Title: Hot
Author: Goddess Blue
Email: goddess.blue@gmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules the Legendary Journeys
Pairings: Ares/Joxer
Disclaimer: Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules the Legendary Journeys,
characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Universal
Television Distribution Holdings LLC. They are used here for
entertainment purposes only.
Warning: Explicit sex. Naughty language. First-time. Rimming.
Underage, unless you think contextually like me, and fifteen really
wasn't too early to lose your virginity in Ancient Greece.
Status: Complete
Archive: Yes to AJCS. Anyone else, please ask.
Website: http://www.geocities.com/nonexistent_virtually,
http://www.livejournal.com/users/goddess_blue,
http://www.fanfiction.net/~goddessblue
Notes: I wanted this to be an innocent little sweet virginity fic, but
then Ares was naked and himself and it just kind of snowballed from
there. And grabbed a meaning along the way. I think. Also: what /is/
it about this fandom that has me writing NC-17?
Summary: Joxer likes it hot, and Ares thinks that sweat can be just as
good a sacrifice as blood.
A lot of people underestimate the midnight cool breeze, but not Joxer.
He knew it was something that Xena and Gabby loved about sleeping
underneath the starry night sky. After a long, weary day of
walking--step after step after step--they were covered in the tracks
of their dripping sweat, practically begging for the night winds.
It was the real reason they avoided campfires in the Fall, although
Xena would insist that they were just less likely to draw the
attention of thugs and tramps without one.
Xena loved it cool.
But, Joxer? Joxer liked it hot.
Joxer /liked/ the sweat that dripped down his neck and over his lean
back and down his skin underneath that ridiculously stifling armor.
Joxer liked the aching stretch of his muscles when they'd been worked
much too hard. Joxer liked that his clothes absorbed his sweat like
they were hungry for his very essence; until they smelled more like
him than he did.
But then Gabby would heave a world-weary sigh and Xena would smirk and
call a halt to their march, and they would make camp and bed down and
listen to Gabby's stories as the day cooled to night and Joxer
mourned. Xena and Gabby would say soft good nights and exchange
meaningful stares and Joxer would, uncomfortably, cheerfully, offer
his own wishes for their good dreams.
And then he'd settle back with helmet pressed tightly to his chest,
and wait for the burning sun to come up again and soothe him. And
sometime after the fire died, if they had one, the midnight cool
breeze tickled over him and tried to soothe him, and he hated it. It
was persistent, trying to wipe the traces of sweat and cool his skin
and it made him crawl all over and /hate/ the midnight cool breeze.
But it just kept coming to take away the heat of day.
He wasn't existential by nature, but it always got to him when Summer
began to fade and Fall took over. He hated it. Almost, sometimes,
wanted to go hunt down Persephone and thrust her screaming and clawing
back into Demeter's arms. If only so that he could keep things hot
like summer.
But Joxer tried not think things like that, because Gods could,
occasionally, hear mortal thoughts (especially when the mortals were
thinking about /them/) and Joxer didn't want to piss off Hades. Hades
just wasn't the type of God you wanted to piss off.
So he yearned for the hot days of Summer and despaired of having to
exist through three more seasons until he could feel the sticky warmth
of Helios in his face.
There were reasons Joxer liked it hot, and in the end these reasons
had nothing to do with temperature or climate or slick skin... okay,
they had a little to do with slick skin.
He'd been fifteen the second time he'd dedicated himself to Ares.
It was the second time because when he was ten his father had done it
for him; marched him up to the darkly foreboding temple and pressed
his forehead to the altar and sliced his shoulder so he could watch it
bleed. But he'd been young, and awkward years before puberty was
scheduled to step in and play with him, and there was no answering
flash of the temple torches. The priests had exchanged speaking looks
and then offered their condolences to his father: Ares didn't want
Joxer.
Joxer's father had swore, spit landing on Joxer's bare back, and eased
up his hold on the scared little boy. Joxer had begun to stand and
wasn't prepared for the stunning blow to the back of his head. He
jerked forward, bit down forcefully on his tongue, and bled all over
the altar of Ares' godhood. His tongue lolled out of his mouth then,
and when his father smacked his head a second time, connected with the
marble slab and tasted the blood of things that Joxer had rather not
think about.
The taste.
The taste of blood and sweat and probably piss, because he was sure
close to losing his control and he wasn't even there as a sacrifice.
And then he'd been yanked back and pulled from the temple's main room,
and no one noticed if the temple torches fanned low for a moment, as
if considering.
He'd been fifteen before he could figure out how to sneak into Ares'
temple without getting caught, before an opening had presented itself
in the manner of a festival being held in the War God's honor and all
of his priests getting drunk off their high and mighties.
The temple was deserted, closed off because the temple was supposed to
be the whole city today. A whole city, Ares' temple. Some grand
gesture that Joxer really didn't care about and he figured Ares would
only find faintly amusing.
He was there, in that temple, and it was midsummer. High noon.
And it was /hot/.
He was bleeding sweat, like he'd fought a whole war all by himself and
was covered in the blood of his enemies. Fresh blood, because sweat
was sticky but it still rolled when dry blood would only cake.
He'd borrowed Jett's prize dagger--would probably pay for that
later--and headed to the temple to prove something. Prove that the
torches could fan hot for him the way they had with Jett, or flicker
at least, the way they had with Jace. Prove that he had /something/ to
offer the War God, even if it was only just his sweat and blood and
maybe tears.
Marched like a good little soldier up to the altar, sat on it, lay on
it, closed his eyes and melted on it like the sacrifice he hadn't been
five years before. Raised the dagger up above his gut; clenched his
eyes tightly.
"You're not really going to do that, are you?"
The voice was low and /coldcoldhot/, and Joxer's eyes sprang open when
it was followed by fingers on his calf squeezing roughly.
"You're already bleeding for me. Aren't you?"
The fingers, invisible, wiped at the sweat pooling around the edge of
his boots. The light dimmed just a little and they took on flesh and
form and soon he was staring, horrified, into eyes blacker than the
cold night starless sky.
"Aren't you?"
"Yes, my lord."
Black as sin hair. Muscles. A mouth that he really, really shouldn't
think of as cute. Power.
"I don't think you're bleeding enough."
Heat rushed up Joxer's spine and he arched, fingers flexing and
dropping Jett's prize dagger--he'd pay for that later--, crying out.
Sweating.
Gasping. Fingers. Ares. /Ares/ fucking touching him on his altar and
this wasn't really what he'd come here to do but he wasn't going to
/argue/. The torches flamed higher, and Joxer was naked and there was
just a second of cool before he was covered in heat and God.
God.
Ares was /naked/ too. And he'd never seen Ares before or even heard
him speak, and even Ares' priests, who were supposed to be some kind
of extension of his godhood, only sneered at him when he dared show
his face. And this was moving just a little too fast but, once again,
Joxer wasn't going to /argue/ when Ares was /naked/ and still touching
him.
And then Ares was licking him and Joxer was babbling his thoughts out loud.
"...touching me? I thought I wasn't... and there's blood all over this
altar underneath us, isn't there? Kind of cold-"
And then the altar was hot too, and Ares was settled happily into
Joxer's shoulder, licking and biting and searching for all of Joxer's
sweat, while Joxer was hard and thrusting up into his God despite his
mind standing back and telling him that if Gods wanted to fuck you on
their altars, you might as well just let them and enjoy it and lay
back and think of Greece and the /heat/.
Ares' hand reached down then and covered his desire, and then his
other hand reached down and grabbed at his /naked/ hip and shoved him
down and immobile and Ares began to thrust against him.
And Joxer bit his lip and didn't bleed but praised Ares that there was
enough sweat to make the slickslickslide of them--together, against
each other, /naked/--, comfortable. And Ares, at his prayer, had
snorted into his sweat and saliva slicked neck and lifted his face and
his eyes had been so /black/.
"There's lots of blood all over this altar, Joxer, but the only sweat
there that matters is yours."
And Ares had paused when he said that, and his eyes and Joxer couldn't
breathe for a minute and... and...
Then the profoundness of the moment was over, which turned out to be a
good thing because Ares began moving against Joxer again. Slamming him
into the altar and making him pant and keen and /sweat/. Moving the
marble with his thrusts and their noises and the torches were lower
than they'd ever been and Ares' breath was husky against his ear.
And Joxer felt special, really, which was a ridiculous thing to feel
in the middle of all this rutting angry thrusting stuff, but how many
people got to be this kind of virgin sacrifice?
Ares growled and Joxer came.
Ares stilled over him, and laughed into his neck, but Joxer was beyond
thinking anything was funny right now. There were fingers--real
fingers, funny. He hadn't thought that Gods had physical form, but
then he hadn't thought he'd be fucked on Ares' altar tonight, either.
/Fingers/. On his hips and something that wasn't a finger hot and hard
and /hot/ against his thigh. Getting covered in his come. Ares was
slick with Joxer's sweat and come, and wasn't that a thought that
could get him killed?
"I remembered you, when you came in here. I haven't thought about you
in five years, but the moment you walked in tonight I remembered you
and the way you taste."
Joxer's mouth moved ahead of his mind again, "Taste? You've tasted me?"
"The way you taste /things/. I'm going to taste you Joxer-," Joxer
shivered against the hot marble, "I'm going to eat you up."
And Joxer was wrenched up and turned around and his face was
planted--shoved--into that marble altar again.
"You tasted this, five years ago. You tasted all the sacrifices made
here to me, took them into yourself, and for five years they've
trickled through your blood. You're my living sacrifice, and I think
that if I can just taste you I'll be able to taste all of /them/ too."
And Joxer was suddenly imagining his God on his knees at his own
altar, mouth pressed up against the bleeding wound of Joxer's
ten-year-old shoulder, tasting his blood. And he wondered if that was
what sacrifice /was/.
But Ares was moving, biting his shoulder, kissing his spine, licking
the hollow of his back. Biting his cheek. And then, hand on each
cheek, shoving the globes of Joxer's buttocks apart. Ares' face was in
the most intimate place that existed on Joxer... Ares' /face/.
/Ares'/ face.
His God was /naked/, and kneeling in front of his own altar, with his
face pressed up against Joxer's ass.
Joxer was instantly hard again.
And then his /tongue/. Joxer's head wrenched up and his neck protested
loudly and he screamed. And then he groaned. And then he panted and
cried and begged, face suddenly /covered/ in sweat and Ares' tongue
was so /hot/.
He'd never been touched there--never even touched /himself/ there. And
Ares was fucking him with his tongue. He was losing his virginity to
Ares' tongue.
"Please, my Lord?" Joxer couldn't help but be respectful. Mostly
because this was /Ares/ but also because he was Joxer and Joxer was
inherently polite. "Please..."
There was a dissatisfied huff and then a response as Ares pulled away
from him. "Yes, Joxer?"
"Please fuck me. Make me yours."
"I don't have to make you mine, Joxer. You're already mine. You've
always been mine. You'll always /be/ mine. But I think I will fuck
you."
"/Yes./"
"See? Isn't this much better than killing yourself on my altar?"
"Yes, yes, yes."
"I love that word."
And then Ares was over him and hot and heavy and pressing him down
into the sticky, warm, bloody altar. Licking his neck. Spreading his
cheeks apart with a strong hand.
"This is going to hurt. A lot."
"Ye-"
And then there was only white-hot pain, and the sound of Joxer's
scream as his God took his virginity. His scream ended on a whimper,
and the sweat on his face was mingling with his tears, and Ares was
still on him, face buried in his neck. Licking again.
Ares' free hand turned his face, and Ares licked his tears and sweat.
And then Ares kissed him and all the pain went away.
His voice was husky now, and low, and not like him at all. "Yessss...."
And then Ares was slowly moving in and out of him. Sweat and saliva
and probably a little bit of Joxer's come was easing Ares' way. Maybe
a little bit of blood, but this wasn't about blood.
They went slowly for a while, Ares establishing a rhythm that lasted
peacefully until Joxer began to bump back up against him and claw
helplessly at the sticky-warm altar. And husk out 'yes' after 'yes'
until it was all he could hear in his own head. And then Ares began to
move harder against him--in him--shoving Joxer's hips into the warm
sticky. His own come and the warmed years of caked on blood.
He suddenly wanted to taste it again, in some sick part of his brain
that wanted to turn Ares on, and his God must've caught the thought
because he was being kissed again. Plundered by Ares' tongue and cock
and tongue that tasted faintly of himself and the place that he'd
never touched. And then his head was being turned and gently pressed
into the marble altar, and his nose was mashed up against it.
And Ares thrust hard and he opened his mouth on a groan just as his
face was pressed down just a little harder and he couldn't help but
/taste/.
The taste.
He kissed the sticky marble, open-mouthed and panting and Ares was
fucking him so /hard/ now.
"Yes, Joxer."
Joxer lifted his face up off the marble and stared blankly ahead, gaze
caught on the burning torches.
His hips slammed into the altar, and Ares was attached to his neck.
That seemed to imply that he tasted really good right now. His mouth
dropped open and a loud whimper snuck out and his hips were slammed
into the altar again, his dick sliding into the sweat soaked surface.
Come soaked. Blood soaked. Joxer soaked.
The torches fanned high and Ares froze above him and Joxer's hips were
grabbed fiercely.
Ares roared, and Joxer's ears rang, and come--/Ares'/ come--splashed
into him, deep, where he could feel it. And Joxer was still hard, but
Ares was even hotter all spent and wrapped around him, and there was
God-sweat on him now. Ares had broken a sweat fucking him and that
was...
Ares pulled out then, licked down his back and slid off the altar and
licked him once where he'd fucked him, causing Joxer to thrust himself
into the altar and groan while Ares chuckled.
"I'm not done tasting you yet, Joxer. Turn over."
Joxer really didn't want to, but the whole point of Gods was to make
sacrifices for them and here Ares was /asking/. He turned over.
Ares knelt again at his own altar and licked Joxer's thigh. He grabbed
Joxer's calf and pulled Joxer to the edge of the marble slab, so that
his legs were hanging off and kind of wrapped protectively around his
God.
"Sit up."
Joxer sat up.
"Watch me."
And then Ares touched his dick, picked it up, and licked it. And,
really, what else was Joxer going to do, look away? Ares licked it
again, slowly, tasting the drying come from Joxer's first orgasm, and
the drying sweat from their activities. And the residue of hundreds of
years of sacrifices given on this altar that Ares had fucked him into.
Tasting everything.
And then Ares' mouth wrapped around Joxer and it was /hot/. And wet,
too, but mostly hot. Joxer moaned and Ares lifted his mouth mostly off
and nipped at the head and Joxer cried out.
"Lord Ares hear my prayer--"
Ares sank down on him again and hummed.
"--all that I am I offer up in devotion to you--"
Ares growled.
Joxer's voice broke on a moan.
"--all that I have I shed at your whim--"
Ares sank all the way down... all the way. Completely. Joxer was lost
for words for a moment.
"--all that I will be is yours, for your glory."
Ares lifted his balls and squeezed and Joxer came.
And Joxer blanked out and came to, alone. At night. Woken by the cool,
midnight breeze across his naked skin.
He was prostrate over Lord Ares' altar, sticky with his own come and
sore with someone else's and it was the only way, after a minute of
coherent thought, that he couldn't dismiss it as if it had been a
dream.
He'd lost his virginity to his God, had been accepted as a sacrifice.
No one would ever believe him.
Joxer found his clothes in a messy pile several feet away and tugged
them on, picked up Jett's dagger--he'd pay for that dagger--and left
the temple.
And never told anyone.
He shifted against he night breeze, his armor softly clanking, and
fell to sleep within his own memories.
Yards away, invisible from mortal eyes, Ares watched him dream. And
silently waited for the day when he could take Joxer somewhere hot and
burn up with him.
Fin