He had a feeling that he would eventually come to regret it — acting on the stupid impulse to chase her down here.

He did want to reach out to her one last time — but on his terms, with dignity and class, not like that, not losing his mind the second he saw her and storm off running after her like a dog after the bone, which was pretty much how he must've come across to her for all those years. No wonder she didn't respect him.

Still, despite his decision to give the whole thing one last chance after the talk with Kyrillos, he was reasonably wary and didn't place any bets on it. He knew Xena, and he knew her stubborn pride — the quality he probably loved about her beyond everything else, ironically — would take over in the end, no matter how much he'd managed to get past her defenses throughout those last couple of days.

He'd need to remove her from his life, eventually; whether today or tomorrow, but it was inevitable. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was what his well-being and his future needed.

This present situation — him reaching out to her — was just checking out a potential maybe, just to get it out of the way so that it wouldn't bother him later on, making him wonder what would've been if he'd only given it that one last try.

His reason reminded him to brace himself for how it would likely play out, to keep his cool — but at the moment — gods, he didn't give a single fuck about any of it — not when he saw her emerge from the water, the transparent white dress clinging to her body in a way that made him hard and his throat dry, and then more when he imagined what it had to look like from the front.

He stood behind her now, so hard that he was dangerously close to either humping her or jerking off where he stood. He needed to take off his pants, they were now so tight it hurt. He took his time, wringing them out and thinking — in the absence of any better ideas at hand — about Gabrielle, to cool off a bit, to at least be able to put the pants back on. He laughed inwardly, imagining Xena's reaction if she'd known how helpful Blondie was being at the moment.

"So, now that you can see it up close — how do you like the dress?" she asked in a voice that trapped his breath in his throat.

"I think it's a perfect fit," he said. "But to make a full evaluation, I think I need to see all of it."

Having put his pants back on, he walked by her and just a sideway glance at the front of her was enough to ruin what he just accomplished with the help of Blondie. He went to lie down and closed his eyes, trying to think back to last night he'd spent drunk-talking with Gabrielle, but he lasted only seconds.

Opening his eyes, squinting from the sun in his eyes, he looked up to see her standing at his feet, taking a step towards him till she removed the sun from his eyes with her perfect silhouette; extraterrestrial almost, with the shiny halo around her.

"How about now?" she asked. "Is that enough for a full evaluation?"

Gods, what a fucking good tease she was, making him swell more with her every word, and then more when she reached to wring out the bottom of the dress, making the fabric roll deliciously high up her thigh.

He felt sweat drops on his forehead when he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath; it wasn't too hard to figure, with the sun behind her, making the wet dress even more translucent. His eyes traveled up, past her waist and up to the fullness of her breasts outlined with the black strands of her wet hair.

"I've never seen anything more perfect than this."

"I'm glad to see you approve," she purred, staring at his painfully hard dick which was about to break the seams of the pants if she didn't stop.

Luckily, she then turned to grab the waterskin, which reminded him how damn parched he was, never having reached the kitchen because he'd decided to run after her instead.

When he asked her for water, he was half-prepared to catch the waterskin being thrown at him. It took him by surprise when she sat down at his side and poured the water in his mouth. He didn't want her to stop, not because he was still thirsty but because it made him feel drunk with how good it felt, the best he felt in forever.

"You make me feel so good," he found himself saying without thinking.

Then, before he had time to regret it, she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, and it felt so damn good, euphoric almost.

If this was what mortality felt like, he didn't want to be a god anymore.

#

He couldn't stop watching her; lying on her back, eyes closed, so unusually relaxed and unguarded, her neck slightly arched; so vulnerable, so open and trusting.

At some point he noticed — of course he couldn't stop staring at her tits — there was a bruise right in the middle, not a big one, but definitely a one he didn't remember seeing earlier.

Where had she been last night? She'd definitely kicked some ass. He scanned the rest of her body, coming across more bruises on her legs. His eyes roamed back up her dress as something caught his attention. The white fabric of the dress would've normally covered it, but now when wet, it was transparent enough for him to trace the outline of the purple bruising taking up the most of the right side of her midsection.

He wasn't sure who the recipient of it should be, but he felt a sudden rush of anger wash over him.

Their eyes met. He knew she caught him checking out the bruises, as well as he knew that she was now anticipating his questioning about their origin. What he didn't know was — if he in fact wanted to know. If it had been Alecto, he wouldn't have forgiven himself. No, Alecto was dead. But still, he had some unpleasant feeling about this.

He just couldn't help it; thinking that something could've happened to her was making his blood boil.

#

His gaze was different this time; different than before when he just drooled.

When his eyes lingered above her waist, she knew what he saw. She waited — for his question. she actually as much as wanted to tell him the truth — she already knew what his reaction would've been — but she would have told him. If he asked.

He didn't.

"What are you thinking?"

"How beautiful you are," he said, their eyes meeting, the sudden rage in his making a pleasant tingle run up her arms. She wondered what he was actually mad about. Either way, it only turned her on more, adding to having him fuck her with his eyes ever since he came here.

She felt like teasing him, and she was going to tease him into asking her about last night. As much as she hadn't cared about it before — now that he wasn't asking, she was going to make him.

"I think you might be missing the bigger picture," she said, letting her hand glide up her shoulder and push off the shoulder strap of her dress with her index finger, sliding it down slowly to stop mid-arm.

Seeing his quickened breath made her inner muscles spasm; she loved to see the effect she had on him, how his angry gaze got hazy with need, how his lips parted as he devoured her with his eyes.

She followed with another strap, until the top of the dress stopped right above the peaks of her breasts. "Can you see it better now?" she asked slowly.

"Oh yeah…" was all he managed, his eyes glued to her chest.

She kept watching his face as she pulled the dress down to reveal her breasts in their entirety, making him almost choke. Did he just blush?

She then pushed the dress down to her waist, revealing the mark of last night to his eyes.

She waited.

His face — still flushed with arousal, his breath still rapid — was now changing, his eyes darkening.

Her heart thudding in her chest, she reveled in anticipation of what was about to happen, what he was going to do to her now when he was this sultrily furious. The only reason she didn't yet ask him if he was mad at her was just fear he'd say he wasn't.

#

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, looking up into his eyes, her voice sensual, teasing.

He looked at her in disbelief. He knew she was teasing him but — had she just done all that just to piss him off? To edge him on?

He felt a sudden wave of burning heat wash over him. Looking her in the eye made it only worse — how could those eyes look at him so innocently and burn with such mindfucking lust at the same time?

"Am I mad at you? Take a one good fucking guess," he said huskily, instantly regretting it as he felt his cock throb painfully. If only he was a god — oh, he wouldn't have waited to show her just how mad he was, he would've made her wail out her apology. But right now, he needed a breather or he wouldn't last long if he kept staring as she parted her lips like that, that damn dress on her driving him insane. He had to stop. He needed a temporary diversion.

He thought about her question.

Was he actually mad?

About what? About her getting a few bruises in some fight — which was nothing compared to the injuries she'd sustained in the fight the two of them had. What exactly was his damn problem, really?

#

"Am I mad?" he echoed, running his tongue along the row of his lower teeth. "You can hardly keep your sword straight and you ride off gods know where, without armor, and don't come back until next day, all bruised and with cracked ribs — so, yeah, you can say it kinda makes me just a little bit mad," he finished on a low note, the menace in his voice making her swoon.

His anger always sent a delightful tingle down her spine, but this was different; there was something more to it, some dangerous, angry softness to his stare that was about to make all her defenses crumble if she didn't take a step back now.

And then it dawned on her — the obvious — which she didn't see with the arousal clouding her brain — he was actually, genuinely worried about her.

Never breaking their gaze, she sat up and got on her knees. Her dress still rolled down around her waist, she raised her arms to pin her bangs up, taking in the view of him lying there, anticipating her next move, the anger in his eyes giving way to lust. She loved the way he was looking at her, mesmerized like she was the most spectacular of the world's wonders. She was used to having strong effect on men; but no one had looked at her quite like he did now; none other eyes made her feel this way, like she didn't want to share them with anyone — she wanted to have them just for herself.

This was bad. This was the most dangerous she had allowed it to be so far.

She knew if she touched him now, it wouldn't be just carnal anymore. She saw it in his eyes, too, in the maddening softness of his lustful glare, in the way he was giving her the upper hand, waiting for her move; so open, unguarded like she'd never seen him before. It couldn't be an act, not that look.

And the calmness of his posture, it was new as well. This wasn't the god she knew, desperate for her, chasing, pressuring, getting her cornered; this was a posture of a man who was leaving the ball in her court. It wasn't like he didn't care, but he definitely didn't sweat over it, and there was something so unusual and intriguing about it that made her crave him even more.

She held her breath, feeling like she was standing on the edge of the abyss, the decision to take one more step — irreversible, standing there in limbo — unbearable.

She could either jump, putting her life at stake, or sensibly walk away, intact. Only, she wasn't intact anymore; she was in fact pretty much bruised and scarred already, and some of those scars were there to stay even if she peeled her skin off.

She closed her eyes, a sudden memory flashing in her mind; the frightened look in his eyes when he caught her in his arms when he thought she was drowning.

She could still do it; she could walk away. She knew if she did, the maddening thought — of how it would have felt to jump — would haunt her forever.

But if she took a step further now, then losing him to his godhood — which was a matter of time — was going to crush her with a force she didn't know she would be able to handle.

Squinting, she looked towards the shore, the blue plane of the lake basked in the orange of the setting sun; the mark of another day about to end. She didn't know how many of those she had left. She just knew it wasn't many.

She looked back at him. How many did he have?

Letting out the breath she was holding, she straddled his hips and leaned down, her lips meeting his in a soft, probing kiss, making them moan softly into each other's mouth. He grabbed her face and deepened the kiss, forcing her to follow his pace — and, fighting with herself for a moment, she let him. She couldn't have admitted it when he'd thrown that in her face during that nightmare of an argument the other night, and she wouldn't admit it now, or ever, but he was right — acting helpless and vulnerable, surrendering to him when he took charge — fuck her pride, fuck everything else — nothing in the world had ever set her ablaze like this. And gods, she had to feel it again now even if it was the last thing she'd feel in her life.

His hands locking on her waist, he picked her up and moved her off him, and laid her on her back, so gently it made her swoon.

He stood up, taking his time to roll the pants down his legs; when he was fully nude, he dropped them casually to the ground at his feet. Gods, how was it possible that he was so — the sight of him, the laid-back pace of his moves, the torture of anticipation, it made her knees weak, but she held them together; they were his to spread open, she needed to see him claim her, to see his face when he did, when he saw what he was doing to her with just his gaze.

#

He took his time to take in the view in front of him — her flushed face, swollen, parted lips, the smooth line of her collarbone, the swollen ovals of her chest, the roundness of her hips covered with just a thin veil of damp, white linen, and the slender, bruised knees, quivering, pressed together for him to claim what they were hiding. The way he wanted her… it was impossible, devastating, it made him intoxicated to the extent he'd never felt before. And he saw she felt the same; he had a strong effect on her, he knew, but this, now, it was different; she was on fire, but something was different; no fight, no powerplay. There was some unexpected honesty to it, to how she let him take over, willingly, openly, of her own unveiled need for him, so raw and open it disarmed him completely.

Taking a hold of her ankle, he brought it up to his face, rubbing the inner side of it against his stubble before brushing his lips against the soft skin there, relishing how it made her shudder, how it made her back arch.

His eyes traveled up her bruised leg, past her knee and up her thigh; the path he ached to follow with his mouth, to drink from the fountain he knew he would find at the top; the thought of it making his groin throb painfully. He knew he wouldn't last long but for fuck's sake, he didn't want to come before even sticking his dick in her, the risk of which increased with each passing moment. In fact, every path he chose now would only make it worse, it was a damn dead-end street. He tried to calm his breath, cursing the humiliating limitations of mortality; but he was lost, like a sailor to her siren's song. In a trance, his hands found her quivering knees, spreading them apart. He knew she was long ready but gods… he had to tense his muscles and close his eyes for a moment. He felt that if he as much as touched himself now, he wouldn't last a minute.

But then, she locked her eyes on his, drawing him in like a magnet. Slowly, he climbed on top of her. She winced softly; he realized he brushed against her bruised ribs, and pulled away, but she clawed at his back, pulling him down onto her, despite the grimace of pain he still saw on her face.

He instinctively pulled away again; he didn't want to cause her pain — not like that, at least — but she pulled him back in roughly, her eyes glossy, wild with need.

"Don't," she pleaded. "It's okay," she added in a whisper, reaching to the back of his head to pull him close until their foreheads met. "I want you close," she whispered quietly, stroking the back of his head with trembling hands, sending an overwhelming warm rush over his chest and stomach. He needed to touch her face, see her face, see her eyes. His thumb feverishly stroking her cheek, his lips found hers, so open and waiting for him, and so very soft. It was nothing like she used to kiss him before, when she'd claim his mouth possessively, when they'd fight for dominance; now she was offering herself to him, for him to claim her — it was mind-blowing. He reveled in it, tasting her slowly, softly, wondering how could mere kissing feel like this; and it must have been as overwhelming for her as it was for him, because she couldn't stop whimpering into his mouth, her breath as shaky as his.

She wrapped her leg around him, urging him in, but he needed a minute. Inhaling along the path down the side of her neck, he brushed his lips against the soft skin, his hand reaching up her inner thigh.

"Oh, fuck, Xena… oh, gods…"

"Do you like it?" she breathed into his ear, sending a wave of goosebumps over him, making him short of breath. "You like seeing how much I missed you?" She nipped at his earlobe, sending another shiver through him.

"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me, do you…" he breathed against her ear before covering her neck with frenzied licks and bites that made her shudder and brought him close to the edge, and very close to a point where he wouldn't even care any longer. He had to slow down, breathe.

Closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breath, he let his hand roam between her thighs, stroking with his flat palm, spreading the slick heat over her thighs, her buttocks, trying not to hear the sounds leaving her mouth.

"Yes, please," she begged in a desperate whisper, shivering when his finger rubbed across her other entrance. Gods, she wanted him to take it all, she was offering him all of her; he was blown away.

"You wanna be all mine?" He nudged her ear with his nose, probing the tight entrance with the tip of his finger. It drove her wild. He wondered if he could make her come with just this. He let his finger probe deeper, the strong muscles clutching at his finger; gods, he loved it how she trembled. Kissing the side of her neck, he let his finger start a slow pace of in and out, drawing a series of endless moans and whimpers out of her.

"You like it, baby?"

"Yesss…"

"You like it when I fuck your ass like this?"

"Yessssss…"

"I love it how much you love my touch," he bit down on her neck. "I'm gonna fuck you like this till you come," he said, nibbling on her earlobe; she was shuddering.

"You're gonna kill me…" she sobbed.

"You like it, baby? Tell me you love it," he breathed, knowing that his words drove her insane more than anything else. He'd never been into that kind of sex — he never talked in bed — but with her, it just came naturally, and he loved it, and seeing that she loved it just added to it.

Gods, what a thrill it was to see her like this, a sweaty, whimpering, sobbing mess, knowing it was all his doing; that he did that, he fucked her into this.

He adjusted the angle to rub her with his wrist, and she dissolved in his arms in a matter of moments; flushed, shaking, so beautiful, so damn hot, so his.

Not letting her recover, he slipped a finger up her slick center and gasped; her inner muscles had such a grip that she was going to finish him in seconds once he entered her, but gods, he was dying for it.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the velvety slickness enveloping his finger, pulling at it hungrily. He kept a slow pace and she didn't rush him; she liked it, which was as surprising to him as realizing how much he enjoyed the gentle pace himself.

"You're so fucking hot," he breathed in her ear, his pulse throbbing in each cell of his body. "So fucking hot I could come from just watching you," he whispered, drunk with her scent, with the sensation of her pulse racing under his lips, with her muscles spasming around his finger, showing him just how much she was on the edge, too.

He waited till the end, till she was coming; when he pushed himself in, felt her closing up around him, he couldn't think or breathe anymore. Drowning in her sobs, he finally let go, melting into her with a sob of his own.

His arm muscles twitching, he wanted to roll onto his back; but when made a move to pull away, she locked him in her embrace.

"Wait," she said, still as much out of breath as he was.

"You okay?" He eyed her with concern, and hummed when she then captured his mouth in a kiss, her hands roaming around his face. "I'll take that as a yes," he said, between their lips brushing together in little smooches.

"You're not going anywhere," she breathed softly, her fingers grazing the back of his head.

"I'm not," he whispered back, glad that his heart was racing already, not betraying what her words did to him.

Securing her back with his arms, he rolled them over till she was on top of him.

With his hand buried in her hair, he felt a wave of sudden drowsiness make his lids heavy. Funny, her black hair had a reddish-brown glow in the sun.

Another thing to remember about her.

As if the dozens of others hadn't hurt enough.

Though, what did it matter; even looking up in the sky was now going to make him think of her.