the witching hour [xena, nc-17]
Title: The Witching Hour (or The Most Fun Two People Can Have in a Tent in Siberia)
Author(s): Kaz (setforstun [at] tumblr, wakefulanguish ) and Jen (delightfullyvague [at] tumblr, crackmuse )
Fandom/Pairing: Xena: Warrior Princess, Xena/Alti
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sex, and potentially dubious consent (depending upon how you look at it).
Spoilers: Adventures in the Sin Trade, Part I
Word Count: 3,929
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their respective PTB and Universal Pictures. We are borrowing them for a non-profit bit of frolicking in the Xenaverse.
Notes: So we decided last night that our muses needed a kickstart, so we chose a pairing neither one of us had ever done before. We both wrote scenes for and edited the whole thing collaboratively in about 12 hours. This is utter self-indulgent PWP and we like it that way (and we think you will, too).
The clamour and the clangour of the troops sounded a forthright din in Xena's already swimming head. She took another swig of her drink. It was just after nightfall, and the roaring bonfire was barely a crackle in the undercurrent of their boisterous victory celebration. Men were swaggering across the campsite with mead in hand, boasting and baring their well-earned battle scars. There were others squatted beneath the open flaps of their tents, toasting up at the first night sky they'd gotten to admire since they arrived in the far north. Even the servant girls were enjoying themselves; draped languidly across the laps of her unkempt warlord underlings, who laughed throatily with the timbre of a thousand smoked pipes. Xena's smile turned into a wince as another crowd nearby roared with laughter. Her pulse pounded in her head. She drank again.
The success of the day's slaughter meant that they would be able to eat fine food and fresh drink for the first time in weeks. It had been a long string of battles to take possession of that hill; once the gruesome spikes had been laid atop it, and their lifeless, twisted faces bore their milky gaze down the side of the knoll, her strained battle cry left what remained of the opposing army quaking in their hiding places, and her troops relieved and invigorated. They'd earned their rest.
Sweating, aching, and swaddled in fine metal-studded furs sat Xena, the soon-to-be Destroyer of Nations. She pursed her lips and quietly looked up from her dented metal stein to eye the crowd again. A few more victories, perhaps, and the title would be hers to wrench to her own dark end. She rubbed vigorously at her nose and brushed the dried blood off her fingertips. She could feel her toes going numb with the cold, and her breath curled upward in lazy circles as she set her cup down and tucked her fingers back into her coat.
It wasn't until she heard the delicate clatter of her jewellery a short while later that she'd even noticed she'd nodded off. Half her men had passed out fireside, and the remainder had quieted, retreating to their bunks to polish their weapons and stretch out their aching muscles. Xena thought she might do the same, and moved to stand; the effort was a great deal more taxing than she'd originally anticipated. Her head was still reeling, though not from the alcohol. She let out a long hiss of pain as she straightened up.
That stubborn guard captain had done a number on the back of her skull; she could feel the enormous bruise forming, and the ringing in her ears was growing fainter, but had still not diminished. She began the long walk back to the command tent, stepping over broken earthenware bottles and charred firewood with a measure of deliberate focus. She pushed the heavy flap of the tent open. Surely Borias would be back by now. Sidling in the darkness, she fumbled for her flints and lit the candle in the centre of the room. A figure was looming large in her bearskin armchair in the corner, but it was most definitely not Borias. Instinctively she twitched a hand by her hip and closed her tingling fingers around the cold hilt of her sword.
"How's your head?" The voice stung her ears with an unwelcome sharpness.
"...Alti?" Xena's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?"
“Visiting you of course,” Alti purred, her dark eyes shifting beneath the beaded fur cap fixed tightly around her head as she leaned forward. She traced her tongue lightly over her bottom teeth as she smiled. Her arrogance infuriated Xena. How dare she take shelter here without invitation?
“You forget yourself Alti,” Xena warned her, “and you’re in my seat.” Quick strides took her to the chair and she grabbed a good armful of the witch’s robe.
“I thought this throne was for Borias,” Alti countered, rubbing her hands against the smooth animal hides that had been wrapped around it for comfort and display. “This is his army, after all.”
Xena tore Alti from the seat and flung her hard against the centre tent pole. Keeping her iron grip on the witch’s arm, she twisted it painfully behind her back and leaned into Alti’s neck.
“In name only. When the time comes, the men will follow me.”
“You need me Xena,” Alti said, “You’ll never become the Destroyer of Nations without me.”
“We’ll see…”
Xena’s grip on Alti relaxed and she let her go before stumbling back to the chair. The throbbing in her head was returning tenfold. She pinched the bridge of her nose to chase the pain away.
“Getting careless on the battlefield, mmm?” Alti drawled at her in her distinctive gravelled voice. She had already drifted back to the warrior’s side. Xena tossed her head aside as the shamaness probed at her skull; her dark hair whipping across her face.
“I don’t need anything from you,” Xena sneered.
“Oh but you do,” Alti insisted.
The warrior froze as she felt the prick of a knife against her neck. The witch was playing games.
“What’s to stop me from slitting your throat? You don’t command in this tent Xena. You keep Borias too close. And as long as you do, you’re weak and vulnerable.” Alti drew the blade swiftly back across Xena’s hair and came away with a dark lock entwined around her fingers. “I need it for my incantations. I’ll have your wound fixed by morning.”
Without another word Alti slipped out of the tent like a diminishing shadow. Xena exhaled slowly, and slunk lower in the chair, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. She touched a finger to her neck; it stung. When she withdrew her hand, a droplet of red-black blood clung to it, winding its way down her outstretched palm. Touching her tongue to it, the familiar biting taste brought her senses back to life, even for a moment.
She cursed under her breath. “Vile snake-woman.”
With one swift maneuver she slid down the chair and out from under her massive outerwear. The shift was cooling in the night air; a welcome sensation against the sticky humidity that lingered in her hair and beneath the leather sheaths she kept so close at hand. Xena fingered her sword again at the thought. She could have drawn her weapon and killed the woman easily. She could have stepped back and thrust forward in one swift motion, twisting and gutting her and leaving a horrid stinking mess for her servants to clean up in the morning.
But she didn't.
She let the woman poison her mind with those words; perhaps, for a moment, she believed they were not poison at all, but a single, self-asserting moment of truth. Alti was self-serving, to be true, but was she a liar? Xena did not trust any one person more than she trusted her own gut; the gut that was currently twisted into tiny, ineffable knots at the thought of betrayal by the man she'd lain with for so many of these relentless winter nights. The mere thought that she was capable of feeling betrayed was terrifying in its own right. When had she grown so soft? No man held her heart. No man was above her own well-honed dance of possession and manipulation. No man could play games with her. No man could sway her from her desires.
Xena had been digging her nails into her palms, laid stone still against the bedroll. She squeezed her eyes shut, unflinching even when Borias finally crawled into the tent at daybreak.
The biting Siberian air whispered across her shoulder as he drew back the furs and climbed in next to her. She felt the weight as his muscular body settled in next to hers; his breath warm against her neck as he whispered her name.
“Xena…”
“You stink of booze,” Xena muttered, and shifted to her side.
“Charming, as always,” Borias replied. “I was celebrating my victory with my men. As you should have been. Instead of in here, with that witch…”
The admonishment was clear in his voice, and Xena burned with resentment. His men. His army. His way. She felt his hand travel roughly down her back; his sword calluses were hard against her skin.
“You forget where I found you, Xena. This is the army that I built. You let a few victories go to your head. You should know your place.” His fingers swept from the hair from the nape of her neck and wound her locks firmly into his clenched fist.
“You need me, Xena…”
Something about his voice didn’t sound right. Xena twisted in his grip even as Borias planted fierce kisses to her neck. Her eyes widened. It wasn’t Borias at all who was staring back at her.
“Alti?!”
“Feeling better?” Alti hissed and yanked her head backwards to expose the warrior’s throat. Xena drew back her elbow and drove it hard into the witch’s gut.
The breath escaped Alti in a rush and Xena was on her in an instant; pinning the hag to the furs.
“Perfect,” Xena mocked her. “How’s your stomach?”
A predatory smile curved onto Alti’s lips as the warrior sat astride her, powerful hands snapped tight around her wrists holding her fast.
“Never better. How’s the view?”
Xena twisted her hands downward. “Do you always answer a question with another question?”
“Do you?” Alti fought, but not nearly as hard as Xena knew she could. She was growing limp under her hands. Her dark eyes were glazing over. Before there was time to react, Alti had surged upward, breaking through the hold to a sitting position and wrenched Xena’s arm up to the point of dislocating her shoulder. There was a strangled cry and a loud thud as the younger yanked her hand free and scrambled to her feet. The shamaness followed in an instant; hands at the ready. “Is a fight all you really want?”
“I want an answer,” Xena spat, and took a long stride into the elder’s direct line of sight.
“To what question?”
She said each word with a distinct diction. “What did you come here for?”
“To see you, of course.” That hiss was unmistakable a second time.
The warrior grabbed Alti by the throat and lifted her a few inches in the air, her fingers threatening to crush the woman’s windpipe. “I’m getting the feeling we’ve had this conversation already.”
“And I’m getting the feeling we’re finished talking,” she croaked with what little air she had left, and whipped her knee up directly to Xena’s face, knocking her off balance and sending her staggering backward. Xena released her prey and threw a hand out to steady herself. Alti regained her composure and redoubled her efforts, taking a running start and tackling the warrior with the full of her strength. The two of them went toppling to the ground and exchanged a flurry of blows, some sending tiny flecks of blood flying about the tent. Xena reached up in time to grab a swollen fist and twisted it, pushing herself up and over and back to a dominant position on top of the shamaness. She pressed her knee into the woman’s ribcage, and Alti wretched. The witch grabbed the side of Xena’s head and pulled her own upper half off the ground.
“You know, there are much more enjoyable ways for you to lay your hands on me,” she crooned into Xena’s ear, and the warrior growled irritably, her head rearing up and her fingers locking around Alti’s wrists yet again. Alti’s head slammed against the cold earth. There was resistance, as there was when they were positioned this way not minutes ago, but when the shamaness went slack this time, her eyes did not change. They did not waver. Without another moment’s pause Alti leaned up to close her teeth around Xena’s lower lip. Xena’s first instinct was to draw back, but she knew Alti would bite down, hard.
She would not be able to explain that one in the morning.
She remained in her careful stance. Xena opened her eyes and locked them with Alti’s, challenging her. When Alti made no move to surrender, Xena did the only thing she could think to do: she kissed her.
Alti’s body surged beneath her; her thin lips parting and the witch’s demanding tongue receiving unexpected and pleasant entrance. She had meant to throw the shamaness off her game. Instead it was she who was shaken. Her body was already charged from the fight and it responded.
Her hands slackened on Alti’s wrists and the witch drew her arms to Xena’s shoulders; nails digging into the thin fabric of her tawny shift to claw her closer.
The warrior found herself pulled into the coarse woven robes that adorned Alti’s body. They smelt of wood smoke and animal hides and blood. She reviled her and yet she was drawn to her; still locked in her deep and suffocating kiss.
Xena pulled back. She was nobody’s to command. Borias didn’t own her. Neither would Alti.
Her hands returned to Alti’s forearms and pulled them away but her iron grip gentled to a hard caress as she placed them firmly back against the furs.
Alti’s wide dark eyes gleamed at her in protest as Xena traced a finger over her lips, and down her throat to rest at the clasp to her robes. A feral look entered the warrior’s eyes and she tore open the shaman’s tunic. Alti’s pale chest was exposed beneath her. She buried her mouth in it.
The dark smile on the shamaness grew ever wider as her hands wove themselves into the warrior’s hair.
“You feel powerful now, Xena?” Alti whispered. “Dominant?”
Xena lifted her head and Alti’s eyes glittered at her; dark with ancient magic.
“You’re in charge only because I let you take my power…”
She drew the warrior’s head back to her face.
“Now kiss me, like the Destroyer of Nations that I will make you.”
“I’ll kiss you when I’m good and damn ready.”
Xena bent and took a mouthful of the flesh at Alti’s hips into her mouth and bit down, causing her rival to arch upwards and suck in air harshly through her teeth. Her fingernails were becoming caked with dirt, clawing ceaselessly at the ground as Xena left a trail of pleasurable bruises in her wake. The warrior’s touch was scorching, primal, effortless. Electricity was building and it caused her nimble fingers to tremble. She pushed Alti’s thighs apart roughly with her knee and heaved upward, bearing down with her hips and barely sating the ache that was beginning to coil. Her movements came without a second thought, as if the momentum of their bloody tussle had been channelled into every flex of a muscle, every caress, every scratch. Her wrath was twisting without cause into desire. But was it desire for control, or for release? She did not know. All she knew was that this wretch would know her place, one way or another.
Alti sat up with the warrior and shrugged the rest of her own tunic off her shoulders, and tugged at the straps of Xena’s shift. When the offending garment had been pulled down, at least as far as it would go, Alti closed her fingers roughly around Xena’s breasts, pressing herself so close that she could feel her heartbeat. It gave the shamaness pause, and for an instant, she looked as if she might’ve been listening for something; something that was not there. With an irritable growl, Xena placed her own hands on top of Alti’s unmoving ones and urged them to continue.
Alti laughed darkly. “Are you always this insistent, or should I give myself the credit?” Without further protest, she continued to tug and press in all the right places, sending a visible shiver up the warrior’s spine. The response was just another guttural sound, and Xena leaned forward to press her lips firmly against the raging pulse point on the woman’s neck. It was there that she ravaged with teeth and tongue until Alti’s hands fell from their task to her side and a low groan erupted from deep within her throat. With a graceless shove, Xena knocked Alti back and struggled her way to her feet again.
“Don’t move.” It was not a request.
Xena stood over the spread eagled shamaness, and shimmied out of the rest of her shift. Stark naked, covered in blood and dirt and sweat and scars, and she was still a spectacle of power and control. She drummed her fingers against the side of her bare thighs and stared unblinkingly down at the woman who, moments ago, she would have sliced open from top to tail. No one was there to stop her. How dare she challenge her authority? Any of her men would have suffered the same grisly fate. But this one, this one was…
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Xena did not dignify it with a response, but rather strode proudly to her bedroll, throwing it open and sitting down upon it, bow-legged and grinning wickedly.
She patted the open space curtly. “Come. Sit.”
“I’m not your bitch, Xena.”
“Tell me that again in five minutes, crone. Now come here.”
Again, Alti did not protest, but stood and shed what was left of her clothing. But instead of sitting beside the warlord, she settled herself astride Xena’s lap, her nipples dragging little lightning bolts of sensation along the warrior’s bare torso, knees settling beside hips, until she looked her directly in the eye. As soon as the younger had reminded herself that this was still no ordinary tryst, she began to push Alti away.
The witch did not budge. “No, just trust me.”
“I don’t,” she said dismissively, and attempted resistance again. It was less than enthusiastic this time, as the shamaness took great care nipping at the exposed flesh of Xena’s jaw, her throat, her collarbone...
“Maybe that will change,” she murmured against the skin with an almost imperceptible note of sincerity.
“I doubt it.” Xena soured, but instead settled her hands on Alti’s hips, as the shamaness began a slow, purposeful grind. Xena began to grow dizzy, and held on more firmly. Every muscle in the lower half of her body was engaged, at attention, ready to seethe upwards and unhinge and envelop this excruciating contact, but she steadied her breathing; the control had not been lost just yet. She continued. “You’ve still not told me what you want.”
Alti stopped. Her breathing was uneven. “You want to know what I want?” The warlord was hit with the realization that the shamaness was having as difficult a time restraining herself as she was. Alti took two of her own fingers and hooked them gently into Xena’s mouth, which were accepted with parted lips, before reaching down between them both and taking hold of her. The extra effort was unnecessary; Xena was already wet. She slid the two slick fingers back and forth with no resistance. The only sound that was heard was their breathing, coming in small starts when they could choke it down. Xena’s hips rocked forward of their own volition, and her fingernails clamped down. Alti snaked one hand around and back into Xena’s hair, leaning forward to whisper lasciviously into her ear.
“I want this; this… nothingness, this void of space that exists between you and me, right now, at this moment. Do you feel that?” She pushed upward again, and Xena let out a barely audible groan. “Your spirit is like a vacuum, Xena,” she slid slowly, so slowly back and forth, “unlike anyone’s I’ve ever seen before,” Xena’s eyes were rolling back into her head now, and she was powerless to stop what was so swiftly approaching, “untouchable by anyone but yourself.” The warrior clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
“Your essence, Xena,” she purred, as if she’d dripped melted honey down the woman’s spine; her voice dropped another devilish octave, “I crave it.”
Xena thrashed her head backward and let out a nightmarish scream, her release crushing her chest, wracking her body, and her hands winding and pulling at her rival’s dishevelled hair. Alti would have laughed, but her lips were stolen in a clash of violent kisses; teeth and tongues were wild and fervent and Xena relinquished her power gladly, but only for a glimpse of the clarity which she held so precious.
The witch pulled away. Alti raised her body up; her spine arched and beaded with sweat as she rocked back on her heels. Her eyes were glazed from the delicious rush of spiritual energy. It empowered her. She raised her glistened fingers to her mouth and drew the wetness across her lips; felt her dark magic absorb every morsel she could. She let her hand fall and deliberately claw into the earthen floor. Soil stuck to her bony digits as she drew out the symbol of the shamaness on the floor.
Xena had watched her primal display with fascination until she recognised the truth. She stared at the scratched out word on the ground and then back at the sated expression on Alti’s face. The witch had completed a ritual, and had used her to do it. Anger burned in her chest. She rolled quickly to her feet, lip curling in contempt of the witch. Still naked, she kicked Alti’s clothes toward her.
“Get out,” Xena ordered her; her rage uncoiling along her veins as she spoke.
“No breakfast in bed?” Alti cackled as she reached for her robes.
“Just go. Now.”
Xena had already dressed in three smooth movements, the refreshing weight of her armour a shield between them. She wanted her gone.
She wasn’t the only one.
Cold air blasted in from outside as Borias threw back the tent flap and ducked inside. Contempt marked his swarthy features as he glared at Alti. “What is that hag doing in here?”
Alti’s demeanour changed instantly; arrogant malice replaced by subservience to the war lord. Her head bowed and twisted to the side.
“Tell him Xena,” Alti said with malice. “Tell him how I stayed with you all night…”
Xena’s eyes hardened but Alti’s smile grew wider as she adjusted her headdress and ran her fingers over the bone talismans stitched to her robes. Borias stared intently at her before Alti continued.
“I did only what was necessary. She had a head wound. I treated it. Now it is gone.”
“As you should be,” Borias bit out curtly. “Now get out.”
Alti bowed her head to the chieftain and he afforded Xena an unpleasant smile.
“Tell me you didn’t drink any more of her foul poisons,” Borias said after she had gone. “I do not like her pedalling her concoctions to my army.”
Xena’s head snapped up. His army?
“You shouldn’t provoke her Borias,” Xena warned him. “She has powers…”
“The only magic this hag has is her power over you,” Borias scoffed. “She’s a leech. You would do well to rid yourself of her distraction. She’ll get in your way.”
“I’ll deal with her when she does. Just as I would any man.”
Borias tilted his head and laughed. He closed his large hand around her jaw and his fingers pinched into her skin. She jerked her head away.
“Of course you would,” he echoed her. “I expect nothing less.”
FIN.
Author(s): Kaz (setforstun [at] tumblr, wakefulanguish ) and Jen (delightfullyvague [at] tumblr, crackmuse )
Fandom/Pairing: Xena: Warrior Princess, Xena/Alti
Rating: NC-17 for violence, sex, and potentially dubious consent (depending upon how you look at it).
Spoilers: Adventures in the Sin Trade, Part I
Word Count: 3,929
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their respective PTB and Universal Pictures. We are borrowing them for a non-profit bit of frolicking in the Xenaverse.
Notes: So we decided last night that our muses needed a kickstart, so we chose a pairing neither one of us had ever done before. We both wrote scenes for and edited the whole thing collaboratively in about 12 hours. This is utter self-indulgent PWP and we like it that way (and we think you will, too).
The clamour and the clangour of the troops sounded a forthright din in Xena's already swimming head. She took another swig of her drink. It was just after nightfall, and the roaring bonfire was barely a crackle in the undercurrent of their boisterous victory celebration. Men were swaggering across the campsite with mead in hand, boasting and baring their well-earned battle scars. There were others squatted beneath the open flaps of their tents, toasting up at the first night sky they'd gotten to admire since they arrived in the far north. Even the servant girls were enjoying themselves; draped languidly across the laps of her unkempt warlord underlings, who laughed throatily with the timbre of a thousand smoked pipes. Xena's smile turned into a wince as another crowd nearby roared with laughter. Her pulse pounded in her head. She drank again.
The success of the day's slaughter meant that they would be able to eat fine food and fresh drink for the first time in weeks. It had been a long string of battles to take possession of that hill; once the gruesome spikes had been laid atop it, and their lifeless, twisted faces bore their milky gaze down the side of the knoll, her strained battle cry left what remained of the opposing army quaking in their hiding places, and her troops relieved and invigorated. They'd earned their rest.
Sweating, aching, and swaddled in fine metal-studded furs sat Xena, the soon-to-be Destroyer of Nations. She pursed her lips and quietly looked up from her dented metal stein to eye the crowd again. A few more victories, perhaps, and the title would be hers to wrench to her own dark end. She rubbed vigorously at her nose and brushed the dried blood off her fingertips. She could feel her toes going numb with the cold, and her breath curled upward in lazy circles as she set her cup down and tucked her fingers back into her coat.
It wasn't until she heard the delicate clatter of her jewellery a short while later that she'd even noticed she'd nodded off. Half her men had passed out fireside, and the remainder had quieted, retreating to their bunks to polish their weapons and stretch out their aching muscles. Xena thought she might do the same, and moved to stand; the effort was a great deal more taxing than she'd originally anticipated. Her head was still reeling, though not from the alcohol. She let out a long hiss of pain as she straightened up.
That stubborn guard captain had done a number on the back of her skull; she could feel the enormous bruise forming, and the ringing in her ears was growing fainter, but had still not diminished. She began the long walk back to the command tent, stepping over broken earthenware bottles and charred firewood with a measure of deliberate focus. She pushed the heavy flap of the tent open. Surely Borias would be back by now. Sidling in the darkness, she fumbled for her flints and lit the candle in the centre of the room. A figure was looming large in her bearskin armchair in the corner, but it was most definitely not Borias. Instinctively she twitched a hand by her hip and closed her tingling fingers around the cold hilt of her sword.
"How's your head?" The voice stung her ears with an unwelcome sharpness.
"...Alti?" Xena's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?"
“Visiting you of course,” Alti purred, her dark eyes shifting beneath the beaded fur cap fixed tightly around her head as she leaned forward. She traced her tongue lightly over her bottom teeth as she smiled. Her arrogance infuriated Xena. How dare she take shelter here without invitation?
“You forget yourself Alti,” Xena warned her, “and you’re in my seat.” Quick strides took her to the chair and she grabbed a good armful of the witch’s robe.
“I thought this throne was for Borias,” Alti countered, rubbing her hands against the smooth animal hides that had been wrapped around it for comfort and display. “This is his army, after all.”
Xena tore Alti from the seat and flung her hard against the centre tent pole. Keeping her iron grip on the witch’s arm, she twisted it painfully behind her back and leaned into Alti’s neck.
“In name only. When the time comes, the men will follow me.”
“You need me Xena,” Alti said, “You’ll never become the Destroyer of Nations without me.”
“We’ll see…”
Xena’s grip on Alti relaxed and she let her go before stumbling back to the chair. The throbbing in her head was returning tenfold. She pinched the bridge of her nose to chase the pain away.
“Getting careless on the battlefield, mmm?” Alti drawled at her in her distinctive gravelled voice. She had already drifted back to the warrior’s side. Xena tossed her head aside as the shamaness probed at her skull; her dark hair whipping across her face.
“I don’t need anything from you,” Xena sneered.
“Oh but you do,” Alti insisted.
The warrior froze as she felt the prick of a knife against her neck. The witch was playing games.
“What’s to stop me from slitting your throat? You don’t command in this tent Xena. You keep Borias too close. And as long as you do, you’re weak and vulnerable.” Alti drew the blade swiftly back across Xena’s hair and came away with a dark lock entwined around her fingers. “I need it for my incantations. I’ll have your wound fixed by morning.”
Without another word Alti slipped out of the tent like a diminishing shadow. Xena exhaled slowly, and slunk lower in the chair, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. She touched a finger to her neck; it stung. When she withdrew her hand, a droplet of red-black blood clung to it, winding its way down her outstretched palm. Touching her tongue to it, the familiar biting taste brought her senses back to life, even for a moment.
She cursed under her breath. “Vile snake-woman.”
With one swift maneuver she slid down the chair and out from under her massive outerwear. The shift was cooling in the night air; a welcome sensation against the sticky humidity that lingered in her hair and beneath the leather sheaths she kept so close at hand. Xena fingered her sword again at the thought. She could have drawn her weapon and killed the woman easily. She could have stepped back and thrust forward in one swift motion, twisting and gutting her and leaving a horrid stinking mess for her servants to clean up in the morning.
But she didn't.
She let the woman poison her mind with those words; perhaps, for a moment, she believed they were not poison at all, but a single, self-asserting moment of truth. Alti was self-serving, to be true, but was she a liar? Xena did not trust any one person more than she trusted her own gut; the gut that was currently twisted into tiny, ineffable knots at the thought of betrayal by the man she'd lain with for so many of these relentless winter nights. The mere thought that she was capable of feeling betrayed was terrifying in its own right. When had she grown so soft? No man held her heart. No man was above her own well-honed dance of possession and manipulation. No man could play games with her. No man could sway her from her desires.
Xena had been digging her nails into her palms, laid stone still against the bedroll. She squeezed her eyes shut, unflinching even when Borias finally crawled into the tent at daybreak.
The biting Siberian air whispered across her shoulder as he drew back the furs and climbed in next to her. She felt the weight as his muscular body settled in next to hers; his breath warm against her neck as he whispered her name.
“Xena…”
“You stink of booze,” Xena muttered, and shifted to her side.
“Charming, as always,” Borias replied. “I was celebrating my victory with my men. As you should have been. Instead of in here, with that witch…”
The admonishment was clear in his voice, and Xena burned with resentment. His men. His army. His way. She felt his hand travel roughly down her back; his sword calluses were hard against her skin.
“You forget where I found you, Xena. This is the army that I built. You let a few victories go to your head. You should know your place.” His fingers swept from the hair from the nape of her neck and wound her locks firmly into his clenched fist.
“You need me, Xena…”
Something about his voice didn’t sound right. Xena twisted in his grip even as Borias planted fierce kisses to her neck. Her eyes widened. It wasn’t Borias at all who was staring back at her.
“Alti?!”
“Feeling better?” Alti hissed and yanked her head backwards to expose the warrior’s throat. Xena drew back her elbow and drove it hard into the witch’s gut.
The breath escaped Alti in a rush and Xena was on her in an instant; pinning the hag to the furs.
“Perfect,” Xena mocked her. “How’s your stomach?”
A predatory smile curved onto Alti’s lips as the warrior sat astride her, powerful hands snapped tight around her wrists holding her fast.
“Never better. How’s the view?”
Xena twisted her hands downward. “Do you always answer a question with another question?”
“Do you?” Alti fought, but not nearly as hard as Xena knew she could. She was growing limp under her hands. Her dark eyes were glazing over. Before there was time to react, Alti had surged upward, breaking through the hold to a sitting position and wrenched Xena’s arm up to the point of dislocating her shoulder. There was a strangled cry and a loud thud as the younger yanked her hand free and scrambled to her feet. The shamaness followed in an instant; hands at the ready. “Is a fight all you really want?”
“I want an answer,” Xena spat, and took a long stride into the elder’s direct line of sight.
“To what question?”
She said each word with a distinct diction. “What did you come here for?”
“To see you, of course.” That hiss was unmistakable a second time.
The warrior grabbed Alti by the throat and lifted her a few inches in the air, her fingers threatening to crush the woman’s windpipe. “I’m getting the feeling we’ve had this conversation already.”
“And I’m getting the feeling we’re finished talking,” she croaked with what little air she had left, and whipped her knee up directly to Xena’s face, knocking her off balance and sending her staggering backward. Xena released her prey and threw a hand out to steady herself. Alti regained her composure and redoubled her efforts, taking a running start and tackling the warrior with the full of her strength. The two of them went toppling to the ground and exchanged a flurry of blows, some sending tiny flecks of blood flying about the tent. Xena reached up in time to grab a swollen fist and twisted it, pushing herself up and over and back to a dominant position on top of the shamaness. She pressed her knee into the woman’s ribcage, and Alti wretched. The witch grabbed the side of Xena’s head and pulled her own upper half off the ground.
“You know, there are much more enjoyable ways for you to lay your hands on me,” she crooned into Xena’s ear, and the warrior growled irritably, her head rearing up and her fingers locking around Alti’s wrists yet again. Alti’s head slammed against the cold earth. There was resistance, as there was when they were positioned this way not minutes ago, but when the shamaness went slack this time, her eyes did not change. They did not waver. Without another moment’s pause Alti leaned up to close her teeth around Xena’s lower lip. Xena’s first instinct was to draw back, but she knew Alti would bite down, hard.
She would not be able to explain that one in the morning.
She remained in her careful stance. Xena opened her eyes and locked them with Alti’s, challenging her. When Alti made no move to surrender, Xena did the only thing she could think to do: she kissed her.
Alti’s body surged beneath her; her thin lips parting and the witch’s demanding tongue receiving unexpected and pleasant entrance. She had meant to throw the shamaness off her game. Instead it was she who was shaken. Her body was already charged from the fight and it responded.
Her hands slackened on Alti’s wrists and the witch drew her arms to Xena’s shoulders; nails digging into the thin fabric of her tawny shift to claw her closer.
The warrior found herself pulled into the coarse woven robes that adorned Alti’s body. They smelt of wood smoke and animal hides and blood. She reviled her and yet she was drawn to her; still locked in her deep and suffocating kiss.
Xena pulled back. She was nobody’s to command. Borias didn’t own her. Neither would Alti.
Her hands returned to Alti’s forearms and pulled them away but her iron grip gentled to a hard caress as she placed them firmly back against the furs.
Alti’s wide dark eyes gleamed at her in protest as Xena traced a finger over her lips, and down her throat to rest at the clasp to her robes. A feral look entered the warrior’s eyes and she tore open the shaman’s tunic. Alti’s pale chest was exposed beneath her. She buried her mouth in it.
The dark smile on the shamaness grew ever wider as her hands wove themselves into the warrior’s hair.
“You feel powerful now, Xena?” Alti whispered. “Dominant?”
Xena lifted her head and Alti’s eyes glittered at her; dark with ancient magic.
“You’re in charge only because I let you take my power…”
She drew the warrior’s head back to her face.
“Now kiss me, like the Destroyer of Nations that I will make you.”
“I’ll kiss you when I’m good and damn ready.”
Xena bent and took a mouthful of the flesh at Alti’s hips into her mouth and bit down, causing her rival to arch upwards and suck in air harshly through her teeth. Her fingernails were becoming caked with dirt, clawing ceaselessly at the ground as Xena left a trail of pleasurable bruises in her wake. The warrior’s touch was scorching, primal, effortless. Electricity was building and it caused her nimble fingers to tremble. She pushed Alti’s thighs apart roughly with her knee and heaved upward, bearing down with her hips and barely sating the ache that was beginning to coil. Her movements came without a second thought, as if the momentum of their bloody tussle had been channelled into every flex of a muscle, every caress, every scratch. Her wrath was twisting without cause into desire. But was it desire for control, or for release? She did not know. All she knew was that this wretch would know her place, one way or another.
Alti sat up with the warrior and shrugged the rest of her own tunic off her shoulders, and tugged at the straps of Xena’s shift. When the offending garment had been pulled down, at least as far as it would go, Alti closed her fingers roughly around Xena’s breasts, pressing herself so close that she could feel her heartbeat. It gave the shamaness pause, and for an instant, she looked as if she might’ve been listening for something; something that was not there. With an irritable growl, Xena placed her own hands on top of Alti’s unmoving ones and urged them to continue.
Alti laughed darkly. “Are you always this insistent, or should I give myself the credit?” Without further protest, she continued to tug and press in all the right places, sending a visible shiver up the warrior’s spine. The response was just another guttural sound, and Xena leaned forward to press her lips firmly against the raging pulse point on the woman’s neck. It was there that she ravaged with teeth and tongue until Alti’s hands fell from their task to her side and a low groan erupted from deep within her throat. With a graceless shove, Xena knocked Alti back and struggled her way to her feet again.
“Don’t move.” It was not a request.
Xena stood over the spread eagled shamaness, and shimmied out of the rest of her shift. Stark naked, covered in blood and dirt and sweat and scars, and she was still a spectacle of power and control. She drummed her fingers against the side of her bare thighs and stared unblinkingly down at the woman who, moments ago, she would have sliced open from top to tail. No one was there to stop her. How dare she challenge her authority? Any of her men would have suffered the same grisly fate. But this one, this one was…
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Xena did not dignify it with a response, but rather strode proudly to her bedroll, throwing it open and sitting down upon it, bow-legged and grinning wickedly.
She patted the open space curtly. “Come. Sit.”
“I’m not your bitch, Xena.”
“Tell me that again in five minutes, crone. Now come here.”
Again, Alti did not protest, but stood and shed what was left of her clothing. But instead of sitting beside the warlord, she settled herself astride Xena’s lap, her nipples dragging little lightning bolts of sensation along the warrior’s bare torso, knees settling beside hips, until she looked her directly in the eye. As soon as the younger had reminded herself that this was still no ordinary tryst, she began to push Alti away.
The witch did not budge. “No, just trust me.”
“I don’t,” she said dismissively, and attempted resistance again. It was less than enthusiastic this time, as the shamaness took great care nipping at the exposed flesh of Xena’s jaw, her throat, her collarbone...
“Maybe that will change,” she murmured against the skin with an almost imperceptible note of sincerity.
“I doubt it.” Xena soured, but instead settled her hands on Alti’s hips, as the shamaness began a slow, purposeful grind. Xena began to grow dizzy, and held on more firmly. Every muscle in the lower half of her body was engaged, at attention, ready to seethe upwards and unhinge and envelop this excruciating contact, but she steadied her breathing; the control had not been lost just yet. She continued. “You’ve still not told me what you want.”
Alti stopped. Her breathing was uneven. “You want to know what I want?” The warlord was hit with the realization that the shamaness was having as difficult a time restraining herself as she was. Alti took two of her own fingers and hooked them gently into Xena’s mouth, which were accepted with parted lips, before reaching down between them both and taking hold of her. The extra effort was unnecessary; Xena was already wet. She slid the two slick fingers back and forth with no resistance. The only sound that was heard was their breathing, coming in small starts when they could choke it down. Xena’s hips rocked forward of their own volition, and her fingernails clamped down. Alti snaked one hand around and back into Xena’s hair, leaning forward to whisper lasciviously into her ear.
“I want this; this… nothingness, this void of space that exists between you and me, right now, at this moment. Do you feel that?” She pushed upward again, and Xena let out a barely audible groan. “Your spirit is like a vacuum, Xena,” she slid slowly, so slowly back and forth, “unlike anyone’s I’ve ever seen before,” Xena’s eyes were rolling back into her head now, and she was powerless to stop what was so swiftly approaching, “untouchable by anyone but yourself.” The warrior clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
“Your essence, Xena,” she purred, as if she’d dripped melted honey down the woman’s spine; her voice dropped another devilish octave, “I crave it.”
Xena thrashed her head backward and let out a nightmarish scream, her release crushing her chest, wracking her body, and her hands winding and pulling at her rival’s dishevelled hair. Alti would have laughed, but her lips were stolen in a clash of violent kisses; teeth and tongues were wild and fervent and Xena relinquished her power gladly, but only for a glimpse of the clarity which she held so precious.
The witch pulled away. Alti raised her body up; her spine arched and beaded with sweat as she rocked back on her heels. Her eyes were glazed from the delicious rush of spiritual energy. It empowered her. She raised her glistened fingers to her mouth and drew the wetness across her lips; felt her dark magic absorb every morsel she could. She let her hand fall and deliberately claw into the earthen floor. Soil stuck to her bony digits as she drew out the symbol of the shamaness on the floor.
Xena had watched her primal display with fascination until she recognised the truth. She stared at the scratched out word on the ground and then back at the sated expression on Alti’s face. The witch had completed a ritual, and had used her to do it. Anger burned in her chest. She rolled quickly to her feet, lip curling in contempt of the witch. Still naked, she kicked Alti’s clothes toward her.
“Get out,” Xena ordered her; her rage uncoiling along her veins as she spoke.
“No breakfast in bed?” Alti cackled as she reached for her robes.
“Just go. Now.”
Xena had already dressed in three smooth movements, the refreshing weight of her armour a shield between them. She wanted her gone.
She wasn’t the only one.
Cold air blasted in from outside as Borias threw back the tent flap and ducked inside. Contempt marked his swarthy features as he glared at Alti. “What is that hag doing in here?”
Alti’s demeanour changed instantly; arrogant malice replaced by subservience to the war lord. Her head bowed and twisted to the side.
“Tell him Xena,” Alti said with malice. “Tell him how I stayed with you all night…”
Xena’s eyes hardened but Alti’s smile grew wider as she adjusted her headdress and ran her fingers over the bone talismans stitched to her robes. Borias stared intently at her before Alti continued.
“I did only what was necessary. She had a head wound. I treated it. Now it is gone.”
“As you should be,” Borias bit out curtly. “Now get out.”
Alti bowed her head to the chieftain and he afforded Xena an unpleasant smile.
“Tell me you didn’t drink any more of her foul poisons,” Borias said after she had gone. “I do not like her pedalling her concoctions to my army.”
Xena’s head snapped up. His army?
“You shouldn’t provoke her Borias,” Xena warned him. “She has powers…”
“The only magic this hag has is her power over you,” Borias scoffed. “She’s a leech. You would do well to rid yourself of her distraction. She’ll get in your way.”
“I’ll deal with her when she does. Just as I would any man.”
Borias tilted his head and laughed. He closed his large hand around her jaw and his fingers pinched into her skin. She jerked her head away.
“Of course you would,” he echoed her. “I expect nothing less.”
FIN.