Notes: Many thanks to Dyevka for her patient and enthusiastic beta reading of this and the next two stories in the series.
This story follows "The Gods' Tears."
Idle Hands
by Miriam HeddyJoxer stretched and got up off the rug. He walked to the fire, poked at it with the poker until the sparks flew, used the bellows to puff some air at it and nearly put the fire out entirely, tried to decide whether the flames were like clouds and if he could see any pictures in them, picked up a log and dropped it on top of the fire, then poked at the whole thing with the poker until the new log fell off the pile and onto the hearth where it nearly set fire to the rug. He stomped at the tendril of fire before it did more than singe the white fur and kicked the log onto the stone floor where it lay cooling and smoking. He inspected the rug and decided that it wasn't really all that noticeable and it wasn't worth trying to wash the soot out before Ares got back.
He walked over to the door, opened it, looked around, then closed it again. Then he walked around the Temple, touching the various weapons on the wall, picking up a sword and swinging it at an imaginary enemy. But the sword was heavier than it looked and pulled him off balance. He set it back on its pegs and sighed. He went up to the raised platform and sat down in Ares throne, tried humming to himself, and finally stopped. His voice echoed strangely in the dimly lit Temple and he wished he had asked Ares for some more mood lighting before he'd left. The Temple was kind of spooky and he watched as his own silhouette was cast onto the wall by the light of the few candles at his sides.
He was bored. And lonely. And starting to feel a little sorry for himself. It really wasn't right to be complaining. Well, not complaining, since there wasn't anyone around to complain to. But if there *was*, he'd be complaining. So he felt kind of guilty about *wanting* to complain about Ares leaving him alone here. Other people's lovers went to War and sometimes they didn't come back. They were killed. At least he didn't have to worry about that. And when they did leave for War, they usually were gone for a long time. But Ares didn't have to stay around for the whole War. Just long enough to do whatever he did to keep things running smoothly. And then he was coming home.
Joxer looked around at the Temple. Home. It was strange to think that this was Ares' home. Of course, he probably had some sort of home on Olympus, so maybe this was more like a home away from home. Joxer envied him that. He didn't even have one home and Ares had two.
The voice made Joxer jump out of the throne so fast he bumped his knee on the arm of it. He hadn't seen the flash of light, which kind of bothered him. He'd assumed that Ares had to flash in and out like he did, but maybe it was optional. He didn't like that idea at all. The flash was actually a *good* thing. Like putting a bell on a cat.
"Ow. What did you say?"
"My home is your home."
"Oh. Really? That's, um..." He wasn't sure what to say. Did Ares mean that? "But what did you *just* say? Before that?"
"That *is* what I just said, Joxer."
"No you didn't."
"Yes. I. Did." Ares sounded impatient and a little less friendly and Joxer started to worry that he'd said something wrong.
"Well it sure didn't sound like it." Actually, he wasn't sure *what* it had sounded like. But, like all things Ares said in that always seductive voice, it contained a suggestion of sex. Joxer shook his head. Sometimes Ares was just hard to figure out.
Ares sighed and walked over to the throne, pushing Joxer out of the way before sitting down and throwing his legs up over the arm of the chair. "It's another of your languages."
"My languages?"
"Mortal languages. They speak it far from here."
"In Chin?"
"No. Nowhere near Chin."
"Where?"
"Doesn't matter. Far away."
"But don't those other people have other Gods?"
Ares scowled at him. "*Other* Gods?"
Joxer could see he'd hit a sore spot and tried to figure out a way to back out of it. But curiosity won out. After all, what was the worst Ares could do if he got mad? "Yeah. I kind of figured that you all had territory or something. Like Warlords and Kings."
Ares cleared his throat and almost-smiled. "And do your mortal Warlords and Kings always *stay* in their territories?"
"No, of course not. If they did..." There might not be Wars at all.
Ares nodded and rolled his shoulders back, wincing as he extended his arms up and over his head in a stretch.
"Oh. That makes sense. Did you pull-out your back?"
"Pull-out?"
"Yeah. A muscle or... " But Ares kept giving him that 'you're not making sense look.' Didn't Ares' ever feel pain? He tried again. "Like are you sore? From battle?"
"Gods don't get sore, mortal."
"Oh." Joxer was a little disappointed. He liked giving back rubs. And it would give him something to do. But it wasn't like he *needed* an excuse to touch Ares or anything.
He walked the few steps necessary to stand at Ares' side, facing the God, and reached out with his left hand. Joxer didn't need an excuse, but he still felt like he needed permission to touch him. It was like when you went up to a strange animal and held your hand out, palm up, with your fingers splayed out. So the animal could scent you and tell you weren't going to harm it. And then you could pet it without worrying that you'd get fingers bitten off.
Ares' biceps twitched slightly when Joxer touched him, but he dug his fingers in, stroking the muscle hard. Ares groaned and Joxer decided that Ares was lying. If Gods felt pleasure, they *must* feel pain.
"Ridiculous."
"No it isn't. It makes sense. You can't have the one without the other."
"I can have anything I want. I'm a--"
"God. I know, I know. But even if you are a God--"
"Not if." Ares growled and Joxer almost backed up a step.
"I know. I mean, okay, so how do you know you feel good if you don't feel bad?"
"Joxer."
When Ares said his name like that it always sounded like a warning. But he persisted. "No. Really. Listen. Does this feel good?"
Joxer moved his hand off of Ares' arm and pressed it flat against Ares' chest, sliding his fingers under the edge of the vest. With the tips of his fingers he rubbed gently across Ares' left nipple, feeling it tighten under the pressure of his touch.
"Yesss." Ares inhaled sharply and closed his eyes as Joxer continued to rub the soft pectoral muscle and erect nipple.
As quietly as he could, Joxer lifted up his other hand and, checking to see that Ares' eyes were still closed, brought his open palm down in a sharp, quick slap across Ares' face.
The God's eyes opened so wide that Joxer drew back fast and stumbled when Ares' hand grabbed his wrist. His palm stung and he realized that he must've hit Ares pretty hard. Harder than he'd meant to, anyway.
"You little..." Ares glared at him and Joxer struggled to pry his arm from the God's firm grasp. A bit more pressure and Joxer was sure the bones in his wrist were going to break.
"Ares? Hey, look. It was just an experiment. So, you know, you can let go now. Because it didn't hurt, right?" He heard his voice quavering a little and hoped Ares would notice it. Fear, at this point, could only help his case. "I *didn't* hurt you, did I?"
Ares let go of his wrist suddenly and Joxer gently cradled it in his other hand, trying to rub some circulation back into it. His fingers seemed too pale and they were starting to go numb.
Ares turned toward him and stood up, walking over so that they stood face to face next to the throne. Joxer backed up a step but had to stop when his back hit the cold Temple wall.
"Ares?"
Ares lifted his right hand into the air, slowly. Joxer watched, unable to move, as it became a blur just before striking his cheek. His face burned, partly from the impact of Ares' hand and partly from the embarrassment of being slapped. He could taste blood and gingerly probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue.
Joxer slipped away from the wall, stepping around Ares and heading for the fire. He didn't know why this even mattered. So what if Ares couldn't feel pain. It *didn't* matter, did it? That should be a good thing. He didn't *want* Ares to suffer. Did he? His cheek was still burning from the slap and he wondered if he had Ares' palm print on his face now, marking him. The sting of it was painful but a small voice inside himself reminded him that, for just a second, for reasons he couldn't explain and really *didn't* want to think about, the pain had been... good. Satisfying. Exciting, even. God, did he actually *want* Ares to hit him? Again? He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard, trying to get rid of that thought before Ares could catch it, but he was afraid it was already too late. Ares knew everything about him. Ares would know this too. God, how embarrassing. But how easy this made it. He didn't have to say it out loud, which was good. He didn't think he *could* say this out loud. No, he could just lie back and... Wow. Now there was a thought that brought a blush to his cheeks.
He wanted to say that it had hurt him, but he knew that Ares knew that. And he wanted to make Ares feel bad for having done it. But he didn't say anything at all.
"Don't try playing dumb with me, Joxer. I know why you did it."
The heat from the fire seemed to increase the burn in his skin and it seemed to course through him. He lifted his palms to the fire because only his hands felt cold now. They were shaking and he tried to still them but he couldn't. He brought them down into fists at his sides, hoping Ares wouldn't notice. Knowing that he would. He hated this. Hated knowing he had no secrets. No privacy. No part of himself that didn't belong to the God. But it was what he'd wanted. Too much of a good thing? Like Midas? Joxer almost laughed. Ares was definitely *not* a *good* thing.
"Oh? So why'd I do it?"
"Because I left you here all alone with nobody to play with. And you *wanted* to play, didn't you?" Ares moved to stand behind him now, close enough that Joxer could feel the heat of him, hotter than the fire in front of him and far more likely to consume him, the God's warm breath against his neck making his hair stand on end. But Ares didn't touch him or move closer.
Was that all this was? A game? It didn't feel like a game. It felt important, like this mattered. "So... are you mad at me now?"
Finally, Ares reached around him and stroked his cheek lightly and Joxer felt his knees start to buckle. God, it felt good. And it shouldn't. It really shouldn't feel this good. Ares *knew* it would hurt and had hit him back anyway.
"Mmmm," Ares waited a second as if he was thinking about it and shifted forward enough to close the distance and bring their bodies together. Joxer bit back a moan as the God thrust his hips forward and rubbed against Joxer's ass, the two layers of leather just enough to dull the sensation to a tolerable level.
"*Are* you mad at me Ares?" He asked again, not really sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no.
"Not worth the effort. Not unless you *want* me to be mad at you. You don't *want* that, do you Joxer? Do you want to be *punished*?"
Oh, God yes. He gave up trying to block out the thoughts as Ares pressed harder, reaching around to clasp his hands across Joxer's waist and pulling him towards the God so that felt trapped there. But he didn't want to get away. Not really.
"I still think it hurt."
"Joxer."
Was he insisting on this now to provoke Ares? He really wasn't sure. Maybe. Probably. He wasn't sure if he'd enjoy the punishment. If Ares really didn't feel pain, it might get out of hand. But in the meantime, there were all sorts of possibilities. Things he'd heard about and wondered about. Things he was pretty sure the God of War had done before.
Ares stepped back and Joxer bit back a moan at the sudden absence of the God's warm body against his own. He turned to watch as Ares crossed the room and picked a curved dagger off the wall pegs. Ares slowly walked back to his throne, turning the dagger in his hands and stroking the hilt casually, suggestively. Joxer felt another rush of desire, watching Ares' strong hands close over the carved bone and was more than relieved when Ares finally lowered himself into his throne and held out his hand, waving for Joxer to move closer.
Joxer moved closer, waiting for Ares to say something or touch him again, but Ares just continued to stare at the dagger's polished blade as if he was considering something. Finally, he looked up, forcing Joxer to meet his gaze. "Watch and learn, mortal."
Joxer watched, curiosity turning to horror as Ares gripped the dagger with one hand and plunged it into the open palm of his other. As if Joxer needed any further proof that he was not Warrior material, the blood pouring from the wound onto the floor seemed to fill the air, obscuring his vision with a haze of red that swirled and eddied, mesmerizing him. He saw the red coalesce into the face of Ares, whose lips were moving, although Joxer couldn't hear what he was saying through the pounding rush of blood in his own ears.
"Joxer." He heard his name and felt the rough grip of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Joxer, don't you dare..." The words were lost in the dizziness, but Joxer could tell that Ares was telling him not to fade out. So he wouldn't. Faint. He concentrated, forcing himself to focuse on something other than the blade driven through Ares' hand. He ignored the glint of steel that told him that the blade had penetrated through Ares' hand. Instead, he moved his eyes up to Ares' face.
Had Ares flinched as he did it? Joxer wasn't sure. He hadn't looked up in time to catch it. Joxer saw the brief flash of concern softening Ares' hard gaze, but it was gone too quickly, replaced by a look of irritation and near-anger. Ares' eyebrows drew together, his eyes closed for a few seconds, and then he nodded at the open wound, directing Joxer to look back down again. He was sure that he would faint or worse, throw up, but Ares wanted him to look and so he would. He concentrated on taking deep breaths, willing himself against the nausea that only increased as he saw the wound begin to close around the dagger, which Ares had not yet removed.
"Pull it out."
"Ares?"
"Pull it out, Joxer."
"I can't." But he did. Joxer grabbed the hilt and pulled up until the blade withdrew from Ares' palm. Ares closed his hand into a fist and opened it. The wound was gone and the blood that had pooled across the stone floor disappeared.
"Now you do it."
"What?" Do what? Put the dagger in his own hand? There *were* limits to what he'd do for Ares, and this was it. Not even if Ares asked nicely. That dagger wasn't going near him. He opened his hand and the blade dropped to the floor, the clatter of steel on stone echoing wildly off the Temple walls. Joxer stumbled back, tripping on the step that he forgot about in his hurry to move away from Ares. He landed on his knees and awkwardly stood up again, continuing to back away, wishing he could run to the door. But he couldn't, because for some reason he couldn't break away from Ares' cold stare, couldn't tune out the harsh, mocking tone as Ares' taunted him, daring him to come back.
"Going somewhere, Joxer? A shame, really. Things were just starting to get interesting. And a few minutes ago, you were so *interested* in conducting experiments. Ah, but you lost your nerve, didn't you? Found out that you don't have the stomach for it, after all." Ares leaned back and smiled, the turn of his mouth not yet reaching his eyes, which remained unblinking, inhumanly black and endless as Joxer stared back at him.
Joxer stopped moving for a second and reconsidered. Was he really going to leave the Temple? And go where? Did Ares want him to run away? Maybe that was it. Maybe Ares was tired of him and wanted to scare him into leaving. Hah. Well, he wasn't going to get rid of Joxer the Mighty *that* easily. Who did he think he was dealing with, anyway? Nope. If Ares wanted him to leave, he'd have to kill him. Or come out and actually ask him to leave.
Joxer straightened up, pulling at his clothes in a hopeless attempt to look presentable again. Then he strode forward with as much confidence as he could muster. He stooped down and picked up the blade, pausing to wipe it on his shirt, although it was now clean of the blood that had darkened it to the hilt only moments before. He opened his other hand out, holding it palm up and saw that it was shaking so much he wasn't sure he'd even be able to plunge the blade in without missing.
He tried anyway, bringing the blade down in an arc, but stopping the momentum so that the sharp point of it just pricked his palm. He tried pushing the blade into his hand but it was like his arm was frozen. Finally, he shrugged. "Um, Ares? Maybe you should do it. I'm not sure I can." It wasn't his fault if self-preservation made it hard for him to hurt himself intentionally. Actually, he'd always thought it was odd that he still managed to hurt himself accidentally. Maybe if he could just convince his body that accidentally was the same as intentionally, his body would just get trained into watching out for itself. He filed the thought away for later. It was worth testing out, anyway. He was sick of tending to bruises and cuts all day long.
Joxer looked up to hand Ares the dagger and was surprised to see that the God was laughing.
"Hey, what's so funny?"
"I don't want you to cut *yourself*, Joxer."
"Oh. Oh, so you want me to, um, stick it in you?" Joxer blushed as he said it. It all sounded so... kinky, almost.
Ares held out his hand and Joxer stepped closer, trying to decide if he could do this without getting sick again. Okay. He decided to try it, anyway. He lifted the dagger up and swung his hand down, closing his eyes just before it impacted with Ares' hand.
It felt... odd. Not that he'd actually had that much experience plunging blades into bodies, but it didn't feel quite right. He carefully opened his eyes to peek at the damage. "Wow!" The dagger *was* stuck in Ares' palm, but it wasn't. Ares moved his hand away and the dagger continued to hang in space until Joxer let go of it. Then it dropped to the floor.
Ares still *looked* solid, but as Joxer reached out to grasp the once injured hand, he felt his fingers slip through the air, through the place where he *saw* Ares. Insubstantial. Impenetrable. Impossible.
"As you can see, nothing you do can hurt me, mortal." Ares sounded victorious, self-satisfied.
"Nothing. So you can't be hurt or injured or damaged. Ever." He tried to imagine what that was like and why it seemed so... wrong. Not just unfair, but wrong. Why should Ares get to feel so good all the time, about everything. Why should his body be so perfect?
"Because I'm a--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ares raised his eyebrow and looked skeptical. "Really, I *do* get it. I just..." can't explain. But he had to explain. He took a deep breath and tried to find the words for it. To explain what seemed too terrible to put into words. "Um. Okay. Wait. Come back."
"Back from where?"
"So I can touch you again. Please?"
Joxer couldn't see the change, but suddenly his hand was brushing against the warm hand of his God and he automatically clasped it, letting his fingers interlace with Ares', wanting to hold him, to keep him there. It bothered him that Ares could just *do* that. Disappear. Go away. Stop being touchable.
"Okay." Joxer took a deep breath before continuing. "Does this feel good?" He lifted his other hand and brought it up to Ares' face, watching him closely now. Ares *did* flinch as his hand moved closer and Joxer couldn't help grinning. Ares was afraid.
"Just cautious."
The whispered word meant more than that. Ares? Cautious? Never. Impulsive. Never cautious.
"Whatever you say, Ares." Joxer traced the lines of Ares' beard, the God's strong jawline, the two spots on Ares' cheeks where dimples appeared when he smiled, sincerely, which wasn't all that often. His hand moved to stroke Ares' chin, skimming gently over his neck, then moving back to cup the back of his neck. Without warning, without even thinking about it first, Joxer grabbed a handful of Ares' curls and forcibly tipped Ares' head back so that the God hit his head against the back of the chair. Ares flinched again slightly. He *had* felt that.
Joxer leaned in closer, letting his pelvis rest against the arm of the chair for balance, and, not letting go of Ares' hand still clasped in his, he kissed Ares hard, forcing the God's mouth to open under his. Ares responded with a low growl and Joxer pressed against the chair harder because the sound made him impatient, made him want to test out pleasure before he had finished with this, with pain.
Ares didn't fight him, not even when his kisses turned to bites, and Joxer started to tremble with the intensity of it, not even recognizing himself now. What was Ares *doing* to him?
Ares arched his back suddenly and got up from the chair without even breaking the kiss. Joxer wasn't sure what to do next, whether there *was* anything more to do. He knew that he could come just by kissing Ares, could already feel it building inside him, but he didn't want that yet. He imagined something unsexy, something neutral, that wouldn't kill his desire, but wouldn't encourage it. A calm, peaceful body of water. Still, blue water, unmoving, eternal. The surface of it like glass.
Ares pulled away from him and laughed, a low, dark sound that shattered the glass into a thousand sharp and icy shards that seemed to settle deep inside him. "Ares, please."
"What do you want, mortal?"
"I--"
"Tell me. Say it."
Joxer tried to picture it, but his mind was blank with sudden panic. What did he want?
"Say it. Beg for it, mortal. What's your pleasure?"
Ares had somehow managed to back him up against the wall beside the throne again and now stood with his hands bracing the wall, one hand on either side of Joxer's shoulders, pinning him there.
"Say it. Say it. C'mon, mortal. Or are you afraid? Are you sorry you started this now?"
"No. I--"
"Say it. Tell me. You can have anything. You just have to say it."
Oh, God. Anything?
"Anything you can say out loud. But you have to say it. I want to hear you beg. I want you on your knees before me, I want you on your *knees*, mortal."
Joxer wondered at the power of the God, that his knees should obey him so quickly. He felt himself go boneless, sliding to his knees on the cold floor before the God who had stepped back to give him room to kneel.
"Say it, Joxer. I want to hear you."
Joxer looked up at Ares, who loomed above him. His mind was still a blank and he opened his mouth, sure he'd forgotten how to speak.
"I want--" He stopped at the sound of his own voice, too high, too quavery. He began again. "Pain."
"You want pain?"
He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to find the right words to say what he wanted. "No. Just--Tell me that I can hurt you."
"You can't."
Not even if I leave you? Was that the same kind of pain? "Tell me *how* to hurt you."
Ares crossed his arms. "And why would I do that, mortal?"
"So--So I don't do it by accident."
Ares laughed, mocking him, taunting him. "Only intentionally?"
He didn't answer. Didn't know what to say. Why would he hurt Ares intentionally? But Ares nodded. "Get up off the floor, mortal."
Joxer climbed to his feet and stood up, feeling light headed from moving too quickly, from doing all of this too quickly and without thinking it through. He'd decided that it was the only way to keep Ares from knowing what he was going to do, but he hadn't realized that it meant that *he* didn't know what he was going to do. And he had never known he would do any of this.
"Are you afraid of me, mortal?"
Joxer shook his head.
"Unwise. You *should* be afraid."
"I should?"
"You're afraid of Xena."
Well, obviously. Who wasn't? Joxer nodded again.
"But not me."
"Well...I've seen *you* naked." Joxer grinned now, feeling like things were better. Back to normal.
"The mortal is getting too cocky for his own good. Has he forgotten who his master is?"
Joxer felt his grin widen. Yes. This could be a game. He nodded his assent. "Master? I'm my own master."
"Yes. The mortal shows a lack of deference to his God." Ares sighed dramatically.
"So the mortal needs to be punished, right?"
"Definitely."
"Will it hurt you more than it hurts me?"
Ares blinked at him and cocked his head to the side. "What?"
"That's what my mom always said when she hit me. 'This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.' So will it?"
Ares didn't answer and his smile faded.
"What's wrong? I'm sorry. Ares?"
"You just don't give up, do you?"
"Um..." The ground was started to tremble under the Temple and Joxer found himself taking it back. He was afraid. Because he had no idea what he'd done wrong.
"Get on the bed, Joxer."
"The...what?" But he stumbled back onto their bed, which had suddenly appeared behind him. It was different, somehow. The silk was arranged differently.
"Tie your arms to the posts."
He looked down and was not surprised to see his clothes suddenly disappear. He picked up the silk and tried to tie himself to the bed, but he couldn't get the ends wrapped around his wrist without getting tangled up in it and he was unable to figure out how to tie a knot with one hand. He heard Ares exhale loudly and then the silk was torn from his grasp, knotting around both wrists at once so that he was pulled upright. Another soft strip of black silk slithered around his ankles and pulled taught, binding his ankles together before he could pull away.
Ares was still standing in front of the fire, the red flicker of it casting strange patterns of light across his face. "I should just drop you and the bed into the center of Athens."
"The...center of Athens?" He swallowed. This wasn't what he'd had in mind.
"No. Not Athens. You're right. Horrible place, really. Sparta, then. They've been good in Sparta. Always training so hard. They deserve a... present."
A piece of black silk that Joxer was sure hadn't been there before suddenly rushed under his back and wrapped around him, tying itself in a large bow over his hips.
"Yes. I think I'll give you to the Spartans. They'd be happy to instill a little discipline into you."
"Ares? You're not serious."
With the light flickering, and the way Ares stood, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest, head tipped down, he looked pretty serious.
"On the other hand, I'm not sure they'd appreciate it. They're an ungrateful lot. They tend to attribute all their success to hard work."
"Yeah. They're ungrateful. I heard they hardly ever sacrifice at your altar." Joxer agreed and frowned, trying to figure out a way out of the bed. He pulled on the silk but it seemed to tighten further, so he finally gave up.
"On the other hand, the Amazons..."
Amazons?
"I wonder what they'd do if you just popped up in the middle of their camp, naked, tied to the bed?"
"You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?"
"Um." Joxer tried to think quickly. "Aha. But what if they see me and decide to keep me?"
"Keep you?"
"Yeah. For a love slave. Y'know, that might not be too bad." Joxer pretended to think about it. "The Amazons deserve me more than the Spartans. I mean, I wasn't really crazy about Velasca, but a couple of the others were pretty cute."
"Joxer, they'd chew you up and spit you out in pieces."
Joxer shuddered at the image. "And that's a bad thing?"
Ares grinned and strode over to the bed. Joxer watched as the God climbed onto it, stopping to straddle him, sitting down hard right over the bow. Joxer gasped and Ares slid down to sit on his thighs. Then he leaned forward to run both hands, palm down, over Joxer's torso, starting at his shoulders and ending with his fingertips just grazing the bow, tugging idly at it.
"Did Xena ever tell you what the Amazons *do* to male prisoners? And I'm talking about the ones they take pity on." Ares hands moved to pinch his nipples hard and he struggled to move away, but he was pinned down by Ares and tied down by the silk.
Ares suddenly looked serious again and Joxer felt a moment of worry. He tried a weak smile and whispered, "Um. No."
Ares snorted and brought one hand down in a light slap over Joxer's belly. "They kill them."
"And the ones they don't like?"
But Ares didn't answer. He was leaning forward, holding himself above Joxer effortlessly, lowering himself down so they were so close that Joxer could feel Ares' eyelashes brush against his cheek as Ares whispered in his ear, "You *do* know I won't give you away, Joxer. Not to Hades. Not to the Spartans. Not to the Amazons. Not to Gabrielle, if she should ever change her mind about that stubborn Princess of hers. And do you know why?"
Joxer shook his head.
"Because you belong to me. You're mine."
"You don't own me, Ares. I could leave if I wanted." Well, not quite true. At the moment, there was no way off the bed and he wasn't sure he could even make it to the door without Ares' permission.
"Oh, but I *do*, my *little* mortal. Body, soul, words, thoughts, deeds. Mine."
Ares somehow made it all sound so reasonable. So unarguable. So *right*. Joxer pulled against the silk bonds, wanting to put his arms around Ares, wanting to pull him down so that their bodies could meet. But the silks were too short to allow him that movement.
"Prove it."
Ares must not have cared anymore that he still hadn't shown the appropriate amount of deference. The God was ready now, and Joxer felt his own heart racing, thinking, finally. Now. He will take me. It was a long time in coming, but worth it, the dance, Ares running hot and cold, showing anger one minute and a strange, uncomfortable affection the next.
At first, Joxer had been surprised by Ares' mode of seduction. To watch him in action, you'd assume that if he *could* get you in bed, it would be immediate, violent and quick, selfish and for his own pleasure. But it wasn't like that at all.
Joxer had watched, only days ago, as Ares stood before one of his Warlords and convinced the mortal to take arms against a friend. The Warlord had been reluctant, at first, until Ares turned on the charm, his low voice getting lower, becoming impossible to ignore, enchanting. Joxer had seen the look in the Warlord's eyes, the fire there that the Warlord didn't seem aware of, as he listened to Ares describe his imminent victory, the rush he would feel when he defeated his enemy, his friend. The words seemed timed to a constant subtle swaying of the God's body, like a snake charmer's dance, and Joxer had felt a flash of superiority then, a strange, unfamiliar feeling of knowing something someone else didn't. Because the Warlord didn't know why he was saying yes, and afterwards, Joxer knew he would rationalize it as just the power of the Gods, or as his own decision, forgetting forever that he had liked his friend, maybe even loved him once.
Joxer was too caught up in the display to think too much about his own disapproval of Ares. He was also swept up by Ares' desire, the dark sexual energy that steered the Warlord to violence. Ares knew how to push buttons, how to force the Warlord's and Joxer's eyes to follow his body around the room, until either of them would have said yes to anything Ares' asked. Joxer had stood by, well-concealed behind some heavy drapery, as Ares smiled in victory, probably sensing that Joxer had been captured by the energy pouring off him, that energy seeming to go right to his cock, clouding his mind so he could barely remember to stay hidden. It had disturbed him, later, when Ares finally took him, that he couldn't be sure if he'd been led to the slaughter with the Warlord, or celebrating that victory with Ares. He knew it wasn't both. But Ares was too aroused by that point for Joxer to bother asking him.
Ares seemed to like it slow, as if he took more pleasure in bringing Joxer to the edge than in pushing him over it. But once they both reached that edge, Joxer knew that Ares quickly lost control and it was dangerous to do anything other than participate with enthusiasm. Or just participate. Or just not fight him.
They were there, now, and Joxer, lying flat on his back and tied to the bed, still felt like he was falling. Looking in Ares' dark eyes was like staring down the face of a cliff, and seeing yourself as a dark stain on the rocks below. Vertigo, except that Joxer felt compelled to throw himself off that cliff. Of course he was afraid. He wasn't an idiot. But if Ares could tell, he was beyond caring.
Joxer lifted his head to meet Ares' mouth, getting lost in the God's kiss, the reassuring contact of Ares' soft lips against his own. Ares was heavy and his weight made it hard for Joxer to take a deep enough breath, but even the lack of air was exhilarating. Joxer had discovered, accidentally, that if Ares brought him off while he was like this, dizzy and breathless, it was amazing. Scary, terrifying, really. In fact, if he wasn't sure that Ares wouldn't let him die, he'd never let this happen to him. But he was safe, here, under Ares.
Ares' clothing suddenly disappeared, the rough friction of leather against Joxer's skin replaced by the warm softness of skin, the slick sweat pouring off both of them now making them glide against each other. He strained again against his bonds, his arms trembling with the effort. If he was strong, with bulging muscles like most Warlords, he could break the bonds. But he wasn't and he tried one last time before giving up.
The silk made a loud tearing sound and finally tore through. Joxer wasn't sure if he'd done it or if Ares had helped, but it didn't matter. He was free. His wrists were raw and red, but he ignored the pain, wrapping his arms around Ares, his hands scrabbling against the God's slick back for purchase. His legs were still trapped, but he didn't really need them to move Ares where he wanted him. He finally settled for digging his nails into Ares' sides, glad, at least, that he hadn't cut them recently.
Ares groaned into his mouth, pushing against him with more force, positioning them so that with each thrust, their cocks brushed together, crushed together almost painfully. Painful for Joxer, anyway, who'd decided that Ares probably *did* feel pain. He just didn't *know* he felt pain. That was what it meant to be a God. Everything was pleasure, if you wanted it to be. Even the sharp ache of desire that tore through Joxer, Ares would call pleasure.
Joxer tipped his head back to allow Ares access to his neck, and the God latched onto him with that lush mouth, his full lips forming a strict suction around the skin, marking him. Joxer felt his whole body tense up as Ares thrust again, the pressure finally peaking, concentrating as a white heat that spread from his lower back into his legs, now shaking as if he'd run a marathon. He screamed Ares' name as he came, the pulses so strong he could almost hear them ringing in his head, echoing off of Ares' body, amplified by them. And then Ares was coming against him, thrusting over and over and then collapsing over him burying his head against Joxer's shoulder and neck. The God shuddered once more, then again, before lying still.
Joxer slid his hands across Ares' slick back, running over the heated skin and then hugging him tightly. Body, soul, words, thoughts, deeds. There was something missing. Something left out.
"Shh. Joxer, go to sleep."
That was it. Body, soul, words, thoughts, deeds, *love*. Yours.
Ares shifted against him in a move that, if it were anyone but the God of War, would have looked like cuddling. But the God of War didn't cuddle. Joxer smiled, drawing his God's body closer, holding him tight while he was so quiet, almost peaceful. But the God of War wasn't peaceful. That was another illusion.
Joxer closed his eyes and thought about the many things that Ares wasn't. He started to recite the long list in his head, and laughed to himself as he imagined each "not" as a sheep, a black sheep, of course, jumping over a fence.
Ares shifted against him again, restlessly, his gruff voice almost lost against Joxer's skin. "Body, soul, words, deeds, love."
"No thoughts?" Joxer whispered, noticing the irony of speaking out loud about thoughts.
"Keep those to yourself, mortal."
"Hmph." He said, not really offended. Ares kissed his shoulder, as if to apologize, except the God of War didn't apologize, either. He did sigh, though, too often, Joxer thought.
"Sweet dreams, silly mortal."
Joxer went back to his counting, trying to quiet his thoughts. The God's body relaxed, the strong limbs becoming soft and limp against his side.
Joxer whispered, "Sweet dreams, Ares." But Ares didn't answer.
The God's breathing seemed to slow a little more and soon the soft sound turned to a steady, comforting snuffle. Apparently, the God of War *did* snore. Joxer stared at the Temple ceiling, and smiled, thinking about sex and dreams and Gods and mortals, but thinking quietly.
At least one of them could sleep tonight. Joxer didn't need to sleep to dream. This could all end before morning, or in a day, or a week. He set the sheep aside, too tired now to concentrate on anything but the growing sense of panic settling deep in his stomach, making him want to move, to *do* something, but leaving him helpless to do anything. What could he do? Despite Ares' promise, he was still too aware of his mortality. Ares hardly let him forget. This could all end tomorrow. Ares could leave him. He didn't need to sleep to dream. His nightmares found him easily enough while he was awake. He would not close his eyes and let them in. He would not.
But still, sleep did settle over him, not asking his permission, ignoring his struggle, binding him to the bed again in layers of black silk. The dark and heavy fabric settled over his eyes, blinding him, suffocating him, and, like Ares, his dreams were far too powerful to ignore, and too seductive to turn away.
Read the next story in the series: "Dark Dreams."
—FIN—
© 1998
Note: Many thanks to everyone who has written me to tell me that they like these stories and to demand more. And thanks to the rest of you for *not* writing to ask me to shut up already. I'm not sure I can. Not yet, at least. There's still some more story demanding to be told. And, if this story is any indication, you really *don't* want to say no to either one of these guys.
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