Notes: Thanks again to my beta-reader, Dyevka, for her willingness to read this until it said what I wanted it to say, even when it might not have been clear to either of us what that might be. This story follows "Idle Hands."
Dark Dreams
by Miriam HeddyThe mortal wanted to know what a God dreams. The mortal wanted to know. Everything. Always.
Warnings meant nothing, obviously. Might as well be talking to himself as talking to Joxer. It was as effective. Maybe more so, since at least this way, he was sure he was making an impression.
He'd tried to explain, tried to tell Joxer that the Gods brought the caverns down because the damned mortals wouldn't shut up. But, of course, Joxer had somehow missed that part. Took the whole thing as some sort of romantic story when it was supposed to be a warning. Joxer was far too obtuse for hints. No, you had to hit this mortal over the head before he paid attention.
And he'd had more than enough of lessons. He was tired. He was exhausted, really. And he didn't need to sleep, but Joxer had drifted off after their exertions, as mortals always did, and so Ares had let himself drift off as well. For just a short while, he had luxuriated in the freedom of being away from his mortal, letting the darkness wrap around him, filling him.
But the quiet time had ended too quickly. Joxer wouldn't sleep forever and when he finally woke up again, the low, intrusive hum of mortal dreams turned to unbearably inane chatter. It was really starting to chafe at his nerves. He had almost opened his eyes when at last Joxer opened his. But Joxer was still full of questions, as if they came to him in his dreams. And so Ares had decided not to let Joxer know that he was awake because waking up would mean having to talk to him. Answering more of those incessant questions. Trying very hard to not kill the damned mortal when he insisted that a God should feel pain. Why in Tartarus would a God *want* to feel pain? And why wasn't he at all sure that Joxer couldn't hurt him? Somehow, the mortal would find a way.
There were good reasons to stay asleep. He knew he couldn't do this forever. The mortal wasn't *that* gullible. But for a while, at least, he would keep his eyes firmly closed, resisting the urge to open them at that touch, just the air across his back that was stirred by Joxer's small movements.
The mortal was surprisingly thoughtful about moving quietly to the door to relieve himself. Ares waited, impatiently, for his return, although he'd already decided to continue "sleeping" as long as possible and so had no need for the mortal to lie beside him. Even the slight stirring of his desire wasn't strong enough yet.
By the time Joxer somehow successfully shut the heavy Temple door behind him again, making only the softest sound, Ares realized that he was nearly holding his breath over the question of whether Joxer could make it all the way back inside the Temple and to the bed without tripping over something or bringing weapons crashing down from the wall. Joxer had done that once, already, and it had taken a great deal of self-control to not drive the nearest sharp object into the mortal's soft body. But he hadn't done it. He was learning self-control. The mortal appeared incapable of learning anything at all.
Even when the mortal was outside the Temple, Ares could still hear his thoughts. Mortals occupied themselves worrying about the most ridiculous things. At first, it had been diverting, but now Ares was sure there was nothing on Earth more dull, tiresome, tedious and monotonous than this mortal's awe-struck reaction to the world around him. He longed for the day when Joxer would become jaded, then realized that it might never come. Joxer wouldn't be Joxer if he just looked at the sky without commenting on how *big* it was and how *dark* it was.
//...There are so many stars. They look cold tonight. Gabby says they're made of fire, but they look too cold. Like ice. Do they look the same from Olympus? Can Gods touch the stars? What do Gods dream? Is Ares really dreaming? Or does he leave his body behind, with me, and is the rest of him up in Olympus? The idea gives me shivers. I don't want him to leave me... //
Please. At least this time the mortal refrained from attempting to count the stars overhead. Ares had nearly torn his head off last time, when the mortal hit fifty-seven and then lost count and started over. He'd been tempted to just settle the matter and give Joxer the final count, but then remembered that mortals couldn't even conceive of numbers that big.
The mortal came back again, somehow managing to not bring the Temple crashing down around him this time. The feather mattress sunk under Joxer's weight and when he tucked his legs under him, his bony bare knees pressed into Ares' side. It was a liberty a mortal should not take. Joxer was entirely too comfortable in the presence of a God. He *should* be afraid. Other mortals had knelt before him and they had the good sense to keep their heads bowed at all times. They had worshipped his body, and they had all been afraid. They had trembled before him. Asked permission before touching a God. Mortals who knew their place and had not *expected* to share in his pleasure, much less to come first. What gave this mortal the right to think he was any different? He wasn't. His touch was no more skilled than that of other mortals. His thoughts no more profound. This mortal had *nothing* that other mortals didn't have.
No. He had to have something or he would be dead. Persistence. Vulnerability. Sincerity. None of which were in evidence right now. None of which were going to protect him if he didn't stop *thinking* so loudly. And none of them had anything to do with Ares' desire to shift away, to move his body so that the mortal couldn't touch him. He almost groaned but bit it back. Ridiculous. How had the God of War come to this?
But he didn't say anything to Joxer, because screaming at the mortal, satisfying as that would be, would mean letting the mortal know that he was *not* sleeping and would mean having to speak to the mortal and then he would have to answer those questions or *not* answer them and deal with that hurt look on his mortal's face, the biting of that lower lip as Joxer tried to think of another question that he *would* answer.
The mortal's scattered thoughts continued to intrude on him and he willed himself not to listen, at first hoping that he might drift off again and be allowed to dream his dark dreams. He no longer had to focus on the mortal's mind to hear his thoughts. Giving Joxer his attention made them clearer, but he heard them without trying, without wanting to listen, and, once he started listening, he found it difficult to stop, although he knew he *could* block them out if he tried. But Joxer's thoughts were like his song. Always another verse, incomprehensibly horrible, yet somehow... compelling.
//...I still don't know most things about you and I know you don't want me to. You like that I don't understand things. It makes you think you've got something on me, which you do. So it's kind of pointless of me to ask you since you won't tell me. You'd just roll your eyes like I asked a dumb question, and maybe they are dumb questions. But I want to know. I want to figure you out the way you figured me out. It's not fair that you can just go into my head and know what I'm thinking and feeling and I have to guess... //
So *don't* think. Was that really so difficult? Most mortals seemed to find it easy to be thoughtless. And what made this one think that life was supposed to be fair? It wasn't fair. There was no justice. Not even for Gods, or he could sleep in... silence. No. There was no justice and Joxer was proof of that. The mortal could keep his worthless thoughts. And stuff his demands.
He'd never met such a demanding mortal. If he'd just been able to just let his mortal die... but he'd tried and something stopped him. And now that Joxer knew that he'd been spared death, the threat of it was no longer enough to scare the mortal into silence. The one thing a God could use against a mortal and he'd lost it. Pain, the next best option, wasn't enough. He couldn't bring himself to actually damage Joxer. Well, not while he was still useful. And anything less... Well, the mortal seemed almost excited by his threats. And, while a part of him admired that in a mortal, it was also a disciplinary problem. Joxer was afraid of him but it wasn't enough. The mortal's fear didn't seem to keep him in his place. Ares knew he needed bigger ammunition, something that would show his mortal *why* he should listen to the God of War. What *was* Joxer's darkest fear? Other than to have his God leave him. That was useless information, he'd decided. There were only two potential outcomes. If he threatened to leave and did, he'd be done with this mortal. He weighed that option carefully, opening his attention to the mortal until the mortal's thoughts were grinding against him, hoping to work up enough anger to convince himself to just do it...
No. There had to be something else. The irony was, if he asked, the mortal would probably just tell him. In detail. The mortal could talk for hours, if provoked.
So he was really *not* going to provoke the mortal. Xena's little red-head was obviously rubbing off on Joxer in a bad way. Even the smallest hint that a God was interested in anything the mortal said would set him off. And he was really *not* interested.
The mortal was droning on and on and on. Did he actually think anyone cared what he thought? Why *did* mortals think to themselves like this? Streams of nonsense that it would be a real stretch to call consciousness. Babbling about anything that crossed their path. The only thoughts that were at all entertaining were the sexual ones and Joxer had one of those every minute or so, but it wasn't worth paying attention when they were buried in a litany of what Joxer wanted to eat and what he wanted to do tomorrow and how he really liked the color black but thought it was a bit *much* for a bed. Pointless... not to mention wrong. Black was a perfectly good color for a bed. It was the color that the God of War had picked and *that* was proof of its perfection.
He was getting impatient and restless, lying in bed, not asleep. Beds were for sleeping or for fucking and Joxer made it impossible to do either. He considered taking the mortal without warning, but couldn't bring himself to do it. The pleasure would not be worth having to answer more questions before, after, during. If he could only bring himself to enchant Joxer... but then the mortal wouldn't be himself, and Ares wasn't sure why, exactly, that was important. But it was. Yet the mortal was *still* thinking and he was beginning to really envy the Titans, asleep, rocks forever. It would be Divine justice to send Joxer to them, let him chatter on at them until they woke and crushed him into dust. Quiet dust.
It occurred to him again that this might all be some joke of Hera's, or Zeus'. He wouldn't even put it past Hercules to have put Joxer up to this, but his brother was too big an idiot to come up with a scheme this... evil. No, he wouldn't have recognized the mortal's potential. A plot like Joxer was more worthy of Discord. But he knew that she didn't even know about them. Yet. And when she found out, she was going to *love* the little mortal. Because the mortal distracted him and Discord just wasn't satisfied being his lieutenant. She was just itching to take over.
Maybe he was just being paranoid, but these were the times they lived in. Goddesses didn't know their place these days. Hera. Discord. Aphrodite. If he were in charge, things would certainly be different. If the Gods were ever going to be overthrown by anyone, it would be by mortals like this one. Enough Joxers and even Zeus would give up.
Surely *he* didn't deserve this particular mortal. But then he couldn't think of who might. Not even the Titans deserved Joxer.
It was an outrage that a mortal like Joxer could have lived long enough without Divine intervention to find him. No, Joxer should have been killed long ago by his own blasted incompetence. Maybe the Fates were protecting this mortal. Well, they couldn't protect him forever. If he provoked the God of War, just one more time, Ares was going to snap his thread personally. End of story.
//... I love the way your back curves. The way it rises and falls when you breathe. You seem asleep but I'm afraid to touch you. There. Your eyelashes fluttered. Does that mean you're dreaming? Do Gods dream? Maybe that's where you are. Maybe Olympus is like some dream place. I can't imagine what it's like. I think it must be beautiful, like you.
Your back deserves a song all by itself... //
Not another musical number. No, for that he would *have* to kill the mortal. There was a line, and Joxer was about to cross it. The God of War did *not* allow mortals to write odes to his back.
The mortal didn't even have to sing out loud anymore. Ares could hear it... every note, every stupid line change. The mortal managed to *think* off-key and there was always a new verse to torment him. Another ridiculous, tasteless rhyme that Joxer tried out and discarded, but not before *he* got to hear it. If he *ever* found the Muse responsible for this, he would make her regret it for an eternity. Tortures unimaginable. He'd take her lute and stick it up so far--
// ... What do you get out of being the God of War? Are you happy with it or do you wish you were the God of something else, something that people liked more, like the God of Love or something? Gabby's always saying that War is ugly, but you're not. She doesn't appreciate me, either, so I guess that should make me feel better, but it doesn't. Do you even mind that people don't like you? That Xena doesn't? And if you don't, do you care that I love you?... //
Not this again. Think about food. Think about playing with the swords. Think about *sex*. Anything but this sentimental... He wasn't sure what was worse--Joxer's songs or his constant nagging need for reassurance. It was wrong. What did this mortal expect from him? Confession of eternal devotion? Mortals confessed to their Gods. Gods did *not* devote themselves to mortals. Persistence? Why had he thought that was a *good* thing?
Why *should* he care what a mortal thought of him? Sheer idiocy. Mortals could think for themselves in a limited way. The Gods couldn't be involved in their everyday survival, after all. But there was no reason to pretend that mortals were capable of anything more than that. The mortal philosophers actually thought that humans had free will. Ridiculous. Where was the evidence? That they made stupid choices was obvious, but that was hardly proof that they deserved freedom. Except for Joxer, the philosopher fool. *His* philosopher fool. Joxer was like one of those annoying puppy dogs that mortals always made the mistake of feeding. He just wouldn't go away. No. He was worse than that, even. He was like those horrible cats the Egyptians worshipped. Some misguided mortal had donated one to his Temple one day and the little monster had torn its way up his drapery and clawed one of his pillows to shreds. A menace. He'd put the thing outside because the priests were afraid to touch it and it had whimpered pitifully. He'd given the priests some really wicked sneezing fits for their cowardice and gave the cat directions to the nearest mortal village. It was so much easier to deal with the lower animals. They actually listened. And they didn't *talk*. And they didn't think about anything but survival. If Joxer thought about survival once in a while he might not be so worried about pain.
//...I won't write a song because you probably wouldn't like it. I know why you don't like my songs. I've thought a lot about this since I met Gabrielle. She tells stories really well, but I don't think even a bard could describe your back. I've decided that there aren't words that would do you justice, because I'm just a mortal and I only have mortal words. So why do I keep trying? Especially when I *can't* describe you. To anybody. You won't let me, so it's pointless to worry about how I'd tell someone about you, about what you mean to me. And what you *do* to me. Oh, my God. What you do to me... //
Fuck it. The mortal's hands were so close, so close to touching him that he could feel himself tense in readiness of it. If the mortal touched him, he would open his eyes and that would be that.
But the mortal didn't touch him. And so he had no reason to open his eyes. Eventually, the mortal *had* to go back to sleep. Didn't he? Where did this one get his energy? Why was he still awake, still thinking? No. He would not open his eyes. Not even so he could show the mortal how annoyed he was. That he might still kill Joxer. Joxer, who was getting too confident. He didn't even need to open his eyes to see the mortal leaning over him.
That strange, odd face, with its totally open expression always either smiling or looking hurt. The pale skin of the mortal's arms and chest. Sensitive, so easily injured that he had to be careful or he would cover the mortal in bruises, breaking his tender skin, his fragile white bones, making him cry out as he split the mortal open like a ripe fruit. Damn, even thinking about it was too much. He might still hurt Joxer. He *wanted* to hurt him. To share this.
He was so hard now that it really wasn't pleasurable anymore and he was *this* close to passing that on. The God of War didn't suffer well and he swore, he would *not* suffer this agony alone.
//...Maybe if I touch your back, just lightly, so that my fingers brush against your skin but not hard enough to wake you and not soft enough to tickle, maybe then I can find the words. Like that. You move under my hand and I hold my breath, fearing you will wake up, hoping that you'll wake up. Because I want you, now. I've never wanted someone just from touching their back. Okay, so I haven't really touched that many backs, but still. I can imagine. I *have* imagined. And I don't think it could be like this with anyone else, not even another God. You're different, I think. From the rest of the Gods. It's like you're closer to us than they are. Maybe that's why you're always reminding me that you're a God. Are you afraid that I'll forget? Or that you will? You shouldn't worry. I won't let you forget who you are, even when I forget who I am. Ares, I really want to forget who I am. I want to be someone else. And if you let me tell the world about us, I could *be* someone else. Let me forget. Let me... //
The mortal's hand was now hovering over his back, almost enough pressure to fire his desire, too little pressure to satisfy.
//...I can trace the muscles that lie so smoothly when you sleep. Feel them shift under my touch. Roll over. Please, roll over. Let me see your face while your eyes are closed and you aren't scowling at me because I've said something or done something wrong... //
The mortal's knees were still pressed into his side and so he stretched slightly and moved onto his back to put some distance between them. But Joxer's weight on the bed pulled him closer and Joxer shifted slightly and so he found himself pressed up against the mortal's side, now. He just couldn't get away from this mortal.
//...Wow! Did I do that? Can I control you in your sleep the way you control me when you're awake? It's funny how I think these things, but only with you. What would I make you do if I *could* control you with my thoughts? I don't have to make you undress because you're already naked. So beautiful. I understand why Gabby was so tempted by the scroll. That kind of power shouldn't be in the hands of mortals. We're too weak... //
Ah. Finally, the mortal was thinking sensibly. Mortals were weak. Maybe he *did* know his place after all. The thought of Joxer's weakness made him even harder, made him want to take Joxer, now. There would be no need to tie him down this time, if the mortal knew his place, which was beneath him, kneeling at his altar and offering himself. Pain. Pleasure. All of it. Body, soul, words, deeds, even his thoughts if he touched him now and gave in as a mortal should. Love. Even that, if Joxer would only stop thinking and touch him...
//...*I* am weak, Ares. Ares. I want to be strong. I want to take you. To make you... touch yourself. Put your hand up to your chest and stroke your nipples the way I like to touch you. If you were smooth and cool like a statue I would have expected that. But your skin is warm and I can even feel your heartbeat under the soft fur on your chest... //
The mortal admitted weakness but only to demand that he be made strong. Impudent little... Who did he think he was, anyway? He obviously hadn't heard the real story. *Not* one of Aphrodite's best efforts. Right after the idiot tried to kiss her, Pygmalion had stuck a chisel in Galatea, right where it hurt.
He really should do something extreme... something to put the fear of a God in this mortal. But maybe that lesson could wait because, right now, he wanted to put *himself* into this mortal and it was with an effort of will that Joxer could not even *begin* to appreciate that he didn't use force, throw the mortal off-balance and take him hard and without mercy. Tartarus. The mortal was always off-balance. He was unbalanced, obviously. Insane. No sane mortal would lay a hand on the God of War and not fall to his knees for the privilege of continuing to live.
//...Why do you have a heartbeat? The beat of it, the constant beat of it against my hand makes me angry, suddenly. I'm not sure why, but I don't want you to have a heartbeat. I don't want you to pretend to be a man and then get angry with me for treating you like one. So you have a heartbeat, Ares. So what? Do you have a heart? Or is it a just an empty sound, not really a part of your body, like the cold white flash of you blinking in and out of my world? Touch yourself. Put your hand to your heart and tell me what you feel... //
The mortal dared to complain about his heartbeat? He should stop it. It didn't matter. It was just an indulgence on his part. He didn't need this. It was mortal philosophers who thought that emotions were regulated by the balance of liquids in their fragile bodies. Limited and sentimental fools. To think the red stuff pouring out onto the battlefield *meant* anything but pain and death and War. Good things, no doubt about it, but it was not as if even Joxer's blood was anything more than his life. He should never have let Joxer see him bleed. And the mortal had nearly faded out from the sight of it.
Joxer needed to learn. Gods had no hearts that weren't illusions. The mortal should learn that lesson now. Maybe it was already too late. Joxer would probably panic and fade out as he always did. But it would serve the mortal right. Joxer was wrong. The mortal *could* easily forget he was dealing with a God. No. He would *not* stop the heartbeat just because Joxer didn't want it to beat.
//...Ares. Wake up. Tell me what I want. *Give* me what I want and don't make me ask for it this time. Let's play a game, Ares. I'll be that other Joxer, the enchanted one who knew the right words and who I'm sure made a fool of himself but didn't know it, so it didn't matter. And you pretend you don't notice when I'm being ridiculous. We can pretend that I know what I'm doing and that I'm not panicked most of the time, trying to figure out what you want in time to give it to you, trying to avoid the next obstacle before I run into it, trying to entertain you so you won't regret this... //
Who *was* this mortal to speak of regrets? The Gods had no regrets. The Gods made no mistakes.
So it was definitely *not* a mistake to want Joxer now, and the dangerous sense of himself slipping away when he let the mortal inside him was just another illusion. The Gods were immortal. Eternal. And it was just an illusion that his power seemed to explode into so many pieces each time he came with this mortal's body so close, inside him and surrounding him, that he wasn't sure he could pull it all together and go on. An illusion. A heart beating... but no heart.
The Gods were omnipotent. So there was no risk in playing games with this mortal. If anyone was going to be hurt, it would be Joxer. It was the mortal's risk. Entirely Joxer's fault. He should have learned by now that they had to play by his rules. The God of War didn't play mortal games, and Joxer shouldn't push him unless he was up to the fight. He shouldn't tempt the God of War. He could still be killed. Something could happen. The mortal shouldn't rely on a God's self-control when he was this weak.
//...I know I talk too much. I know I'm always doing this wrong. You just want someone to fuck and I keep screwing that up. So I won't talk. And I won't think. Touch yourself and I won't worry about Gods and mortals and finding the right words... //
Not someone. Not any mortal. This would be the last mortal. They were entirely too dangerous. Too fragile.
//...Touch yourself... //
With his hand to his chest, Ares could feel his own false heart beating too fast. He was perfect. The illusion was too convincing and he almost stopped it, silencing his heart, stopping his breathing. He was breathing faster now and could hear the mortal's breathing turn to short, desperate pleas for him to wake up, touch himself, all demands that should not be made of a God, but Joxer didn't understand. Joxer needed to learn but while the mortal's thoughts were turning vividly erotic, it was clearly already too late. He was at that edge and looking past it to see himself slipping away, flying off into chaos. Only the steady rapid sound of two hearts beating held him to the Temple, to Joxer, to himself. And it was all too perfect an illusion. So dangerous. He could almost forget that he had no heart and, if he allowed himself that, Joxer would have no one to remind him. Of his place.
Kneeling at his altar. No thoughts. No words. No more of this.
"Ares?"
No one else made his name sound like a prayer without trying. Without thinking.
He opened his eyes and tried not to smile at the face of his desire. It was too late. There was something about him, something terrible, something that made him feel almost *nice*. He shuddered as the mortal's hand touched his face, those long fingers running through his hair. "Joxer."
"Hi."
"Hi." His heart did stop, for just a beat, as he heard himself answer back, without mocking Joxer. How had he come to this?
"Did you sleep well?"
"I had... dark dreams."
//...Gabby says that dreams are gifts from the Gods. So where do Gods get their dreams?... //
Another question from Joxer. Another demand. At first, the voice was so strong that he was sure Joxer had asked it, but that was impossible. The mortal's soft, wet lips were already occupied, brushing softly over his body and tearing him apart. He heard himself groan, his heart pounding harder now, as it did in battle, and he could already taste it.
"Shh, mortal."
"I'm not thinking."
The mortal's head rose to meet his, and Joxer kissed him softly again on the mouth and he almost pulled away. It was too much. He had never let any other mortal kiss him like this. It was a mistake. Too intimate. The mortal would forget his place. The mortal's place was here.
"You think too much."
//...I can't think while you touch me. I can't think while you kiss me. I can't...//
"Don't think. Don't speak. Mortals should be seen--"
"And not heard. I know. I'm sorry." //...No thoughts are good enough. No words can describe this. I want... I can't... Ares, there are no words for what I feel, so how can I feel this... something? This... everything? I need-- //
"The only word you need tonight is *yes*."
He grabbed for the mortal's head as it moved down and his fingers ran through Joxer's soft, straight hair. The mortal's soft lips kissed a line down his body, stopping at his cock which still lay heavy and hard on his belly.
//...Yes? But what's the question?... //
Another kiss and the mortal's mouth sheathed him, Joxer's tongue circling around his cockhead insistently, devotedly. Yes. This was Joxer's place.
//... Love me... Ares...//
And the word slipped out before Ares could stop it. "Yes. Ah, yes."
No more questions. No more words. The energy built up around him, centering in his cock and radiating outward. He could feel the Temple vibrate with it, could hear the crackle of it in the air, could see it spark off Joxer and light the room in white hot arcs that split off from his body and returned again with a force that made him tremble. So much power and it was all his. Somewhere, an army made a last stand in his name and the blood flowed onto the battlefield. No, the mortal could never understand.
And, as he came into the warm, mortal heat of Joxer's mouth, he could see clearly, as only a God can see... the mortal's life, a thread that had come off the Fates' loom. He had done this. He had removed it when he denied Hades this mortal's life. And now that life hung between them, threading out from the mortal and wrapping itself around them both.
Joxer's mouth tightened around him, pulling, so much pressure and perfection. The mortal had learned well. Yes. Ares struggled once more as he felt the thread cutting into him, severing him from himself as Joxer took him over that edge into chaos. And he held on as it cut into him, cut him off, as close to pain as pleasure in a way this mortal could never understand. Yes. Yes, this was pain. This was pleasure. Yes.
The final pulsing of energy flowed out of him and he closed his eyes against the intensity of it. And he held onto that thread as if his own life depended on it, letting go of everything else. It was a terrible risk and yet he had no choice. It was too late. Yes. He had to believe that Joxer would be strong enough to pull him back again.
—FIN—
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Read the next story in the series: "Temper, Temper..."
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