She opened her eyes, tense and alert. Then, realizing where she was, she let the breath out, resting her face back on his chest.

It wasn't quite dark yet, but the sun had been long gone. She never realized they'd been here that long.

Inhaling deeply, she let her lids fall shut and focused on the sounds of the forest behind them; the leaves rustling subtly under occasional breeze, the birds chirping. The little waves, lapping at the shore softly; the earthy humidity in the air.

She looked up when she heard a grunt; and smiled when saw he was still asleep; and she stared for a while, fighting the urge to kiss him. Was it wrong for it to feel so good? It felt so damn good to be with him this way; more than good; it felt calm, and right. She hadn't felt that kind of peace in forever.

She pressed her mouth to his skin in a little kiss, the soft fluff of his chest hair ticklish against her face. He hummed sleepily, the muscles of his arm around her back flexing briefly.

When she closed her eyes again, the memory of why she now felt sore inside and out made her insides quivery. Her body felt so heavy and limp that she wasn't sure if she could get up, let alone walk.

Trying to lift herself on her elbow, she winced, the sharp pain in her battered midsection reminding her how stupid she was to not watch out for it before. While she hadn't felt the pain back then, it was now crashing down on her with double strength.

"Hurts?"

She looked up and met his drowsy gaze. "Ares, don't. You've said it, I heard it, that's it; I'm still in for hearing the same tirade from Gabrielle once she wakes up."

"I was gonna say we'll get the old hag to put that brown ointment on it, for pain."

She froze, mouth agape. "Oh."

"Gabrielle still asleep? A rough night?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Oh yeah, apparently she drunk the night away with some drunk vagabond."

"I think that says a lot about her."

"How the two of you managed to spend hours in close proximity and not kill each other is quite impressive."

"Oh, you see, now that I'm mortal, I'm a bit more civil — I use my mouth as a weapon."

"I quite like it when you use your mouth…" she teased, leaning in to press her lips to his.

"Well, good, 'cause I'm gonna use them on you a lot…"

She drowned in their kiss, dragging it on till she straddled him. Pulling away as she felt his hands lock around her waist, she looked down; gods, she loved how big his hands were, how small she felt in his grip.

"I love it when you hold me like this." She gasped when he tightened his grasp, sending a contraction over her pelvic region. "Yes, like this…"

"I love it how you show me what you like."

"Mmm…"

Careful to bypass her bruised ribs, he slid his hands up her sides slowly, until he filled them with her breasts. "I love your tits," he said dreamily, enjoying how she pressed her lids shut under his touch. He took his time, cradling, squeezing just lightly, marveling at how this alone made her flood him with juices, before he even touched the sensitive peaks, before he kissed them.

Her sensitivity to his touch was something else. He loved it; seeing, feeling, hearing her react to the slightest brush of his mouth and fingers. And yes, when she kept slowly grinding back and forth along his length, he was dying to slip inside her again — but just this, just looking at what he was seeing now, her face flushed, eyes drugged, hazy, hair all disheveled — it wasn't just that she was beautiful, it was — hell knew what, but it was overwhelming, heavy almost.

And gods, the damn white dress around her hips… What was it about that dress, he didn't know. Maybe a new fetish. Why not, he was always discovering new things with her.

She made a move to kiss him but froze half-way, wincing. The bruising; of course.

Lifting himself on his elbows, he sat up, mindful not to press against her ribs. "Better now?" he whispered into her mouth, nibbling on her swollen lower lip, getting a soft moan in response. He reached down to manoeuver himself in but she stopped him with another wince. "Hurts?"

"Are you really that surprised?" she asked with a little tease in her voice as she kept swaying her hips back and forth, rubbing herself against him.

"Well… no." He half-grinned, stroking up and down from her waist to her hips, the glimpses of how they spent the afternoon flashing before his eyes. In fact, he was somewhat sore himself.

She locked her arms around his neck, her kisses getting more heated as she increased her pace, and gods, he was dying to bury himself inside her. He loved what she was doing, though; pushing her chest into his face, rubbing herself against him like a bitch in heat.

Losing himself in it, he didn't know how long it went on; long enough to bring him close to his own release; and definitely long enough to make his back hurt.

Not that it mattered. Not when he then had her in his lap, melted into him, quivery from her release; not when she was kissing his face, his nose, his forehead in a way that made him lightheaded, a way that made him want to say the words he had vowed to himself to never say to her again.

He didn't let go of her till long after.

#

They must have drifted off for a bit, because when she opened her eyes again, it was almost completely dark.

The wind was gone, leaving the lake a flawless plane of dark blue, not a little wave left. The birds she couldn't hear anymore, crickets having taken their place; and she focused on the buzzing, so as to push the thought away, the realization that it was time to leave the warm arms wrapped around her.

She pressed her lips to his neck. "We should go home."

He purred softly, and a rush of sudden misery overcame her. Home; something neither of them had. Though, right now, it actually felt quite the opposite. And she loved that feeling, more than she should allow herself to.

She blinked to disperse the sudden veil of moisture blurring her vision. "Come on," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder, now that she saw he wasn't asleep anymore.

Looking up at him, seeing the sadness there that mirrored her own, she had to blink again."Now, we go home. We'll worry about the rest tomorrow," she whispered, nuzzling his cheek, planting a soft kiss there.

He tensed in her embrace, his voice turning cold when he spoke. "I'm going to wash myself," he said before heading towards the shore.

Sighing, she went looking for her waterskin and, having placed it at her feet on the grassy shore, she followed in his footsteps. Pushing the dress down her hips, she let it fall to the ground and stepped into the water; pleasantly cool now under the darkened sky, amazing on the sore, heated skin.

When she swam back to the shore, he was standing there, wringing out the white fabric in his hands. He handed it to her when she approached.

"You washed it…?" She gazed at him, a bit disoriented.

"I guess this is what three days of doing laundry does to you," he smirked; and she didn't know why it made her want to cry; maybe it was the way he said it, the sadness he tried to mask with a joke, or the gesture itself, or both, but she bit her lip till it hurt.

She stepped closer, her lips touching his in a very slow, feather-like kiss. "Thank you…" she uttered against his mouth, humming when his hands glided back and forth around her bare waist; aching to sink into him again and not let go for the rest of the night.

"We gotta go back," she said reluctantly, avoiding his eyes as she left his embrace.

"You might wanna put that on before we go." He gestured towards the dress she realized she still kept squeezing in her hands.

It took a moment to pull the damp fabric over her head and then roll it down her body. Gods, her ribs hurt. She wouldn't mind using some of that poppy ointment now. There should still be some by her bed where she remembered Pelagia had left it for her, just in case.

Before walking into the bushy wall of the forest, she took one last look at the shore; the previously impeccable flatness of the lake now broken with ripples from the pebbles he tossed. It was still beautiful. Maybe it didn't have to be perfect.

The way back was heavy with silence, crickets in the background, sinking feeling in her stomach. It got worse when they neared the house, when she saw the dim candlelight flickering in the kitchen window of what was now home. She sighed, anxiety and some sense of guilt twisting her stomach; he was right beside her, and she couldn't look at him now.

Then, when they reached the porch, she felt an abrupt pull on her arm and was suddenly in his arms, his breath on her face.

"Stay with me tonight," he demanded, and her chest welled up with a wave of tingling warmth. At first, she thought about Gabrielle, and then, right after, what he'd said to her at the stables. No. She wasn't going to bring Gabrielle into this, not anymore. This was her decision. This was between him and her.

She cupped his cheek with her palm and looked him in the eye, the words piling up in her throat.

"Wait for me here," she said quietly, pressing her lids together as she felt his grip on her wrist.

#

Watching her disappear behind the front door, he let out the breath he was holding, his heart heavy, resonating throughout his chest.

He knew this was a mistake. This whole day was a mistake in the first place; and now, on top of that, he was going to have her in his bed for the rest of the night, was going to wake up with her next to him — or not even that — she'd probably leave without waking him. He scoffed, shaking his head. Way to go, why not twist the blade some more.

But then, she appeared in the doorway, a pile of something dark in her arms, maybe a blanket, and walked up to him, and when he saw her face up close, the softness in her eyes, he knew that he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to make the mistake he was about to make.

The way to the barn passed in silence, grass rustling softly under their bare feet. But this time, there was no heaviness; just some unnamed emotion making his chest expand.

He held the door of the barn and waited for her to enter first; and watched as her moonlit face scanned the surroundings. "Sorry for the mess — I don't usually bring my dates here."

"I believe you…" she looked around, biting her lower lip in amusement.

Of course, just as she had expected — there was nothing there, apart from wine and some sheepskins serving as the makeshift bed. That was exactly why she brought blankets, candles, and some water with her. There seemed to be enough bedding for the two of them, but a few more blankets wouldn't hurt.

Shivering, she rolled off the damp dress off her and wrapped herself in a blanket. Then, out of the three barrels scattered around, she chose the biggest one as the safest for the candle.

Placing the lit up candle on top of the barrel, she looked to where he was standing. "We might wanna be careful not to knock it over — just saying."

A tingle ran down the back of her head and neck when she felt him behind her.

"I thought we were just going to sleep — but I like the sound of what you have in mind," he whispered in her ear, his body pressing into her back, arms encircling her waist, making her breath shaky.

He grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on top of the barrel, next to the candle. He then took the candle and moved it to another, smaller barrel nearby.

"We wanna be careful not to knock it over," he purred into her ear, nibbling on her earlobe, his hands cupping her breasts, making her blanket drop to the floor.

Weak in the knees, her eyes glued to the candle flame, she arched her back into him and for the next several moments, she let him make her forget that anything else existed.

Afterwards, he picked her up and carried to bed.

"Wait," she winced, her ribs reminding her of why she'd gone to the house in the first place. "The ointment. It's next to the waterskins."

He looked to where the waterskins were. There was indeed a small, familiar looking jar; he grabbed it and walked back towards the bed.

It hit him how surreal it was; seeing her in his bed, nude, barely conscious from how he just couldn't stop fucking her. He'd dreamed about it for ages but gods — this was — how was it possible for it to feel so devastatingly good? And how ironic, to have it today only to lose it tomorrow. This was going to be worse than all those years of not having her. It was going to fuck him up as nothing before.

He sat down next to her, opening the little jar in his hand. She made a move to take it from him but he stopped her. "No, let me."

He grabbed the hem of the blanket, baring her chest down to the waist. He had seen Pelagia apply it on her on the night they arrived here. Trying to copy what he remembered the old hag do, he spread a thin layer around the bruising under her breast, working it around till he was satisfied with the coverage. Putting the jar away, he caught her gaze.

"You okay?" he asked, seeing her eyes brim with tears.

The soft concern in his eyes was the final straw for her; the tears fell, she wiped them off. "I'm fine."

Seeing his furrowed eyebrows she sighed; and found his hand, their fingers intertwining. "I'm just…" she paused, drawing in a breath, "…not used to this."

His brows furrowed more. "To pain? Could've fooled me…"

"To having you witness it."

He said nothing at first, his gaze turning pensive. "Well, that makes two of us," he huffed, casting his eyes down to where he was toying with her hand. "As if being injured wasn't bad enough on its own, huh?"

Her chest welled up with tenderness when she saw his bitter expression, when she remembered what a fuss he made the other night at the stables, adamant to hide his wound from her. Then, she remembered the first day they came here; getting her head stitched, and how awkward it felt to have him there seeing her in such state.

God or mortal, the two of them, they were alike this way; always keeping all flanks guarded, always suffering a blow to the ego when someone, by some miracle, managed to find an opening and stab them for others to see.

She squeezed his hand, and he looked up, their eyes meeting. Gods, she loved him when he looked at her like that, when those dark eyes turned from smug to vulnerable, making her want to—

"Then again, I'm not used to most of what I've been doing these days," he said, his tone lighter, laced with amusement.

"That makes two of us," she replied, a corner of her lips going up. "Usually, when I go for a swim it doesn't take all day — and doesn't hurt afterwards."

"You do realize I'm still quite far from being sated?" He lifted her knuckles to his mouth, his gaze intensifying, eyes darkening.

"That makes two of us…" she said, her eyes pressing shut for a moment, her lower abdomen tightening in a spasm; gods, it was impossible, it was never enough—

"If you don't stop giving me that look, I'm gonna fuck you all night, I swear," he said, licking the inside of her wrist.

"What look?" she asked innocently, another wave of heat flooding her.

"The look that says how badly you want me." He teased her palm with small bites around the edges.

"I do not," she protested, her breath short.

"Oh, I think I know of the evidence that will prove to the contrary…" he said huskily, reaching under the blanket. "There you go," he said, slightly out of breath.

Then, he pulled away, pulled the blanket off, rolling the dress up to her waist, and dove in, pushing her knees apart, kissing his way up her inner thighs, making her wail and curse when he reached the top.

"Ou," she winced, placing a hand on his head when he nibbled a bit too hard. "Too hard… Just kiss me, like you kiss my lips…"

"Like this?"

"Oh, gods… like this…" she uttered weakly, her head collapsing back on the bed.

"Gods, I could eat you out all night," he muttered, kissing her softly all over, making her head spin. "I don't think it hurts when I do that, does it?"

"No… it doesn't, it doesn't…"

He kept savoring her, drunk with scent, her taste, the creamy softness of her, every single little sound she made, a bit taken off guard by how much it turned him on; if he rubbed himself against the sheets some more, he was sure he would have come without touching himself.

He couldn't take his eyes off her afterwards; her chest heaving, glistening in the candlelight, knees trembling from what he did to her; still trembling slightly when he cradled her limp body in his arms and moved her a bit to the side so he could fit in next to her. Covering them both with blankets, mindful not to touch the ointment patch on her ribs, he stretched his back against the bed, gathering her with his arm till her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. His eyes roamed around the roof; there was something different about it. Maybe because of the candlelight; he actually never saw it lit by the candlelight.

She was still delirious, could still feel his mouth there, driving her insane. Well, no mortal could beat hundreds of years of experience. It suddenly irked her to think how many women he must have slept with.

"I didn't know you were such a pussy eater," she teased, her nose brushing against his stubble.

"That makes two of us."

"What?"

"I guess it takes a special kind of woman to unlock that feature."

"But you're so impossibly good at this…" she frowned in wonder.

"It's just talent, baby," he shot her that cocky half-grin of his that used to piss her off before, which now made her bite down a grin of her own.

He felt her hand on his cheek, stroking gently. Gods, how he loved it when she touched him like that — he almost felt stupid for how much he loved it. "And I would have never guessed you were into that kind of fucking," he teased back.

"What kind?"

"You know, slow and gentle."

"I'm not!"

"Well, I think I've seen otherwise…" he said, smiling when he saw her fail to suppress her own smile.

He actually did believe her. This was not like her. Maybe it was new, like those new things she brought out in him. It intrigued him.

"You didn't like it before?" she heard him ask, and the tone of his voice was not teasing anymore, it was genuine, curious. "You didn't, did you?"

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"Why, is it new for you, too?" she asked, her lip corner curling up in a smile. She watched him as he looked down and then up at her again, hesitating. Stupidly, her heart started racing like mad.

"I think you're a witch," he said, his lips slightly pouty, his eyes wistful under the furrowed brows, so oblivious as to how much he was bewitching her at this very moment. Though, how was it possible that, in all the years of his immortal existence, there were still things he discovered anew?

But he did, she could see it, feel it; his first times. With her. It moved her, in some weird, strong way; and made her less self-conscious about her own recent discoveries. It was somewhat reassuring that they were both experiencing things new for them. Well, being freshly mortal he surely had a lot more of those than she did. Maybe she should be more understanding towards him. He didn't exactly have it easy now.

"Ares… those new experiences, they might be hard to deal with, some of them. It's not easy for me, either. You're not alone in this."

"So it makes two of us?" he offered, and she felt his cheek move in a smile under her hand; it made her smile too. "What's not easy for you?" he asked.

At that moment, she regretted opening her mouth.

She glanced up at him, meeting his subtly amused gaze. Smug bastard. "Putting up with having you around."

"Well, that does make two of us, as well," he bantered back.

"It sure makes a helluva lot of those; I'd never have thought we could have more in common than—"

"Fighting and fucking?" he offered helpfully.

"Mm."

"Well, that makes two of us, then," he stated, making her chuckle this time.

"There you go."

"I'm serious, Xena. Up until a week ago I didn't know there was more to life than that," he confessed, so genuinely that it made her need to look at him, see his face. She propped herself on one elbow. His sharply chiseled features were soft in the dim candlelight, his dark eyes distant, a bit sad.

She thought about his words and how the gist of them actually applied to her, too. "Actually, that makes two of us as well…"

"What do you mean?" he asked, dumbfounded. He knew her life had more to it than just fucking and fighting — that was in fact the main thing they didn't see eye to eye on.

She hesitated.

Answering his question had a potential to sound mushy and cheesy, but on the other hand, she loved it how they were able to have such genuine conversation, that he was opening up to her like that.

She looked at him; his eyes were on her, he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

She didn't know why it surprised her. Maybe because she always considered him rather shallow, with nothing underneath the rage and bloodlust; well, not that she ever given it any thought before, but — he used to be that, didn't he? Maybe it was losing his godhood that unlocked new features, as he put it.

"What I meant was that I'm not used to all of that, either."

"You mean, spending all day swimming and fucking?" he offered merrily.

"That too."

"Seriously?"

"Well, I don't think I've ever had that much sex, in a row." It felt a bit awkward to be sharing this with him, but at the same time, so oddly natural that she couldn't help it.

She saw him grin, visibly happy with her confession.

"Xena, this was nothing — if I had my powers, we wouldn't be talking now, and we wouldn't be fucking either — 'cause you would've passed out hours ago."

His words make her core muscles spasm, reminding her how sore she was. "Ares… I don't know how I'm gonna sit tomorrow…"

"I love it how you're so sensitive."

"I'm not sensitive…" she frowned.

He rolled to his side, propped himself up on his elbow, and pushed her on her back. He put a hand on her throat, his fingertips stroking the path down her neck, down her cleavage, until his palm rested over the bruise between her breasts, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Oh, but you are… look at what just a brief touch does to you," he whispered, bringing his mouth to her breast, making her moan, her back arching. "Which is pretty amazing, considering how tough-skinned you are otherwise."

"This is just some temporary malfunction," she said, struggling for breath.

"Or it's just my touch that does it…" he teased, his mouth roaming over her chest.

She closed her eyes, heat pooling between her thighs. Of course it was his touch that did it. All of this, it was what it was only with him. And he knew it, of course he knew it. Smug son of a bitch.

"I actually think it's the concussion," she said.

"Just admit it, Xena… it's only my touch that does it… makes you burn like this…" He went on kissing his way down her arm. "And that definitely makes two of us."

She drew in her breath, waiting for him to finish; dying for him to finish. "What do you mean?"

He smiled against the skin of her arm. "I don't think I can tell you that," he decided, kissing his way up her arm, his hand making its way under the sheets, making her gasp when he found what he was looking for.

"Why not?" she said half-consciously, distracted by his probing fingers.

"So, you want me to tell you something that you yourself are keeping from me, how is that fair?" he asked, enjoying all the needy little whimpers filling the air as he worked his way to get her to tell him what he wanted to hear.

"I'll tell you if you tell me first," she said, trying to keep her voice even.

"You see, Xena, this is the part when you come up with a compromise and try to meet me half-way, not try to sell the starting point as a bargain."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, panting, not following the trail of conversation anymore.

"That you've never felt this way before," he breathed, his mouth reaching for her nipple, making her squirm, "that no one ever made you feel what I do," he demanded, his voice throaty, his mouth and fingers on her driving her insane.

"Yesss…"

"Yes, what?" he echoed and, in the absence of the answer, withdrew his hand, making her buck her hips furiously. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Fuck…! It is, it's you…"

"Good girl." He slipped his fingers back inside her. "It's me, what?"

"I swear, I'm gonna rip you apart with my bare teeth…"

"I love it when you're raw like that," he mused, giving a lick to her nipple, then reaching for her mouth. "You were saying, baby?" he breathed into her mouth before capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

"All of this, it's you, you're doing this to me," she said, catching her breath, feeling that she was nearing a point where it was better to say what he wanted now than risk saying too much later.

"I'm doing what to you?"

"Driving me fucking insane!" she hissed.

"It's only me?"

"It's only you…" she whispered, voice dying in her throat, her vision blurring from the sensation overload; his touch, the way he was kissing her, the things he made her say, all pushing her near the edge.

"I've never felt this way before, either," he said in a low whisper, lips brushing hers. "No one's ever made me feel what you do… it's only you, baby… it's always only been you…" Then, somewhere between painful bites on her neck, he said it, a maddening whisper in her ear, sending her crashing into her release, "…and you're mine."

When she was drifting off to sleep in his embrace, the last words echoed in her head, on repeat; until it was her voice saying them.

She reminded herself to blow out the candle.

But when she moved to get up, he pulled her back into his arms with a little grunt of disapproval.

"Don't go…" he uttered throatily.

"I'm just going to put out the candle," she said, her heart swelling.

"What?" he frowned, his eyes snapping open. "What's wrong?" he blinked, eyeing her sleepily.

"Nothing, you talk in your sleep." She smiled.

"What?" He grimaced. "What did I say?"

"That you love doing laundry," she said, biting down a grin, catching a glimpse of his raised eyebrows right before darkness enveloped them as she blew off the flame of the candle.

"I really hope you're joking."

She chuckled, and drew a breath; slow and deep; then, another one, but it didn't help; the sinking feeling was settling in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't want to go.