She kept staring at her sword till long after Gabrielle had left.
Well, it was time to snap out of it, grab the hilt and have her daily practice, instead of sitting here like a lunatic.
She let out a breath of relief. She survived the talk. It wasn't as bad as she'd expected, although it was pretty surprising to see Gabrielle take a stand in favor of Ares.
Surprising, slightly annoying, and — secretly, she was so damn relieved that Gabrielle asked for several more days.
Her thoughts went back to Ares, and how she had left the barn this morning; she'd felt bad about it ever since.
She didn't know how and when she found herself outside the barn.
With her heart thudding in her chest, she slowly opened the door.
He looked asleep.
Letting out the breath she was holding, she closed the door and slowly approached the bed. Now she wasn't sure — he was either dead drunk or pretending to be asleep.
When she sat down on the sheepskin by his side, his eyes opened, squinting, his lips pouty. "What're you doing here?" he muttered, frowning.
He was drunk; of course.
And actually, it was a good question. What was she doing there?
"I wanted to check on you."
"You wanted to check on me," he echoed her words. He sneered. Seriously, she had the nerve to come here now, after how she had left this morning.
He hesitated. A part of him wanted to roll up her dress and fuck her senseless, another part — to tell her to get lost, and the hell out of his life. Somehow, both options sounded like a bad idea. Whatever he chose, he was going to regret it.
"Weren't you supposed to be on your way by now?" he asked callously.
"We're staying for several more days," she said. And it wasn't even her idea, she realized bitterly. If he was aware of that, the conversation would take a really bad turn.
Ares felt a lump in his throat.
Oh, fuck off, he shouldn't be happy about this. He should leave just like he had planned, not drag out the limbo for another couple of days; and put up with her bipolar moods on top of that.
Or — he could stay just for the fucking. The fucking was hard to walk away from.
She was looking at his face, observing how the grimace was changing his features back and forth, wondering what she would do if he now said that in that case, he was leaving.
He glanced at her; she looked like she was about to say something. He was both curious and didn't want to listen to it. "Well, if that's all — close the door behind you, will ya."
She felt a knot tighten in her chest. "Don't."
"Oh no, you don't get to say this to me, 'cause I ain't doing anything to you right now."
"Oh yeah, for a change… sorry if I'm not used to it," she said, some old bitterness overcoming her.
"So, what, so you think you're gonna just come and go as you please, like now, like the last several days?"
"It was all good when you did it for years…"
"You want me to remind you what you did for years? Cause I don't think you're gonna like that."
She bit the inside of her cheek. She had to control it. If she let go now, things would get ugly in a heartbeat. And she was the only one in control here now, he was too short-fused in his current state with emotions all over the place.
She drew in a breath and let it out inaudibly. "I'm sorry about this morning," she said, her voice quiet.
For the first time since she came here, she caught a sideway glance of his face turning to actually look at her.
She closed her eyes, looking for words, but it seemed impossible to say any of them. He was right. When it came to him, it was the one instance in her life when she in fact was a coward. And it was pathetic, indeed. It was just that, while it had always scared her to have him, never before had it scared her to lose him. Now, the thought of it made her throat dry, it was paralyzing.
She swallowed, trying to calm her breathing, trying to force the words out. "Don't go," her words came out in an awkward, faint whisper.
He froze, because this caught him completely off guard. She was asking him to stay. Something in his chest stirred.
No. He knew that after several more days like yesterday, he would be way more fucked up than he was at the moment — and he was hardly fine.
He also knew he shouldn't look at her now, not the face, not those eyes.
Fuck.
They were dewy, wide, and so damn soft, scared almost.
He drew in a breath, closing his eyes in exasperation. "What's the point? You're leaving in a couple days."
She sighed, frustrated. "Ares, what do you expect me to say? I can't promise you forever…"
"Why the fuck not?" he asked, annoyed. He could spend the rest of his immortal life with her and he didn't need to ponder it even for a second, for fuck's sake.
Well, he hadn't really counted on her ever committing herself to him in any way; but then again, it never really bothered him. Not until now.
Now, it hurt as fuck. Now, it was a deal-breaker.
Now, when he knew — when she knew — how fucking good they were together — now, when, for the first time ever, he let her in so close, made himself vulnerable — after he proved to her where his loyalties lay, that he would've chosen her over anyone, anything else in the world, always — and all she could offer him was "let's fuck while we're here, then I'll get you your godhood back" — well, she could go fuck herself.
"Because — once you eat ambrosia you will be back to your old self."
He let out a loud huff. "Yeah — as in — I will be immortal, have my job and my powers back, so yes, I'll be back to being someone who's not pathetic, who doesn't need to learn how to live from scratch, someone who's self-sufficient, who can take care of you and feel like a man, not a loser, so yeah — sorry if I kinda miss that."
Xena found his hand and gave it a little squeeze. It was only logical but somehow, she hadn't thought about it before, how crippling it had to feel to be stripped of his powers; the powers he had relied on for all his life. Neither had it occurred to her that his loss of powers must have affected his ego and self-esteem as well.
She lied down and propped herself on her elbow to look at him. She touched the skin above his eyebrow with her fingertips. Her face softened when she saw him close his eyes in response to her touch. She cradled his cheek in her palm.
"Ares… I know it must be hard living without your powers…"
Not as much as loving you and having to walk away from you, you stubborn bitch, he thought, leaning into her touch, gritting his teeth not to say it out loud.
"…but you're not pathetic — you're a god turned mortal — and you're going through all the mortal hardships on your own without any preparation, and you're making it — which is more than many mortals can say about themselves," she paused, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "And, just so you know," she whispered, her breath hot on his face, her mouth pressing to his temple, "the mortal way is to take care of each other."
He had never loved her as much as he did now.
He pulled her close, inhaling the scent of her hair; gods, how he loved her. He wanted to ravage her and tell her that, keep telling her that as he fucked her senseless.
She stirred in his arms, the fleshy softness of her breasts pressing into his chest. His hand slid up her side until he got a handful, groping hungrily, making her breath heavy, making him stiff.
It was wild, animal-like; he rolled up her dress, bit into her neck and took her. She clawed at his shoulders, making him growl and fuck her harder, bite her harder, until his skin burned under her nails, making him livid. He felt his control slip away; he couldn't bite her anymore or he would bite off a chunk of flesh.
"You okay?" she asked, feeling him tense and stop all of a sudden. She pulled his head away from her neck to look at him; what she saw made her breath stop in her throat. He was flushed and sweaty and fuming with such fire; breathing with his mouth wide open, looking like he would've bitten off her hand if it had been too close to his mouth. The sight made her burn, made her grind against him, gods, she wanted to just dissolve into him completely.
He gripped her hip painfully, steading her.
"I need a minute," he breathed in fatigue, frowning.
"Come here." She pulled him into a tight embrace, his cheek on her chest; and went on to stroke his head absentmindedly; his hair felt so soft under her fingertips, such a contrast to the fuming beast in her arms.
Her stomach fluttered as she felt a sudden grip on her waist; then, the hands moved a bit higher, clutching her with a force that left her struggling for breath. She encased his head in her arms tightly and planted a calming kiss on top. "It's okay…" she whispered into his hair.
Second later, his rugged breathing was calming down. Unlike her own. Her heart was wild in her chest, ribs crushed under his body weight.
She frowned at the ticklish feeling of a warm drop streaking down between her breasts. She ached to scratch it, but when she tried to sneak a hand under his head to reach the spot, he pressed his face into her chest so hard it hurt. The pain in her ribs made her jaws clench.
And there was another one; another warm drop. Her eyes widened slightly, chest tightening when it dawned on her.
Neither this one, nor the ones that followed, they didn't make her itch; they made her bite her lip and push his head more into her chest; so hard it hurt.
They stayed like this for a while.
Ares squirmed inwardly. The way she held him, her touch, her voice, it was too much; it pulled some leverage and all the pent-up frustration and anger just streamed down his face. It brought a temporary relief but now left him in the aftermath of a pathetic display of weakness, in bed with her, in her arms of all places — he just cried in her arms, even better — he stopped fucking her — to cry in her arms. The cringe was about to cut his breath off; his head was pounding. He desperately hoped there was still some wine left in the wineskin. He had to go, leave, get away from here.
He pulled away, sitting up. Rubbing his hands all over his face, he massaged his temples for a while. Her sudden touch on his back made him cringe.
He needed to drink.
Although it wasn't much, he was grateful for those last drops he found at the bottom of the wineskin, and gulped them down hastily.
He glanced back at the bed.
Finally, after all those years, he had her in his bed. She was still warm from him, waiting, looking at him with eyes soft, full of concern, almost with love. He sneered. With love, but not for him. For this temporary, disfigured, pathetic version of him. And even now, all she could offer him was a limited-time offer of several days.
She didn't really love him; not for who he was.
His stomach contracted with some unbearable dread.
She would never accept him for who he really was; she said so herself.
She could never give him more than that, more than a few stolen days.
He reached for his pants, taking his time to put them on; his muscles suddenly fatigued.
"I gotta go," he said flatly without looking back at her. Closing the door behind him, his eyes closed too. He stood there for a moment, breathing in and out, pain stabbing at his chest.
The afternoon was chirpy and peaceful. It was a good thing he didn't have his powers, because if he had, he would have burned it all to ashes.
Fuck it, he needed to leave and not look back — now — before he laid his eyes on her again — and couldn't, because his fucking leathers and sword were inside.
Well, he would come back for them later.
Now, he needed something to numb the pain.
Someone.