multiversallogs | Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

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Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

Who: Apollo and Cassandra
What: The inevitable awkward conversation following a drunken encounter
Where: The Valhalla Inn
When: The night after this
Notes: None
Warnings: Sexual tension and snippy, blunt honesty

The Valhalla Inn was starting to get claustrophobic. Cassandra felt trapped. It was ridiculous, of course. She wasn't a prisoner as she had been on the caravan, as she had been in Willaknapp. Nor was she, as far as she knew, under the sway of the natives of Baedal, as she had been in Rowan. Still, she was anxious to get out. The thought of having a place of her own was appealing, but Cassandra knew herself well enough to know that if she couldn't find someone to share a flat with, she would likely go off the deep end again. When she was alone all the time, she withdrew. She lived up to certain expectations. No, it was definitely better for her to find an anchor, someone she could trust to keep her sane.

For now, however, the only way to relieve the claustrophobia was to keep the door to her room propped open.

Cassandra lay on her stomach, across the foot of her bed, lazily scanning her CiD, examining various network posts. She was finally beginning to get a sense of some of these people, but so far, Ianto--and by default, Jack--were the only ones she felt comfortable telling about her visions. With the monster attacks so fresh in her mind, she felt no end to the frustration about the fact that her dire warnings had not yielded any kind of results. Then again, what could she do? Certainly, she couldn't tell the militia or these Hellsing people. Neither party had demonstrated much to give her any kind of faith. Of course, it would be easier to just try to live a normal life and pretend the visions didn't happen.

But that would be a lie.

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She nodded, neither breaking his wrist nor biting off his ear. Instead, she pursed her lips, looking at Apollo without venom. Which was definitely a change. A reversion, perhaps. To that fourteen year old girl who he had first encountered. Only much wiser, she decided. Not all knowing, by any means, but a little wiser.

"I suppose," she said softly, "that doesn't really count as defining much of anything."

It was a slight disappointment. She liked definitions. Still...

"I like to think there will be time."

Humans, Apollo thought. They always believed that there would be time.

They seldom did.

"Am I allowed to kiss you?" he asked.

Cassandra laughed. It was cruel. In fact, it was damn near the closest Cassandra had come to a genuine laugh in a good, long while. "If we were supposed to ask permission for that, I should apologize for taking liberties earlier." Lightly, she brushed her fingertips against his cheek, where she had kissed him before.

She was reminded, rather suddenly, of Cris. Of all people. He had once asked for permission to kiss her. She had toyed with him a bit more than she ever knew she was capable of toying with anyone. A riddle. Yes, she had made him answer a riddle before giving her a kiss.

Somehow, that seemed like an absurd formality with Apollo.

She nodded.

He leaned in and kissed her, just as promised, and his free arm slid around her waist to draw her close. His palm slowly went up her spine until her found some hair and there, his fingers tangled up.

He groaned against her mouth.

"Never cut your hair," he demanded against her lips.

She kissed him back, although she had to break the kiss when she started laughing at his request. "Cut my hair?" she repeated, her lips quirking upwards. "Do you not know?"

Cassandra pulled back, resting her palms on his chest. She looked up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. It was a bit unsettling on her, given how rarely she smiled. Yet, it was not entirely unpleasant.

"When we first met...the day after, if I remember it properly, Andromache was brought to the temple of Artemis to dedicate her hair before her wedding." She smiled slightly. "Paris stole the lock of hair, so I cut one of my own and dedicated it on the altar." Come to think of it, Cassandra had never mentioned this to anyone before, had she? Not even Othryoneus. "I dedicated it to you."

"So your hair is mine?" he asked, and an overly lecherous look spread over his face--his eyes twinkling as he gave her a once over.

"Any other body parts that you've dedicated to me that I should be aware of?"

Cassandra shoved his shoulder lightly. "I was in love with you, I was pretending that it was my wedding, not Andromache's wedding." And honestly, it was amazing to think that she had ever been so young. But everyone must have been a child at one point.

"At any rate, I have no plans to dedicate my hair again." That would require a real marriage and Cassandra didn't have to be a prophetess to know that was not in her future.

He shoved her shoulder right on back. He liked this Cassandra, the playful Cassandra. Nearly as delightful as the Cassandra with flushed cheeks and angry, bright eyes. Although not nearly as attractive as the Cassandra with hair spread across the floor and eyes closed and gasping for breath...

He drew her onto his lap, encircling his arms around her. "Enough of this wedding talk. Tell me more about how fond you are of me." He brushed his lips across her shoulder.

She gasped in surprise at Apollo suddenly grabbing her, but she didn't curl her fingers into claws. That was progress. Cassandra was actually rather pleased with herself. She hoped that Apollo could appreciate the effort as well.

"I will not," she said, smugly. "If you want praise, you'll have to find yourself a pythia."

Abruptly, she leaned forward, her nose only inches away from his. "However, I will be more than happy to hiss and spit a little. For old time's sake."

"Well, I do like it when you get passionate about a subject."

Fingers still in her hair, he pulled slightly, bringing her head back to expose her neck. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her throat, suckling against her skin.

Cassandra made a startled noise. Immediately, she remembered all the times that Bonnie and Damon had bitten her, back on the caravan. But Apollo wasn't biting.

To be honest, she wasn't sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was oddly pleasant.

She closed her eyes, an absent-minded smile on her face. "Mmm..."

He pulled away after a moment, brushing his thumb against her neck. There. A nice red mark. Cassandra didn't usually wear anything high necked enough to cover that, either.

He felt strangely pleased with himself for leaving the mark.

"Will you invite me to stay the night this time?"

Cassandra opened her eyes, looking at Apollo. Although her gaze was steady she felt more than a little uncertain. Was she ready for that? To wake up beside a man? It was strange to think about, even without taking into account the fact that the man was Apollo. And worse yet, to think that he might not be there in the morning.

Of course, she would probably deserve that, after what she had done on the caravan. Twice.

Slowly, almost timidly, Cassandra nodded.

Apollo was never sure what to make of Cassandra.

When he had entered in the room, she had run away, darting around the small room like a cornered animal. Now she was touching him and allowing him to spend the night in her bed.

He would never understand her, he was quite certain. Still, he wouldn't ask too many questions, not right now.

"Thank you."

"Yes."

It took a surprising amount of effort to get that single word out. But once she said it, Cassandra felt an odd, calming sensation. The sort that generally came with making a decision. A relief, almost.

"Although I imagine it complicates the definition."

"The definition of what?" he asked with a sudden laugh. "You were refusing to define anything. Said we had time to figure it out, remember?"

He brushed his fingertip against her cheek, pushing some hair out of her face. "You," he said fondly, "Are the most irritating creature I have ever encountered."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "I learned that from the best," she replied. She tried to look scowly and angry, but her eyes were shining just a bit brighter than usual.

"And if I'm so irritating," she continued after a moment, "then I would very much like to know why it is that you're still here."

"It's been awhile since you scratched up my back," he responded in the most solemn of tones. "I think it's time you tore it up again."

Suddenly, he swung her around and pressed her back against the bed, planting his hands around her. "If you're feeling up to the challenge. I'm also willing to discuss architecture, song, poetry?"

Cassandra gasped at the abrupt movement. She could feel her instincts fighting against each other; one part of her was ready to fight and to flee and to...yes...claw. The other part was anticipating something else that was far more human.

That part won.

Lightly, she trailed her fingertips down his back. "I know little about architecture. Only enough to know that Mycenaean temples are ugly. As for song...I fear the only songs I know are about the gods. The same for poetry, I suppose."

"Well, then..."

He brushed his lips across Cassandra's forehead, smiling to himself. For all of her bite and passion and fury, she was, in the end, still a woman. A young woman, even. And women, just like men, had their weaknesses.

He was pleased to see he was still one of hers.

"...what would you prefer to do?"

"You could sing something."

She said it as a tease, but after the words had left her lips, it occurred to Cassandra that she had never actually heard Apollo sing. She had heard him sung about, to be certain. And he was quite good at singing his own praises, but that was hardly the same thing. She could once remember him playing the lyre too. That had been an unparalleled experience, but asking him to fetch the lyre seemed rather stupid right now, especially as she considered the feeling of his weight, which was more pleasant than she wanted to admit.

"Or recite poetry. Or lecture me on architecture, perhaps. I know how much you enjoy teaching we mere mortals."

"Handsome Cassandra," he began in a dramatic voice, "My blushing rose. She of wild eyes and sharp teeth. Will she not bite me once more?"

He kissed along her neck, ending up at her jaw. "Truthfully, I can think of a great many things I would like to teach you, if you'd permit me to do so. I don't believe even one of them has anything to do with poetry or architecture, I'm pleased to say."

Cassandra closed her eyes, leaning her head to one side. This was better than the ecstasy, she decided. It was human, gentle, and in no way supernatural. Which was the way these things were supposed to go. Anything else felt wrong.

"Handsome?" she repeated in a murmur. "Handsome is what you would call an old woman, in her forties, after eight children."

It was a little surprising, to hear him joking about biting. He had been so...angry. Yes, that was the proper word. He had been furious after that incident. Not for the bite so much as the fact that she hadn't...what? What had she done wrong? She couldn't really say for certain. All she knew was that she had felt something for him, when he was angry. He had come alive for her, seemed human. Which is why everything that had happened had happened, she supposed.

"I wouldn't bite you again," she said quietly.

"I know," he responded, also quiet. He rubbed his nose against her jaw in an affectionate gesture. "I wasn't talking about that kind of biting, anyway. Just being playful."

He pulled back to look at her. In his normal tone, he added, "In that case, I take back the handsome. You are beautiful and vibrant."

Cassandra laughed. It wasn't her typical, cruel laugh at his (or anyone else's) expense, but her more genuine, rusty laugh. "Vibrant? Now there's a word." Probably one that people would more often apply to Apollo. He had a way of shining like the sun, after all. And, Cassandra thought wryly, when his more genuine attributes came out, she thought there was no one more beautiful. She only wished she could bring out that part of him more often. Preferably in a way that didn't involve any near death experiences or bitter shouting matches.

"Well," she said gently, "there's always the hissing. And the spitting, if the mood strikes."

She reached out, lightly touching his hair. "Or maybe something better."

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