scorpioides | ( two )

[Most likely has been knocked out by another session with his faithful alcohol again. He'll feel the other presence in his bed once he's slowly pulled back to reality; for now he's too tired to see that isn't his wife. Or an affair.]

[ Ogmios is used to sharing his bed with all sorts of individuals - men, women, mortals, gods, all sorts, but those followed by the scent of alcohol have never been his favourites, nor warmly welcomed. Ogmois stirs, sensitive and faintly bothered by the man next to him. Unimpressed, he props himself up on his elbows, gaze dull and disinterested, wishing rather to go back to a more comfortable sleep, though somewhat unsure as to what to do with this strange man by his side. ]

[Ogmios stirs and Diniz feels a slight sickness. It bothers him enough to not let him try to fall asleep again, but he is still much too exhausted and dizzy to get up. His back is turned to the god, still unaware, eyes shut and voice muffled.]

What time is it.

Time for you to tell me what exactly we are doing here, I believe.

[ Today is a day for sounding awfully bored with life. ]

[Well, the voice gets a reaction. Even if it is the smallest of efforts to turn his head to look over his shoulder.

There's a frown. Diniz is too tired and his head too sensitive.]

Who the fuck are you?

I believe I asked you a question first.

[ Ogmios has located his jacket, on the floor by the bed - he is mostly full clothed, which is a shame; the man seems to him fairly handsome, regardless of his sorry little state. In his pocket he fishes out his cigarettes and a lighter, looking for the first time faintly pleased with something. ]

[He's about to open his mouth for an easy retort with the claim that Ogmios is the invader of his room, then asking where his wife is (not that that information is particularly urgent) but it eventually becomes clear that he doesn't recognize the ceiling or any of the furniture as his own.

(He'd really just rather go back to sleep and ignore it all until he got saturated with his own lethargy.)

Ogmios' question still goes unanswered. Diniz tries to sit up and slide out of bed, heel of his hand pressed against his temple. There is a part of him that is still not fully awake, still trying to pull at enough energy and ignore the sickness to make him function properly.]

Where am I.

I haven't the slightest clue, but at least we have some common ground there.

[ After a moment of thought, Ogmios deposits the lighter on a small table by the bed, and rummages around his jacket once again, this time feeling around the inside breast pocket, until he finds his prize; a book of matches. He takes a lot more pleasure in lighting his cigarettes by more traditional means. ]

[He doesn't pay mind to the display, moves to the nearest mirror with his back to the window. There is at least some comfort to be drawn from the curtains being closed...

He is wearing the same clothes he had on the previous night -- most likely. They're a mess. His jacket, tie and socks are missing. After another moment fighting off the aftereffects of his disorientation, Diniz turns his head to Ogmios and shows him his hand.]

I need your phone.

Do you now?

[ Ogmios is just being difficult for the sake of it now, because he can and because he really isn't that interested in helping the man out. He takes a few experimental puffs on his cigarette - which has a deep, woody sort of scent, not wildly similar to your day to day smokes - before a faint smile of satisfaction spreads across his face, a light indulgence fresh in his eyes. ]

[What Eros loves about Ogmios is really quite simple; the Celtic god isn't so repressed that he can't enjoy what the Greek god of love and his kind do day-to-day.

It falls to Eros, his bow and quiver of arrows to keep those adoring eyes between mortals and their kind a thing of the present and future, and not only the past. It's why, when the winged god finds himself without the affection of his beloved brother or minders, the Celt is always part of that special group of deities that form the upper levels of his list of potential partners for the evening. The Judeo-Christian house are still refusing to loosen up and Eros, never overly patient when it comes to his need to express himself in the best way he knows how, has picked an entirely different pantheon to play with, this time.

He is on silent wings when he arrives, feet just as quiet when he lets himself into the god's bedroom, the hint of a growing smile just visible over the dusty darkness that has smothered the walls between the slices of orange from the street lights outside. He sits himself down on the side of the bed and places a gentle palm over the shin he can feel lying still under the covers, squeeze slow but demanding and will bent on getting an invitation before he goes further.]

[ It's a familiar touch, a gentle request for permission that Ogmios recognises. He stirs, a little hazy from sleep, though a smile has already spread across his face; he always has a time for Eros, no matter what time of the night it is. In the darkness, he can make out Eros' shape on the other side of the bed, and there's a luxuriant pause before he speaks, his voice a low rumble, still rough from his slumber. ]

Ever the spontaneous one, aren't you? [ He shifts a little, turning onto his side, his head propped up by the palm of his hand as his eyes adjust to the lack of light. ] Never a warning, no front doors, not even a text message!

[ It's clear, however, from the slow way in which Ogmios lets the words roll off his tongue, that he isn't complaining, not for a moment. ]

Always a nice surprise?

[He lifts his hand only to let Ogmios turn onto his side, palm against the side of his thigh when he lowers it again. There's nothing possessive about it; the Greek god doesn't know how to be when he's always been a poster child for sharing love wherever possible.

His fingertips lightly squeeze at the other deity's leg in affectionate but silent reassurance that he's come here because he wants to spend time with Ogmios, ulterior motives forever absent. With Eros, what you see is what you get.]

I was thinking about you so I thought I'd come see you.

Of course.

[ There is something strangely relaxing about Eros' presence; the ease of his character is something that Ogmios can readily appreciate, and a very distinct honesty in everything that he does that calms Ogmios. He can without doubt say that there has never been an occasion where he has felt anything but entirely comfortable and even rather happy in Eros' company. Ogmios is the sort of individual, the sort of god, that hates to admit to any kind of struggle, whether it's weariness with his newspaper (a more than taxing occupation, he has discovered, though incredibly rewarding) or simply feeling a little old and tired, but at least with Eros he feels entirely less self-conscious if it starts to show.

Slowly, Ogmios sits up, leaning forward to shift himself a little closer into Eros' personal space, exhaling quietly, ridding himself of the last remnants of his sleep. ]

How nice to know I'm in your thoughts. [ And, quite honestly: ] You happen to have crossed mine recently, as well.

I did?

[The smile that tugs at the corners of the Greek god's lips is mostly hidden, though if Ogmios is listening close enough he should be able to hear it. As the Celtic god sits closer, Eros finds himself incapable of keeping his hands under control, a habit he's never been encouraged to curb. He's naturally curious, tactile and affectionate - why would anybody tell him to stop when he does what he does so well?

His free hand, the one not already making little secret of enjoying the feel of a firm, warm leg beneath his fingertips, slides up the side of the other god's neck, thumb drags up and over the tendon leading to just under his ear. He knows no better way of saying hello to someone he loves quite as much as he loves Ogmios.]

What were you thinking about?

[ Ogmios leans into the touch below his ear with a low hum of appreciation, the skin of his thigh tingling beneath Eros' touch, even though hand and leg are separated by a layer of fabric. He is momentarily distracted, like a pleased cat, before he opens his eyes once again to look over the other god's face in the dark, vision finally adjusting better to the light (or lack of it). He smiles, in a habitually broad manner, as if privy to a secret no one else knows, even though his thoughts are rarely kept secret for very long. ]

About your ever wandering hands. About your effortless, soothing company, [ he pauses just for a moment, turning and shifting his head to press a light kiss to Eros' wrist ] and how I haven't had the chance to enjoy that company for a while. [ There's nothing even faintly accusatory in his tone; it's just a statement of fact, that they hadn't seen each other in a while. ] Hence the pleasant surprise.

I wouldn't want to disappoint you seeing as you love my company so much!

[The brief flash of a toothy grin is in response to those lips against his wrist, eyelids fluttering shut for the barest of moments of enjoyment before he's moving again. Half of the reason there's never a dull moment with Eros is that he finds it verging on impossible to stay still, even for a second. He constantly needs to be moving and active, especially in bed, and Ogmios' greeting has given him all the permission he thinks he needs to make the most of this particular liaison.]

I've brought you a present too. [His lips gentle graze the curve of Ogmios' ear from the position he's taken up, both knees planted into the bed either side of the other god's hips and hands wrapped gently around his face. Without warning and in a complete abuse of his own powers, rose petals start raining down from the ceiling, Eros' smile amused and mouth finally pressing a line down towards Ogmios' collarbone.]

( two )

ogmios | celtic | universalis

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