Welcome to AresJoxerCupidStrife

Hee...I should so totally be sleeping, but I got bit. So, um. Have
some smut...

Category: Ares/Joxer slash

Rating: NC-17 for pretty-much-gratuitous smut. Not a Perv, tho. I'll
do a Psychopath Perv some other time... *beams at Elektra, from whom
all Pervs spring*

Disclaimer: He's from old Ren Pics he come groovin up slowly / He got
War God eyeballed he one *holy* roll-- er... / He got right down on
his knees / Got to be a Joxer, he just do what he please...

Spoilers: Nah, I figure I'm too late to worry about that--and no real
timeline either. Just general A/J ambient time, based on what I've
watched so far.

Notes: I was supposed to be writing stalkerfic, and this walked up and
bashed me. *aggrieved look* Thanks to emyrys for gracious pimpage of
tapes! Uh, and marvel at me *not* typing Alex instead of Ares every
other time!

Summary: The acorn from the tree?

*
Mythology
Sleeps With Coyotes
ciceqi@www.slashcity.com
http://ciceqi.slashcity.com/
*

Sometimes Xena scares him. It's not like she goes out of her way
to--the occasional glare, that half-step towards him when he's
*really* done something...unexpected...but she does that to everyone.
Even Gabrielle gets it now and then, and it doesn't mean anything;
it's almost...in fun. *Ha-ha, I'm possibly *more* scary than I look,
but you're one of *my* people, and you can trust me. We all know you
can.* And he knows he can. It's just...

When she fights, it's like she's a different person. Someone who
ought to be in different stories than the ones Gabrielle has been
spreading across Greece--tales like tragedies, with the vengeance of
the gods, and Xena as the black shadow called by a sweetly lying name.
Old and terrifying, like the Kindly Ones. It's just...that *smile.*
Like she likes it. No, like she *loves* it. Needs it. Something as
basic and satisfying as bread, or the sweetest confection laced with
pure ambrosia.

If it was just when she was fighting...

He's watching her now, unfolding herself with slow, cool grace from a
sagging bench in a leaning tavern, all but sliding against the
Warlord's son who's trying to loom over her. There's just inches
between them, and it should have looked...like something you weren't
supposed to notice in public, not because it might get you hurt, but
because it might get you...but it wasn't like that. It was never like
that, except maybe in *their* eyes, and they were most of them taller
than her anyway, and--and who *wouldn't* look with a view like that?

Well...not him. He knew better, knew what it meant, those languid
movements and the look in her eyes, so confident and somehow hungry.
Like it wasn't sex she was thinking of, but what *was* running through
her mind was an acceptable substitute. Maybe far superior. It didn't
have to be a fight that brought it out in her, after all. She just
had to be...pushed.

Danger, like it lit a fire in her blood. The hint of a challenge,
opposition made for the sheer perversity of it, and he knew...dammit,
he knew how hard it was for her to walk away from the need that tugged
at her every day, because he got to see her eyes after. A little
stunned, a little...gone, but her control was so good when she calmed
that no one ever noticed her shoving all that *want* back into the box
and slamming the lid down tight.

Joxer saw it. Gabrielle had to, after so long in Xena's company,
or... No. She had to. But sometimes...

Right now, he's wishing he could stand up and help her, distract the
half-bemused warrior and let her off the hook. Make it so she didn't
have to let that other side of her off the leash--but Gabrielle's
holding him down by the back of his armor, and she's kicked him under
the table once already, and--

He's nowhere near as good as Xena. He can admit that, even if it
hurts, because he's so clear on what he wants to be. And he's seen
her when she has to rescue one of *her* people, and it's so much worse
those times...like whatever's inside her can't take that, won't allow
it, and sometimes he wonders...

What happens if she doesn't put it back in the box? What if it won't
*go?* And what does it say that he sometimes thinks of that as the
real Xena, not the one he calls his friend, but the one who makes him
ask these questions that don't really have answers, when it could just
be a quirk of her blood.

Her blood. Because she's Ares' daughter, after all, even if she maybe
doesn't know it yet.

It was Jett who told him, Jett who was eerily good at finding out
things like that. Maybe a little jealous of Joxer's new friend, the
new psychopath in his life. Jett's words, not his. And maybe he is a
little drawn to people like that, but who else had ever wanted him
around? Just the people who couldn't get acceptance anywhere
else--he's always known how that worked. From both sides of the coin.

Ares, though...Ares *isn't* like that. Not that Joxer's seen him that
often, not often enough to say he really knows the god, but... Ares
is controlled power and angry, sometimes vicious amusement and pure
seduction, and those weird flashes of reserve that look almost like
sadness. Like it's possible to know too much, far too much. But he's
seen Ares fighting and furious and desperate, and laying traps with an
urbane smile no one mortal could ever hope to attain, but never once
*that* smile. The one that says he won't be content with just
destroying his enemies unless he can eat them *alive.*

While they're still screaming.

Sometimes he gets...the other smile. The one that says eating *Joxer*
alive could be pleasant for both of them. More than pleasant. But
there's an 'if' there, and he actually lets himself consider it while
he's watching Xena wreck half the tavern, curiously numb to the whole
thing. Maybe it is her blood, some child-of-War thing he's never
going to understand, but...

He just wants to know if Ares is the same. Not that he can't see the
violence brooding just beneath the surface, or that he doesn't know
what a God of War is, does, creates by his very being. 'Channels,'
his old tutor would correct him, but Joxer has studied his philosophy
better than that, and as far as he can tell, the gods are a closed
circle, engendering and devouring and sustaining. If a war starts,
it's Ares who finishes it, and mortals may have the choice, but it's
Ares who's always there, just beyond the firelight, waiting for men to
reach out and feed on the madness of his divinity.

That's not the 'if.' The 'if' is not his questions. The 'if' is
Ares, wanting pure devotion and trust, the way Xena wants it, the way
his brother wants it. He can give it to Jett, even though Jett's
poison smiles are for everybody, because his brother...is his brother.
Xena...

He trusts her, and probably always will, in everything that matters.
But she scares him enough that he can see a day when that will be the
last mistake he makes, and even if that day never comes, it's enough
that he can *picture* it.

If she ever smiled at him the way Ares does, he'd probably run
screaming.

When Gabrielle lets go of his armor and it's safe to consider moving
again, he smiles for Xena and finishes his wine--

--and makes excuses, so plausible even he can say them without
tripping over his tongue, and then he leaves. He's not actually
running away, because Xena is good at that stuffing-into-boxes thing,
and she doesn't scare him so much when she's...satiated. Or panicking
behind her eyes because it happened *again.* He's never been entirely
sure which. He just needs to walk for a bit, weaving through market
streets and down dusty alleys and going nowhere in particular. Just
thinking.

About all the looks he's seen on Ares' face and wondering if that
sadness isn't taking the place of Xena's hunger. Like maybe she just
doesn't have his control, or he's lived with it so long it's nothing
more than a...spice, like really enjoying a fast, complex dance not
everyone was good at. A dance with a lot of bad memories attached, or
memories people told you should be bad ones, but they're just *you,*
and if you start second-guessing yourself, then...

You'd never know who you were. Whether you were yourself or what
other people tried to make you. And you'd probably start tripping
over your feet like an imbecile, because you'd be spending all your
time wondering if you were doing it *right.*

So of course he feels himself trip, right then and there. Catches
himself for once, but somehow it's not a surprise when he looks up and
sees the steps leading up to Ares' temple, and...

He's going in. Because the thing is, he can imagine Ares hurting him,
but it just doesn't *scare* him. Like it wouldn't change anything
between them, and Ares would maybe even be really, really sorry, and
when a god wanted to make something up to you, well... The sex by
itself had to be just...*incredible,* so how much better would the
*make-up* sex be? And is he being entirely too presumptuous for even
wondering that?

Perhaps...not, because when he pushes the doors open, Ares is sitting
right there on his throne, his head thrown back and roaring with
laughter, and it doesn't sound mean at all. Appreciative, maybe, like
Joxer was right, and this is *right,* and he wants more than anything
to just go over there and kneel down before his god and prove it.

Which pretty much stops Ares' laughter then and there. Chokes it off
with a few trailing chuckles that fade into that *look,* the one that
makes him think of being consumed again, and he isn't too shocked to
realize he likes it. Needs it, maybe, the way Ares needs to just *be,*
with someone who won't spend every moment waiting for the other boot
to drop or too blind innocent to know the boot is there. With
brothers like Jett and friends like Xena, Joxer knows. He just
doesn't care.

It takes courage to walk over there and make himself *available,* but
not all his courage. Not by a mile. Ares just watches him, dark eyes
glittering at him in that way he has of throwing all his intensity
into a look, a person, like the rest of the world is nothing. Joxer
doesn't even think to look if there are other worshipers present, and
he doesn't flinch when his armor is just suddenly gone, leaving him in
tunic and breeches and boots. He just...basks in that stare,
unblinking and calm only on the surface, and he's moving like his feet
finally know where they want to go. Like all his clumsiness stemmed
from him running away from the only place he was supposed to be.

He gets a smile for that, and it's a little embarrassing to think that
his god is reading his thoughts, and does Ares even *like* soppy
romantic people? Aphrodite probably doesn't count, but then, if he
were the most devastatingly beautiful woman alive--

"You wouldn't be nearly as interesting," Ares says, and *yes* he's
being heard, and *yes* he wishes he could sink into the floor from
embarrassment, and *gods yes* Ares' voice is enough to distract him
from all of that. Rich and soft, and it just purrs right down his
spine and rubs up against him, like it wants to crawl inside him. He's
desperately trying to figure out a way to let it when his legs decide
that maybe pitching him to the floor would be a good idea after all.

Because he's right there before Ares' throne, and dropping to his
knees really appeals to his sense of rightness. Of the way the world
*should* work, like the way he absolutely should be a mighty hero--and
he's not asking for that, with a please-don't-let-me-screw-this-up
kind of desperation, because what he's asking for is *this--*

A large, strong hand brushing gently over his hair as he goes to his
knees and leans forward, nuzzling at the leather of Ares' pants and
just breathing. Inhaling Ares' scent, leather and blood and bronze
and sex, and a faint musk that just *is,* something he thinks might
haunt his dreams when Ares is away. When he can't just press his
cheek against the marble strength of a muscled thigh and rub that
scent into his own skin, marking himself rather than Ares.

"Joxer..." There's something gratifyingly breathy in the sound of his
name, and when he looks up, he sees that hungry look again, not Xena's
scary one, but Ares' infinitely persuasive one, and he wants.

More. Everything. Things even Ares hasn't thought of yet. He just
wants it soon, before the waiting drives him mad or kills him or both.

"Can't have that," Ares says, chuckling a little, and there's a hand
stroking his cheek, fingers smoothing over his lips, and his tongue
darts out before he can stop it, sliding over the tips of Ares'
fingers as Ares' hand just stops.

Lingers, like the god is waiting to see what he'll do next, and
it's...strange, that Ares' skin isn't salty, but Ares isn't mortal.
He's about to shrug it off when the question hits him and he's caught
by the burning desire to know...if Ares' skin tastes different from a
mortal man's, what does Ares' cock taste like? Or his mouth, his...

He has to shut his eyes, tightly, not because he's embarrassed about
what he's thinking this time, but because the way Ares is looking at
him is enough to embarrass him in other ways. Those long, blunt
fingers are *right there,* though, and he opens his mouth on the
first, sucking it slowly inside and letting his tongue play. An
exercise in suggestive distraction. He doesn't know if it works for
Ares, but he's not thinking very clearly himself, all his attention
fixed on the slide of his lips on warm flesh. Two fingers now, and
he's wishing for something else, in dire need of another distraction,
and so he lets Ares fingers go and licks his way up his god's hot
palm, closing his teeth lightly on the thin skin over Ares' wrist.

"Joxer." His name again, or he's pretty sure it is. When he opens
his eyes, everything blurs around the edges, pale granite walls
darkening to black marble, Ares' throne looming over broad shoulders
like a shadow spreading its wings. The light's all different, and
Joxer knows he's been transported elsewhere, but that isn't nearly as
important as watching Ares run the edge of his thumb down the hard
line of his cock through his pants, the leather parting as smoothly as
if cut with a razor. The vague idea that he'd be willing to consider
atrocities just to watch Ares touch himself in earnest doesn't have
time to take root in his mind before rational thought flees entirely.

Ares' cock is...amazing, and he's not entirely certain he didn't say
that out loud. Long and hard, straining away from the flat, chiseled
stomach, and Joxer is starting to understand about the nature of
hunger the longer he stares. He thinks that if he couldn't have this,
right now, he might just give Xena a run for her money. But it's easy
to lean in, and his lips are parting, the scent of Ares this close
practically overwhelming him--and *gods,* he was right, because Ares'
cock tastes the way he thinks ambrosia should, and that makes a
strange sort of sense he's in no shape to ponder. He almost remembers
a point in his life when he thought Jayce was crazy for liking this,
but that's gone, it's pure mythology now, like the idea that anyone is
going to get him to stop before he makes Ares come.

Before *he.* Makes Ares *come.*

He can't help it--the thought makes him moan, and that...that's good,
that's very good, because he's just gotten the knack of not gagging
himself on Ares' cock when his moan makes the god thrust up--and he
swallows without thinking, just before Ares' hands close gently,
gently around his head and--

Rides him. Fast and slick and smooth, and Joxer spends a surreal
moment thinking of apples, golden apples, and doing this for the rest
of eternity if he just--please gods--didn't have to stop to breathe.
Then he gets the hang of it, moving his tongue as much as he can,
feeling the muscles of his throat clench and liquefy as if his body
has a far better idea of what it's doing than he ever will. So long
as one of them does, he's not going to complain, not when Ares is
making those *sounds,* breathless curses that don't hide what sounds
like honest affection and need.

For him. Because of this, and the fact that he wants to arch up into
the hands that could crush his skull in a breath and find out if he
knows how to purr.

Ares comes with a shout, and it almost hurts that he can't swallow it
all fast enough, because he doesn't want to lose anything of this
moment. He settles for cleaning his god's cock as thoroughly as he
can, until Ares shudders and pulls him away, up onto the throne and a
muscular lap, and kisses him senseless. It's only when he's blinking
foolishly up at his god, floating and dazed, that he realizes he still
doesn't know what Ares' mouth tastes like.

Ares doesn't stop him when he makes himself comfortable and finds out,
just pulls Joxer's leg over until he's straddling narrow hips, his own
desperate erection pushing up against Ares' lean stomach and two warm,
broad hands cupping his ass and rocking him closer. Permission of a
sort he hasn't even considered yet, and it's just too much, with Ares
tongue-fucking his mouth like a promise and him drunk on the taste of
his god.

Groaning something unintelligible into Ares' mouth, comes
fully-dressed, like he hasn't since he was a painfully shy kid, but he
doesn't even have time to be embarrassed by that before he's clean.
Not at all tired, either, for all that he feels like he should be, or
maybe was. He'd ask Ares, but Ares is too busy grinning at him, a
speculative light in his eye that Joxer wants fiercely to live up to,
dying trying a perfectly acceptable option.

"Not necessary," Ares murmurs against his neck, and he does notice the
walls bleeding into different colors before he's somewhere else again.
Still straddling Ares' lap, but Ares is leaning against the headboard
of an obscenely large bed, and their clothes seem to have vanished
along the way. The smooth, bronzed skin pressed against his chest and
trapped between his thighs is warmer than a mortal man's, but also
more *alive,* as if his body can feel more of Ares than his eyes are
prepared to see. Layers upon layers, and he thinks of Semele blasted
by Zeus' radiance because she could only trust with her eyes, and runs
an appreciative hand down the hard muscles of Ares' arm. He'd like to
be just this fit someday, not because he'd begged it of Ares but
because he'd managed it himself, even though he can't quite see that
happening. Ares is built for power, the kind of menacing strength
that brought instant respect, while he...

Well, Jett is an assassin and not a Warlord for a *reason,* but
also--it looked good on him. Maybe someday...

"Joxer." The third time Ares has said his name with nothing but
amusement or desire, and he can't help wanting this streak to continue
indefinitely. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," he says without thinking--without having to think--and he
gets the feeling it's the only time Ares will ever ask by the
swiftly-hidden *something* behind the god's hot stare.

"Good," Ares purrs, and Joxer's envious again, *wanting* to be able to
make that sound if it drives Ares as wild as it does him--

And then Ares shows him that he already knows.

***
end
***