#voltage smangff

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

AFK: A Spark Reignited

This makes more sense, in the three fic plot, if you’ve read Part One first.

Part One - A Spark of Hope < HERE

Finally, Astraeus reappears, and I get to my feet.

Nerves raw.

Trembling in anticipation.

Eyes searching.

“Well?” I prompt.

My part in our plan was done with an hour ago.

It was inelegant at best, but thankfully, relatively bloodless. HERA HQ, and the elevator leading to Olympus was secure. We - Alex, Hydra, May, and Astraeus - with the help of the allies Hades had finally secured from the top tier gods, Aphrodite at the forefront, had effectively triumphed in our coup on Earth.

Our intelligence was on point – I credit Selene and Helios for that, as much for their combat support.

But Olympus itself is another matter entirely, and I cannot stop pacing – even now with Astraeus here, Hades is not with him.

Hades is not with him, and there is little left in me to keep the calm.

“Astraeus?” I press, reaching out fingers that have taken hold of his vest.

I want to shake the silence out of him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to side with me, blossom?” he asks, teasing, smirking. “Seeing you like this, the way you charged into battle, has made me fall in love with you even more.”

“That’s enough.”

Hades’ voice rings low.

It tumbles from the sky, crashing through the roof, through the ceiling. The sound alone pries my fingers away from leather, but I cannot look beyond the titan before me, because what if, in my hope, I have imagined Hades’ return?

“King of Olympus, is it?” Astraeus exhales, lazily turning his head.

“Let’s go with administrator,” Hades asserts.

Gaze heavy, draining the remnant strength in my muscles.

And I fall.

But am caught, and lowered into a lap I thought I’d lost forever; am encircled by indomitable arms so gentle all thought of them ever bringing violence flees.

And I’d thought him an enemy, been laid so low, bereft, it had felt a place from which there was no escape.

Is it in me to forgive the ruse?

The parting of my lips meets his breath, and mingles where he pauses there – staring, uncertain, waiting.

“I’ll just…” Astraeus says somewhere on the periphery of my awareness, and is then gone.

“Is it really over?” I whisper.

My hands lie flat against his chest. The material of his shirt is grubby and torn at one collar, speaking of the dangers he faced in his own fight.

Sadly, he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not,” he admits, and it pains him to say it.

He wants nothing more than to tell me we can be happy, live a peaceful, drama-free life – I believe that.

“It will take time,” he continues, and I feel the tentative slide of his hands up my spine, stilling briefly every time I breathe - like he’s taken it as a sign he should stop. “Even those who stood with us are wary of the titans, even I, am wary; this is, after all, my second revolution.”

Of course, Cronus was deposed by his own children.

“It makes sense that the betrayers should also fear betrayal,” he adds, and casts his eyes downwards.

Because he still feels the weight of my scorn for his decision to act as if he truly was going to force me into becoming Hera.

“I have proven it possible to tear down even Zeus, who we simply accepted as our leader for so long.”

If I choose to hold onto the sourness of that experience… if I decide this man, the traitor god, is irredeemable, then I should get up now and walk away while I can.

“I don’t,” I breathe, finally meeting his eyes, eyes that slay me every single time, “care.”

He looks confused, I’m ambiguous, and panic resurfaces in those powerful meres. So I placate it, I relieve it, I press my lips to his and tell him with that gesture I am willing to stay with him through the tumult.

For just a moment the tension in his body subsides and he is just a man painted by the reprieve I’ve offered.

“If you ever break my heart like that again,” I state, so quietly in the small space between the gentle press of our bodies, “it’ll kill me, I’m sure of it.”

“I am so, sorry,” he frowns, contrition so deep I can feel it in the ever present potency of his aura.

His hands fall away.

“Show me how sorry you are,” I instruct, inhaling to fill my lungs with the fact I missed him so much, I’ve convinced myself all memory of us becoming one is out of reach.

“Are you… sure?”

Such vulnerability, such uncertainty seems so incongruous and yet – I’ve always known, this  is the side he somehow became comfortable showing me.

“Kiss me, Hades,” I instruct, skimming my hands up his pecs, over broad shoulders, before knitting my fingers at the base of his neck. “Make me remember, how I used to feel.”

He asks no more questions, and though I see hunger overtake the relief in his eyes, the contact of his lips against mine is controlled and restrained. It’s nostalgic, drawing me away from all the hurt of recent weeks to the dawn of our relationship – so careful not to break me, so attentive to everything.

The Hades I have missed so much.

My fingers inch though the short hairs at his nape, and even that small gesture directs him away from caution.

I don’t want caution now.

I want raw.

So I dig into his scalp with my fingernails and pull his head to mine.

There are few, if any places between us we’ve not yet explored, but somehow the questing appetite of my tongue feels new. Words yet unspoken resting upon them are swept away by increasing fervour, and I gladly welcome the clutch of his hands at my thighs that effortlessly repositions me in a straddle.

“Yes,” I hiss, as those palms spread out over my hips and rock me against his firming lap.

The whole world vanishes, leaving just the two of us - the needy roam of hands beneath fabric that then peels it away, the drag of fingertips across skin, and the persistent sound of laboured breathing.

“I really thought, I would never touch you again,” he says suddenly, smoothing errant strands of hair away from my face and back over my ears. “That you would never touch me.”

“I want you to touch me so deeply I can’t tell we’re two people,” I tell him frankly, rising to my knees, sliding my firm grip up and down the impressive length of his cock.

The shudder that tremors through his body further stokes my passion – I, still a mortal regardless of Hera’s artifact, can make a god, tremble. But I drag out the moment as he dips his head and pinches a nipple between his teeth; and he knows just how hard to bite down if he wants to hear me moan, just how hard he can before my body twists in tormented desire for far more than that.

“Please,” he implores against the salty sheen of my skin, and I lift his chin with my free hand.

How can I not love this mighty creature who says please?

“I love you,” I declare tenderly.

The scars may take some time to fade, but I cannot lie; my heart belongs to the God of the Underworld.

“Not even Aphrodite has a word for how I feel about you,” he responds breathily, seeking my lips and I will not deny him that.

He groans into my mouth as I sink myself down onto him, parting the inviting drench of my folds, stretching the warm swallow of my inner reaches, until I can take him in no more. And my name drifts from where he’s been holding it tightly within - but soon, all words devolve to desperation and anticipation.

Our bodies meet again and again, rhythm interrupted occasionally by gasp and spasm as we pull each other toward a release by far more substantial than mere pleasure of flesh.

We reaffirm our trust in one another as we push boundaries. How close to the edge can I push him before falling still? How long can I hold him still before I’m overpowered, pushed back, pushed down, pushed to my very limit?

And over.

“Nngh… god… damnit!” I cry out, and as every nerve in my body sings, I cannot fathom the ridiculousness of that exclamation.

I never want him to stop, but the fire is so intense it borders on pain - the kind that commands the flesh to struggle and squirm, even beneath the delightful heaviness of Hades’ taut muscles and his determined penetration.

And I know I’m crying, and it’s ugly, but I cling, and clench, and buck, until the whole room shudders with the roar of his climax and the echo of it expanding through his aura.

He fills me, and I am okay with that, and sprawled on the floor with my legs still wrapped around him, we remain to catch our breaths.

His thumbs graze my cheeks made moist by both exertion, and an emotional easement we both needed.

Smiling, I kiss him again, a slow, deep sigh into his mouth that ends with his lower lip sucked into mine.

“Is it all right to keep Olympus waiting?” I question finally, knowing the truth of the answer but asking it anyway.

“Not really,” he exhales, laying light kisses against my eyelids before grinning confidently. “But it will wait.”   

@mai-dreaming @kiniloves @reinasescape @smutmylifeup @hifftn

#voltage inc #voltage smut #voltage smuff #voltage smangff #afk #astoria fate's kiss #Hades