanting me, it's one of those perfect things in life. I kiss him again, wanting another taste and knowing that with just a little push, my tongue sliding over his, he'll be ready again. I don't pull back until I feel him hard against my hip. When I rock against his thigh, he grins slightly.

I love this, feeling him still relaxed beneath me from his recent climax, but with a look in his eye that speaks of further need and anticipation. I know I'm probably echoing that expression because just watching him makes me ache for more. He's pushing up against me now, responding with an eagerness that soon has me leaking. I grind down against him, sliding my leg between his, rubbing our cocks together.

It doesn't last long like that. We rub off against each other sometimes, but only when Strife's in a hurry and he's not now. He flips us over, sliding between my legs as his mouth fastens onto my throat. We're still rocking together but it's a slow pace, almost leisurely and not enough for either of us to come. Then his fingers are pushing into me, long and slick with oil and sliding deep. I can't help but moan at the wonderfully full sensation and arch up against him, wanting more, asking for it by digging my fingers into his shoulder.

A quick, sharp nip, his teeth bruising my neck. I gasp, but it's a mix of pain and pleasure, a shiver working its way through me. Strife's sitting up before the small sound dies away. He braces himself up on one arm, his other still down between us, his fingers deep inside me. He stares down at me, unmoving and his grin seems almost rakish now. I don't know what he's waiting for and I don't care, I want him in me as deep and hard as he can go. I tighten around his fingers, trying to get my point across. For long moments I think it didn't work, that he's just gonna leave me hanging here, impaled on his fingers, hard and trembling and wanting. Then he licks his lips, just a small flick of his tongue leaving a faint sheen of moisture behind -- and his fingers are gone.

I feel all too empty, but it's a brief sensation, quickly replaced by the almost-pain of his cock stretching me, pushing relentlessly inside. I hook a leg around his waist, giving him more room and letting him go deeper still because I want every inch of him. He doesn't hesitate at all, the instant he's completely inside me, he pulls back and shoves in, hard. Just like I wanted.

He's still staring down at me as he thrusts and I can't meet his gaze for long, it's too intense on top of what he's doing. This position is perfect, he's hitting that spot inside of me with every push and I can hear soft, broken little sounds that have to be coming from me because Strife rarely makes any noise. I let my eyes close; all my other senses are heightened like this. His skin feels cool against my heated flesh, except inside me where he burns; the air seems heavy with the sharp scent of male sex and I can nearly taste it. I wanna taste him, want to feel his mouth on mine, but I'd have to give up a few, precious inches of that cock inside me and it's too much to ask. I have to satisfy myself with sucking on my lower lip, searching for the faint remaining trace of his saliva. I don't find it but I can imagine I do.

It's not the best position for doing this, his other hand is tight on my thigh, helping to brace himself and I wish I'd turned over for him, so he could fuck me as hard and rough as he wanted. But this seems to suit his mood, only taking this so far and no further. Even as he slams into me time and again, he never crosses that line into true pain.

I feel something splash down onto my chest; drops of his sweat, mingling with mine, and strangely that's what makes me come. It feels almost too good, too much, the tension breaking inside of me, pleasure making me bite into my lip. I have to grab onto something and it's his arm, my fingers digging into the hard, wiry muscles. I can feel those muscles, their sudden tightening, and maybe he's coming but I can't tell because I'm still shaking with the force of my own orgasm and everything else is fading to white noise.

It's much later, going on the middle of the night when I finally have the chance I get so infrequently; I watch Strife while he sleeps. He doesn't stay here much, maybe just a handful of times in a year, so I never sleep when he does. I just sit here watching him.

Morpheus always says that people relax when they sleep, that you can see what they truly look like then. If that's true, then Strife has a lot of faces. I really don't believe he does relax when he's sleeping, and I'm not talking about dreaming. I think, to some extent, he's always on his guard and that says a lot about his life. I know when we first started sleeping together the slightest move would bring him awake, instantly alert with knife in hand, so fast I don't even see it appear -- and I've never figured out just where he's pulling the knives from when his clothes aren't even in the room. But now after a century or so he actually sleeps and it's a deep sleep, though not an undisturbed one.

Once people stop dreaming, when they really sleep, mostly their expressions go slack and they look dead to the world. Strife frowns a lot, or smirks, he rarely smiles but occasionally I've heard a growl and there was that one, horrible night years ago when he cried. Tonight though there's one of his all-too-rare smiles, just a small thing, a little upward curve of his lips that has me tracing them over and over with my fingers. My touch doesn't wake him anymore, not unless I make an effort at it and I try not to; I have a suspicion that this is one of the few places where he can get any rest without worrying about his safety.

The sound of the door opening takes my attention from my bedmate, but I don't stop touching him. Strife sprawls when he sleeps, although he didn't used to. Now he takes up most of the bed as he lies there on his stomach, one leg hooked over mine, an arm draped over my lap. Sitting at the head of the bed, I can't really move without dislodging him and I'm not gonna risk waking him by doing that.

Psyche looks tired. Her hair is coming down out of the bun she keeps it in during those "sessions" of hers and stray brown curls caress her cheeks. I wanna brush them away, put my hand in their place and greet her with a kiss, but I just smile instead. She returns my smile -- a smile that almost immediately widens when she sees Strife in our bed.

Her steps are quiet as a whisper and the weariness seems to fall away from her as she walks over to the bed. There's a sudden hunger in her eyes, a glint, like a flash of lighting across a clear blue sky; I see the same thing whenever she's about to take me, to claim me as hers. To see that intent directed at Strife.... I shift my legs apart slightly, easing the pressure on my hardening cock.

"Oh, good," she says quietly, sliding onto the bed beside me. "I'd hoped to catch him here sometime."

I've mentioned my liaisons with Strife; there was no choice the first time she noticed the bruises after a night when his anger drove him towards violence. Psyche grew up a mortal so she didn't understand, at least not then. I'm stronger than Strife, powerful enough to put a stop to whatever happens between us if I truly don't want it. I accept it when his grip on me turns painful, when his bites draw blood, when he takes me dry, not because I think I deserve to be punished or because I'm afraid of him, not in my own temple anyway, but because he needs to do that sometimes, and if I'm totally honest, because it turns me on. Sometimes being used as an object for someone's pleasure, even being hurt can be just as hot as gentle, slow sex. Psyche gets it now; I think it amuses her at times to see me fingering a particularly vivid bruise with a silly smile on my face. I know it turns her on sometimes because she'll kiss those marks, bite them, put her own claim on top of them.

"Catch him?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. I give into my earlier urge and taking my thumb from Strife's lips, reach out to twine a lock of Psyche's hair around my fingers. It's almost as soft as the skin it lays against.

She glances at me, amusement showing in her gaze, but her eyes are drawn straight back to Strife. "Perhaps not 'catch him,' no. But to finally see him...." She leaves it there and I don't suppose I need her to finish. The way she's looking at him, as though she'd like to delve into him, mind and body, that's something I can relate to every time I see Strife. Even now, just looking at him, I ache to put my hands on him again.

"How can you not touch him?" Psyche asks, echoing my feelings. As she speaks she moves, draping herself partially over my lap, her cloth-covered breasts pushing down on my erection, making me gasp softly. It puts her face so close to Strife's, close but not touching.

I still have her hair around my fingers and I tug lightly, dragging her attention up to me. She tilts her head, looking at me questioningly.

"Careful," I say, hoping my caution comes across.

She just smiles again and her gaze slides back to Strife. "I know." It's barely a whisper, barely audible. Her breath doesn't even ruffle the hair in Strife's face.

I wonder what she sees, studying him so closely like that. He's so pale; the deep black of his hair only emphasizes that. Sometimes I've seen him with circles under his eyes, but not tonight, now he's just unmoving and relaxed, sprawled and limp beside us with that small, enigmatic smile. I wonder what he dreams when he's here. Is he dreaming now? I wonder if Psyche's wondering about that too. It seems like something she'd think about. But her thoughts seem far closer to the surface now, or at least Strife's surface. Her gaze is intent on him, her lips slightly parted. I can see the tip of her tongue and suddenly wish she'd run it over Strife's cheek. I'd like to see that, her licking Strife. Would he let her?

I can feel her heartbeat, a little faster than normal, right above my cock, which is starting to throb in time to the beat. I'd push up against her -- the material of her dress is something silky and the sensation would be exquisite -- but I don't want to disturb her concentration. I want to see what she'll do, if she'll speak directly to him, touch him. If she does lick him I think I might come.

"Gods are so strange." I almost can't hear her and I strain to catch her words, to ignore the ache in my groin demanding attention. "So very, very painfully beautiful, all of you in your own ways. So megalomaniacal, narcissistic; nearly every one with some sort of superiority complex and it almost always masks feelings of inferiority." As she speaks she reaches out, so slowly, until her hand hovers just above Strife's head, nearly touching his hair.

I don't want to interrupt, I want her to touch him, to feel him as I do, but I don't understand either, while that's not unusual, I'd like to make the attempt. "Huh?" Okay, so it's not the most eloquent response, but I'm too turned on to come up with anything better.

Psyche pulls her hand back and I almost groan in disappointment. Propping herself up on her elbows -- bracing them on my thigh which takes the pressure off my cock, and I do groan this time -- she sighs and shakes strands of hair out of her face. "Just something from work." She turns her head to give me a lovely smile and there's nothing condescending in that or her words. All she has to say is "work" and I'm nodding, understanding the fact that I probably won't understand anything more. Besides, I can think of more interesting things to talk about, or do.

I slide my hands into her hair, pulling pins and discarding them over the side of the bed until the thick mass falls loosely through my fingers, around her face and shoulders. I know she wears it up for convenience, but she's so beautiful with it cascading down around her like this. It's even better when she's naked, when the curls fall over her breasts, around her nipples, almost highlighting them for my mouth. Her breasts are hidden from me now so I settle for her mouth, tugging her head upward so our lips meet and I'm lost in her taste, flowers on water, and as wet as I know she is for me, or maybe not entirely for me.

Pulling back, lips parting with subvocal sighs, we both look down at Strife. He still lies there looking so deceptively quiescent, one hand curled near his chin, the other caught under his body, and if you didn't know him, know what he's capable of, you might mistake it for innocence personified. Without the leather, the knives, the piercings -- he removes even those when he comes here -- you only see a sleeping god, pale and beautiful in his nakedness. Faint silver lines across his skin are the only things keeping the image from becoming ethereal, untouchable. His scars are a beauty unto themselves, wounds from battle, from life, and nothing he's ever shown any shame in. I touch them sometimes, with my fingers and my tongue; it gets him hard.

"You taste different," Psyche says although her eyes never leave Strife.

I think she already knows why, I can see it in the flush of arousal reddening her lips, staining her cheeks, as her gaze caresses Strife's form. I answer anyway, because it sends a low wave of heat through me to say it. "It's him. He likes my mouth."

"It is a nice mouth." She licks her lips. "He has good taste."

The pun almost makes me laugh, but the sudden image of Psyche's lips around him, Strife's cock sliding into her mouth, chokes off any hint of laughter. My cock throbs hard at the picture in my mind and I almost give into the urge to wrap my hand around it and thrust until I come, or better, to slide Psyche's dress up to her hips and then slide myself inside her. She has to be so wet now, so hot and slick and the ache is intensifying but I force the images aside. I don't want that, not that fast and not when she's obviously more interested in something else.

"Will he talk to me, do you think?"

Will he talk or will he just disappear the moment he realizes there's someone else in the bed? I couldn't leave a bed with Psyche in it, but I wouldn't ever speak for Strife. "I don't know," I admit. "I don't know him well enough to say." I reach down and draw a finger over his cheek, feeling the roughness of an old scar that isn't even visible anymore.

"Why not?" She frowns at me, although her gaze quickly moves back to follow my touch.

"We're opposites, Psyche. It--we work in here because this is what he's coming here looking for and I'm happy to give it. I can't relate to him out there and he wouldn't get me either. If I tried talking to him.... Promise me you'll never go looking for him, especially not on his turf."

Her frown deepens. She places her hand lightly on mine, following my movements as I continue to stroke his cheek. "I don't understand." Her tone seems even more hushed now as she almost touches him, and I automatically lower mine further to match.

"He's aggressive by nature, sometimes even deliberately cruel. He enjoys others' pain, okay? What Strife's like in here...it's nothing like he is out there. He could rip me to shreds, metaphorically and literally." I don't want her to be afraid of him in our temple because even at his angriest he's never tried to truly harm me, but it's all so much different outside of this, he's different. He's beautiful to look at here, asleep or in the midst of passion, and I can't not want him. Out there though, she'd be right to fear him.

"Even though you're stronger, older?" She isn't arguing deliberately, just pointing out a fact.

"Yeah, but he's more clever. If he really wants to hurt me, us, he'll find a way, he'll think of it as a challenge. We're safe from all that here though. He's safe." I let my fingers slide over his lips. I can feel his breath on the back of my fingers, warm and steady. With just the slightest of pressures I could have the tips of my fingers in his mouth. I wonder if he'd suck on them for me? I quickly pull back before I give into the impulse, not wanting to disturb him.

"All right." She doesn't sound happy with it but she's probably also realized I don't have any real answers to give her either. "Should I ask Strife for his reasons?"

I shrug. "He doesn't like answering my questions, but you might be different. It's your godhood, isn't it? Understanding minds?"

"Something like that." Taking her hand off of mine, she reaches out. For a long moment her fingers stay just above his skin, poised there as she looks at him. Then they touch, elegant, fingers grazing his cheek, honey colored skin a soft contrast against pale flesh. His eyes snap open.

I gasp in reaction. There isn't much that startles Psyche anymore, not after our "courtship" and becoming a goddess, but I feel her stiffen slightly against me. That's the only hint that she's surprised; her expression is almost instantly open and friendly.

"Hello, Strife." Her fingertips stay on his cheek, her touch lingering.

I don't know what he's gonna do. His smile vanished as quickly as he woke and he's just looking at her. I'm ready to put myself between them if I have to...but I don't think I will. There's something in those pale blue eyes of his, some gleam that has nothing to do with ill intent or trouble, so I don't react when he reaches up and curls his fingers around her wrist.

"Hello, Psyche." His voice is quiet, and I realize then that this is possibly the first time they've ever spoken, maybe even the first time they've really met.

"It's good to see you here. Cupid's always so happy when you visit."

Strife's gaze flickers towards me, very briefly, and I think I see something there. A question or plain curiosity, whatever it is, it's gone in an instant as he turns his attention back to Psyche.

"What about you?" he asks, his tone still calm and inflectionless. "Are you happy when I visit too?"

Psyche's smile softens, turning inviting. "Oh, yes. I've wanted to meet you for a long time, ever since Cupid started talking about you."

That isn't a good thing to say. He frowns and I can see his grip tighten on her wrist. But she just continues to smile, showing no signs of backing off as I would in her place.

"You're his favorite cousin, Strife; he likes talking about you. But if he knows any of your secrets he hasn't told me. I've just...wanted to meet you."

Strangely that seems to calm him and he loosens his grip, his fingers sliding upwards to touch the back of her hand. "Okay, so we're meeting. Is it everything you were hoping for?" The sarcasm is lazy, free of the cruel, biting edge I've heard from him on more than one occasion. I think he's flirting with her.

"Yes." Psyche's smile takes on a teasing edge. She's flirting back and I relax, realizing she has this well in hand. She's a wonderful flirt, lowering her eyes ever so slightly, her voice as well. My mouth goes dry just listening to her, letting her voice wash over me.

She turns her hand, letting Strife's fingers caress her palm as the back of her hand grazes his cheek. "Cupid never was very good at description; seeing you is much better than just hearing a vague mention or two."

The second reassurance that I'm not talking about him behind his back seems to drain the remaining tension from Strife and he smiles.

"That's a lovely expression on you, you should wear it more often," Psyche says.

Strife's reaction to that is strange. He looks away, but it's not coy or any form of bashfulness. He seems...disturbed. "Wouldn't work too well with Uncle Ares," he says and that's more than I've ever gotten out of him. "Happy makes him suspicious."

Psyche frowns at that, but it's an expression that's quickly replaced by her lovely smile. "I see. Is that really how you want things? Letting Ares tell you when to be happy?"

I would never dared ask something like that. Strife wouldn't attack me for it, not here, but he would simply leave and if I saw him again it wouldn't be for a year or two. I made that mistake once and now I'm worried that Psyche's done the same thing.

Strife smirks and it's somehow self-depreciating. His gaze continues to focus down at the white sheets beneath him.

"What do I want." It's a statement more than a question and it sounds rhetorical anyway. "Even we don't get what we want, not always." He clasps her hand and draws it down from his cheek to his lips. "What I want, Psyche," he kisses her palm, "is to fuck you." He raises his eyes to meet hers. All hints of uncertainty and disquiet have vanished, there's nothing left there but an utter seriousness that seems strange for him.

The crudeness of his statement isn't a surprise to me but the words themselves make me harden even further. I can see it all in my mind, Psyche on him, beneath him, and judging from the pleased expression on Psyche's face, I'm about to see it in front of me. She doesn't seem at all put off.

"You can have what you want this time, Strife," she answers, her smile never fading, just turning more alluring. Or maybe that's just the whole effect. Sometimes she seems too beautiful for words, which makes Strife's response understandable.

"Why?" Of course he doesn't trust her offer, I'm not sure it would be Strife if he just accepted everything at face value.

"Because it's what I want too." She almost breathes the answer and I'm not sure there's anything else she could say that would be as perfect as that. Certainly nothing else would gain Strife's trust as quickly as that does.

I can see it in his eyes; the sudden realization that she wants him, that such an exquisite woman finds him desirable. It makes me sad for a moment, knowing that he's so surprised by that. I thought I convinced him over the years that even if he's not classically handsome, he's definitely worth looking at, but obviously there's something in his life that tells him the opposite. Maybe Psyche can help convince him otherwise.

He doesn't look at me for permission. The fact that I haven't shown any objections so far is probably a clue that I don't have any problems with this situation. I spread my wings out and lean back further, settling in to watch and making my position clear in case there're any lingering doubts on his part.

Maybe that's all Strife was waiting for. He sits up abruptly, gripping Psyche's hand and pulling her forward. I hear her gasp in surprise as she's dragged over my legs and into Strife's arms and I grin in anticipation. I already miss the caress of her dress on my cock, but I'll sacrifice that to see this.

Strife apparently doesn't share my fondness for her clothing choice. He rips the dress from her, tearing it down the front in an abrupt, one-handed movement that somehow lacks any violence. Psyche laughs in response, a sound that's as startled as it is breathy with eagerness. He smirks at her, but oddly enough he's careful when he pulls the remnants of the garment from her, ripping away the sleeves slowly, letting the pieces of fabric flutter down around her knees, like stripes of pale cream against the whiteness of the sheets beneath us.

She's an incredible sight like this, kneeling here naked before us. The light flush doesn't end on her face; it travels down to her breasts, darkening her nipples, which are already standing in hard, brown peaks. It moves down her stomach, fading out just before reaching the brown curls between her thighs. Her legs are trembling; it's not a result of any strain. I recognize it, the shallow way she's breathing too; this is just plain arousal. I can understand that with the way Strife is looking at her. His gaze his moving slowly over her body, a look of something approaching awe on his face and I know the feeling. It can be almost intimidating, the sheer force of her beauty; sometimes even I don't know where to start, whether to kiss her or touch her or just simply look at her. Psyche solves the problem for Strife. Taking hold of his hand, she kisses his palm, then places it on her chest, just below her neck.

For a few seconds Strife doesn't move, he just looks at his hand where it rests on her. Then he splays his fingers wide, covering as much of her skin as he can one-handed.

"Soft as sin." It's a whisper in a voice far deeper than his normal tones. He leans forward and kisses her, and all hesitation is gone, gentleness fleeing with it.

He's devouring her mouth in an instant, lips crushed against hers, tongue pushing its way inside. He hooks an arm around her waist to hold her there, to keep her tight against him. She doesn't try to push away, to slow this down in any manner. Instead her hands slide up his arms, stopping at his shoulders where she suddenly digs her nails in, grinding her hips against his at the same time.

My groan echoes Strife's. I realize almost too late that my hands are on my thighs, twitching with the need to touch myself. I still them through will power that's starting to become tattered. Raising a knee, I wrap my arms around it, giving myself something to grasp onto because as easy and wonderful as it would be to simply bring myself off, I want to enjoy this and frustration makes it that much sweeter.

Strife's hands slide down, gripping Psyche's legs, and suddenly he yanks upward, pulling her legs around his waist and causing her to fall back on the bed. She maintains her grip on his shoulders though and he goes down with her, landing on her, hard. She gasps at the impact but he doesn't pause, moving his mouth down and latching onto her throat. Her head is close to my hip, hair falling over my right wing and the strands caress my feathers, like small fingers sliding through them.

I think he's gonna take her then, just mount her and push his way in and I can tell from the bright, wild look in Psyche's eyes that she thinks the same and it excites her. But Strife has his own ideas and he moves down from her throat, leaving a dark bruise behind. He slides down, his entire body moving against hers and I can see her shivering at the friction. His mouth never lifts from her skin and he leaves behind a shiny trail of saliva as he moves to her breast.

"Oh, your mouth--" Psyche nearly moans the words, and they end on a broken gasp as he slides the tip of his tongue around her nipple. He doesn't just suck at it, instead he licks around the hardened peak, wetting the entire area, everything but the tip.

He's done this to me before and I know what's coming. It feels so gentle, that light licking, so good with the air against the wetness of your skin -- until he bites. You aren't expecting it, those sharp teeth clamping down on your nipple, tugging, and Psyche cries out, but just like me it's not entirely about the pain. She arches up against him and I already have a hand at my own chest, pinching a nipple to get just the ghost of the sensation I know she's experiencing. The sharp, sudden pain that somehow transmutes itself into pleasure the longer it goes on.

He gives another hard tug, drawing a second, soft cry from Psyche, and then lets go. There's no blood but she'll have marks there. She's looking at him with wide eyes, so obviously shocked and yet still wanting more of it. Strife doesn't give it to her, at least not like that. He ignores her other nipple, sliding down, his body against hers, and presses his lips to the underside of her breast. She gasps and I know he's biting.

The ache in my cock is growing and I force my hand away from my nipple. Another few tugs and I'd be too close to back off. Psyche's gaze catches mine briefly and I see it in her expression too, the mix of pain and pleasure is pushing her to the edge faster than normal. And I realize that this is the first time anyone has ever been this rough with her. Strife is leaving marks as he slowly moves down her, bruises slick with moisture, and the way his hands are gripping her thighs will undoubtedly leave impressions too. I've never done that to Psyche and I've never seen any evidence that her other lovers have either; she's so incredibly beautiful that damaging that beauty seemed inconceivable. But she loves this. This harsh handling, the biting, the way Strife simply shoves her legs open as he moves lower; there's no finesse here, no gentleness, and she's grinning, a semi-dazed look that speaks of shock and delight at this treatment.

She can't hang onto him when he continues moving downward, so she grips the sheets with one hand and my thigh with her other. Her nails dig into me and I hiss at the sensation that shoots straight to my cock. I don't touch her though. I wanna lean down and kiss her, lick away the taste of Strife from her lips and neck, but I won't distract her from this. It's an entirely new experience for her, being the focus of someone like Strife, and to take her attention from that would wrong both of them.

Psyche gasps, a short, sharp sound; her body stiffens and a visible shudder runs through her. I tear my gaze from her face and see that Strife has his face between her legs now. Wet, nearly obscene sounds and her fingers dig hard into my thigh; I wonder if he's still using his teeth. His hands are holding her thighs apart, thighs that are trembling, or is that his hands? I can't see what he's doing, if he's sucking on her clit or if his tongue is buried inside of her; his hair, flat from hours of lying on it, hangs down, obscuring the view. I wanna push the soft, black curtain out of the way but this isn't meant for me, it's between them and neither would appreciate the interruption. I'm left simply listening, eyes flickering from Strife's bowed head to Psyche's face and the growing, glazed look there as she loses herself in this.

The flush along her body is darkening, her breaths becoming more and more shallow. Strife moves, never lifting his head but releasing one of her thighs and sliding his hand higher, alongside his face. I can't see what he does but Psyche nearly screams. She lets go of me, both of her hands reaching down to grip Strife's head, tangle in his hair.

"Don't stop that!" she gasps out. "Don't sto--!" The words end on a sharp cry as she arches into his mouth and hand. Her eyes snap shut and she's coming, I can see it in the tensing of her muscles, the continuous shudders moving through her, my cock throbbing in response. She's still trembling, not quite down from it yet when Strife abruptly sits up.

He licks his lips but that does nothing to remove the sticky moisture glistening on his cheeks and chin. I tighten my grip on my knee, refusing to give into the urge to lean in and clean him with my tongue. I know how sweet Psyche tastes and mixing it with Strife's sharp flavor would be utterly delicious.

There's almost nothing left of Strife's pale blue irises as he looks down at her, they're nearly eclipsed by black pupil and I know that look. He's close. His cock is nearly as purple as mine, and leaking, and I wish I could see Psyche swallow him, but that'll have to wait.

Strife pulls her legs up over his arms and pushes forward, shoving in hard. Psyche draws in a sharp breath and I echo her because now I can see clearly. Nothing obscures my vision as he sinks into her, deep, and she stretches around him. The sound of her small, panting cries is so incredibly hot. He's not as big as me but he's not nearly as gentle either. His grip on her is tight, the skin of her thighs white around his fingers as he pulls back and thrusts in again. He's not treating her any more delicately than he would me, and I can see that the fierceness of this is as much of a pleasure as a shock to her, hints of pain and pleasure dancing across her expressive face as he slams into her.

The slap of flesh against flesh is a deliciously familiar sound as he moves faster. The soft gasp he makes is almost lost in Psyche's increasingly loud cries, but I'm so attuned to listening to him, for the rare, beautiful sounds he makes when he's close, that I immediately catch it.  His jaw is clenching, eyes flashing with an intensity that leaves me nearly breathless, and he pulls her harder against him.

He's moving so fast now, thrusting hard enough to shake her body, to rock the bed beneath us. He moves a hand from her hip, sliding it down between them, and timing it with a particularly deep thrust, flicks her clit with his thumb. Psyche doesn't make a sound; she doesn't seem to have the breath to do so. Her mouth is open but nothing comes out as she stiffens against him. Her body jerks, but that might simply be a reaction to the way Strife is riding her, pounding into her again and again until he abruptly stops, just holding himself inside her, and I hear him groan, a low, deep sound leaves me panting with frustrated lust.

As Psyche goes gradually limp, she pulls her hands from the sheets where she'd grabbed them, twisted them, and I see holes there, ragged tears. Strife is breathing hard, sharp almost-gasps, but he doesn't collapse on top of her. He leans down, brushes damp strands of hair from her face, and kisses her. It lasts for long, drawn-out moments, his tongue sliding into her mouth briefly before he pulls away, hand touching her face once more, and drops down onto the bed beside her.

The soft lighting in the room makes their bodies seem to glisten. Sweat drips from both of them and I wanna catch it with my tongue, taste both of them. When was the last time I was this hard? Aching this much? I've never before seen Psyche with a lover, or Strife, and I've been depriving myself. I could use my hand now, neither of them would mind, or would even notice, but it's not what I want. After seeing this, I want them.

But Strife has to be tired; besides, three to four times a night is usually his limit. As a god he can get hard any time he wants but he's always confined himself to something resembling mortal limitations and he's never offered an explanation. Psyche looks even more exhausted and I don't wanna just use her while she lies there, I wouldn't do that to her even if she's said before that it's all right with her.

Then Strife turns his head and looks at me. That intensity hasn't faded much and now he's directing it at me. "Cupid, do me," he says, and I think that's an order.

I don't hesitate; I'm too hard to have any thoughts but getting inside of him. I'm behind him in less than a second, wings outstretched for balance as I pull his hips up. I slide into him, no preparation, but I don't think he needs it. He's a little slick from earlier and relaxed from his recent orgasm, but still so very tight. I groan in appreciation as I thrust into him, no skill involved, just a singular need to find release. He pushes back against me in that perfect way, but I know he's not hard and this probably isn't even for my benefit. A glance at his face confirms that, he's watching Psyche, and when I look at her I find her watching us with rapt fascination. He wants her to see this, why, I don't know, but I wish I could give her a better show. As it is this is gonna be fast.

I find myself watching her though, watching them, despite the growing heaviness in my balls, the ache in my cock. Psyche's gaze doesn't stay on Strife's face, it moves down to where I'm thrusting into him. I deliberately change my grip, moving my arm so she can see better, see me take him.

When I come I can't keep my eyes open so I don't know what she sees, I don't know anything but the pleasure that borders on agony slamming into me, shoving me as deep inside Strife as I can get, holding me there until it drains away and I can't hold myself up anymore.

I drop down between them, my wings folding automatically beneath me, absorbing some of the impact. It's not planned. Even if I don't understand Strife's interest in Psyche -- and I'm suspecting it goes beyond the physical -- I think I do trust him with her so I don't need to be a buffer between them, it just happens that I fall in that direction.

Their breathing is harsh to my ears, gasps and panting, but I'm no better and maybe it's my own breath that I hear. I manage to find the energy to bring my hands up, to touch them, my left hand sliding into Psyche's hair, my right falling on Strife's shoulder.

Strife pulls away, sitting up at the same time. He seems to almost literally shake off the visible exhaustion, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. I get it; he's leaving now. This is fairly normal for him, he's already gotten a bit of sleep and he never does that twice in one evening with me.

"You're going?" Psyche asks.

Freezing in place, Strife looks down at her expressionlessly. "Yeah."

I let go of her hair as Psyche sits up, letting my hand slide down her back. She doesn't quite sit up all the way, instead she turns onto her side, angling herself so she's using me to prop herself up. "Why?" she asks as she braces her forearm on my chest.

Strife just...blinks. He's never had to explain himself before, not with me anyway. I just let him go because I assume he has work to do.

"You don't have to go." Psyche's voice is gentle, but the way she digs her elbow into my chest isn't.

"Of course you don't," I quickly add, understanding what she wants if not why.

Strife looks at me, really looks, and I'm not sure what I see there. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it. He nods, once, but he doesn't lie back down. Instead he looks away, from both of us. I still can't read his expression.

"I want you to stay," Psyche says, her voice even softer now.

Strife closes his eyes. "I...got things to do." For just the briefest of seconds I think I see something there, something that hurts to look at, and Psyche doesn't have to prod me this time.

"No, stay." I want him here, sleeping beside me, us. I want to see that relaxed, contented look on his face again; I want him to feel safe.

Instead he opens his eyes and that carefully blank mask is back in place. He glances at us both, eyes sliding from Psyche to me, and then he's gone, just like that. One moment he's there and the next he's simply not and the room seems much emptier.

Psyche lets out a long sigh, a sound of disappointment and frustration. She sits up completely now and when she looks down at me she's wearing that expression that tells me I've done something wrong. It's just a slight furrowing of her brow, nothing dramatic, and I know she won't yell or make me feel like an idiot whatever it is, but as usual, until she points it out I just won't have a clue.

"You've never asked him, have you?"

"What?" I'm frowning now.

She sighs again and places her hand on my arm. "To stay, Cupid. You've never asked him, or told him it was okay?"

"Um, no. I mean, I don't need to. He just shows up whenever he wants; he knows it's okay."

"Does he?"

I make myself think about that. She wouldn't be bringing this up unless she thought there was something I needed to know. I've never told Strife he's welcome here, but I've never told him he's not either. I'm sure he knows I'm happy to see him when he shows up; I smile at him, don't I? I've always tried to let him know how I feel when I touch him too.

"Have you talked to him at all?" There's a hint of disbelief in Psyche's voice and I can't help but get a little defensive.

"I've tried! Well, okay, once, but he got upset and left. It's just...I think he knows how I feel already."

"What is that, exactly?" She's stroking my arm now, a slow back and forth motion that's soothing rather than arousing.

"I--" I stop because I don't know what to say. Is he my favorite cousin? Yes. Do I look forward to seeing him? Yes. Does he scare me? Hera's tits, yes! I'm never sure what exactly I feel for him. He can be so laid back one minute and utterly intense the next. I love what we do together even when it turns violent...but I like just being with him too. I like watching him sleep, studying him, and yeah, I guess I do wish I could talk to him.

"I think I love him," I admit, and I sound as tired as I feel. It's no longer just a physical weariness either; suddenly it feels bone-deep.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Her other hand comes up to touch my cheek and I lean into the caress.

"No." I smile slightly, realizing that it feels good to say it. "I love Strife. And I think it's because of what he is, not in spite of it. It's...everything about him." And it is, even the parts that scare me.

Psyche is smiling at me now. Her fingers graze over my lips and I capture her hand, pressing an almost-chaste kiss to her fingertips.

"Do you like him?" I ask, grinning because I already know the answer.

"You know I do." She closes her eyes momentarily, a pleasant shiver working through her body. "What he does to me...." She opens her eyes again and her smile grows. "I want to know him like you do."

A flash of black. The breath is knocked out of me as Psyche falls onto me, her own cry cut off by the mouth crushed against hers. Black leather and metal; Strife. He's on her, on us both, kissing her with a frenzied passion that I've never seen from him before. I'm too startled to move. And then he's pulling away, focusing on me, and when he kisses me it's just as violent.

His mouth hard on mine, demanding, body still draped over us, keeping Psyche pinned against me, and just when I think I'm gonna taste my own blood, he stops.

I'm gasping for air, dazed with shock and suddenly, painfully hard again. I can hear Psyche's harsh gasps just below mine and she's not trying to move, to push herself off of me, she's just watching Strife. I don't make a move either; it's almost an instinctive reaction, baring our throats, so to speak, because that wide smirk he's wearing is nothing if not predatory, and there's not a shred of sanity to be found in that bright gaze.

He licks his lips, a long, slow movement that I can't help but respond to, groaning softly. Psyche isn't immune either; her nipples are hard peaks and her cheeks are flushed beautifully. Strife's gaze slides over her, lust and desire so obvious in his eyes, but then his gaze moves to me, focusing on my face, and it changes. Becoming...something more. His smirk fades.

"Now I gotta go," Strife says quietly. He looks at me for a moment more, and then vanishes in a cascade of blue sparkles.

For a while neither Psyche nor I move or speak. We're both still aroused but we don't do anything about it; we just lie there, her still draped back over me. It's Psyche who moves first, some long time later, her hand finding mine, fingers entwining. She turns her head, just enough to look at me, and smiles. She doesn't have to say it. I may not always pick up on the things she wants me to, but I understand this perfectly.

I'll never hear some big declaration of love from Strife. There won't be flowers or gifts or heartfelt poetry or anything at all like that because I honestly don't think Strife is capable of love the way we define it. Possession is what he knows. The way he looks at Psyche tells me he covets her, wants to possess her, but the way he looked at me says he already owns me, and he's not wrong. It's the way he loves, and I have that from him, I think I even need it.

I squeeze Psyche's hand and return her smile, letting her know that I do understand. Bringing her hand up to my face, I rub my cheek against the back of it and hear her sigh in contentment. Looking at Psyche is like looking at love, but only facets of it, soft and sweet. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me? Or at Strife? I see his hard, brittle edges, like glittering broken glass you step carefully around, always running the risk of being cut. But Psyche stepped where I wouldn't and the lovely smile she's giving me shows no signs of regret.

If she doesn't bleed, maybe I won't either.
 
 
Fin