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Characters: Apollo and Mab
Date/Time: Morning of May 1st, possibly longer after that.
Location: Their hotel room
Rating: TBD
Warnings: Mab and Apollo locked together in a room. Expect things.
Summary: Mab and Apollo must work together

She is not a morning person. Without her alarm clock she would sleep at least until mid-morning naturally. And as that alarm clock was not there, she was sleeping soundly, curled on her side.

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Apollo whistled cheerfully to himself as he started making up something that resembled breakfast: Tea with honeyed bread.

"There we go. To your liking, I hope."

She'd had to keep on her feet while he puttered about, less she be dragged by the chain. Once he'd finished and presented the simple fair, she seated herself, one leg crossing over the other.

She made no comment as she tasted her tea. It wasn't hardly sweet enough, and she reached for the honey to add a much more generous amount.

"There are some sugar packets over there too, if you want them," Apollo said, taking a long draught of his tea.

"If I wanted sugar, I would have gotten sugar," she replied tersely. Tea was merely a vehicle for the honey. She'd have honestly preferred just milk and honey to the tea, but it wasn't available and there was no sense lamenting it.

"You'd think with all the sugar you've got there, it'd sweeten your disposition some," Apollo quipped. "This could be a lot worse, and you know it."

The tea cup was set down, not hard, but purposefully. The meager offering of food pointedly ignored. "The severity of the indignation means nothing. A slight is a slight. I will not simply shrug my shoulders and count my blessings."

Apollo raised an eyebrow.
"And in what way have you been slighted? We've all been through this. It's not like someone's picking on you specifically."

She raised a brow at him. "I highly doubt this arrangement was arbitrarily decided."

"Is it really so bloody awful being here with me?" Apollo challenged, moving the dishes aside as he narrowed the space between them.

She didn't flinch, instead she leaned in fractionally, a cruel little smirk on her lips. "Does it truly sting your pride so deeply that I do not care for your presence?"

He smirked right back.
"You might not like me, Mab, but I can tell you want me. I can practically smell it on you," he countered.

"You flatter yourself. I am not hardly in the same state I was in on Samhain, Sun God."

Apollo lightly, almost casually, brought his hand to her neck, feeling it move with her breath, the pulse throbbing under his fingers.
"Your breath and heart rates are up. Different state, perhaps. Same desire," he observed.

She was still as stone except for that pulse under his fingers. Her too pale blue eyes staring daggers of ice at him, as her skin seemed to get colder under his hand. A subtle warning. "I did not give you permission to touch me."

"I didn't ask for it," he countered, "You don't scare me, Mab. I've dealt with far worse than you. But I've had enough argument. You want this. Might as well get it over with."

And with that, he pinned her where she was sitting as he planted a very solid kiss on her lips.

She couldn't claim to be surprised. And if she tried, anyone would have told her it was her own fault. It had been rather obvious that he'd intended to make some move on her. And for the second time, she was pinned between his body and another surface.

It was enough to spark her temper. And the Winter Queen's temper had very unusual ways of manifesting at times.

She kissed him back. Because yes, she did desire him, but she didn't have to like it. As her lips moved under his, they became quickly and progressively colder, until the touch of them was nearly like a burn, and their breath turned to misty puffs of white.

Apollo never had been a fan of his partners resisting him. Why fight what was so obviously desired by both people involved? It never made any sense to him. So, yes, his own temper was beginning to rise as well, and where Mab became cold, the heat of the blazing sun began to burn in him. His skin heated up to a feverish warmth, the blood almost boiling under the surface.

Steam--actual steam began to rise into the air as his kisses began to move from her lips to her neck.

There was a reason she'd fought him. His arrogance had offended her, and as she said before, she did not forget slights. And despite current circumstances, she would certainly not forget this one.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him better access to her throat, the smallest hum of pleasure emanating from her. Her skin was icy in temperature, but remained soft and pliant. Where his lips trailed she felt burning heat, and gave back extreme chill that likely faded just as quickly for him as it did for her, making each new place of contact a bright burst of sensation.

It was definitely a sensation he didn't get anywhere else: cold against heat, burning twice over. He gasped and his hot mouth became all the more forceful against the chill of her skin as his passions rose, at one point enough that it left a livid mark in the hollow of her throat.

She felt him marking her, and there was no possible way she was allowing him to do that unanswered. She threaded a hand into his hair and curled it into a fist, pulling ungently to tilt his head back where she wanted it.

She brought her lips to his ear. "You, a bastard prince, think to mark me, a queen, and have it go unanswered? Think again." She bent her head and pressed her lips to the pulse of his throat, just beneath his jaw. Those cold lips had the bite of white hot fire, and where he anyone else, the subzero temperature would have likely caused irreparable damage. But this was to get past his heat enough to leave her mark on him, in the shape of a kiss.

"Bastard or not, I was still my father's favored son, and, seeing as many a queen joyfully welcomed my attentions, the father to a number of princes and princesses and noble heroes," he retorted.

"Still, you've just sealed it yourself, Mab. Like it or not, some part of us will always belong to each other." Apollo kissed her solidly and deeply upon the lips, as much like the final sealing of some ancient ritual as a lover's attention.

The kiss was like a battle, because she did not merely submit or swoon, but battled back with lips and tongue.

"You want me, little prince, then best you prove your worthiness."

"As you wish," he said with a saucy grin, and he scooped her right up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. He kissed her neck as he undid those carefully-chosen clothes she'd just put on a short while ago, almost teasing her with his slow, deliberate hand. He was going to savor this, and he wanted her to know it.

Her body touched the the sheets and almost immediately a frost began to appear, curling outwards from her in an almost artistic spiraling spread. She lay beneath him, watching him with half-lidded eyes as he undressed her, neither helping nor hindering, merely watching and waiting.

The rime of frost disappeared the moment Apollo came near, almost sublimating directly into steam. He ran his warm hands over her skin, still slow and tantalizing, each kiss upon her a silent claim. Steady and firm, he sought out each and every sensitive little spot.