They have their best conversations without words.
They were never any good with words. No, that's not true. They're too good with words, too good at spinning them around and spitting them out and making them hurt. Just too damn good at hurting one another, at finding openings in defenses and swooping in for the kill.
Sometimes, it's better that way.
There are three basic variations of the theme, even if they, more often than not, devolve into vocal insults and reopened wounds.
Set the scene:
Xena and Ares. Sitting on an unsuspecting log, just a little too close to be accidental but far enough away to scream "issues!" at even the most common passerby. Xena is sharpening her sword, as she is wont to do when thinking. Ares is relaxed, head tilted up towards the sun. It is silent.
Xena glances over at him, pauses a moment, and moves from sharpening her sword to her daggers. Eventually, the breast dagger comes out. Ares raises an eyebrow. Smirks.
Enter Gabrielle. Not knowing the scene, she strides in, head down, mouth opened, already chattering away about some such nonsense. "... And you wouldn't believe..."
Straightening, Ares rolls his eyes. Xena looks up at Gabrielle, guiltily, over at Ares. Catches his rolled eyes and raises her eyebrow in response.
Gabrielle is struck by the volume of communication they do in complete silence, when he nods imperceptibly and disappears with a shrug. Guardedness slams down around Xena's face, and she sets the dagger and sharpening stone aside. "I wouldn't believe what, Gabrielle?"
For her part, Gabrielle can't remember what she was saying. Doesn▓t have the heart to ask, what was Ares doing here?
Xena shrugs. Doesn▓t offer explanation.
Later:
When Ares flashes into existence on this mortal plane, she opens her mouth to make some witty opening statement. A prelude to their normal banter and blows, if one will.
His lips cut her off, pressed smoothly against her own, his tongue taking dual advantage of her surprise and opened mouth to dive amongst warm depths. Startled, she allows it. Allows the heated explorations they spend far too much time engaging in with one another, as hands trace and grab too hard, for too long.
Due to his godly status, she's always left gasping when they finally concede to her mortal need to breathe. Even for Xena, breath is not entirely optional.
She raises an eyebrow, about to break the imposed silence, when she notices the intent look he's giving her. Instead, she quirks a lip up. It's all the invitation he's ever needed, more even, as he reclaims her mouth with his own.
At some point, both open their eyes and catch one another, saying more with a glance than they've managed in years. Civil conversation is never their strong suit. Not that the wonders spoken of behind heavily lidded eyes can entirely be considered civil conversation.
Not much between them comes with a PG rating. This encounter is no exception to the standard.
Strategic fade:
Of course, they do their best talking with swords and bruises of the physical kind. It's what first attracted him to her, that she could convey so much with a thrust of a sword. And he's war, he knows.
Their lighter fights, vague sparring matches, usually incorporate banter and barbs that sting worse than a near slice of sword on flesh. This, this is a fight to a higher level, a stalemate that requires too much concentration for words. It's all the better for the silence.
A flick of a sword, a feint back, a dodge, and a sweep - they all say more than Ares and Xena have ever been able to communicate vocally. It calls to them, this exhausting mantra through blood and sweat and bodies trying to break one another. Born of the bloody truths of war, this is their world.
It's almost peaceful, this dance that neither will really win. Thrust, parry, block. Smirk, gasp, shrug. It's what draws them together, in the end, this silent communication that they have no means of expressing. It's calm, soothing even, in its reassuring violence.
Eventually, swords lower. They stand across from one another, panting out exertion, and his slight grin says, oh yeah, that was fun.
Xena darts her tongue over a split in her lip. Wanna go again?
Ares laughs. Insatiable.
Swords picked back up with sparkling eyes. I know.
And I love you for it.
She takes the offensive to ignore the clarity in his eyes. Laughs at the shock of metal against metal reverberating in her skin, as he blocks her sword with his own. They hold there for a moment, locked together, before she spins out and takes up a defensive stance.
You're gonna have to say it.
The clash of metal against metal reminds them both that he can't. Xena doesn't really want to know. Ares doesn't really know how to begin.
Here, between the length of their blades, it's all too plain to be spoken.