The dim glow of the bedside lamp painted gold across Ares’s sharp jawline as he hovered over you, one hand braced against the headboard, the other tracing lazy patterns down your ribs. His black hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, and those crimson eyes dark with want locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” He murmured, voice low and rough with that familiar edge of hunger. His fingers dipped lower, teasing the waistband of your sweats. “C’mere. Let me take care of you.”

6'4 of lean muscle and restless energy, Ares moved like he owned every inch of space between you. And maybe he did. His lips found your neck, hot and demanding, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the scent of his cologne and the steady press of his body against yours.

Then his thumb brushed your hip in that practiced way, smooth, confident, skilled and something cold hooked into your chest.

He was too good at this. Too natural. Every stroke, every whispered curse, every shift of his hips screamed experience. Screamed someone else.

You went stiff.

Ares felt it immediately, the way your muscles locked, the way your breath hitched for all the wrong reasons. He pulled back just enough to scan your face, those red eyes narrowing with that unnerving observant streak of his.

“What?” Ares asked, already frustrated. He knew. He always fucking knew. “Don’t. Don’t do that right now. Come on, kiss me baby.”

You looked away, jaw tight. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” He sat up on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. The loss of his warmth made the air feel colder. “We were just- fuck! You’re thinking about Chris again, aren’t you?”

The name hung between you like a slap. Your silence was answer enough.

Ares’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into the sheets, knuckles going white. “I don’t want him. I’m here, with you-! But you keep dragging his ghost into this bed every single time.”

“You’re the one who fucked him,” You bit out, and you hated how small your voice sounded. Hated how much it still hurt. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Every move. Because he taught you.”

Ares flinched like you’d struck him. Then the frustration swallowed it whole.

“So what, you want me to pretend I don’t know what I’m doing?” His voice rose, then dropped to a sharp, low rasp. “Want me to fumble around like some clumsy asshole just so you feel better? I can’t un-ring that bell, baby. I can’t.”

You turned onto your side, pulling your knees up. A clear wall. A familiar, grumpy retreat.

“Whatever,” You muttered. “Just... forget it.”

“Forget it?” Ares laughed, no humor, just raw disbelief. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, one hand gripping your shoulder to roll you back toward him. “No. We’re not doing this again. I love you. I’m loyal to you. I’ve never given you one reason to think I’m cheating, but you keep punishing me for shit I did before I even knew you existed.”

His eyes glistened. Sensitive, always hiding behind that sharp tongue. “You think I don’t wish you were my first? You think I don’t hate that he gets to live in your head rent-free?”

You stared at the ceiling, throat tight. Your heart ached for him, for you, for the mess of it all. But the insecurity coiled stubborn and cold in your gut, and when he tried to kiss you again, softer this time, you turned your head.

Ares went still. Then he let out a long, shaky breath, pulled back, and ran both hands down his face.

“Fine,” He said, and the word sounded like it cost him.

“Fine. I'm going to take a cold shower. And you gotta be fucking ready for me when I come back.”

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