She threw her head back, closing her eyes, absorbing it all — his voice, his scent, the hot, shaky breath on her neck, his strong arms enslaving her in his lap, grinding her hips down onto him until she was swallowing her sobs. "Tell me you're mine," he ordered throatily, biting into her earlobe so deep he must've drawn blood. "Tell me it's all mine to take."

"Yes…" she burned with such ache to tell him that, to be telling him that forever, but when she opened her mouth, his hand clutched her throat and—

She woke up panting, rubbing her eyes, not sure if she was feverish or whether it was actually freezing; either way, even her scalp was damp with sweat. Wincing, she maneuvered to pull up the thin bed cover up to her neck, which only made her shiver more when the damp fabric made the cool air sweep over the skin of her arms. There was a chance that the dark wooden chest under the window contained blankets or some bedcovers, and she hesitated for a moment.

Did she sleep all day again? The room was lit with several candles, the bright glow contrasting with the darkness outside the window.

Shaking, she wrapped herself with the bedsheet tightly.

As usual, the dream was so vivid that the flashbacks gave her goosebumps. She instinctively checked her menstrual pad and cursed, looking down and seeing how much of the bedsheets was covered in blood. Cursing, she dropped the pad into the chamber pot by the bed and reached for the fresh one, trying to calm her breath.

The damn dream; it had been plaguing her day and night ever since he left. It would always start the same — they were at each other's throats, swords clashing, and then it was like some force hindered the movement of her arm, giving him an opening to kick the sword out of her hand and kick her off her feet till she landed on the grass, the tip of his sword at her throat, the cold blade burning her skin, and she would glare at him for what were just seconds, before he would toss his sword away and take her with such frenzy that — gods, her body was still pulsating from the memory — if he was here, if he walked through that door now—

Trying to secure the pad between her legs, she moaned as the fabric brushed against the sensitive skin. Gods, how she ached to feel him again. She softly brushed back and forth some more, drifting back to the dream sequence. Tell me you're mine — the hot whisper echoed in her head, making her shudder.

She stopped dead in her tracks at the very last second when she heard loud, unmistakably arrogant footsteps approaching the door.

A wave of heat washed over her, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

Deciding on the coward's way out — despite herself, but she couldn't face him now — and careful not to make a sound, she slowly curled on the bed, right before the door opened.

She heard the door close clumsily. The footsteps approached the bed. If it was still possible for her racing heartbeat to quicken, it just went up another notch when she felt him sit down, his thigh brushing against her bent knees.

"Xena…"

He reeked of ale; and she wasn't sure why, but somehow, it made her feel more at ease.

"Xena... you're shaking," he mumbled as he touched her arm, making her shiver.

She remained silent, in the hope of making him believe she was asleep regardless.

She heard the sound of boots being thrown on the floor. The bed creaked. A heavy arm encircled her waist and pulled her close, hard chest pressing into her back. She did her best to keep herself from grinding against him, but gods, he felt so good. The typical sturdiness of his leathers was missing; he must have changed into linen. She wondered what he looked like.

And where the fuck he had been for the last three days.

"Ares…"

"I knew it you were awake… lying and faking, like you always do," he accused her drunkenly, nuzzling the nape of her neck, erasing her every thought. "We… need to talk," he mumbled into the back of her head. "You won't like it, but I don't give a fuck," he grabbed her hips, pressing himself into her, just a thin piece of fabric away; it was maddening. She wondered how drunk he was; if he was drunk enough not to remember it tomorrow.

"Where the hell have you been?" she finally snapped, unable to hold it in anymore, her relief to see him alive turning into anger.

"Why does everybody keep saying that? We came here jus' yesterday…"

Gods… had he been passed out drunk for three days, seriously? Maybe it was best to drop the subject because it was making her definitely more agitated than it should.

The surprisingly cold lips brushed against the exposed side of her neck, making her whole body freeze in a spasm. She could swear that if this went on for much longer, she would come with just his voice and his breath on her neck. When she felt his hand leave her hip and glide up to cup her breast, she thought she would die.

"You're cold, I'm gonna bring you blankets," he mumbled, pulling away.

Blinking, she lifted herself on her elbows, her eyes following him, and then she just couldn't — she laughed out loud, letting out all the pent-up tension and the tender amusement at both how clueless and sweet he was.

"Hey — you don't laugh! I'm trying, alright — real hard to be nice — so don't fuck it up," his mumbled threat reached her from the other side of the room. He stumbled across the chest under the window, tried to open it but then gave up and collapsed on it instead, burying his head in his hands. "Oh, fuck me…"

Drunk and mortal but still unmistakably Ares, she thought with what should have been a grimace, but turned out to be a stifled chuckle instead. His asshole attitude that would normally get on her nerves, was now mostly just endearing.

"Ares… it's fine, I'm not cold anymore," she finally said, the need to close the distance between them getting the better of her in spite of all the alarms going off in her head.

"But you were—"

"I'm fine, just come here," she cut him off with impatience as she struggled to sit up.

He walked back towards the bed and sat himself by her side, picking her up under her arms to help her sit up. Feeling his eyes roam over her suddenly made her want to slip the straps of her shift down her shoulders and feed her chest to him, his strong grip on her not helping. Her heart pounding, her eyes closed, she was back in the dream; gods, that damn dream fucked her up so bad.

"So, you wanted to talk," she reminded him, both against her better judgment and with an inner grimace at how she was faking the conversation just to keep herself from pulling him down on top of her.

She felt like a dry parchment at the edge of the fireplace; still safe, but it was just a matter of time till she felt the fire lick her and take her over until she turned to ash, the anticipation setting her on fire of its own accord.

She still stood a chance to save herself and have a normal evening.

If she wanted to.

"What did you want to talk about?" she prompted, wondering why it somehow felt like she was taking advantage of him.

"Mm… Yeah, I wanna have you close," he stated drunkenly, picking her up and laying her back down on the bed. Her heartbeat was now so loud she was sure he could hear it too; she stifled a moan as he climbed on top of her. "That's so much better…" He buried his face in her neck, making her throat vibrate with his voice. She closed her eyes, talking a slow, quivering breath, suddenly feeling quite drunk herself. It felt like her body was about to dissolve into liquid and leak through his fingers, spilling all around the bed and down on the floor.

"I talked with the old man, and he just knows it all," he muttered against the skin of her neck.

"What…?" she asked dumbfounded, sobering up a bit.

"All of it…" he repeated, kissing her collarbone, "He knows you're bad for me," he breathed, making his way up the side of her neck with a trail of slow kisses, until he reached her ear. "And how you're killing me…" he whispered straight into her ear, nudging her knees apart before grinding himself against her; a new wave of heat washing over her as she felt the stiff flesh press into her. She was sure she must have flooded half of the bed by now, but by now, it didn't matter anymore; not this, not even if they were going to cover half the room in blood.

"I wanna have kids with you," he muttered.

"What?" she managed, her breath hitching in her throat.

"I thought about it, and it's getting me hot. You're so fucking hot when you're pregnant," he whispered, making her stomach flutter, and it was the last straw. Her heart was about to either jump out of her chest or just stop, she wasn't sure, but she felt it was on the brink of its capacity.

His mouth on her neck driving her crazy, she pulled the sheet away from between them and shakily guided him where she needed him, making them both curse simultaneously.

"Just go slow," she whispered as her mouth found his ear; and she burned to feel the thickness of him inside again, but she wanted to drag it out, savor it inch by inch.

And he did exactly that, and it was only her painful chewing on the inside of her cheek that kept her from howling out loud. "Bite my neck…" She clasped her hand at the back of his head, moaning as he nibbled softly. "Harder…" Obliging, he sank his teeth into her skin, the sharp jolt of pain electrifying her from head to toe, making her wail softly in his ear.

"I'm gonna come if you don't stop being so hot," he panted, his teeth grazing over her shoulder, the thought of him coming inside her making her swoon; but she didn't want it to be over yet.

"Slow down," she whispered, hugging him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns around the back of his neck as he drove her crazy with how he barely moved, every little inch of a movement making her more and more quivery.

She hesitated, trying to estimate his level of intoxication, before deciding she didn't care; there would be time to regret it later, now she needed it.

Already half-delirious, she lifted her head until her mouth found his ear. "Tell me I'm yours," she breathed into his ear quietly, willing her plea to reach his ears without reaching hers. Then, after the agonizing forever of torturous anticipation, the heat of his breath tickled her ear and the words that followed drove her past the point of no return.

"You're mine… just mine, only mine… always…" He nibbled on her earlobe, his words sending her over the edge more than anything else.

Then, the last of control slipping through her fingers, a flashback hit her; his fingers locking around her neck when she was coming, making her choke, the very memory making her groan.

"Grab my neck…" she whispered with the last bit of breath, guiding his hand to her throat, "squeeze it, now…" she uttered, her voice breaking, and it was the last thing she managed before the world vanished from her perception.

Shuddering, she opened her eyes to see him looking at her in sheer terror.

"Xena, you're bleeding…" he frowned in some strange despair, examining the blood on his hand. She sighed with exasperation, her muscles still quivery, the delicious rush still circling through her veins.

"It's okay, it's menstrual blood..."

"No, Xena, you don't get it, this happened before, we were…" he fumbled for words nervously, "you passed out and there was blood because I — oh fuck," he gulped, and, last second, he sank down on the floor and emptied his stomach into the chamber pot that miraculously happened to be just right there.

Brutally snapped out of her afterglow, she propped herself on her elbows, watching the scene with a puzzled frown.

"Come here" she said softly, pulling him by his arm until he sat on the bed. "Look at me," she prompted, caught off guard by how upset he was, not quite sure why. Did he think he hurt her?

"Hey, look at me," she cupped the side of his face and turned his head to make him face her. His eyes were wide with such misery, so human. She felt her chest tighten.

"You didn't hurt me, it's menstrual blood," she repeated patiently, stroking his cheek to soothe him, warmth spreading all over her chest. Seeing him like this was surreal, as if from alternate reality, as if he was someone else, someone she'd only just met.

His forehead creased in thought, as if he tried to recall something.

"Ares… both now and back there, it was my monthly bleeding. It started when we were fighting at the pond, when I got all heavy and dizzy," she paused, frowning at the memory that seemed so distant now. "Now it makes sense," she muttered. She'd been wondering how come she hadn't been able to wipe the floor with him properly. Well, that reconstructed her pride, partly.

"What does?" he asked absent-mindedly.

She reached out and pulled him down on top of her, placing his head on her chest. "Go rinse your mouth," she stroked his forehead. "You smell like puke."

Yet, instead of letting him go, she wrapped her arms around his head and tried to calm down her breathing which — she didn't know why — was now suddenly much ragged.

"Yes…" she heard him mutter into her chest as his arms locked around her waist, and she didn't know what he meant, but the same word echoed in her head. Her lids falling shut, she bit her lip, dissolving under the crushing feeling of how good it felt to hold him like this.

When she was sure he was asleep, she brushed her nose against his forehead, breathing him in, pressing her lips against the damp, salty skin, the sweaty, leathery scent filling her nostrils, and her lids got heavy.

She tried to fight it.

For the first time since they came here, she didn't want to fall asleep.

#

She opened her eyes, squinting against the brightness filling the room. Judging by the sun, it was early morning, but she felt like she'd slept for two days in a row.

Stretching her neck, she looked to the right.

So, it was real.

The warm body pressing into her side; him. On his back, snoring softly, his lips slightly parted, one arm across his abdomen.

Aching to touch him, she only stopped herself because she didn't want to wake him; not just yet. It was unreal, seeing him asleep; the face she knew so well, the arrogant, sharply defined features of the enemy, now softened by slumber, all of him; so ever-vigilant, so defenseless now. She could kill him now before he would know it.

This couldn't happen again. In fact, she should snap out of it now.

She would.

In a minute.

She just needed another while, several more moments. If this was the last time, it was the least she could let herself have.

His once immaculate hair was now all scruffy, giving the otherwise mature face a bit of a boyish vibe, even despite the occasional gray patches. He had aged. She hadn't noticed before; the deep lines on his forehead, around his eyes, down around his lips, making her want to trace them with her fingertips. And still, he had to be the most beautiful man she ever laid eyes on. Or maybe she was just biased.

But biased or not, she couldn't look away.

It was a mistake.

She shouldn't have let last night happen, none of it.

Damn her and her primal instincts; it was the one area where her usual self-control was able to fail her. On the other hand, it's not like they hadn't fucked already — last night was simply one more time — the last one — why did it bother her so?

No, it wasn't last night that bothered her — it was the other time — the time when she had no control over what happened, and — as much as she hated admitting it to herself — loved every fucking second of it.

Last night wasn't about last night, it was about the memory; the memory of him overpowering her, holding her throat, her breath, her life in his hands; choking her into her release; the memory that kept her up at night, made her wake up dripping with sweat. That was what last night was about. Last night, the urge to feel it again got the better of her. After days of not seeing him, when she felt him near, his voice in her ear, it was too much; gods, his weight on her, trapping her, pinning her down, making her sweat and shiver with realization that she was still so weak she couldn't have escaped even if she'd wanted to, that he was the one in control — and fuck, she just wished she could have all that without him knowing.

She wasn't sure if he knew or not. He was drunk last night. He might've barely even remembered it, for all she knew.

She'd rather he had no memory of it.

But she… gods, she did… the overbearing feeling of having him inside, it still lingered; she knew it always would.

She drew a deep breath, her heart racing.

She couldn't let him go.

Not now, not when he made her crave him like an addict. But even more — not when she knew what it felt like to watch him sleep, to have him melt into her embrace when he needed comfort — she exhaled noisily, her vision clouding — not when he was someone she could—

"He loves you, he just doesn't know how to do it right — maybe he's never loved before." Kyrillos' words echoed in her head.

Closing her eyes, she felt the warm drops trickle down her face, stopping on her chin, then falling on the skin of her chest; the skin that still burned from his touch.

But she had to walk away from what was just a fleeting moment of something that could never last. She couldn't afford to keep feeling this way. She already knew this very moment was going to cost her many sleepless nights when this man would be long gone, replaced by his usual godly self.

He stirred, humming in his sleep.

Maybe this wasn't real.

Maybe it was just another dream.