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. :)
Xena's dread trilling warcry scattered through the trees. Her people swarmed into the enemy camp with war shouts of their own. Sunlight glinted off blooded metal weapons and armor. The grind and noise and tang of blood being spilt permeated her senses. Gods she loved this. She lived for this.
She lived for the push and pull of battle. Her sword twisted in a man's gut, spilling him for all to see. She laughed with joy as the blood spattered upon her chest. She tasted him on her tongue, licking bonewhite teeth clean of his gore. "Was it good for you?" she mocked as he fell from her sword. "It was for me." His agonized expression as he looked into her blood crazed eyes gave her a thrill.
It was an orgasm of power. She was life. She was death. She was all of it.
All of it. All the sound and motions and heartbeats and heartcries.
The power of battle filled her. With a vicious cry, her chakram went flying. Heads disconnected from still mobile bodies. The weapon made a great circle and returned to her summoning hand, as if she were a Goddess. Xena laughed again. It was a terrible thing for her enemies.
It was a glorious thing for her followers. She was aware of her subordinates. Arden, Vivian and Esther, cut swaths of terror into the camp. Doba led troops that were all too willing to die or live for her. That thrilled Xena too. They were . . efficient, determined, a little too grim for her tastes, but oh so beautiful in their death dealing. And it was beautiful to her. When she wasn't in battle, she could convince her mind that she didn't like it. When she was in battle . . .
She was in the moment. There was nowhere else to be, but in the moment. She felt alive. She was aware of every tiny movement, every individual flash and scream, her own blood pounding. She loved it when they tried to outnumber her. It gave her things to work with, their own vunerabilities. She was an expert at vulnerable. She knew it intimately. Even more so, now that she *was* vulnerable. There was a soft space in her heart that made life valuable again. Which meant, above all else, she must survive, must lead this dance.
She did it the only way she knew how. Never quite knowing if she would come back up from the dark. Her scariest moments were just before entering the battle, when she felt the pull between her worlds, between the loves of her life. But once the battle started, she gave herself fully, riding the swelling tide like the master she was. She had no other choice. She could only trust that the returning pull would be as strong, that her lover's call would bring her back.
There was no one else with that ability. No parent, no god, no other love in her life. Only Gabrielle.
Xena leapt. Her body lifted itself into the air. She flew for a moment, higher than most mortals ever dreamed, and settled on some poor saps chest, crunching his life away with her feet. Then she kicked away from him, springboarding from the body to the next victim. Her sword swung an arc of death for her passage. There were garbled cries of pain and woe. The music of it incited her passion, made her blood sing hot through her body and mind.
Then there were the shouts of victory when a battle was won. There was nothing like the feel of triumph echoed in the voices of her warriors. "Xena, Xena, Xena!" The chant of her name. The bloody trophies of the vanquished. She would raise the flag of the camp, torn away from death crabbed hands, for all to see. They would shout their praises and her heart would swell with the pride of conquering another foe.
That would last for a little while, until her own chest ceased from it's exertion and her mind turned to the wounded. The thrill would start to pass then, though her blood would still boil. Her mind, however, would come back to the havoc that was wrought, and she would find herself thinking that she'd just made more work for Gabrielle.
Gabrielle, who came and took the crimsoned cloth from Xena's suddenly weary hand and who kissed her, no matter the condition of her leathers or mind. Gabrielle, her heart, who threw herself into battle (despite Xena's worst fears), then into the weariness of cleaning up after battle. Gabrielle, who tended the maimed, the faltering, the bloodied, whether friend or foe, leading Xena to do the same, friend or foe until the healers came.
Gabrielle led her away when the healers arrived. The warrior's eyes had yet to lose the passion of the battle, the edge of it. The energy sparkled around Xena like a violent aura in need of tempering. So Gabrielle, following some hidden wisdom within herself, pulled her lover away from the wounded, away (a little bit) from the fresh bite of the battle's scent, away from prying eyes.
Xena, who was still rough from battle, found herself pressing, pushing urgently, almost mindlessly against her lover. She removed breeches with no subtlety at all. Her own and Gabrielle's were soon piled together in the grasses. Gabrielle would not be able to wear hers again. The metal of Xena's breastplate were lucky to find themselves in one piece. They landed next to the underwear. Xena pushed Gabrielle's skirt up, not bothering to untie, undo or otherwise remove it. She lifted her own and the spokes of her skirt covered Gabrielle like the petals of a flower.
Her mouth covered the bard's in a bruisingly frantic kiss. Xena grabbed the bard's hips and lifted. Gabrielle parted wide for her, gasping as Xena began to rub against her with undisciplined intensity. Fingers bruised where they pressed. Their breathing mingled. Xena's voice, normally sultry in sex, was torn with need. "Mine." She growled, needing to affirm, that her choice was true, "Mine." Her hands finally let go. Gabrielle's hips were moving rhythmically against her. She could feel the bard's wetness dragging against her sex.
"Yes, love you." Gabrielle grunted out, understanding with her heart. She conquered by surrendering. Xena, who knew she was lost, did not mind. Gabrielle's mind's eye pictured Xena's powerful form in battle. The thought incited the bard to her own passion. Her fingers wrapped themselves in long dark hair as their mouths washed against each other, only to separate, when Xena suddenly buried her face against Gabrielle's neck.
Xena couldn't decide whether she wanted to plunge into the bard with her hand, or to continue scraping her fingers along the bard's sides. Her hips, meanwhile, had their own instinct to go by and she forgot all about decision making. Her mouth latched onto Gabrielle's neck and she moved her hips swirling and thrusting against her lover desperately. "Gabriellegabriellegabrielle," she gasped out the mantra of her fucking to her love. "Gabriellegabriellegabrielle," her mind and body became focused in one direction. Her voice was a hoarse whisper of devotion, given fully.
"Yes, Xena, yes."
There hadn't been a question, but it was the right answer.
It was an orgasm of power. She was death, brought into life. She was life, brought into light.
She was all of it. All of it. All the sound and motions and heartbeats and heartcries.
Love, which moves beyond power, claimed Xena again.
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This page was last updated: March 03, 1998
İMarch 1998