Title: Hot (God Complex)
Author: Goddess Blue (Frog Fish)
Email: goddess.blue @ gmail.com, frogfish.ish @ gmail.com
Rating: For mature audiences only, due to sexually explicit
situations.
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules the Legendary Journeys
Pairings: Ares/Joxer
Disclaimer: Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules the Legendary
Journeys, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks
of Universal Television Distribution Holdings LLC. They are used
here for entertainment purposes only.
Warning: Explicit sex. Naughty language. First-time. Rimming.
Underage, unless you think contextually like me, and fifteen
really wasn't too early to lose your virginity in Ancient
Greece.
Status: Complete
Archive: AJCS, Joxerotica, JoxerFic (archived at The Wonderful
World of Make-Believe), Painted Dreams. If you'd like to archive
this fic, please e-mail the author.
Website: http://www.geocities.com/nonexistent_virtually,
http://frog-fish.livejournal.com/,
http://www.fanfiction.net/~goddessblue

Notes: I wanted this to be an innocent little sweet virginity
fic, but then Ares was naked and himself and it just kind of
snowballed from there. And grabbed a meaning along the way. I
think. Also: what /is/ it about this fandom that has me writing
NC-17?

Summary: Joxer likes it hot, and Ares thinks that sweat can be
just as good a sacrifice as blood.

- - -

A lot of people underestimate the midnight cool breeze, but not
Joxer. He knew it was something that Xena and Gabby loved about
sleeping underneath the starry night sky. After a long, weary
day of walking--step after step after step--they were covered in
the tracks of their dripping sweat, practically begging for the
night winds.

It was the real reason they avoided campfires in the Fall,
although Xena would insist that they were just less likely to
draw the attention of thugs and tramps without one.

Xena loved it cool.

But, Joxer? Joxer liked it hot.

Joxer /liked/ the sweat that dripped down his neck and over his
lean back and down his skin underneath that ridiculously
stifling armor. Joxer liked the aching stretch of his muscles
when they'd been worked much too hard. Joxer liked that his
clothes absorbed his sweat like they were hungry for his very
essence; until they smelled more like him than he did.

But then Gabby would heave a world-weary sigh and Xena would
smirk and call a halt to their march, and they would make camp
and bed down and listen to Gabby's stories as the day cooled to
night and Joxer mourned. Xena and Gabby would say soft good
nights and exchange meaningful stares and Joxer would,
uncomfortably, cheerfully, offer his own wishes for their good
dreams.

And then he'd settle back with helmet pressed tightly to his
chest, and wait for the burning sun to come up again and soothe
him. And sometime after the fire died, if they had one, the
midnight cool breeze tickled over him and tried to soothe him,
and he hated it. It was persistent, trying to wipe the traces of
sweat and cool his skin and it made him crawl all over and
/hate/ the midnight cool breeze.

But it just kept coming to take away the heat of day.

He wasn't existential by nature, but it always got to him when
Summer began to fade and Fall took over. He hated it. Almost,
sometimes, wanted to go hunt down Persephone and thrust her
screaming and clawing back into Demeter's arms. If only so that
he could keep things hot like summer.

But Joxer tried not think things like that, because Gods could,
occasionally, hear mortal thoughts (especially when the mortals
were thinking about /them/) and Joxer didn't want to piss off
Hades. Hades just wasn't the type of God you wanted to piss off.

So he yearned for the hot days of Summer and despaired of having
to exist through three more seasons until he could feel the
sticky warmth of Helios in his face.

There were reasons Joxer liked it hot, and in the end these
reasons had nothing to do with temperature or climate or slick
skin... okay, they had a little to do with slick skin.

He'd been fifteen the second time he'd dedicated himself to
Ares.

It was the second time because when he was ten his father had
done it for him; marched him up to the darkly foreboding temple
and pressed his forehead to the altar and sliced his shoulder so
he could watch it bleed. But he'd been young, and awkward years
before puberty was scheduled to step in and play with him, and
there was no answering flash of the temple torches. The priests
had exchanged speaking looks and then offered their condolences
to his father: Ares didn't want Joxer.

Joxer's father had swore, spit landing on Joxer's bare back, and
eased up his hold on the scared little boy. Joxer had begun to
stand and wasn't prepared for the stunning blow to the back of
his head. He jerked forward, bit down forcefully on his tongue,
and bled all over the altar of Ares' godhood. His tongue lolled
out of his mouth then, and when his father smacked his head a
second time, connected with the marble slab and tasted the blood
of things that Joxer had rather not think about.

The taste.

The taste of blood and sweat and probably piss, because he was
sure close to losing his control and he wasn't even there as a
sacrifice.

And then he'd been yanked back and pulled from the temple's main
room, and no one noticed if the temple torches fanned low for a
moment, as if considering.

He'd been fifteen before he could figure out how to sneak into
Ares' temple without getting caught, before an opening had
presented itself in the manner of a festival being held in the
War God's honor and all of his priests getting drunk off their
high and mighties.

The temple was deserted, closed off because the temple was
supposed to be the whole city today. A whole city, Ares' temple.
Some grand gesture that Joxer really didn't care about and he
figured Ares would only find faintly amusing.

He was there, in that temple, and it was midsummer. High noon.

And it was /hot/.

He was bleeding sweat, like he'd fought a whole war all by
himself and was covered in the blood of his enemies. Fresh
blood, because sweat was sticky but it still rolled when dry
blood would only cake.

He'd borrowed Jett's prize dagger--would probably pay for that
later--and headed to the temple to prove something. Prove that
the torches could fan hot for him the way they had with Jett, or
flicker at least, the way they had with Jace. Prove that he had
/something/ to offer the War God, even if it was only just his
sweat and blood and maybe tears.

Marched like a good little soldier up to the altar, sat on it,
lay on it, closed his eyes and melted on it like the sacrifice
he hadn't been five years before. Raised the dagger up above his
gut; clenched his eyes tightly.

"You're not really going to do that, are you?"

The voice was low and /coldcoldhot/, and Joxer's eyes sprang
open when it was followed by fingers on his calf squeezing
roughly.

"You're already bleeding for me. Aren't you?"

The fingers, invisible, wiped at the sweat pooling around the
edge of his boots. The light dimmed just a little and they took
on flesh and form and soon he was staring, horrified, into eyes
blacker than the cold night starless sky.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, my lord."

Black as sin hair. Muscles. A mouth that he really, really
shouldn't think of as cute. Power.

"I don't think you're bleeding enough."

Heat rushed up Joxer's spine and he arched, fingers flexing and
dropping Jett's prize dagger--he'd pay for that later--, crying
out.

Sweating.

Gasping. Fingers. Ares. /Ares/ fucking touching him on his altar
and this wasn't really what he'd come here to do but he wasn't
going to /argue/. The torches flamed higher, and Joxer was naked
and there was just a second of cool before he was covered in
heat and God.

God.

Ares was /naked/ too. And he'd never seen Ares before or even
heard him speak, and even Ares' priests, who were supposed to be
some kind of extension of his godhood, only sneered at him when
he dared show his face. And this was moving just a little too
fast but, once again, Joxer wasn't going to /argue/ when Ares
was /naked/ and still touching him.

And then Ares was licking him and Joxer was babbling his
thoughts out loud.

"...touching me? I thought I wasn't... and there's blood all
over this altar underneath us, isn't there? Kind of cold-"

And then the altar was hot too, and Ares was settled happily
into Joxer's shoulder, licking and biting and searching for all
of Joxer's sweat, while Joxer was hard and thrusting up into his
God despite his mind standing back and telling him that if Gods
wanted to fuck you on their altars, you might as well just let
them and enjoy it and lay back and think of Greece and the
/heat/.

Ares' hand reached down then and covered his desire, and then
his other hand reached down and grabbed at his /naked/ hip and
shoved him down and immobile and Ares began to thrust against
him.

And Joxer bit his lip and didn't bleed but praised Ares that
there was enough sweat to make the slickslickslide of
them--together, against each other, /naked/--, comfortable. And
Ares, at his prayer, had snorted into his sweat and saliva
slicked neck and lifted his face and his eyes had been so
/black/.

"There's lots of blood all over this altar, Joxer, but the only
sweat there that matters is yours."

And Ares had paused when he said that, and his eyes and Joxer
couldn't breathe for a minute and... and...

Then the profoundness of the moment was over, which turned out
to be a good thing because Ares began moving against Joxer
again. Slamming him into the altar and making him pant and keen
and /sweat/. Moving the marble with his thrusts and their noises
and the torches were lower than they'd ever been and Ares'
breath was husky against his ear.

And Joxer felt special, really, which was a ridiculous thing to
feel in the middle of all this rutting angry thrusting stuff,
but how many people got to be this kind of virgin sacrifice?

Ares growled and Joxer came.

Ares stilled over him, and laughed into his neck, but Joxer was
beyond thinking anything was funny right now. There were
fingers--real fingers, funny. He hadn't thought that Gods had
physical form, but then he hadn't thought he'd be fucked on
Ares' altar tonight, either. /Fingers/. On his hips and
something that wasn't a finger hot and hard and /hot/ against
his thigh. Getting covered in his come. Ares was slick with
Joxer's sweat and come, and wasn't that a thought that could get
him killed?

"I remembered you, when you came in here. I haven't thought
about you in five years, but the moment you walked in tonight I
remembered you and the way you taste."

Joxer's mouth moved ahead of his mind again, "Taste? You've
tasted me?"

"The way you taste /things/. I'm going to taste you Joxer-,"
Joxer shivered against the hot marble, "I'm going to eat you
up."

And Joxer was wrenched up and turned around and his face was
planted--shoved--into that marble altar again.

"You tasted this, five years ago. You tasted all the sacrifices
made here to me, took them into yourself, and for five years
they've trickled through your blood. You're my living sacrifice,
and I think that if I can just taste you I'll be able to taste
all of /them/ too."

And Joxer was suddenly imagining his God on his knees at his own
altar, mouth pressed up against the bleeding wound of Joxer's
ten-year-old shoulder, tasting his blood. And he wondered if
that was what sacrifice /was/.

But Ares was moving, biting his shoulder, kissing his spine,
licking the hollow of his back. Biting his cheek. And then, hand
on each cheek, shoving the globes of Joxer's buttocks apart.
Ares' face was in the most intimate place that existed on
Joxer... Ares' /face/.

/Ares'/ face.

His God was /naked/, and kneeling in front of his own altar,
with his face pressed up against Joxer's ass.

Joxer was instantly hard again.

And then his /tongue/. Joxer's head wrenched up and his neck
protested loudly and he screamed. And then he groaned. And then
he panted and cried and begged, face suddenly /covered/ in sweat
and Ares' tongue was so /hot/.

He'd never been touched there--never even touched /himself/
there. And Ares was fucking him with his tongue. He was losing
his virginity to Ares' tongue.

"Please, my Lord?" Joxer couldn't help but be respectful. Mostly
because this was /Ares/ but also because he was Joxer and Joxer
was inherently polite. "Please..."

There was a dissatisfied huff and then a response as Ares pulled
away from him. "Yes, Joxer?"

"Please fuck me. Make me yours."

"I don't have to make you mine, Joxer. You're already mine.
You've always been mine. You'll always /be/ mine. But I think I
will fuck you."

"/Yes./"

"See? Isn't this much better than killing yourself on my altar?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"I love that word."

And then Ares was over him and hot and heavy and pressing him
down into the sticky, warm, bloody altar. Licking his neck.
Spreading his cheeks apart with a strong hand.

"This is going to hurt. A lot."

"Ye-"

And then there was only white-hot pain, and the sound of Joxer's
scream as his God took his virginity. His scream ended on a
whimper, and the sweat on his face was mingling with his tears,
and Ares was still on him, face buried in his neck. Licking
again.

Ares' free hand turned his face, and Ares licked his tears and
sweat.

And then Ares kissed him and all the pain went away.

His voice was husky now, and low, and not like him at all.
"Yessss...."

And then Ares was slowly moving in and out of him. Sweat and
saliva and probably a little bit of Joxer's come was easing
Ares' way. Maybe a little bit of blood, but this wasn't about
blood.

They went slowly for a while, Ares establishing a rhythm that
lasted peacefully until Joxer began to bump back up against him
and claw helplessly at the sticky-warm altar. And husk out 'yes'
after 'yes' until it was all he could hear in his own head. And
then Ares began to move harder against him--in him--shoving
Joxer's hips into the warm sticky. His own come and the warmed
years of caked on blood.

He suddenly wanted to taste it again, in some sick part of his
brain that wanted to turn Ares on, and his God must've caught
the thought because he was being kissed again. Plundered by
Ares' tongue and cock and tongue that tasted faintly of himself
and the place that he'd never touched. And then his head was
being turned and gently pressed into the marble altar, and his
nose was mashed up against it.

And Ares thrust hard and he opened his mouth on a groan just as
his face was pressed down just a little harder and he couldn't
help but /taste/.

The taste.

He kissed the sticky marble, open-mouthed and panting and Ares
was fucking him so /hard/ now.

"Yes, Joxer."

Joxer lifted his face up off the marble and stared blankly
ahead, gaze caught on the burning torches.

His hips slammed into the altar, and Ares was attached to his
neck. That seemed to imply that he tasted really good right now.
His mouth dropped open and a loud whimper snuck out and his hips
were slammed into the altar again, his dick sliding into the
sweat soaked surface. Come soaked. Blood soaked. Joxer soaked.

The torches fanned high and Ares froze above him and Joxer's
hips were grabbed fiercely.

Ares roared, and Joxer's ears rang, and come--/Ares'/
come--splashed into him, deep, where he could feel it. And Joxer
was still hard, but Ares was even hotter all spent and wrapped
around him, and there was God-sweat on him now. Ares had broken
a sweat fucking him and that was...

Ares pulled out then, licked down his back and slid off the
altar and licked him once where he'd fucked him, causing Joxer
to thrust himself into the altar and groan while Ares chuckled.

"I'm not done tasting you yet, Joxer. Turn over."

Joxer really didn't want to, but the whole point of Gods was to
make sacrifices for them and here Ares was /asking/. He turned
over.

Ares knelt again at his own altar and licked Joxer's thigh. He
grabbed Joxer's calf and pulled Joxer to the edge of the marble
slab, so that his legs were hanging off and kind of wrapped
protectively around his God.

"Sit up."

Joxer sat up.

"Watch me."

And then Ares touched his dick, picked it up, and licked it.
And, really, what else was Joxer going to do, look away? Ares
licked it again, slowly, tasting the drying come from Joxer's
first orgasm, and the drying sweat from their activities. And
the residue of hundreds of years of sacrifices given on this
altar that Ares had fucked him into.

Tasting everything.

And then Ares' mouth wrapped around Joxer and it was /hot/. And
wet, too, but mostly hot. Joxer moaned and Ares lifted his mouth
mostly off and nipped at the head and Joxer cried out.

"Lord Ares hear my prayer--"

Ares sank down on him again and hummed.

"--all that I am I offer up in devotion to you--"

Ares growled.

Joxer's voice broke on a moan.

"--all that I have I shed at your whim--"

Ares sank all the way down... all the way. Completely. Joxer was
lost for words for a moment.

"--all that I will be is yours, for your glory."

Ares lifted his balls and squeezed and Joxer came.

And Joxer blanked out and came to, alone. At night. Woken by the
cool, midnight breeze across his naked skin.

He was prostrate over Lord Ares' altar, sticky with his own come
and sore with someone else's and it was the only way, after a
minute of coherent thought, that he couldn't dismiss it as if it
had been a dream.

He'd lost his virginity to his God, had been accepted as a
sacrifice. No one would ever believe him.

Joxer found his clothes in a messy pile several feet away and
tugged them on, picked up Jett's dagger--he'd pay for that
dagger--and left the temple.

And never told anyone.

He shifted against the night breeze, his armor softly clanking,
and fell to sleep within his own memories.

Yards away, invisible from mortal eyes, Ares watched him dream.
And silently waited for the day when he could take Joxer
somewhere hot and burn up with him.

Fin