You know, when most mortals say my name there's this gratifying touch of fear and awe in their tone, they bow or throw out all sorts of creative, fawning compliments and most of them mean it so I put up with it -- oh, who am I kidding? I love it. I'm the God of War and I want mortals to fear me; respect is nice too but fear gets more done.

So why is it I've never killed this impudent little mortal? Instead of fear I get that dorky smile; he doesn't bow or cower, he just stands there looking as happy as a puppy -- about as intelligent too. Maybe there used to be a time when my presence brought about the proper reaction from him but familiarity breeds contempt I suppose, although in his case it bred something far more dangerous, affection. Oh, he's still in awe of me but not because I'm a god, now it's because of what happens when I show up, what I do with him.

And I don't get that, about myself, I mean. I've got kings and emperors ready to throw themselves naked at my feet, and yet I always come back to this mortal. This pale, awkward, annoying man who makes me grind my teeth and think about taking him apart slowly, but I never do. I take him often enough, sometimes slowly, sometimes not, but I never hurt him and I'm beginning to think I never will. I don't understand why though. I've never met anyone whose personality grates as much as his does, but then I've never had a lover I keep coming back to the way I do him.

My family's noticed, some of them anyway, most can't be bothered with my affairs so long as it doesn't concern them and I like to keep it that way. Strife and Discord though...well, Discord was smart enough to refrain from laughing in my presence, Strife, unsurprisingly, wasn't. Using violence with either of those two rarely solves anything -- except for making me happy -- so when I want results I use other methods, like reminding Strife that I know all about his little obsession with Cupid. He's been pretty quiet lately. I don't know if Aphrodite's side of the family knows anything about this and frankly I'm not gonna ask. If she has something to say about this I really don't want to know; I don't need her telling me this is anything but a passing phase. That's what it has to be.

"You're here!"

Always a talent for stating the obvious.

"I--I mean, of course you're here, you know that, it's just I didn't know you were except now you are -- were you here before, you know, when I couldn't see you? I know gods do that and I was just wondering if--"

"Shut up, Joxer." I grab hold of the back of his neck and take us both out of that squalid little camp. I have no doubt he made it himself, neither Xena nor her little blond chatterbox would make camp so sloppily. Muddy ground, wet fire wood and a half-rotten fish that was likely meant for dinner -- I've always found it inexplicable how he's managed to survive this long on his own.

I take him to my nearest temple, to a room in the back I keep for little entertainments like this. Traveling by way of the gods isn't easy on mortals and as usual he collapses to the ground the instant I release him; he's still smiling though.

"Oh, this one," he comments as he props himself up on his elbows and looks around. "I always liked this temple -- not that all your temples aren't great 'cause they are, it's just that this one is so homey."

It says something that he's familiar enough with the private rooms of all my temples to comment on the decor. What exactly it says, I'm not thinking about.

"What did I tell you about talking?" I remind him as I drop down onto the bed. It's a good bed, sturdy enough to hold up under the strain I tend to put on furniture, at least that's what Joxer said once.

"Um...that my mouth has a better use?" He looks at me with those wide brown eyes, smiling hopefully like a child who wants someone to tell him he has things right.

Sometimes, like this, Joxer does remind me of a child, innocent and simplistic in his views on life, cheerful and friendly and far too trusting. Thankfully though there's plenty about him that isn't the least bit child-like.

"Yeah," I say, vanishing my clothing with a thought, "so get over here and use it."

And there it is that abrupt change in expression that proves he's very much an adult. He's still smiling at me but now it carries a hungry edge and his eyes glint with anticipation as he scrambles to his feet, pulling off that ridiculous armor at the same time. Not that I'll ever admit it aloud, but I like watching him do this, shuck off those horrible excuses for clothing to gradually reveal the body underneath. Of course he usually manages to get caught in his own pants and fall on his face -- yep, there he goes -- but it's amusing; I like the fact that he's so eager to serve me.

When he finally strips down, he's still not much to look at compared to some of the men I've had in my bed, but he has his own...charm, I guess. He's not shy or embarrassed about his body regardless of how thin and pale he is and that confidence makes him more attractive. He is dirty though; he usually is after traveling so I clean him up with a negligent wave of my fingers.

"Thanks." He grins at me just before launching himself into bed. That's not an exaggeration; he's eager. More importantly, Joxer is talented.

I create some pillows under my back, propping myself up so I can watch this, it's not a show you want to miss. I'm not much into foreplay -- "brace yourself" works good for me -- and he knows that so he gets right to it. He slides up between my legs, watching me from beneath his eyelashes. His grin takes on a sly hint just before he leans forward and swallows my cock whole. No hesitation, no awkwardness, and no gag reflex.

I've had a lot of blowjobs in my life but I'm not overstating it when I say that he's the best. Even Aphrodite chokes every once in a while and she puts the "pro" in "professional," but not Joxer. The first time he did this he sucked me down like his favorite treat and he's done it every time since; I think maybe he knows he's got a talent there and he's proud of it. I won't deny him that right 'cause sweet Gaia, he is good. He works the muscles in his throat, sometimes swallowing, sometimes humming -- and I swear the tune is always that ridiculous song of his -- and sometimes I can't figure out exactly what he's doing but I really don't care either 'cause it feels incredible. Then he pulls back and uses that wonderfully long tongue of his, licking up my cock, around the head, lightly flickering against that sensitive spot just under the head that always makes me gasp and push up, trying to get back into his mouth. Sometimes he swallows me again but this time he keeps using his tongue, licking down my cock to my balls, taking them in his mouth, sucking, rolling them with his tongue until I'm groaning through clenched teeth and grabbing at his hair. I pull him back up and he doesn't resist, giving me what I want now; his fingers replace his mouth on my balls, stroking them as he swallows me again. When he wants to, Joxer can drag this out for upwards of an hour before his jaw gets too sore, but at the moment he's set on making me come. Can't say I have a problem with that; it's been too damn long and I need this now.

He's working his throat around me again and right in this moment I couldn't imagine a better place to have my cock. I thrust up into his mouth and he goes with the motion, never stopping that wonderful movement. I keep thrusting, my eyes closing as I let myself get lost in the feeling of moist heat surrounding my cock. I'm groaning steadily now and I don't care; he knows he's good and so what if I confirm it. His fingers, slick from his own saliva, stop stroking my balls and slide downward. His throat ripples along my cock at the same time as he presses two fingers inside of me and I'm gone, teeth cutting into my lip as I thrust hard. Joxer pulls back a little; he always swallows but unlike other men I've had, he likes it. Sometimes he pulls away completely and lets me come on his face but this time he just sucks hard at the head of my cock, intensifying the already extreme pleasure and I'm gasping out his name without meaning to.

I'm still hard when it's over, but that's normal; it takes more than once to completely satisfy me, sometimes more than twice. Joxer sits up, licking his lips and looking at me with a heated expression, the combination of which gets me even harder.

"Oil?" he asks, and he knows it's not a certainty 'cause sometimes I feel like taking him dry. I'm careful enough with him those times -- mortals are so fragile -- but I have to do it slowly and I want something faster right now so I take care of it, slicking my cock with a momentary thought.

"I don't get any oil?" He pouts like that sometimes, eyes going wide, expression hurt, and it's all complete bullshit, amusing though.

"Like you need it, now ride me," I order. He really doesn't need more oil than this; he's one of those mortals with the wonderful kink of enjoying a certain amount of pain.

He drops the pout, a small, sexy smile replacing it as he straddles me. Reaching back, he takes hold of my cock, stroking it slowly a couple times, making me thrust up into his hand, before he begins to slowly sit back, impaling himself on me. And he's so. Fucking. Tight. I love it like this, no stretching beforehand, barely enough oil to keep the friction this side of painful, and the way he clenches his muscles around me with every slide deeper into him. It's suddenly too slow.

Grabbing Joxer's hips, I slam him down, thrusting up at the same time. He gasps, his expression twisting in pain, but it's only momentary and quickly slides towards pleasure as I continue to thrust, pushing deep and hard. He quickly picks up the rhythm, bracing his hands on my upraised thighs and riding me. I loosen my grip on his hips, letting him set his own pace, watching his expression -- and there it is. I know when I've found the right spot inside him, his eyes slam shut and his mouth falls open slightly, he starts panting and moving faster, pushing down hard against me.

His cock -- not a bad size for a mortal -- is turning darker, heading towards purple. He's leaking and that's no surprise, I got off once already but he hasn't had any relief, and it'll still be a while before he gets it. Once he's reached this point, touching his cock makes him come almost instantly and I want this ride to last so I keep my hands on his hips. He knows better than to touch himself without my permission but I can feel his growing desperation in the way his fingers are digging into my thighs and the deep groans that are starting to spill from his lips. He's trying to push me to that level too, clenching hard around my cock repeatedly and as good as that feels, I want to feel more of it so I keep a firm hold on my own arousal and continue to fuck him.

I think I prefer him like this, riding my cock, flushed, cock leaking steadily onto my stomach, too turned on to do much more than grunt and moan, much better than the babbling fool I get when we're not doing this. Of course even this can't shut him up entirely, but I can't say that I mind what he does say.

"Ar--Ares, please...." He's gasping, barely able to get the words out. "Gotta come, please, please, please, Ares."

I love it when he begs. Doesn't mean he's gonna get what he wants, but I still love hearing it. It's a steady litany now and it gets me hotter, I can't help it, pushing up into him as hard as I think he can take. And maybe I won't let him come yet but I want to, so I do. I let loose the tight rein on my control and just pound into him, clenching my teeth against the cries that want to force their way out with every spurt deep inside him, almost burning in its intensity.

Yeah, that was good. I'm satisfied, for the moment anyway as I pull out of him. He's trembling, unmoving above me, eyes still closed, cock extremely purple now. A trickle of sweat slides down his temple and I push myself up slightly to catch it with my tongue. The contact makes him whine, a low, truly desperate sound and I chuckle.

"All right, you've earned it." Lying back down, I move a hand behind his balls, carefully avoiding his cock. He's loose and slick from oil and my come and my fingers slide in easily. A quick search and I've found the sensitive bundle of nerves there; he gasps sharply in response. I start rubbing that spot, over and over and he's pushing back against my fingers now, panting with quick, harsh breaths, and if he doesn't come soon he'll probably pass out from lack of oxygen. But it never takes him long this way and soon enough he cries out, one short, sharp yell and his cock jerks, spilling over my chest and stomach.

Joxer slumps down over me and I slide my fingers out of him, smirking at his low moan of disappointment. He likes it when I stay in him, fingers or cock, doesn't matter. I clean us up with a thought because as much fun as this is, I hate being sticky. He makes a little murmur of appreciation but otherwise remains completely limp and still. It'll be a good twenty to thirty minutes before I'm ready to go again so I let him lay there -- well, okay, I'm a god and I could get it up this instant if I wanted to, but I've found that Joxer's far more responsive if I let him have some rest.

"Love you," I feel more than hear him mutter against my chest. It's a familiar refrain so I don't have to translate the mangled syllables. I just pat him on the shoulder in response.

I don't think about what he said; there's a lot I don't think about where he's concerned, like why my arm's around him now or why we're basically cuddling here when the God of War most definitely does not cuddle. I still wonder why I'm here, why I've chosen him for this, but honestly, I don't think as much about that as I used to either. I wonder if I've gone crazy from time to time but one look at Deimos or Strife is usually enough to reassure me that I'm the picture of sanity. I guess there are some things that even a god just has to accept without a good reason. And if that means not looking too closely at how I feel, like now, when he raises his head up off my chest and turns that sleepy, adoring expression on me, well then, that's all right.
 
 
Fin