The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights. If you don't agree or disapprove, please go read something else.
Xex Alert: Oh Boy Is There. .This is a Prurient Piece with a Bit of Kink (If you hear the crack of the whip then you'll be in the neighborhood) Proceed at your own risk. :)
Oh, he ached to look upon her. She was beauty and life and lust and death incarnate and Ares loved her. She was a warrior's dream. She understood the need to quench a sword's thirst. She knew what it was to hold life and death in her hands, to have that ultimate power.
She knew war. He was War! She comprehended war and made war and played war in ultimate acts of destruction and creation.
That was as it should be. That was her inheritance.
But, as she knew war, she also knew love. She comprehended love and made love in ultimate acts of surrender and origin.
Gods. How had that happened? Hadn't he groomed her? Hadn't he prepared her? He'd taught her everything. Hadn't he?
Xena knew War because of *him*.
But he wasn't helping her now. He couldn't. Anguish filled him with the thought. If only. ..If only he'd known. He could have prepared. There was so much he could have done!! New weapons, more men. Something.
Here she was engaged in the most important battles and there was nothing he could do but play observer. He viewed Xena's battles with trepidation when he should have been shouting his greatest joys. He kept waiting for a misstep and there were a few, which made his heart howl with pride. But the folly that he feared, that would end her, never occurred.
Xena was successful despite him, without him. Damn. It should upset him. He should feel challenged. He should feel threatened. After all, it wasn't his name upon her lips. But all it did was *excite* him. OH ZEUS. It was glorious. It was more than he'd ever hoped for. He was glad for it.
He could FEEL Xena. TASTE Xena. Her very name set every nerve upon his body to joy. The chant of her identity was an elixir for passion. It melted into him, when they called her to Olympus.
It was NOT how he'd expected it. Not at all. He'd wanted a warrior, a warlord dedicated to nothing at all but him. He'd wanted a consort. But she was more than that. Much more.
She was champion. The idea of it shuddered through him. He'd never had a true hero through his bloodline. He'd never known what it felt like. If he'd known it would feel like this maybe he would have. . . No. Nice thought, but he wasn't the type . . .But Xena, she was the exception in his mind.
He still couldn't understand this impulse to do. . .good. . .It felt odd to him. Out of place. But Athena said he'd just never noticed it before. Right place, right time and good could happen in battles too and the strategies . . .
Athena wanted her. The Goddess said, "Xena should be my champion." OH NO!!! NOT this time. Good or not, *she* couldn't have his Xena. That warrior was his. His flesh. His blood.
Ares didn't care how good Xena was being in between battles. Xena was making war with a style that would be the envy of great generals for ages to come. Caesar was a child compared to her. She was doing Ares proud.
His flesh. His blood.
Xena had proved!
At last, one of his had proved!!
And he was Missing it all!!! It was an agony. It was *so* unfair!!!
Athena could want all she cared to. She was up here. Stuck upon Olympus like the rest of them. These so called Gods, who were weakened by fear. Ha. He wasn't afraid to die. He'd died a million deaths, one with each sword stroke. He knew what it was like to end. He'd felt them all. He was, after all, Battle incarnate. Didn't mean he was going to be foolish though.
He may know what it was like to die, but he wasn't ready to give away his life. Not for anything or anyone. He had too much to do and if he was patient enough, if he could still his blood's needs enough. . .
Hera, OH Mother, Hera.
She understood. She was the only one who seemed to understand the drive of his blood. His need (when Aphrodite wasn't here. There was something about that Goddess that set his soul on fire. But she was on earth and giving him the cold shoulder and Hera was . . .where he could reach her.) Her touch was soothing, though her face was hidden behind the veil she always wore.
It was She who held the keys to their chains. The Gods could be free, but.. .they were too proud. Zeus wasn't helping himself with the name calling. Fortunate she loved him, else she'd be pouring the hind's blood down the Father God's throat.
Ares didn't see what his Mother saw in Zeus. But each to their own.
The God of war shrugged and paced his marbled halls. He was as stuck as the rest of them. Maybe he wasn't bound to Olympus, but he was trapped into an agreement he should never have made. But it had been so tempting. He'd planned on deposing the ruffian and replacing himself upon the seat of Olympus, along side his Mother. He deserved the attention more.
He didn't see what Hera saw in Hercules either.
That was a lie. That was too much of a lie for even him. He knew all too well what Hera saw.
The darkness of this Hercules drew him. This one understood the lure of death too. He knew battle and waged it with those massive muscles. It made Hercules' interesting, instead of dull and so damned "heroic." Xena at least was doing it right and with flash and style. His kind of Hero. Xena could be a Goddess. She will be a Goddess. Ares' eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Hercules, the straight and narrow and good had been nothing to Ares. He was boring. He never wanted to do what Ares wanted. But the soveriegn, Half-Mortal or not, this one was Almost. .. almost Ares equal.
And so seductive. There was a memory of strong calloused hands caressing Ares' body, the bristle of beard against his cheek. The promises whispered moist and hot against his ear. His mouth . . .the way he moved his mouth. The way Hercules took him in. The way he'd filled Ares. . .pushed. . .Oh Gods That was strength put to good use.
And then Sovereign had Betrayed him.
Betrayed . .
The memory ate at Ares, scored him with its mark. Hercules had Taken his hope of winning a true place with the Gods away with a few words. Now Ares walked the edges of Olympus, not daring to enter the places where the other Gods dwelled.
Because of HIM.
Betrayed. . .
Something in him knew that he would not be the only one to suffer. Hera may hold the blood, but this Sovereign, he was clever. His eyes moved too much.
Soveriegn wanted too much.
The Hercules of the Vortex was a deceiver. He was too dangerous, much too dangerous to let continue. He'd only let Ares live because the War God had promised to aid him. Now the God of War was obligated, charged with his promise, because a God was only as good as His Word.
Now there was no one to stop that bastard half. Those gods who remained upon the earth's face were too weak, in Ares' estimation. Though Artemis had potential. He stopped his pacing and looked thoughtful and a bit sad. But. . .there was no one who could match the ruthlessness, the thoroughness, the cunning except for . ..
Xena. His expression brightened. His steps took on a new bounce. He twirled the sword in his hand lazily.
Sometimes, when the fire of her rose high enough he saw through her eyes, felt through her body. When battling he felt the strike of her arm, the splash of blood, the shiver of death's anticipation. He liked that. He recognized that. But then, sometimes he would find himself staring into green eyes filled with an ardor he'd never imagined. Xena's blood would alight for a different reason and it came nigh unto blinding him with its intensity.
Gods, the bard was so passionate. Their passion seared him from Xena's mind, from her blood. He knew it. He felt it. He felt them and couldn't resist falling into it and being burned again and again. It was Xena as a sword, bathed in battle's heat, then quenched in love's river. She was being tempered. He could feel it. Strengthened in ways he didn't understand.
Xena knew love because of *her.*
Gabrielle's desire, but it was more than desire and more than heat. She fought too. He could taste her on the edge of his mind. He could feel her grief and her fervent determination to succeed. Who knew? Who knew. He could have used that, had he known.
Aphrodite knew.
She used it too, to lock him out. To keep him bound to this damned rock. He could have taken Xena otherwise. Used the Warlord. .OH gods..yes. . Xena was back.. .could have used his flesh as a ticket back. But no.
He would catch bits and pieces that he didn't recognize. A softness, a tenderness that made him feel, differently. He couldn't decide if it made him nauseous or if he wanted to crawl right into it and disappear.
Instead he had to watch from a distance, without touching. But Xena . .oh. .she was smart. She knew war. She intuited things he couldn't tell her. She was beating Hercules back and back and back to Olympus. She was herding the mock brother as if he were a sheep and she a brutal, unpredictable shepherd. It was beautiful to behold.
Hercules would call Ares, demanding help and the War God would provide another plan, suggest another way. But . . .Xena was always thinking, always moving. Hercules' great strength couldn't stop the force of her, because she would yield sometimes in surprising moments and Hercules. ..
Hercules was thrilled by her as much as Ares was. Her fire became addictive. He wanted her just as badly. He called her a whore and a worthy consort, swaying between the two visions depending on how angry he was. Hercules would yell, "DO something." But there was nothing Ares could do or that he wanted to do. Still, he was obligated, so he would work on it.
Xena was his blood. His open secret. He shivered with delight in the memory of his defeat at her hands in the Furies' court. Worthy indeed. But NOT for Hercules. Ares' daughter was meant for greater things and that bastard didn't measure up.
Xena.
One thirsted for Xena, because she was like water. She would flow and tumble over you. She would push you to your limits. She was wild and turbulent. Sometimes she was so subtle you hardly knew she was there. She was deep, so very deep. The problem was, if you weren't careful you would find yourself drowning.
Drowning.
That's what it felt like when he found himself drawn to their passion. It was like drowning in them, their pleasure. They melded together, like rivers meeting and pouring out to one channel. He would be flung away by the force of it, banished because he couldn't stay afloat.
And when they parted, they never fully separated did they? There was that connection and the drive. The drive that was so alluring and frustrating.
It was never his name upon her lips. She never called him; not during battle's heat, nor love's. Never him, but ALWAYS *her.* Sometimes "For Greece." Sometimes, "For Country." But Xena's call and search was always for
Gabrielle. She was Xena's chant, her thought, her motivation. Gabrielle. Her name smoldered upon Xena's lips. Her body tuned to Xena's body.
He didn't understand it. What was it? He couldn't see it. He'd asked Aphrodite once, what she'd done. What it was with them. She'd said, "You wouldn't get it, even if I told you." Then she'd told him some nonsense about the fates and and yin and yang and meant for each other and changing the world. It had made no sense. She was right. He didn't get it.
But he was secretly glad that it worked.
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This page was last updated: March 16, 1998
ŠJanuary 1998