The Fates (Book II)

8.2 - Striking Golde

Let's check in on #Axria in Athens ;)

P.S. Fellow Ackleholics, please note Jensen in the PG-13 gif that has been posted with this scene (Jensen Ackles -> Acksel -> Axel!) Yummy 8)

______________

Scene 2: Striking Golde

A.D. 2015

Waking up with Axel was always the best and the worst both at once. The best, because it felt so freaking right. The worst, because that feeling meant that everything was wrong.

She ignored this for a moment as she kept her eyes closed tight, though woken, just to focus on the smooth swell of his chest, to which her cheek was pressed, the only place her weary head had ever known true rest. To shut out all the world, to soak in just how good he smelled, and felt, how completely his heartbeat made her forget everything else. The best.

The worst. Atria forced her eyes open so as not to get lost. Her first sight was the clock at their bedside. She blinked at the bright digits, counting about... thirty-six hours since they'd started this sex marathon, after her heated arrival at his hotel room the other night.

Thirty-six. A day and a half. May as well have been a minute and a half; it always went so fast, as if time collapsed with each second that passed. Nothing that was so good and bad at once was meant to last.

A.D. 2013

Damn. If only every man's chest felt this awesome to wake up against. Then again, that would be very bad, because then she would miss the feeling after every one-night stand she had. Not that she was going to miss this feeling, Atria inwardly denied as she remained just where she lay, awake and yet not opening her eyes. Not one bit. No, not as long as she just let herself stay here and bask in it for one more minute...

"How long you been awake, babe?"

Agh! Shıt! Also - 'babe'?! She wished he had just stuck with 'bitch'. She had demanded that he call her that in bed, since that was always how she liked it - that and other similar words, or else 'Mistress' of course when the roles were reversed - but the point was that she had rules, very clear rules, against anything cuddly or cutesy in bed. And they were still in bed now, damn it. So he really should have listened.

"Hm?" Atria hummed, making a show of fluttering her long lashes, as if with her first waking blink. "What? You just woke me up."

His chest thrummed with a soft little chuckle. "Liar."

"Shut your facehole," she snapped, shifting to look up at him, then dealt his cheek a sharp, playful slap, partly because she had almost forgotten just how fυcking perfect that face of his was. If she couldn't kiss it, then she obviously had to slap it instead. And she sure as hell could never kiss this man again or else she knew she would be dead.

"Heh. 'Facehole'," he echoed with another chuckle. "That's cute."

She rolled her eyes, rolling over and slightly away from him at the same time. Unable to handle the exquisitely excruciating closeness. "Ugh. 'Cute' my ass."

His hand started wandering down toward said ass. "That's cute, too..."

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?" Atria grumbled, inching away from his touch, even though she'd never wanted anything so much. "And hey, don't you have to be at work or something? Figure you must have some high-powered job to pay for..." she waved her hand around the room in which she'd spent most of this weekend since first meeting him, only now taking in the sleek, streamlined furniture, which was all no doubt imported from abroad, the state-of-the-art finishes and fixtures, the penthouse views that stretched across New York and probably across the world, "...for all of this. Unless you were just born into it."