Happily Ever After?

Cupid sat at his desk desperately trying to concentrate on his work, an Ares-like scowled fixed upon his handsome face. A myriad of scrolls lay scattered on the polished wood surface before him and he was *trying* to focus on the barely legible sprawling script, but it was virtually impossible.

Because his husband was home.

Strife was always hyperactive, his body practically vibrating and shivering with the need to be continuously moving. That fact was a virtue in the sack and on the battlefield. However, it was a downright nuisance anywhere else. In fact, Cupid felt almost as if he was slowly being driven out of his mind by the Mischief God's restless eternal bouncing.

The constant pacing around the room in aimless endless circles with no real destination or purpose was nerve wracking, to say the least. Cupid could sense this...*movement* just beyond his area of focus and it was distracting and annoying. His husband was forever pulling his attention away from his work and when it came to the Gods, their work was an *obsession* that could NOT be denied. After all, it was the *reason* that they were even *born*. To do a specific task. And Strife was messing with Cupid's ability to focus on his job.

Then, there was the mess. Strife didn't just pace in his aimless circles, he would occasionally stop, pick something up and then move on, only to drop the item in some random location. Nine times out of ten it was on the floor somewhere. The man left a trail of litter and debris in his wake that he never cleaned up. If Cupid didn't take care of it himself, it just kept building up and building up until he found himself tripping over it.

And the noise. Strife didn't pace silently. Wordless sounds continuously poured out from between his lips. Sound effects, his husband called them. Annoying was more to Cupid's way of describing it. Although, it was even more irritating when Strife *did* talk, because it was always to himself or whatever random inanimate object he was holding in his hand at the time.

His husband just *could not* sit still and relax. It was physically impossible for him. He fidgeted and bounced and twitched as he shifted this way and that on the furniture. He had actually broken a few chairs by abusing them so hard and there wasn't a single chair, sofa or bed that the Mischief God used that didn't moan or groan in protest to his rough treatment of it.

Cupid's once serene and calm world had been shaken up and turned upside down. He honestly doubted that his husband was completely sane.

And they were both miserable.

It wasn't really either of their faults, to be honest. They simply had *nothing* in common. Just good sex. Okay, *amazing* sex, but that was all. Their whirlwind romance had consisted of a lot of sex and a good dose of being exposed to a whole new side of life. Cupid got off on the danger of Strife's cloak and dagger lifestyle and he figured that the Mischief God was enthralled by the idea of a mate that wouldn't try and back-stab him as soon as he turned around. It had been a giddy time for both of them and with Ares backing them all the way, they had rushed into marriage.

Now they were paying the price for not slowing down and thinking with something besides their cocks. Granted, the sex was still amazing...when they could actually stand to be around each other long enough to indulge, but the romance? It had dried up long ago and they were just going through the motions from habit.

Suppressing a snarl, Cupid desperately tried once again to focus on his backlogged pile of scrolls as Strife paced and paced in his endless hopeless circles. Seeking the one thing he craved but would never ever find.