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.
Author's note:
I'm sorry for having taken so long on this chapter. It's taken me several days (you know..since I last posted any sort of bit) to nail this one chapter down. Joseph will tell you that this doesn't look a thing like the original...but I think it says what needs to be said. I thank Beth for her moment of intuited, but unintentional guidance, Stormi and Shewolf for their support and wisdom, and Joseph for his patience.
I hope you find the wait worth it.
The process of reclaiming your soul can take you to strange places. A few days ago, I was baring my heart in dreams to a therapist, being regressed to my deepest fantasies. Today, tonight, those not so ghostly figures of my mind were alive...and full of passion.
Callisto's hands pushed into the bed. She clenched the sheets beneath my feet tightly, balling them in her fists. Her blonde hair spilled in front of her down-turned face. Her legs were spread and her knees bent. Ares' hands circled her waist. I could see the blooded head of his godhood peeking below her, pushing in a line, upward, but not inward. He rubbed himself sensuously against her wet crevice. Callisto, this goddess of mercy with a penchant for wildness, appeared to tamely move with him, rocking voluptuously against him, dousing his fire. Or was that inflaming it as she covered him with her juices?
He moaned. Callisto looked at me with eyes filled with excitement as Ares firmed his grip upon her hip. Then he moved up, away and dove into her, plunging deep and sharp. I knew he'd taken himself into the smaller rosy recess. I hadn't expected it, but Callisto opened for him, gasping in surprise and surrender. Then I saw it. Warrior and Mercy blended together in my vision for a moment, then separated into their physical forms.
Ares covered her like a stud to his mare. He held to her so tightly as his body slapped into hers in a steady rhythm, solid and wet. His chest rubbed against her back. They were silent, save for their breathing and those regular noises. His other hand, now free, roamed, claiming her skin as his own, her breast, her shoulder, her clit. His fingers played there, stroking and dipping deep into her, claiming every part for himself. He bit her shoulder with one vicious growl. I saw her skin turn pink with it. Callisto didn't shrug it off. She didn't scream either, but the goddess backed into him, matching him, grunting for him. I could practically feel the way she was pulsing.
Then, just like that, he stopped...and extricated himself. "Enough. Not this way," he said. My dark bearded lover released Callisto to the bed and she "fell," onto the soft cushions. He sat down, hard, besides her and waited for her to turn around and face him. The god gazed at the blonde with a mixture of lust, anger and a tinge of something else, before shaking his head ruefully.
I think, at that moment, the only thing that kept Ares going was his arousal, both emotional and physical. Otherwise he would have just crashed on the bed for a bit and slept it off. He was, after all, not exactly up to snuff. Not only that, but had my husband been anyone else, probably the outcome would have been different. Another time, another place, ...another personality...he would have pushed himself into the violence of the conflict. He could have been brutal, seeking restitution through domination, seeking through cruelty to establish himself as a power. Which would have been pointless, since Callisto was a goddess ...and truth be told, one can *not* dominate a Goddess...unless it's consensual, in which case, that is totally different....
Make no mistake, Ares liked to play and switch as much as the rest of us. He was a sensitive and skilled lover, knowing just when to touch or be touched, or for that matter, spank. He could take a body as far as that individual wanted to go, and bring them back safely in his arms. He could be infinitely tender, and ....incredibly arousingly rugged in his loving. I'd seen him tame 'Dite by pressing her against the nearest available surface and kissing and stroking her into submission. He'd pulled a frustrated Haphaestus out his funk by throwing the burly deity across the workbench, vanishing the clothes in the process, and plowing in from behind. Half the white fire in Vesuvius has to be generated from those moments. I certainly found it...inspirational... to see Ares stroke the smith god to shuddering climax while being deeply, resoundingly embraced between the Haphaestus' legs. (It is so worth it to see the glimmer of creativity spark back to life in Haph.) Meanwhile, Ares could alternate between supreme almost aching gentleness with Gabrielle and sometimes violent roughhousing with Xena. Or the other way around if the need called for it. I won't even mention how creative he gets when it comes to Mel and Jan.
For myself...well..we're still working it out. When he's around me, I've yet to get him to seriously tap into that raw dominant that he can be. I can't figure it out. He'll do almost anything for anyone else...but when I ask of him, anything beyond...well..sweet vanilla...He simply won't. *Haph* has absolutely no problem trying out his latest set of restraints on me. And I'm *always* at the top of the list when 'Dite wants to try some new position or variation. And I've done my share of dominating, but it's always a thrill when Callisto or Xena turned the tables on me. I only wished that Ares would try it. At least once. I trust him.
I mean, while I might only be a demigoddess. I do have *some* stamina (actually, I may have more...considering there have been times when *I've* worn them out.) I could certainly take that fair rod of his just as well as my beloved Callisto had...with a little more warning perhaps...but I was willing. If he ever wanted.
I asked Xena once, what the heck was going on with him. "He *reveres* you," was her answer, as if it were blatantly obvious. "You're *his* goddess." Well, Hip Hip Hurrah, worship is fun, but still, why couldn't he adore me with a bit of bite?
Actually, I really had nothing to complain about. And the truth was, I didn't know if my *belief* that he never played with me like he played with the others was true. Whatever the case, I loved when he touched me, no matter how. Ares is much too sexy for his own good.
Still, my point is that brutality, just for its own sake was not *this* Ares' way. The Warrior God, dark and handsome, had been respected by Gods and Mortals for a reason. He functioned under principles that were as spiritual as they were physical. He had a whole philosophy of ethics and honor that he abided by even in the worst of circumstances. He was *that* strong-willed. It was a trait that, I believed, had been passed on to his daughter. It was what set him (and the mother of invention) apart. Thus, given what Callisto had done to him, it was fairly obvious that the goddess of Mercy had a faith in his ability to hold back, or else she wouldn't have pushed his buttons so. Which meant that Callisto's machinations had a further purpose that *I* did not understand.
It was a God thing, and I was blind to the meaning of it all. I thought, at first, that it had something to do with me. Later, however, when I was in a state of mind capable of ruminating, I realized, that as desperate as my straits were, my problems were secondary to their concerns. As they should have been. Certainly, given the events, even I had ignored them in favor of another for a span of time. Besides, My needs were fairly easily satisfied, could be satisfied, had been (somewhat..I still burned) satisfied with a bit of loving attention and time. The other...well...that would take a bit of doing.
The wiry goddess gave me a look filled with concern and then sat up. She turned her attention to him. Ares' hand was shaking as he ran it through his unruly sweaty mane of hair. He sighed heavily and his godhood bobbled entrancingly with the exhalation. Then, wiser beyond words he said, "Why?"
That, I suspected was a question that should have been asked in the beginning. It was, however, something *I* hadn't thought to ask, and couldn't think to ask given my own state. The answer, unfortunately wasn't terribly revealing to me. I was..not as present as I might want to be. My mind just recorded the events as I quietly crawled towards them with a single minded purpose, led by the scent of their bodies; Roses and ambrosia and sex. Sometimes, despite myself, I can be very self centered.
Whenever I mention those particular feelings, Gabrielle tells me that is not true, not in the ordinary sense. She says, it's just that I become very focused when I get started. She says that there comes a point where it's not something that is controllable by me, that it is a necessary compulsion. Necessary it may be, but uncontrollable? I beg to differ. I mean, I have controlled it in the past...mostly...sort of...not really.
Okay, so it's something that I've been quietly working on, trying over time, but not too successfully, to sublimate those overwhelming sensations and the driving *need,* to something less ---- overpowering, because it's so annoying to lose bits and pieces of me to this "calling." Especially when it's mostly fun and something that I want to remember.
Though sometimes, I understand, it's been not in the least bit fun. Sometimes my release comes after arduous efforts and requires labors that might not ordinarily be needed. It's stuff I don't ...know...about. I only get told...and only part of it, I suspect...because my family, for whatever reason, erases most of the scars. That's what is so frustrating. I have to rely on the witnesses not on my own observation, so I can't tell what it is I've done, or been through. I only *feel* the results.
On second thought, there are some things that maybe I don't want to know. Maybe the things *I* remember are the things I *need* to in order to function as who I am. But, as I said before, it *is* frustrating.
And it's true, I'm okay *if* I don't get started, but if I've been out of contact for any truly substantial amount of time, such as in this case,....once I do get started, once I'm touched by the gods, I'm usually lost to the world for a few days. So, at that moment, I figured I was doing good to stay conscious (within some reason) of my surroundings. I fought for that consciousness, held onto it with the tiny fragile strips of my soul that were capable of such things. I honored my own will in this, but it was a bit like *forcing* myself to meditate, halfway succeeding, and seeing double in a flame's flicker. A part of me stepped outside of myself and had to, if the *I* that was aware beyond dreaming wanted to even be part of this. So I was witness, and participant, but...not conscious the way most people are, where I *normally* am. I was there without being there and my body acted for me, whether I would have it or not.
Callisto laid her hand upon his thigh, just below the juncture where his Godhood stood proud. He placed his hand over hers without crushing, but not quite embracing. He was just holding her in space for a moment. She raised her blonde brows at him, as if she thought he *ought* to know what she was thinking (and that was perhaps the case, but he was tired). Then, unsmiling, she said, "How do you tame wild things?"
My attention spiraled down, focusing on a wide red point. My breath felt hot and humidity wafted back up to me, carrying primal scents, salty essences that lingered upon my tongue. My breasts swung gently to rest at my halt from the crawl. The words came as if they were from very far away, of me, but from someplace deep inside my belly. "Gain its trust," I breathed as I lazily stroked the God's abdomen, my fingers curling through lovely dark hairs, "and if that doesn't work, capture it...", I said, as I placed a lingering kiss so gently on the crease where his life's cord had been cut (symbolically speaking that is. For some reason the Gods had belly buttons. I don't think they actually ...needed...them...but ...well that was a puzzle for later. All I knew was that I liked exploring the small valleys and hills those small scars made.). "Then," I whispered in sweet worship, "find the thing that will tame it." I licked my way down, nibbling through a dark forest and then up again along his length, as if I were tasting the sweetest candy. I moved so I could hold him, like the treasure he was, resting part of my body upon his thigh, so I had the reach.
A slim hand snaked its way into my hair and I found my attention lifted up so I was looking at Callisto's pixie face. Her smile glimmered. I felt a wide hand cover my butt and skim upwards along my backside. I felt fire run along the ridges of my back and arched with a moan into the touch. "You do have a way with words," Callisto said, just before she kissed me and melted me like butter.
"Next time, I get a horse," he said. I felt a bit of displacement and paused in the kiss, but even I understood his words as a warning, very clear. Gods don't care about nudity, but they are very aware of appearances. She hummed an acknowledgement against my tongue which made all my insides buzz with pleasure. Then they were both touching me and time flew away.
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