I'm sitting once more in the unnatural glow from my computer. I've received some very nice email on my two submissions to the list (thank you!), and I feel I can let myself relax with my listsibs. I've already let slip two of my secrets. One, I'm immortal. Two, in a much earlier life I was the favorite priestess of Ares, god of War.
Have Yourself an Ares Little Solstice
As pleasantly as Ares helped me out the other night, I'm having writer's block on the second part of my Herc/Ares slash. A moment ago I gave the challenge page a glance; "Sim's Christmas Challenge" caught my eye. I'll tell you about my most recent Winter Solstice with Ares. It happened this past December 24, 1998...
* * *
My husband John and I were celebrating the first Christmas in our new home, a small 1930's cottage-style house. I'd been hoping for snow all day, but we haven't been lucky these past few years. I'd spent the bulk of the morning wrapping the last few gifts I'd purchased the day before. I had one box left. It was tucked in the pocket of my robe; I'd wrap this one after my husband went to bed.
I was curled on the couch scribbling on a notepad. Christmas or no Christmas, a writer writes. John's cheesy Christmas movie had just ended. He stood and stretched, yawning.
"I'm turning in, babe. Coming soon?"
I smiled at the unintended pun.
He bent down to kiss me goodnight and walked off toward our bedroom followed by two of our cats.
I walked quietly into the bathroom and shut the door. I pulled the small gift box out of one robe pocket and my wrapping materials out of the other. The gift I had for Ares was a simple but symbolic reminder of our bond. It was the same gift we'd been passing back and forth for more than 2,000 years.
It was a simple band ring, no decoration outside. Engraved inside are our initials, double alphas, A's. Each year the motif is repeated until the inside of the band is filled; whoever has the ring last buys a new band, and the ritual begins again. I can't even estimate how many we've accumulated over the years; Ares keeps them. This year I'd
purchased a heavy platinum ring, big enough for Ares' ring finger and my thumb. I still wore the original ring which had been forged and engraved by Hephaestus. I'd told John that I'd bought it in an antique shop for a few hundred dollars. Its true worth, of course, could never be conceived.
I set the box in a square of black velvet which I folded neatly, then tied with a black satin bow.
It was a little early yet for a visit from my love, so I pocketed the gift and headed out to the kitchen for some Santa-style cookies and milk. The kitchen was dimly lit with the light from the next room; I sensed Ares' presence before I flipped the switch. I spotted him then, and left the light off.
"Happy Solstice." Just hearing his voice made me wet. It was low and soft, with a hint of huskiness underneath.
"Happy Solstice yourself."
He looked almost unbearably sexy, dressed only in an open robe and pajama bottoms, both of black silk. The drawstring waist of the pants had been loosely tied and the slouchy fabric rode low on his hips; only the curve of his muscular ass was holding them up. I ran my hands through the soft dark hair covering his massive chest, felt the
beat of his heart. His strong arms enfolded me, gathered me close in a deep kiss. Thoughts of cookies and milk left my mind to be replaced by thoughts of cock, and milk of a different kind.
It had been a week or so since I last saw him. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him until I'd heard his voice. His warm, strong hands found their way under my pajama top. He kneaded my breasts, his fingers encouraging my nipples to stand at attention. His tongue slid over mine, probing, stroking, tasting me. I pushed back against him,
letting him know I wanted him *now.* His response was to push me against the wall, lean hard into my body with his. His cock was erect and firm against my hip. I reached down to massage him through the silk and found that he was now naked. His skin was soft as satin and he pumped lightly into my hand as I stroked him. I felt a delicate dewdrop of moisture at the tip of his cock; I touched it to my tongue and offered it to him in my mouth.
Kissing again, I continued to stroke him. We were both breathing heavily. Giving my breasts one last firm squeeze, he grabbed my pajamas and ripped them easily. Buttons popped off in all directions...four months later I'm still finding them.
I released his mouth and pulled back a little to struggle out of the top. Looking down at me, he pushed the ruined fabric half-way down my arms. Putting a broad palm between my breasts, he pushed me back so that my arms were pinned behind me, bound in my ripped nightclothes.
"Playing rough tonight?" I whispered, highly excited.
Ares' answer was to cover my mouth with his. He began to slowly and forcefully thrust his tongue against mine. He pushed my flannel bottoms down to my ankles. I tried to step out of them to free my legs, but he shook his head slowly. Our mouths were still pressed together so the movement of my head followed his.
I realized then that he'd been kissing me to keep me quiet. No words, no thoughts, just bodies and mouths and hands. I bit his tongue lightly and pulled my face away from his. I looked at him silently to show that I understood. He smiled and gripped my ass hard.
I loved the feeling of powerlessness, knowing my body was completely his. Still looking into his eyes and our mouths just barely touching, I curled my tongue around his and began to simulate fellatio. I wanted to taste him, I wanted to feel his cock in my mouth. My eyes drifted shut, lost in the heady feeling of sucking his mouth. It
wasn't his cock, but it was very good. I inhaled a soft sigh that escaped his lips, taking it into my body as my own.
Ares' hands were now busy between my legs. Dipping into my moisture, he lubricated my button and began to rub his finger across the sensitive flesh. I came almost immediately, moaning. Fresh moisture coated his fingers and he rubbed harder. He was watching me intently. He was stroking himself as he rubbed my clit, and I knew he was ready to fuck. Eager to have him between my legs after a week's absence, I tried again to step out of my puddled pajama bottoms.
His eyebrows raised, a silent reprimand for my actions. He stepped on the material between my feet, making escape impossible. With a wicked smile he again shook his head. One knee slid between mine and forced them apart. Just when I was in danger of losing my balance, he steadied me by my hips. He lifted me and stepped inside the circle of my raised legs, my ankles tethered in flannel behind him. My shoulders were braced against the wall and his cupped hands supported my ass. He began to pump his hips, his rigid cock rubbing against my clit.
I was panting hard. I wanted him badly, *needed* to feel him inside. I wanted to scream at him, or throw my thoughts at him. He lowered his head and bit my neck in time with his thrusts. Little nips that got harder, more painful. He was pressed hard against me; his body weight painfully crushed my arms between the wall and my body. I bit my lip to hold back a moan.
Ares pulled his head back to look at me. He gave me a half-lidded, seductive glance. With the barest hint of a smile he slowly rocked his hips back and let his cock pass between my legs. I closed my eyes.
He pushed into me, burying his thick cock deep. He pulled out almost completely, leaving only the head in my slit. He plunged between my legs again.
"Who do you belong to?" he whispered. He began to stroke hard and deep, panting in my ear as his cock entered and withdrew from my body.
I moaned, trying to keep silent. A week of being without him, a week of trying not to think about him. Now he was between my legs, fucking me, reminding me that I was his property. That I would always be his.
"Who do you belong to?" he repeated.
Arms bound, I said nothing. I wanted to pull him to me and crush his lips against mine. I was drunk with the feeling of his cock inside me, filling me. After one husband, a few serious lovers and hundreds of casual encounters, I had discovered that no one fucked like Ares. No one.
Supporting me easily with one arm slung under my hips, he reached between us to thumb my clit. "Who do you belong to?"
I squeezed my eyes tight, seeing stars, constellations, galaxies. I was truly whimpering now, at the trembling edge of a powerful orgasm. It hit me then and I was sent, reeling, across the universe. I bit his earlobe hard as I came, and smiled when I heard him gasp. It was my turn to gasp when he bit my earlobe in return, flicked it softly with his tongue before releasing it.
Shifting his hips for better leverage, Ares began pounding into me violently. Bound and completely at his mercy, my body rocked as he slammed into me repeatedly. I came again and bit my lip to keep from crying out.
"Who do you belong to?" His breath was hot on my ear. He was growling now, trying to rip me apart from the inside. He bit my neck, hard enough to bruise. I opened my mouth to scream but let it close instead on his salty neck.
He was trying to make each thrust harder than the last, coaxing every bit of sensation out of my body before he threw his weight fully against me as he came, his warm fluid filling me. He leaned against me for a moment, catching his breath, his sweat-damp curls stuck to my cheek.
My entire body ached from the assault. My legs and arms hurt, cramped from being bound and twisted. I was already crushed beneath his body, but Ares pushed even harder against me.
"You belong to me," he whispered. "You're *mine.*"
He bit my chin, then slowly followed the curve of my jaw with his tongue and nipped my cheekbone. He shifted back to look at me; he made no move to set me back on my feet. I smiled, my eyes barely open.
"Now, that is the face of a woman who has been quite thoroughly and pleasantly fucked." He leaned close to brush his lips lightly against mine.
"Pleasant? You?" I drank in every detail of his perfect face. "Kiss me." We kissed for a long time, his tongue soft but firm against mine. I had *another* orgasm just kissing him. My muscles contracted around his cock which was partially erect and still deep in my body.
He laughed. "Somebody missed me." He nipped my bottom lip, gave a little thrust with his hips. He was keeping me pinned. He thrust again. "You feel good," he whispered.
"Ares." I kissed his neck. "Set me down so I can give you your gift."
"I just got my gift," he murmured. "Tight, wet, and tied in flannel." His playful thrusting had renewed his deflating cock. "I do have *your* gift, though."
"Another fuck?" I grinned.
"Of course. But first your gift." The world began to shimmer. He kissed me roughly as I tried to protest.
* * *
We reappeared in a large dark room, with huge curtainless windows set low in the walls. We were still linked, and had transported onto what felt like a bed. I screamed as lightning bolts of pain shot through my arms. I was on my back instead of standing, and Ares' full weight pressed on top of me. Thankfully, Ares winked away the ruins of my
pajamas and shifted so that I could re-position my twisted limbs.
I could hear faint street sounds. Through the bare windows, I could see the lights and silhouettes of nearby skyscrapers. We were in a loft apartment somewhere downtown. We were obviously alone, and I realized I was wasting a lot of time wondering where I was instead of enjoying the moment.
He settled more firmly between my legs, brushed his lips lightly against mine. I held his head in my hands as he kissed me. His hair had grown long recently; it was thick, dark and luxurious. The curls were soft in my fingers. He covered me with gentle kisses, stroking into me slowly and deeply.
This was the way he showed me that he loved me; slow, sweet sex. The room was quiet except for the sound of our bodies connecting, and our soft sighs and whispers.
I let my head fall back on the bed as the War god raised himself up to look down on my face in the soft light from the world outside. He began to move more insistently. I had already come several times and had another orgasm as I looked into his face, gauging the pleasure that my body was giving him, that our coupling was giving us both.
"You're mine," he whispered, then thrust hard into me as he came. I could feel the tiny pulses as his seed surged into me, the warm fluid yet another seal in our bond. He collapsed beside me, our legs tangled. "Happy Solstice," he whispered. With a twitch, lamps throughout the room switched on.
We were in a loft; brick walls, high ceilings, lovely old wooden floors. The windows were tall and dramatically arched. Except for an enclosed bathroom at either end of the long room, the floor plan was open. Only a butcherblock island separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space.
Three huge black and grey rugs in a traditional Oriental pattern defined the 'rooms'.
"Black and grey? That's unique."
He looked down at the rugs woven in his favorite colors. He smiled. "Special order."
One end of the loft had been decked out as a library/office. Bookshelves covered the walls and were filled with what I knew would be my favorite titles and authors; Ares has an unerring eye for detail. Two fat, oversized black leather chairs and ottomans and a Tiffany lamp formed a reading nook. A huge antique desk held the latest in computers.
The kitchen was all steel and black enamel, housing, again, the latest in everything. Opposite the kitchen, a black leather seating area, big screen tv, and numerous electronic sound and video gadgets occupied the middle third of the room. A cherry armoire housed shelves of cds and videos. Out of the way against one wall, an antique dining table and chairs stood under an original charcoal sketch for a detail of the Sistine chapel ceiling. The figure is male, nude, quite muscular, and looks more than a little like Ares.
"Think of the uproar if *that* story were ever discovered," I laughed. "'Greek god of War used as model for Sistine ceiling.' Michelangelo was in love with you, wasn't he?"
Following my eye, Ares grinned. His eyes twinkled mischieviously. "Let's just say he had an eye for beauty."
The sleeping area, where we were, housed a king-sized bed dressed in black sheets and blankets. Tiffany lamps on either side of the bed added glowing jewel-tone counterpoints to the monochrome setting. Again, antique armoires for what little clothing I might leave here, and a vanity. Above the bed Ares had hung a charcoal sketch, another by Michelangelo, for the detail of a crowd scene.
The slave girl in the sketch looks remarkably like me. I remembered the first time I'd seen it, in Michelangelo's studio. I had pummeled Ares angrily while the two of them laughed, knowing that it had been his idea of a joke for the painter to depict me as a slave. Our sketch didn't show the slave trader standing off to the side, smiling at his prize. His dark eyes, curling black hair and beard look remarkably lifelike. Ares had purchased the painting and sketches to calm me down; it was one of Michaelangelo's 'lost' works.
I looked around the loft. It was pure Ares. Luxurious but spare, opulent but restrained. "I have a house," I reminded him gently. *With a husband in it,* I reminded myself.
"This is for you, when you don't want to be in the house. When you want to be alone, or with a certain someone who's name is Ares." He chuckled at his own joke. "You can come here when Jackson is getting on your nerves and you can't stand to be around him anymore. Something I wish would happen with a little more frequency," he added, under his breath. "It's yours."
I realized where he'd been for a week. "You did all this." I was amazed. "You didn't use your powers, you were out shopping, actually spending a little effort to do this."
He looked around, pleased with himself. "I did it all mortal-style. No zapping. Well," he reconsidered, "maybe a little fine-tuning here and there. I figured if short-lifers like Josiah can do it, I can do it."
Of all the things he's given me over the years, this meant the most. Not the loft or its contents, but the actual thought and effort involved in pulling everything together.
After 2,000 years Ares can still surprise me, can still make me cry. And after 2,000 years, I'm still surprised that sometimes I love him so much it hurts. So much that every now and then I have to be with someone else, otherwise the fierce love I feel for him will consume me.
* * *
We stood by the bed as I had one last look around. Ares had dressed me in black silk pajamas like his own. He held up his hand to show me our ring; he had removed it from my pocket before getting rid of my ripped pajamas and robe.
"Another year," he said softly.
I kissed his fingers. I leaned my head against his warm, solid body, encircling his waist with my arms. I listened to his strong, slow heartbeat, felt his chest rise and fall gently with his breathing. I smelled our mingled essences, sweat and underneath, his own warm scent. I didn't want to leave the loft, I didn't want to leave Ares. I missed waking up in the middle of the night holding his body. I missed watching his face as he slept.
We held each other for what seemed like hours, though I knew it had only been a few minutes. I took my arms from his waist and pushed a little space between us.
"We'd better go. John rarely wakes up during the night, but it could happen."
"I think you're tiring of your mortal," Ares said. "I think you want to stay here with me."
I side-stepped his comment.
"Thank you for the gift, my love." I kissed his lips lightly.
"Happy Solstice, beauty."
* * *
Ares' observation about John was a little too close to the truth. I didn't want to think about it then, and it's hard to face now. I miss my dark love, more quickly than I expected I would. It's easy to leave a temporary lover, but a husband...
As I type this I'm waiting for Ares to visit, as he always does when I need him. Waiting for whatever delectable treat he'll bring with him. A bowl of strawberries, a bottle of chocolate sauce, or both. I'm smiling; my mood has been lifted just thinking of the possibilities. Ah, a soft kiss on my neck just now, the gentle scrape of chin whiskers on sensitive flesh. My love has come and I must go. Ares and I bid you all good night and pleasant dreams.