LOVE IN A TIME OF TWILIGHT by LadyKate
What if Xena agreed to Ares' "bargain" in EVE? Angst, D/s, Language, M/F, N/C
An alternate version of the events in the Season 5 Xena: Warrior Princess episode, "Eve."
Rated Adult
He watches her from afar as she stands at the foot of a cross with a body hanging from it. There are other bodies, staked to crosses, piled on the ground; the air is full of blood and death. He can’t see her face, but he knows she’s hurting, and right now, Ares is darkly, viciously glad. He would have given up the world for her love, and she has used him as a pawn -- made him suffer in ways far worse than what he remembers of physical pain from his brief time as a mortal. Let her hurt too.
He comes closer; and, from the way Xena tenses, even with her back to him, he knows she feels his presence.
“She’s something, isn’t she? Livia’s almost racked up the body count you had at her age.”
She doesn’t flinch or turn her head. “She’s my daughter, you sick bastard.”
“Why do you think it was so easy to turn her?”
This time she says nothing, and Ares knows it’s a hit. That would be her worst fear, of course; that underneath all that Greater Good crap, she’s evil to the core, and has passed this evil on to her child. He doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter what she calls it; it’s all blood under the bridge, and he tells her that. He cannot tell her that he loves her, and so he says the only thing he can say.
“You give me a child, the other gods will never find out that Eve is still alive.”
She turns around; there is a strange smile on her face that could almost be tender. “I’d rather go to Hell.”
Everything inside him tightens into a knot of rage -- Damn you, Xena, why won’t you love me! - and he closes the distance between them in huge strides until he’s in her face, his hands clenched hard on her shoulders. “Dammit, Xena - I am not asking you, I am telling you! You give me what I want or I will bring all of Olympus on your daughter’s head!”
Her face hardens, then; there is only a quick flash of anguish in her eyes before they turn ice cold. When she speaks, her voice is dry and sharp, the sound of a whip on flesh. “All right.”
In shock, he lets go of her. Did she -- He’s not sure what he expected, but not this. He manages a choked, “What?”
“All right. ” She says it again. “You’ve got your deal. Go ahead.” This time it’s she who grabs him, her hands tugging hard at this vest. “You want to do it right here?” Her mouth twists in a sneer as she nods toward the slaughtered. “Does this turn you on, Ares? Is this how you like it?”
“Xena -- ” he stammers, his heart beating so hard that he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. She steps back and reaches behind her to unbuckle her breastplate, her eyes never leaving his, and it’s almost in a panic that he wraps an arm around her and takes them both away in a burst of light and smoke.
He takes them to a fortress in his domain, to an inside chamber where there is a large bed covered with black sheets. He waves a hand, lighting candles. He has dreamed of such a moment for a long time; but not like this. There is a dull ache in his heart, and a cold, clammy sensation that he dimly knows as fear.
Her breastplate falls to the floor with a thud that makes him flinch. He stands frozen in one spot, watching as she removes her tunic, her lovely breasts bathed in the candlelight. He wants her so much it makes the breath catch in his throat; but that hollow ache is still there, and the fear, and other things. Casually, briskly, she pulls off her undergarment, then goes to the bed and lies down on her back, her legs open and bent at the knees.
“Do it,” she says, looking away, her voice flat.
He lets his swordbelt drop and walks over to the bed; but before he even touches her, he knows this is not going to work.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” he says. “Not like this. Get dressed. I’m taking you back.”
Slowly, she gets up and faces him, her face taut with rage, her eyes bright, mocking. “Not like this? What’s wrong, Ares? I’m not passionate enough for you? Here, I’ll show you passionate.” She clasps her hand on the back of his neck and pulls his head toward her, kissing his mouth roughly, her teeth sinking into his lips. When she pulls back, they’re both out of breath. “There -- was that good enough? Or are you too much of a coward to fuck me? That’s it, isn’t it?” She punches him in the chest. “You coward. You fucking coward.”
“Stop it.” He is equally aroused and terrified; he has no idea what she's going to do, but he knows that something dreadful is happening and he can’t help it.
“Oh no,” she says. “You’re not backing out on me. You wanted a deal, you got it, you bastard.” Her palms flat on his chest, she pushes him so hard that he falls back on the bed; before he can say anything else, her fingers are tugging at the fastenings of his pants. A jolt of pleasure shakes his body, and he can only groan helplessly when she frees his cock and it juts upwards. The part of him that can still think wants to stop her.
“Are you out of your mind? Xena, stop -- ”
“Shut up,” she hisses, straddling him. “You’ve got your deal.” And with that she slides down, taking him inside her warm wetness. He cries out and bucks against her.
“Don’t - don’t do this --” he says again, but his body won’t obey him; he has as little control right now as if he were mortal. He doesn’t know if he wants to push her off or take her in his arms and pull her closer; only he knows, instinctively, that she won’t allow any gesture of tenderness. She pins down his arms and fucks him hard, slamming into him, her teeth bared in a snarl. “Is that good, Ares?” She’s panting now, but the venom is still there in her voice. “Was it as good when you fucked my daughter? Was it?”
He groans in desperation. “Xena - I lo- ”
“No.” She cuts him off, her lips trembling, her eyes ablaze with loathing. “Shut up and fuck me. This is what you wanted. This is your deal.” She rides him harder, faster, bending down toward him so that her hair cascades on his chest. Hatred rolls off her in waves that scorch him.
“Stop,” he says again, and tries to free himself without having to actually throw her off; but his squirming succeeds only in pushing him deeper inside her. In spite of everything, the pleasure tightens into coils of heat in his groin, so intense that he could almost forget himself.
“Take it,” she says. “Take your deal. You’ve taken everything else I had.”
He knows he’s about to come, and he knows he can’t let this happen, can’t let her finish this. He tries to focus, to regain some control, but her words slash, once again, into his awareness. “You make me sick to my soul,” she says, her voice low, vicious, vibrant with pain. “I hope Eve really can destroy the gods. I hope she kills you. I want to watch her cut out your heart.”
He finally manages to lock his hands on her hips and stop her movement, and almost succeeds in getting her off him when she clenches around him and he is undone, fiery tendrils shooting through his cock, his body racked by spasm after long spasm; and when it’s over, the orgasm she has forced from him is followed by a surge of overpowering sickness.
Xena rolls off him and collapses next to him, as if she too were spent completely.
After a moment Ares raises himself up to look at her. The hatred is gone from her face; in its place, there is nothing, a blank stare that appalls him even more. She lies flat on her back, her arms at her sides, her legs apart, traces of his shameful pleasure glistening on her thighs and on the dark thatch of curls on her mound. He has seen women like this, in raided villages and conquered cities; women used for sport by enemy warriors, sometimes not one but many; women who weren’t dead but looked dead, their legs spread, the soldiers’ seed leaking from their violated bodies.
He reaches out hesitantly to touch her face; but she shudders and he moves his hand away.
He moves down, kneeling between her legs, and brings his mouth down to her thigh. She flinches and pushes him away with an anguished gasp. “No, no -- ”
“Let me,” he says hoarsely and bends down, licking away the thick white droplets staining her skin. Perhaps she realizes what he’s trying to do, because she sighs deeply and does not resist him again, not even when he slides his tongue inside her soft, swollen folds. He is more like an animal licking a wound than a man pleasuring a woman; but, as he licks her clean, her body responds despite herself. Her hips shudder and she moans a little. He stops and looks up at her, their eyes connecting; she sighs and closes her eyes and arches slightly toward him. He leans down again and kisses her gently, as if in some strange act of comfort or penance, as if making her come could make things better, could make up, somehow, for everything that has happened. After a few moments she convulses and cries out, and then lies still.
He conjures up furs to cover her, and reclines on the bed by her side, leaning against the headboard, still fully clothed. He wishes he could lie with her and hold her in his arms and bury his face in her hair; but that is now unthinkable and he knows it.
Xena lets out a long, shuddering breath. He is almost afraid to look at her face; and with good reason, because when he looks, she’s crying, huge tears welling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
“Did you give me a child.” Her voice a dry whisper.
“No,” he says, startled. “No.”
“Why not,” she says, listlessly. “Maybe this one - maybe -- ”
Her voice trails off in a sigh, or a short sob; she sits up, wrapping the furs tightly around herself, and then climbs off the bed and walks to the window. She stands there, rigid and silent, staring ahead; staring at nothing, because he knows there is nothing there but vast gray plains that look painted, a landscape that is not part of this world.
Ares gets up, too, and walks up slowly behind her. She doesn’t turn or move, just stands there as she was, her hands clutching at the dark furs around her shoulders, her body stiff. He stands there a moment, following her gaze, looking out at the desolate expanse before them; finally he reaches out, awkwardly, to touch her shoulder. He pulls his hand back.
“Xena.” He tries to coax his voice to gentleness, but it comes out hoarse and harsh. “Let me help you.”
At first she does not reply, and he’s not even sure she has heard him. Then, “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Xena -- ”
“If you want to help me, stay out of it.”
He swallows hard, and nods. Right now he feels nothing; he knows the pain will come later. A memory comes to him of the time he entered her dream and won her trust by saving her child; the tender, bewildered look in her eyes, the soft heat of her mouth yielding to his kiss. He closes his eyes for a moment.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll take you back.”
She turns wordlessly and walks past him, to where her leathers and armor lie in a crumpled heap on the floor. He remains where he was, standing still, looking out the window of his fortress. There is nothing there.
THE END