I suppose when you get into a really dangerous, embarrassing, or silly situation, your senses sort of operate selectively, so you're only aware of one thing at a time. At least that's how it seems to me.

The first thing I'm aware of is the heat. The day was torrid, and the night is no better. I'm sweating, even though I don't have much on.

And that's the second thing: the feel of the air on my skin. I'm used to skimpy clothing, because it's handy for battle and besides, I've worked hard on getting fit, and I like the admiring glances that come my way. I don't think I'm any more vain than anyone else, but it's good to know that my body is toned, and responds as it should when I call upon it. But that's not important. Not here and now. I have to concentrate on what I'm about to do.

The humid air is heavy and seems almost to cling to me, making me uncomfortable, even though I'm wearing only two strips of material, one around my breasts, the other wound between my legs and over my hips. Everything's covered, but still--the material is sheer, and although I've doubled it over and doubled it again, I know that my nipples will press against the cloth, much to the delight of the men for whom I'm going to dance.

Yes, dance. Me, Xena, Warrior Princess, I'm going to dance for this collection of Roman clods who have been plundering the province. Their aggression makes no sense, the area is poor and has long since paid all the tribute it can, yet they want more. So much for the new emperor and his God of Love. Nothing much ever changes, not really.

Now I smell the odors of the celebration: the wine, sweat, leather; the cooked meat and roast fowl, the smoke of the torches and the perfumes of the women. My hearing comes back as well, as I listen to laughter, jeering, and the sounds of a couple who are having sex at the side of the hall, much to the amusement of the others. The bacchanalia is decadent, dangerous, and exciting. I hate it. I want to be part of it.

I wouldn't be here at all if I could trust him. But of course I can't. He says he doesn't know what the Romans are up to, why they're raiding the province, but I don't believe him. So I'm going to find out. Oh, he told me to go away, he'd take care of it, not to worry, but these people are suffering, and I want to know why. Damn him anyway, if he really doesn't know he could simply demand that the Legion commander tell him their plans. Instead, as always, he's going to work indirectly, and drag his feet, while the predations continue. Well, he can sit on his backside on Olympus until he rots for all I care, I'm going to find out with or without his help.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a very special treat. An Athenian dance by Jazrael."

My mouth goes dry and my palms sweat, a strange reaction. I've danced before, in front of Caligula, no less, so why does this frighten me? No one knows me in this outlying region, and even if they did, the costume, my hair done up and off my face, the exaggerated makeup, emphasizing my lips and eyes--even my best friend wouldn't recognize me. Well, she would, and when she stopped laughing she'd try to talk me out of this. Good thing she's not here.

The musicians begin a slow, sensuous dance; I push aside the curtains that screen the entrance, and get a shock. He's there! I realize now I was aware of him but it just didn't register; too preoccupied, I guess. I pick him out instantly, even in this crowd. He's much taller than most of them, and so incredibly handsome. There are women all around him, of course, but I'm sure they don't know who he is. He's not dressed in his usual black, but in the short skirt, sandals, and brief vest of a gladiator. His sword, which usually hangs at his side, is now strapped to his back; the vest is really nothing more than a harness to hold his weapons. The leather straps reveal almost all of his chest and back, and I catch my breath as I look at him. He's gorgeous and outrageously sexy, and the gladiator's garb accentuates his well-muscled body. He's smiling at one of the women, and she's obviously about to curl up and die for him, he's so stunning. She pushes him into a chair and crawls into his lap, which seems to amuse him. Then he raises his head and glances at me as I dance.

He looks at me casually, then his eyes widen and he smiles as he recognizes me, enjoying the sight of my body displayed so brazenly. His smile broadens, and he slowly looks me over, staring deliberately at my breasts, belly, hips, legs, and back up to my face. His silent insult infuriates me and I'm beet red with suppressed rage. He might as well have shouted it: "I told you I'd take care of it. But as long as you're here, dancing girl, you can damn well play the game."

So much for you, Ares, great God of War, I'll show you! You want a dancing girl, you've got one! And so I begin to dance for him. Only for him. I cross the floor slowly, to stand before him. I sway, letting the movement of the music find its match in the movement of my hips. He watches in amusement, but then his face changes and his lips part as I bend forward, place my hands under my breasts and lift them, as if offering them to him. It's a challenge, and he's rarely been challenged in the thousands of years of his existence. I turn my back on him, swing my hips, and then glance back at him over my shoulder.

He's watching me intently. The others are excited by my dance, both men and women, and the room is getting noisier. They're yelling and screaming for me to move faster, to take off my few garments, to surrender to their lust. I turn around and move to him and stare insolently at the woman who's still sitting in his lap. I say nothing, but my expression makes my intent plain and she gets up and moves away quickly. I take her place, but not at all demurely. Oh, no! I straddle his thigh, sliding against him suggestively. Then I run my hand slowly down his chest, brushing my palm across his nipple and down his abdomen so I can play with the hair that grows so thickly there. He gasps softly, his head goes back and his eyes close as he gives himself to the caress. We are the only two people in the world and I lean down as if to kiss him. I know the taste of his kisses and I like it.

But I don't kiss him. I think maybe I've already gone too far, risked too much. His hand comes up to cup my breast gently, his thumb teases my nipple erect and I can't stop the sounds I make. The onlookers laugh and I'm aware of them again. His touch always reduces me to helplessness, even when I hate him, but I won't give in to that. I move my shoulders in a seductive motion and free myself, then stand up and move away. I dance across the floor to the Legion commander who's standing open-mouthed, watching me. He's a gross fat man, with food and wine stains on his linen skirts. But he's the man I must win, must seduce into giving me the information. He looks at me, then at Ares, and gives the War God a smug smile, as if to say, "She knows who's really important here."

Then the music ends and I'm through the curtains and into the garden before the cheering stops. He's there in seconds. "What in Tartarus do you think you're doing?"

"Finding out what they're doing here, what do you think?"

"I told you I'd take care of it! Damn you, Xena, does everything have to be a contest--"

He breaks off as he hears the commander and some of his men approaching. "We'd better give them what they expect," he mutters, and pulls me into his arms. His mouth is sweet and hot, and when he slips his tongue between my lips I feel a shock as if I've been hit by lightning. It's just for show, I know that, but I can't help my response. I slide my arms around his waist and allow myself to stroke the smooth skin of his back. His skin is wonderful and I could stay like this for hours. Then he pulls me even closer and the hair on his chest rubs my breasts and belly, and I start shaking. It tickles my nipples and they stiffen until they're painful, and a pulse beats deep within me. I press against him, kissing him, grinding my body against his; there's no armor between us now and it's almost too much; moisture oozes from me. He's hardening against my thigh and he feels good, gods above he feels so good. I want him inside me, right now; I'll lose my mind if I have to wait. But this is crazy, it's not real, it's an act for the commander and his boorish subordinates, and I despise Ares and I want him and I hate him and I love him and I can't stand this another minute--

"Isn't this a cozy scene?" the commander sneers. His name is Gaius Crassus, and it strikes me that it fits: he IS crass.

Ares lifts his head and says, "I take what I want, just like you. I want her. And I saw her first." He kisses me again, quite deliberately; his tongue is driving me wild and I suck on it, wondering what in the names of all the gods is happening here.

"I don't care who saw who first, she's my … guest. And so are you. Behave accordingly." He puts his hand on my arm and pulls me away from the God. "Come along my dear."

Ares looks displeased but does nothing, because Crassus' bodyguard is there, heavily armed and looking for trouble. Of course they have no weapons that could hurt him, but I finally understand that Ares is pretending to be mortal. He glowers at Crassus and stalks off. I go back to the bacchanalia with the commander, who sits too close, forces too much wine on me, and tries to get his hands on my body. But I have to know what they're doing here and what the Legion's plans are, so I allow him to touch me and suppress my shudders of loathing while I ask the questions I need to ask. But he doesn't tell me anything useful; he's becoming more insistent and I don't know how to get away without sacrificing the small gains I've made.

We're alone now, it's nearly dawn and those guests that haven't passed out or gone home have retired to their rooms. The Romans are nothing if not good hosts, and everyone is provided for. Except me. I don't know where Ares is, but Crassus has his arm around me and is steering me forcibly down the hall, saying how beautifully I dance and how excited everyone was by my performance, he most of all. And now it's his turn, but the performance he has in mind has nothing to do with dance. I hope desperately for an idea, and I have a sudden inspiration.

"Gaius Crassus, I want to be with you so much, you excite me…"

He beams and paws me roughly, painfully, and I remember Ares' gentle and yet maddeningly erotic touch on my breast, the softness of his lips and the heat of his mouth, his body against mine. I come back to find Crassus on his knees, slobbering on my belly, trying to untie the scarf at my hips. I say, forcing enthusiasm, "Oh, I'm so glad to be wanted. I was afraid no man would look at me again. But the doctor said it would be all right."

"I'm sure it will be--the doctor? What's that about a doctor?"

"Nothing, my darling commander. He's sure it's not catching, and besides, I'm well past the contagious stage--" But my darling commander doesn't hear anything more, for he's backing down the corridor as rapidly as he can, shouting to his guard to get me out of the place immediately if not sooner.

I'm stumbling through another humid dawn, desperate for rest, when I hear his voice and he appears beside me, jeering:

"So, you saved your honor and discovered nothing. Not a particularly successful mission. Couldn't you have trusted me for once?"

"Based on what?" I snap, the years of bitterness, violence and trickery--on both sides--making me mean. Based on the greatest sacrifice an immortal can make, that's what.

"Based on the fact that I love you, and on the fact that I said I'd take care of it."

"You're behind it, aren't you? That's why you want to keep me away from Crassus. You're afraid I'll find out it's you."

"Don't be stupid, I'm gaining nothing from the Legion's raids. Even if I were behind it, Crassus would never tell you, no matter what sort of indecent acts you did with him. He hasn't gotten where he is by being careless. No, I want you away from him because he's a pig, and he's dangerous. If he thought you were spying on him he'd cut your throat."

"You of all people should know I can take care of myself."

"Not when your wine is drugged and your weapons stolen, and when everyone you meet is a potential assassin. The odds are too long even for you. Stay away."

"I won't let this Legion--"

"I said stay away! You've just made my job one hell of a lot harder, thank you very much."

"I don't see why Crassus--"

"He's uncouth and sloppy, not dumb. He'll sober up and start thinking about the woman who tried so hard to get to him, who sat beside him for hours, asking questions, and he'll wonder. Any attempt to get to him now will fail."

"Even supposing what you say is true, I still need to know why they're here. You've got to let me help."

"You'll only get in the way. I need to be, ah, unencumbered for what I have in mind."

"What?"

"Crassus is married."

I stare at him, open-mouthed, as his meaning sinks in. "If I couldn't get to him what makes you think you can get to her?"

"Because I have no intention of stopping until I get what I want. Unlike you, I have no 'honor' to save."

He's gone in a flash of light, and I could spit. He's going to make love to Crassus' bitch wife. They deserve each other.

I can't help myself, I have to know what's happening, so I'm back at the palace a few days later. The guards remember "Jazrael" and I have no trouble getting in. I wander through the corridors, guided by the sounds of laughter. I peer into a courtyard and see a few female slaves lounging around a small pool. They are obviously not needed, and I soon learn why: their mistress, Crassus' wife, is otherwise occupied. The girls' longing glances toward a wing of the palace, plus their sighs and whispered comments about how sexy the man is leave no doubt in my mind just who she's with. Damn him!

A gong sounds and the girls run to start the midday meal, and I'm left alone. I move stealthily to the side of the building and find a spot behind a bush, where I'm hidden from the courtyard but can see into a room. A bedroom. Her bedroom.

I peer in cautiously and see long blonde hair spread across a pillow. She's asleep on the bed, stark naked, but I barely glance at her; I'm looking for him. Then I see movement: he's in a dark corner of the room, searching a chest. He finishes and stands for a moment, considering. He's as naked as she, and he's so beautiful I could cry. I've never seen him nude before, and he takes my breath away, because he's perfect. Perfect! Tall, lean and strong, every muscle is flawlessly developed; the pectorals and biceps bulging; the abs clearly defined. That damnable chest hair is sparse at his neck but lush on his abs and belly, and a dark line of it runs down to the curls between his legs, where his sex hangs long and thick. It's still swollen from their lovemaking, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering out loud. He turns his back to me and displays high, firm buttocks and long, gorgeous legs. Oh, to lie next to that body and explore it at my leisure, kissing, licking, sucking…

I'm open and wet and if I'm not careful someone's going to find me here, crouching in the bushes like an adolescent, rubbing myself while I spy on the grown-ups. He's out of sight, and I realize he's near my window and I duck down just in time. Then I hear her sleepy voice:

"Arion?"

"Right here." I look again and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at Crassus' wife. I don't know her name and I don't want to know: she will always and forever be "Crassus' wife" to me.

"I thought you'd leave me. Thank you for staying."

Staying? So he hadn't found out what he needed to know. Maybe his technique wasn't as hot as he thought, the son of a bitch.

"You expected me to just walk out on you while you slept?"

"Crassus does. He never stays after he's had what he wants. He doesn't like it that I'm so much older than he, and show it."

"Then he's a fool." His voice is tender and he strokes her arm gently.

I reflect on the fact that Crassus is no great beauty himself and he's lucky to have anyone, then I take in what she said, and I look away from Ares to study the woman on the bed. And I get a shock. Her hair is white, not blonde, her face has lines around the eyes and mouth, and her body is stocky. She's obviously had children, for her belly is rounded, her breasts no longer firm, and her legs are heavy. But Ares doesn't seem to care, for he kisses her cheek tenderly and says, "Tell me more about Patronus."

"Are you sure you want to hear this? Mothers tend to prattle about their children and bore everyone rigid."

"He sounds like an interesting fellow. You say he's a warrior?"

Crassus' wife goes on and on about her eldest son until I'm ready to scream. His first tooth, his first step, his school accomplishments, his prowess in battle, his prowess in bed: she chatters endlessly about the twerp. Her voice changes and now she's talking about losing Crassus' love and how it hurts that he doesn't seem to care about either of them and she doesn't know what to do.

"I said it before, he's a fool," Ares whispers, his voice husky. I look and see that he's lying spooned behind her, pressed close against her back. Then he traces the shape of her ear with his tongue, and she shivers and turns in his arms, so that she can caress him as well. She makes him moan and I want to kill her.

He's hard now and ready, and his body is so wildly exciting I bite my cheek again to keep from making noise and I taste blood. I have to get away, I can't watch this, but I can't move. He's caressing her breasts with his mouth, and her nipples are erect and her hips are moving as she clutches his hair. Then he moves lower and begins to taste her, licking her delicately, and she's lost. And in that moment she's stunningly beautiful. She's young again, a vital, loving woman, and I think Ares is right: Crassus is a fool.

She cries out and comes against his mouth, writhing helplessly, and he licks his lips and smiles at her, the eternal male, self-satisfied and gratified by the female's response. And then he moves on top of her, nudges her thighs further apart and enters her. She wraps her legs around him, he pins her arms above her head with his strong hands and looks up past her, straight into my eyes.

I gasp but can't look away, and he silently mouths "I love you" to me even as he thrusts deep into her. She cries out "oh yes!" and I can feel it too. It's not Crassus' wife he's loving, it's me; he's pounding into me and I have never wanted anyone in my whole life the way I want him and gods I'm on fire, I'm wide open and I'm coming, I'm coming, Ares, damn you, what have you done to me? And Crassus' wife is bucking under him and crying his name and I have never hated him as much as I do at this moment. I've never wanted him as much as I do at this moment.

I'm so shaky I can barely stand but I creep away from the window and out of the palace. Let the son of a bitch do it his way, I don't want to know. I've had enough.

It's dark at the campsite because I don't want the light and gods know this wretched heat wave makes a fire unnecessary. I lie and look up at the stars. I keep waiting for him, but he doesn't come and I can't sense his presence. I've been waiting for a week.

I should have just gotten on Argo and left the district, but I can't. I have to know what's going on. And I have to see him again.

It's hard to sleep and I don't really want to because I dream. It's always the same dream: he and I, naked together, wild in each other's arms, savage and sweet and completely abandoned. Only he's not here, he must still be with that whore, wheedling information from her. Unless he really likes her. But that can't be, can it? I get up and pace, comparing myself to her. I'm decades younger, far more beautiful, slimmer; my body is toned and shapely, not flaccid and loose. And yet he made love to her with obvious enjoyment. Was that a trick?

There's something coming toward me; I can hear it approaching through the brush. An animal? No, it's deliberately making noise--he's making noise, still playing mortal--letting me know he's there so I'm not startled. Even so, my reflex is automatic and I've drawn my sword before I think about it.

He raises an eyebrow. "You'd be wasting your time."

I'm tempted to run him through anyway, just for the pleasure of it, even though it's a pointless exercise.

"You've taken long enough with her."

"She's fascinating. Intelligent, observant, traveled, well-read and very funny. Crassus is a dolt."

"But she's old."

He laughs out loud. "I'm older than she is. Looks aren't everything, Xena."

"So why are they here?"

"I'm not quite sure. It'll take another few days."

"What? You're not in any hurry, are you?" Then I understand and I snap at him: "You're enjoying her, aren't you, you bastard?"

"Yes, she's very skillful. And I like being with her, talking to her. She's seen a lot, done a lot, even more than you have. She's interesting."

"And I'm not."

"I didn't say that. Why are you still here, anyway? Go home."

"Not until this is finished."

"You mean you can't stand the thought of leaving me. Or are you jealous?"

"You arrogant pig! I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man in the Universe!"

I've made a mistake because I've just thrown down an irresistible challenge. Maybe I did it deliberately, maybe I want him to make me take those words back. He steps close and holds me by the shoulders. He bends down and my eyes close as I wait for his kiss. It doesn't come. Instead he explores my ear ever so softly with the tip of his tongue and I shiver. "Liar," he breathes. "You want me so badly it's driving you insane." He licks me again and it's all I can do to keep quiet, to stand still, not to reach for him.

He turns and walks away, calling back over his shoulder, "How do you like it?" And he's gone.

How does he think I like it? He wants me to admit it, okay, fine, I admit it. He drives me absolutely crazy and what I want more than anything is to ride him until he's spurting helplessly into me and I'm screaming his name and coming with him and we're both wet, sweaty and exhausted. But if I once give in to him, I'll never be able to free myself, for in this we're unequal: he says he loves me, and that's one thing, but when it comes to sex he's the one with the power. He has always aroused me and I don't like the way I completely lose control when he touches me. Or maybe I'm all wrong, maybe I make him as vulnerable as he makes me and I'm denying us both something wonderful. Maybe I should take the risk.

Damn but I wish this heat would break. I can't sleep so I pace, and try not to think about him with Crassus's wife, kissing her, holding her, loving her. But that's all I see in my mind: the two of them naked, joined, writhing in a passionate encounter that should be mine.

Suddenly I think of Gabrielle, and what she would say if she saw me now. How can you think of being with him after everything he's done? she'd ask. She's so innocent sometimes; she has no idea of the power sexual potency holds. Even when he's a murdering monster he's still overwhelmingly desirable, and it would be easy to give in to him. She can't understand that, I suppose. But then I think of the way she gets angry with me for treating her like a little girl, and I realize perhaps she's not as unaware of his appeal as I think.

I remember the time he offered to make her his lieutenant, when we had that ludicrous run-in with Mavican, and her face as she looked at him. She's never looked at anyone, not me, not Joxer, not even Eli, the way she looked at Ares that day. And on the farm, she made a connection while he and I ended up adversaries, as always. Ah, Gabrielle. Maybe my innocent little Bard does understand how sexy he is, after all. And wouldn't the bastard get a kick out of that! If he could come between us he'd just love it, the scum.

This is pointless, and I can't stand any more of it. I have to get away, leave the province, maybe leave Greece. But how can I get away from a god? It doesn't matter, I'm going. Now.

But I return to the palace.

He's not with her. I peer cautiously through her window, but the room is empty. Then I sense him, but before I can locate him in the pitch dark, I hear voices, Crassus and a messenger newly come from Rome. I pull back into an archway.

"Why is the Emperor angry? I've carried out his orders to the letter."

"He sent you no orders."

"What? No orders? That's impossible, I've received instructions from him on a regular basis for the past several months, and I've done everything…" they're walking away and I can't hear them any longer.

He comes out of the shadows where he's been standing, still as a post, listening. I manage not to jump. "Interesting, isn't it?" he asks.

"Yes, it is," I say. "If he isn't carrying out the Emperor's orders to plunder the area, then where did they come from?"

"One guess."

I think about it, and light dawns. "Patronus."

"And his mother. Trying to get Daddy to notice them by creating battles and raids so Patronus can be a hero. Trust me, I know what that's like."

"They can't think that Crassus will appreciate them getting him into trouble."

"That's not how it works, Xena. They're desperate for his attention. Anything, even a beating, is better than indifference."

"What now?"

"Now we leave."

"What? Crassus will--"

"Crassus may kill one or both of them, or beat them bloody, or do nothing at all. My bet is on the latter. If he punishes them, it will only point up how stupid he's been. In any event it's not our concern. Once he knows for sure that his 'orders' were false, he'll take the Legion back to Rome."

I'm staring at him, not believing what I'm hearing. "You would abandon a woman who, according to you, has been delighting you? You'd just walk away and let Crassus kill her?"

"I doubt very much that that's going to happen. Even if it does, so what? The reason I came was to find out what was behind the Legion's raids. Now I know."

"You bastard!"

"Since when have you become such a champion of my lovers?"

Lovers. Plural. As in more than one. As in how the hell many women has he had since I've known him? All at once I'm blind with rage and I hit him as hard as I can, square in the mouth. He isn't expecting it and he goes down, much to my satisfaction. I'm out of the garden and away from there before he can react.

I'm packing up my belongings, breaking the camp where I've been sweltering while he lay around in Crassus' wife's bed. I'm sorely tempted to tell Crassus who's been tending to his wife's needs while he's been neglecting her, then realize the futility of it. There's nothing Crassus or any other mortal can do to harm him; the bastard is a god! ("Don't they have some kind of character test?" "You miss the point. For the job I have my character's perfect.") If I'd killed him then I wouldn't be here now, and the world would be a better place.

"In your opinion."

Reading my thoughts, the rat! "Get away from me."

"No. Not this time."

I draw my sword and slice at him with every ounce of strength I have. It's stupid and useless but I'm not going to just let this happen. I will not let this happen.

He parries my stroke easily and suddenly we're fighting as we've never fought before. I've never realized how brilliant he is, and as the battle rages on, I find myself wondering how I could ever have beaten him, and beaten him so often.

Suddenly it hits me and I'm sitting on the ground, my sword in the dirt, my eyes filling with tears. "You let me win, didn't you? Every time."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because when you came to me I saw how very good you were. But I also saw that you could be better, the greatest warrior in the world, in fact. If you had the one thing extra I could give you."

"Yes?"

"Supreme self-confidence. How better to build up your belief in yourself and your abilities than by letting you defeat the God of War?"

"It was all a lie. A trick."

"No. You couldn't have done it if you didn't have the skill. What I gave you was the ego that lifted you to the very top."

I climb to my feet, not sure now how I feel, except that I'm so disappointed and torn I doubt I'll ever be whole again. How can I be certain whether it's him or me? He's taken almost all of it now, so he might as well have the rest. I start to strip off my armor, listless and uncaring. I'll let him do what he wants if he'll just go away afterwards and leave me alone.

"Oh no you don't. I'm not interested in a martyr, or a self-pitying wretch. When you come to me it'll be because you can't wait one more minute. You'll come to me, and you'll beg. I can wait for that. And I will, dancing girl. I will."

He vanishes.

He's right about Crassus after all. The commander pulls the Legion out of the province and back to Rome, leaving only a small garrison. Patronus is given command of a cohort on its way to Africa, and Crassus' wife is suddenly prominent in his household once again. I go back to the palace for a last look, gods only know why, and I hear from one of the slaves that Crassus' wife is mourning for her lover, a tall, dark, gorgeous man who disappeared when the Legion withdrew.

"She says," the slave whispers to me, looking around to be sure we're alone, "that she's never, ever had a lover as exciting as he was. He--he was so good she doesn't ever want anyone else."

"Really."

"Yes. Crassus is furious because she won't let him in. For the first time in years he's paying attention to her again, and she's not interested." The girl giggles and runs off, and I start to leave the palace for the last time. Suddenly I spot one of the musicians who played for my dance, which now seems years ago. I wave him over.

"Crassus' wife, is she all right?" I ask.

"Funny about that," he says. "All of a sudden Crassus got the idea he should pay some attention to her. It seems she's pretty good with military strategy and tactics, and he never knew that before. He also discovered she's pretty good with other things, too. Except that," he starts to smile, "after the first time she told him she'd had a better offer! He went crazy trying to please her. About time, she's a treasure."

"So I've heard. Thanks."

"No problem." He waves and walks away and so do I, leaving the palace at last. So, the cold-hearted bastard isn't quite so cold-hearted after all. It has to be his doing, this change in Crassus' attitude. And he's probably been coaching Crassus' wife on tactics too. The demon understands people a whole lot better than I want to give him credit for.

I take a last look at the campsite, which is still broiling in the sun. What the place needs is a drenching storm to break the heat and freshen things up. Suddenly there's a cool breeze on my face and clouds start to form; in moments the big, fat drops that precede thunderstorms are spattering the ground. I duck into a shallow cave and watch as the rain pelts down. Lightning races across the sky, thunder rolls, and a familiar light flashes behind me.

I ask, "Was Patronus' promotion your idea as well?"

His arms come around me and he nuzzles my neck. "Yeah. He's not a bad commander given half a chance."

I'm instantly aroused by his touch. All the thoughts and visions that I'd pushed away come back: the dance, the kiss in the garden, him making love to her while I watch, the need and longing, the way I tremble sometimes when I just think about him.

I turn to face him and find it hard to breathe, he's so handsome and sexy and he's … right … there. His mouth--gods his mouth--starts to curve in a smile and I know what he's thinking, that I'm about to beg him to make love to me. "Not a chance," I say. "I'll never beg you but I'm willing to bet my last dinar that you'll beg me!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Oh yes."

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" he asks, and backs away from me. He backs away! He stares at me intently, then he smiles slightly, and runs the tip of his tongue lightly over his full bottom lip. I gasp; it's as if he's licked me between my legs, and I know he's already won this particular battle. He's right: I can't stand not having him one more minute.

"How long do I have to beg?" I whisper.

"Not long." He pulls me into his arms as he did that night in the garden, only this time there's no one to interrupt us. He's wearing his black leather again, and I put my arms around him to reach the catch on the back of the belt. The sword falls to the ground and the vest gapes open and I suddenly go wild. I rub that fantastic chest, over and over again, feeling the hard muscles and twining the hair in my fingers. I bite his nipple--I know he likes that, and I like doing it--and relish the sound he makes. Then his mouth is on mine and if I were to kiss him from now until forever it wouldn't be enough time.

This encounter has been delayed too long for any kind of finesse. I push the vest down over his arms and he unstraps my armor. I want to be naked with him, both of us completely bare, and so I quickly step out of my dress, remove my underclothes and boots. He's doing the same, and when I turn to face him he's as naked as I. And our nakedness makes this important and real, and very precious; everything slows down and there's plenty of time, after all. I start shivering and can't stop, because I know how fantastic this is going to be.

He doesn't touch me at all, he just stands and looks at me, and the light in his eyes and his delighted smile are unbearable: it's as if he's seeing his god, and I can't stand being adored like this. Who am I that he should adore me? He examines me with a kind of reverence, then gently puts his arms around me and holds me, just holds me, as if I'm the most precious object in the Universe. I want to cry with the knowledge of how very much he loves me; why has it taken me so long to see that? So much bitterness on both sides, so much hatred, so much love…

I put my arms around him and hold him as closely as I can. I want this moment to go on and on, the warmth of his body against mine, the strength of his arms around me finally bringing me to a safe harbor in the midst of the chaos of my life. I will never know how long we stand like that, only that it's incredible. Then he brushes my forehead with his lips, and it begins.

He kisses my eyes, my cheeks, and the tip of my nose so softly I can hardly feel it. Then he kisses my mouth and I try to kiss him back, only he's already pulling away, teasing me, staying just out of reach. He kisses me again, a little longer this time, and slides the very tip of his tongue between my lips, then he's gone. He keeps tantalizing me like this, never kissing me fully, never allowing me to kiss him in return, until I could scream with frustration.

OK, you asked for it! I push him away and duck when he tries to kiss me again; he grabs me with both arms and before I know it, we're wrestling in the rain, laughing with delight. He's not using his powers, so he's soaked and his skin is slippery. I giggle, because he's hard as rock, so there's a very obvious hold--but I have plans for that gorgeous part of him and I'm not about to damage his enthusiasm with carelessness. I try for a headlock but he slips through my arms, gets behind me, puts his arms through mine and clasps his hands at the base of my neck. He could easily snap it in this position, and I shudder with that knowledge. Even without his powers, he's tremendously strong; I like that, and I suddenly lean back into him.

The sensation of his nude body against the length of my back is astounding and I know the wetness running down my legs is not entirely rain. He's kissing my neck as one hand slides down to cup my breast while the other…

Oh gods he's touching me now, I'm swollen and growing even larger as he strokes me, so gently, so slowly; I can't take this and I open my legs and press against his hand, silently begging him to go faster, press harder, please, oh gods, please--

He starts to kiss me, my neck, my shoulders, then he moves down my back. I never realized how sensitive the small of my back is until he licks it. He kisses my buttocks and tongues me there quickly, and the sensation sends a shock directly to my groin. He's on his knees now, he reaches for my hips and turns me around, and starts to take me with his mouth.

I usually resist this caress, because I don't want to be out of control, but he gives me no choice. He seems to know instinctively what arouses and pleases me most, and I have no defense against the intense desire that courses through me with his first touch. He licks me carefully, lightly, delicately, then takes my aching bud between his lips and nibbles on it. I can't keep quiet, I can't keep still, I'm moaning and writhing against him and my knees are giving out and only his hands, strong around my hips, keep me from falling. Then he thrusts his tongue deep inside me, kissing those lips as if he were kissing my mouth. He scrapes his teeth exquisitely lightly across the sensitive little mound of flesh, sucks it hard and thrusts his tongue into me again and I'm coming, oh gods, fire races through every nerve and I arch my back and press against his mouth while I shudder with orgasm. I do fall then, but he catches me and holds me close while I continue to tremble with spasms of pure pleasure.

He leans down and kisses me and I taste myself in his mouth. Our tongues meet and he runs his along mine, then over my lips. He bites my lower lip and incredibly, I come again just from that, the wantonness and lust of his kiss driving me over the edge. I'm shaking again, and suddenly realize he is too. And now it's my turn.

I let my hands roam over his body, touching him everywhere, stroking his back, his legs, buttocks, arms and chest; everywhere but the hard center of him. I want to tantalize him, make him wait, drive him crazy the way he's just sent me wild. I move so that I'm between his legs and begin to lick the inside of his thigh, as softly as I can.

He groans, and if possible he hardens even more. I'm dying to taste him, to take him in my mouth, but I want to tease him first. So I continue to lick his thigh softly, starting at the knee and working upward. His thighs are muscular, beautiful, sensual, and right now they're quivering as I continue to love him. I'm so excited I'm seeping wetness and if he were to touch me intimately I'd come instantly. But at the moment he's lost in what I'm doing to him and I love having him so helpless.

I breathe softly, warmly, directly onto his balls, and he thrusts convulsively; the movement is so suggestive and his penis is so beautiful I almost weaken, but manage to keep from touching it and lick his balls instead. He groans again and his hands clutch my hair, pressing my mouth further onto him. I love the feel of him against my lips, and I also realize suddenly that I love the way he smells. Men can be really offensive sometimes, but he's wonderful; he's sweaty, but I like it, and underlying that is the marvelous scent of Ares himself: masculine, spicy, slightly sweet. He's like nothing else in the Universe and I know his fragrance will be one of the most vivid memories I have of this time with him.

I run my tongue all over his balls, tantalizing us both, then finally move to his penis. He's shivering and he holds his breath as I bend over him. I touch my tongue as lightly as possible to the very tip, where clear fluid is already oozing from him, and he makes a sound I've never heard before. All the longing, lust and sensuality in the cosmos seem to emanate from him in one strangled moan, and the intensity of his need startles me. I start to claim him, as slowly as I can.

I've always liked doing this, because I'm in control and I like directing the encounter. I suddenly realize there's no need, for he is wholly mine. Marcus, Caesar, even Hercules--they all held something back, kept some part of themselves in reserve, even at the most intimate of moments. But he does not. He gives himself to me totally, allows himself to be completely vulnerable, and his openness shatters me. The realization that it is the God of War, of all people, who utterly lets go, trusts himself to another, to me, is astonishing. It's now that I realize how much I love him and I can't stop the tears. We've wasted so much time…

Even in the midst of his arousal he senses my distress, and lifts me to hold me gently against him. I cry as I never have before, for past heartache and loss, and for a very fragile future that suddenly seems as though it might be possible. The warm rain pours over us, a soothing balm, and we hold each other for a long time.

"We can stop," he says finally, and I look at him like he's lost his mind.

"Not in this lifetime!"

I push him back and take up where I left off, my melancholy gone, replaced with the joy of being with him. I abandon myself to him, and in a very few minutes he fills my mouth and it's sweet and hot and delicious.

I lick my lips to get every precious drop, then tell him how good he tastes, and add, "Maybe you should consider delivering ambrosia this way."

He blinks and then guffaws with merriment, one of the first times I've ever heard true enjoyment from him rather than his cynical and menacing chuckle. "Well," he gasps, "it would be both novel and fun."

And we're laughing once more, now stretched full-length against each other, and soon he'll be inside me and I want that so much, I want him so much, I tremble with pleasure at the thought. He rolls me onto my back, and I continue the roll until I'm on top of him, and we're wrestling again, and gods how wonderful this is! The sensation of his wet skin sliding against mine is overwhelming, and I need him so badly I think I could die with longing. I look at him and find his eyes alight with happiness and desire, and I know he'll let me have it my way this first time.

I crawl back into the little cave and ask, "Can we be a little more comfortable?" and all at once I'm lying on a thick fur and he's next to me and I lie on top of him. I kiss him over and over again, his mouth, his eyes, nose, cheeks, down his neck to his strong shoulders and powerful chest, where I bite him just for fun. Then I'm kissing his gorgeous lips once more and he explores my mouth deeply, driving me crazy with his tongue and some day I'm going to ask what woman taught him to do that so well. He ripples his abs against me and the sensation is so erotic I cry out and finally slide onto him, impaling myself on his beautiful body. He's wonderfully, almost painfully big and he fills me completely, and I've never felt like this in my entire life. We lie motionless, both of us trying to prolong the moment, only it's too exciting and it can't last and we have to move. We start slowly, but we've waited years for this and it's too much and soon he's pulling out almost his entire length and slamming back into me and nothing has ever felt so good. And so I have my wish, and I ride him until he's spurting into me and I'm screaming his name and we're both wet, sweaty and exhausted.

We stay in that cave, stark naked, loving each other, all that day and the following, in a voluptuous dream of need, lust, desire and love. We laugh as we've never laughed before and I find it supremely ironic that I feel safer now than at any other time in my life.

The third day dawns, and he's holding me close as we snuggle together in the fur. The heat wave has broken and the morning is cool and bright. He kisses my temple and asks, "What now, Xena? Darling, darling Xena. Dancing girl." He smiles and kisses me again.

"I don't know," I say, and I realize it's true. I want to stay with him, but I know that won't be possible. I have never wanted to be a goddess; not only that, but he and I are irrevocably set on different paths. But I have realized one thing, and I tell him, because it's so important that he know: "I love you. I think I've always loved you. And I always will."

His eyes fill with tears and he can't say anything. Finally he whispers, just one word: my name. And maybe that's enough for now.

The End