Shifting Ground
by Erin
August 2004

---

Joxer had come to the conclusion that the ground didn't get any softer, no matter how many times you hit it. Hard packed dirt was better than stone at least, or he'd have broken bones to match the colorful bruises patterning his body. Not that it was all from falling.

"Get up."

An abrupt, cold voice and earlier in the day Joxer had jumped at that voice's orders, now though he was too sore and tired to be that prompt. Still, he tried to struggle back to his feet as fast as possible, knowing the consequences if he wasn't fast enough. His knees and elbows ached from catching himself. His leather pants protected his knees but his bare elbows were scraped raw, same as his palms, blistered from hours of practice.

It hurt to pick up his wooden sword again but he didn't even think about leaving it on the ground where it'd fallen; he'd learned that lesson the hard, painful way with fifty push-ups in the heat of the day for every time he forgot it. Spitting out dirt, he wrapped his hand around the leather wrapped hilt, wincing at the burn against his abused palm, and forced himself to his feet.

Mid-summer, Apollo's chariot high in the cloudless sky above the dusty training yard, sunlight bright and unforgiving and Joxer yearned for a break. The sun beat down on his bare head and his mouth was dry, lips cracked. He just wanted some water, only a little, that would be enough. Not that he didn't want a full bath, a chance to wash off the caked dust and trickles of blood coating his bare, sun burnt chest, but if he asked for that he knew he'd be punished. Maybe a drink though?

"C water?" His voice cracked, not just from the lack of moisture in his throat but from fear of the reaction to his question. It wasn't a misplaced fear.

Gallus took one step forward and backhanded him across the face. Heavily muscled from years of mercenary work, it was like a tree swatting a fly. Joxer was flat out on his back in less time than it took to blink. At seventeen he'd only just come out of his last growth spurt, and while tall, he was gangly and awkward and he just wasn't a match for that kind of force.

"Ares' balls!" Gallus spat, the glob of spittle hitting the ground near Joxer's head. "When I was hired to train a warlord's son I expected a boy with some sort of training, some skills, not this! Not a lazy, hopeless screw-up like you!"

Joxer flinched even as he tried to push himself up on his sore elbows. His head was throbbing along with his cheek where Gallus had struck him. He didn't taste any blood though, couldn't feel any loose teeth so he had that much. Now if he could just get up. He groaned as he finally managed to sit up, one hand feeling around in the dirt for his sword, the other shielding his eyes from the sunlight reflecting off the rack of shields across the yard.

"You're useless, boy." Gallus' tone was filled with disgust.

"I'm not," Joxer insisted, but his voice was rough, faint from lack of moisture. His hand found the wooden blade of his sword and he grabbed onto it, ignoring the pain as one of the blisters burst, and dragged the sword into his lap.

"I'm not useless o--or hopeless!" He managed more volume that time, but it was still mostly lost in the scraping sound of his boots against the hard ground as slowly got to his feet.

As he stood, his head began to throb harder and the yard around him started to spin. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Gallus was looking at him in contempt. His sun darkened skin was bright with sweat, short black hair plastered against his forehead, Gallus wasn't unaffected by the heat, but he didn't look anywhere near as bad off as Joxer felt. The nausea was growing and the world had gone from spinning to tilting sharply. Joxer had to close his eyes or risk losing his balance.

"Open your eyes and get your sword up, boy!" Gallus ordered, his voice like the crack of a whip in the dry, quiet air between them.

Joxer tried, telling his arm to come up, his eyes to open, but instead the hilt slid from his fingers, the sword making a dull thump as it landed on the ground. Then Joxer was joining it, his legs suddenly refusing to support him. He dropped to his knees, his right one coming down on the sword, a sharp crack letting him know he'd broken another one.

"You clumsy, lazy fool!" Gallus yelled.

Finally managing to make his eyes open, Joxer could see the black of Gallus' pants, the harsh shine of the sun off his metal studded belt. He let his head fall back, catching a glimpse of the bright blue sky behind Gallus' head before focusing on Gallus' face. So much anger there, and normally Joxer would be scrambling backwards, apologizing, trying to make up for his mistakes, but he couldn't seem to feel that panic now. It was just...interesting, the way Gallus' sneer displayed three missing front teeth, made the scar on his cheek stand out. Gallus raised his fist and Joxer wondered if he'd look like that when Gallus was through with him.

It seemed that the world was slowing around him, tilting again and moving so very slowly. He could see the fist connecting with the side of Gallus' jaw and had enough time to wonder at that, think that it wasn't right because it was supposed to be Gallus hitting him and something seemed all wrong about this. But then Gallus was stumbling aside, shouting in surprise and Joxer saw the spray of blood from Gallus' mouth, the slow arc of it falling to the dirt to Joxer's right. Turning dark on the ground, soaking into the earth.

"Jett! Cease this!"

Joxer knew that lilting voice, commanding and hard for all that it was feminine. Niamh, Jett's weapons instructor from somewhere far to the north, across an ocean. If she was here, that meant Jett was--

"Joxer?"

--right there. Everything sped up as Joxer's vision was filled with the black of Jett's leathers, the harsh shine of his armor. Then Jett's face was right there as Jett dropped to one knee in front of him.

"Jox?" Jett said softly as he yanked his helmet off. The nose guard caught his sweaty hair but he threw it aside anyway, without a wince as the hairs were jerked out.

"Hey, Jett." Joxer smiled at him. "How's it going?" His words were slurred, cracked.

Jett frowned, eyes narrowing as he reached out to brush Joxer's hair out of his face, the leather of his gloves warm against Joxer's skin.

"Joxer, when did you stop sweating?" he asked quietly, gaze intent.

Joxer closed his eyes with a small moan as nausea welled up again. He leaned forward, more of a slump really, resting his head on Jett's shoulder, the metal of Jett's plate armor cool against his forehead.

"D'you think 'm hopeless?" he asked, voice coming out as a murmur.

"No," Jett answered anyway. Then his arm was sliding around Joxer's back, grip tight.

"Niamh, help me get him to his room," Jett barked the order and Joxer wasn't surprised when moments later, another set of hands was on him, helping to lift him to his feet. Joxer never argued with that tone and he doubted many others did either, even if one of them was Jett's teacher.

Joxer couldn't get his eyes open again but he did manage to get his feet under him. He found it so much easier to lean against Jett for support, an arm around his brother's shoulders. A shorter body pressed against his right side, Niamh, her arm strong around his waist as she took a fair amount of his weight herself.

"I did not realize it was this bad," she said, her accent growing heavier as she set her shoulders to keep him upright.

Jett grunted as they began to stagger forward, towards the house. "I'll be having another talk with Gallus about this," he said, his tone dark.

Joxer had no idea how long it took to get inside. He was aware when they made it out of the sun, into the shadows, but that might've just been the trees lining the courtyard. He couldn't distinguish the cobbled stones there from the stone floor of their home, not until they walked over the slick, imported Roman tile in the dining hall.

Joxer slipped there, but Jett must've been expecting it because he caught all of Joxer's weight when Niamh lost her grip. It took a moment for Joxer to get his footing back; Niamh tightened her hold on him and then they were moving again.

The next time they stopped, Joxer was relieved to feel the edge of a bed against his legs. Jett didn't let him fall, although Joxer would've gladly done that, just dropped onto the mattress. Instead, Jett and Niamh let him down slowly until Joxer was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then they let him go and he fell back with a thankful sigh. He managed to pull his legs onto the bed himself.

"I'll send for some water," Jett said.

"Don't." Joxer frowned, prying his eyes open just enough to see Jett's legs beside the bed. He didn't want Jett to go. Jett had gotten him out of the sun and saved him and Jett should stay and Joxer really couldn't think why but it sounded good. He tried to reach out for Jett's arm but his hand flopped back down on the bed without his fingers touching a thing.

"I'll go," Niamh said.

If Jett answered, it wasn't verbally and Joxer couldn't see it. He did hear Niamh leave, her boots slapping against the stone floor. He closed his eyes.

The mattress dipped and Joxer felt the brush of leather against his cheek. A hand brushed over his forehead and at some point Jett must have removed his gloves because that was bare skin touching his.

Jett didn't say anything but Joxer didn't need him to. Jett was staying and that was enough.

---

Joxer didn't remember too much about the rest of the day or that night. He felt sick, he knew that, and too hot despite the cold, damp cloths set behind his neck, under his arms. He remembered water, tiny sips of it that seemed far too little to satisfy a burning thirst. At some point it all just faded out entirely.

When Joxer woke the next day he felt groggy, tired and still thirsty. He was stretched out on his bed, a light cover over him. Turning onto his side, stretching sore muscles, he realized his pants and boots were gone; he didn't remember taking those off.

"Hey, Jox."

The shutters were closed, only a little light filtering through the bottoms to tell him it was day, but not enough to illuminate the room. Joxer couldn't see much of anything.

"Jett?" he asked, the name catching on a yawn.

His answer came when one of the shutters was pulled open. In the moment before Joxer had to look away from the sudden brightness, he saw Jett framed in the daylight.

"I'm thirsty," he said, wiping at his dry lips, his arm feeling weak.

"Yeah." Jett's voice was quiet, inflectionless.

A few moments later Joxer felt a touch to his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw a plain, metal goblet in front of him, Jett's hand holding it there. Joxer grabbed for it but Jett kept a firm hold.

"Slowly," Jett instructed.

Joxer nodded and this time Jett let him take the goblet.

It tasted wonderful and Joxer wanted to gulp it down, but mindful of Jett's words, he took slow sips, pausing and swallowing. Minutes later he'd drained the goblet and Jett took it away.

Joxer relaxed back into the bed, sighing. That felt so much better.

"Think you can get up?" Jett asked.

"Hmm?" Joxer turned his head.

Jett was across the room, leaning against the table where he'd set the goblet. His armor was gone; a glimmer of sunlight off metal drew Joxer's eyes to a chair near the window where Jett had apparently piled his armor. That wasn't taking good care of it and Jett didn't normally do that.

Joxer frowned. "Were you here all night?" He thought he remembered flashes of that, Jett's hands, his voice, but nothing specific.

"You asked me not to go," Jett shrugged.

"I did?" He really didn't remember that. He remembered thinking something along those lines but not--

"Well, you didn't say it, but c'mon, Jox, you think I didn't know?" Jett grinned.

Joxer grinned back. "Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." Jett pushed away from the table, making it rock, along with the goblet and the pitcher on top of it. "Get up. We both need to bathe."

Until Jett mentioned it, Joxer didn't realize how dirty he really was. His skin was stiff with dirt and bits of dried blood. Now that he noticed that, he began to notice other things as well, like the burning of his palms, the blisters there. The way his elbows and arms stung from the scrapes, the prickle of shallow cuts on his chest. He really was a mess in more ways than one.

He forced himself to sit up, groaning at the pain of protesting muscles, the pull of barely healed scrapes and cuts. As the sheet fell away from him, he saw flakes of dried blood and dirt smeared on the cream colored sheets. He also saw the black and purple bruises splotched over his body, legs to arms, and probably his face too if the throbbing of his jaw was any indication.

"Let's go." Jett was there, grabbing his arms in two of the few unbruised places and pulling him up. "You'll feel better once you get all that crap off you."

Joxer wasn't going to argue with that. A bath sounded wonderful. Anything with water sounded great right now.

---

Being a moderately successful warlord, their father, Lichas had put a great deal of his money into the family's house, including the bathroom. The bath itself was sunk into the floor with a drain in the center that could be plugged to fill up the bath. There was no running water as there might have been in the richer houses, but their family was wealthy enough to afford slaves and it was the slaves who kept the bath filled with heated water from the kitchen.

Joxer loved the hot water on his legs, but he quickly discovered that his sun burnt upper body didn't care for it nearly as much. He spent most of the bath standing while Jett stayed submerged up to his chin.

Some of his cuts started seeping again when the scabs were scrubbed away, but it wasn't much and he could ignore it. Harder to ignore was the way the water and soap stung the open blisters on his palms. Finally he just tossed the soap to Jett; he wasn't done but his palms hurt too much.

"C'mere," Jett said, but it was him who stood and came to Joxer, standing behind him.

Joxer stood there, bemused as Jett washed his hair for him, scrubbed his back. He winced at that; Jett's touch wasn't gentle and his skin was sore.

"I could've gotten a slave to do that," Joxer pointed out. A slave would've been gentler.

Jett chuckled, his breath warm against Joxer's shoulder. "But I'm your brother." That seemed answer enough for him, and Joxer supposed it wasn't a bad one.

By the time they both finished, Joxer was even more tired than when he'd woken. It took him far longer than Jett to dry off and Jett ended up helping him do that too. When he was done, Jett let the towel drop, then just stood there looking Joxer over.

"Hera's tits," Jett cursed with a sigh. "You're still a mess, Jox." He shook his head.

"So are you," Joxer pointed out.

Jett wasn't nearly as cut and scraped as he was, but Jett had a fair amount of bruises on his arms and Joxer had seen a large one on his back too.

"Next time I won't make those mistakes," Jett said with a shrug.

"So...Niamh did that?" Joxer couldn't help grinning.

"Yeah." Jett reached out and tweaked Joxer's nose.

"Hey!" Joxer pulled back, giving him an annoyed look.

"I never should've said that about women belonging in the home," Jett admitted, letting his head fall back.

Hearing that, Joxer got over his annoyance quickly and he was grinning again. "She's making you pay, huh?"

"Nah." Jett brought his head back forward, giving Joxer a half smile, the corner of his lips turning up. "She's showing me why it was a stupid thing to say. She's kicking my ass doing it, but I'm learning." A real smile there, brief, but true.

"You like her?"

He shrugged. "She's good with a staff and sword. I've seen better with knives but not by much. She's not so good unarmed, but it's still a challenge. Give it a few more months," another shrug, "then we'll see."

Joxer rolled his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah, but it's pointless, Jox." Jett sighed, an overly patient sound. "I can't look at her as anything more than a weapon, a tool; if I did it'd just screw things up."

"Oh. Sorry, I guess." Joxer couldn't understand that thinking. Niamh was gorgeous with that pale skin, red hair that curled to her shoulders, and what a voice on her! Husky and quiet and Joxer just liked listening to her, almost as much as looking.

"I'm not." Jett clapped a hand on Joxer's shoulder. "Let's throw on some clothes and find some food."

Joxer winced, the slap stinging on his burnt skin. Food did sound good though, and water. Maybe some wine too.

---

Eating was hastier than Joxer would've liked and he didn't get that wine, but the food revived him even if he did have to eat some of it on foot; Jett seemed to be in a hurry.

"Wanna show you something," was all he said through a mouthful of bread. He motioned for Joxer to follow him, a sharp jab of two fingers indicating they were going outside.

That wasn't someplace Joxer really wanted to go, not with the early afternoon sun shining so brightly, a heat he could feel long before they reached the back doors. He followed though, shoving the last of the grapes into his mouth as they crossed the threshold.

He'd pulled on a loose tunic, his oldest, softest one but it still rubbed at his burned skin. At least it wasn't too open so the sun couldn't burn him more. His head was starting to itch though and he suspected his scalp was a little crisped. Ahead of him, Jett, in the black leathers he'd taken to wearing more often lately, tossed aside the end of his bread and headed straight towards the nearest of the men in the training yard. Lichas had left a few to defend his house and family while he was out on campaign and some of them were at weapons practice. This one was just standing near the wall though, busy putting an edge on his sword.

"You," Jett said, that command back in his tone and the man immediately gave Jett his full attention. Joxer hoped one day he'd be able to pull that off.

"Gimme that," Jett ordered, and grabbed the sword.

The man didn't protest and Jett likely wouldn't have listened anyway. Without pause he walked away, further into the training yard, Joxer trailing behind him.

It was so bright out, hot; Joxer wasn't sure he could be out here much longer without feeling sick again.

"A little lesson in efficiency, Joxer," Jett said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. There was something...feral about that expression and immediately Joxer was on his guard. Something was about to happen and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

Then Joxer saw who they were heading towards and that feeling became a certainty.

Gallus was near the end of the yard, practicing sword work on his own. His back wasn't towards them though and he stopped to watch them approach. His eyes flickered towards Joxer, contempt there, then dismissal as he focused on Jett.

Jett never hesitated in any way, the instant he was in range he just swung the sword. A good strike, aimed perfectly the way Joxer never could and it would've easily cut into Gallus' chest. But Gallus had his sword up quickly, blocking the swing. Metal screeched across metal and Joxer winced, quickly backing away from the two of them. That would take the edge off both weapons fast.

He expected Jett to step back, swing again, but Jett was moving before his blow had been entirely deflected, stepping forward, his free arm moving and -- Gallus froze, eyes going wide. He stared at Jett, shock and disbelief there as he suddenly stumbled backwards.

"See, Joxer," Jett said without looking back at him, "sometimes it's not about who has the biggest sword or the strongest arms or the longest reach." He held up his other hand and -- Joxer gasped, heard startled murmurs from the men behind him. Jett held a dagger; blood streaked along the tip of the blade. Where he'd had it hidden, Joxer couldn't have said.

"Sometimes it's all about distraction, playing to your strengths and your opponent’s weaknesses, whatever they are." Jett tossed his sword at Gallus, who automatically raised his own to shove the other away. And Jett was already moving, ducking under Gallus' arms, slashing.

Gallus cried out this time, dropping his own sword to clutch at his stomach, and by then Jett was out of his reach, standing to the side. Blood dripped from between Gallus' fingers, invisible against the black of his vest but clear on his hands, on the ground at his feet.

"If the other guy's bigger and stronger, then you need to be faster, sneakier." Jett darted in, tucking into a roll that took him behind Gallus. A flash of metal and Gallus screamed and fell to his knees. Jett was already standing on his other side, flipping the bloody dagger from hand to hand, a smirk on his lips.

Gallus had lost his grip on his stomach when he fell and now more than blood was coming out. Joxer had to look away, feeling everything he'd just eaten try to come back up. He kept it down, but it was a near thing.

"Joxer!"

He really didn't want to look but he wasn't about to ignore Jett either, not now. He forced his gaze back to Jett, but kept his eyes high, refusing to look too far down. Not that he had to. Jett stood behind Gallus, one hand gripping Gallus' hair, the other holding his dagger low, near Gallus' neck.

Gallus looked panicked, horrified, like he'd beg for his life any moment but couldn't get the words out. His eyes did beg though and it was directed at Joxer. Joxer shuddered.

"Most of all, bro, you gotta make certain you're the last one left standing." Jett yanked Gallus' head back and in one quick, smooth motion, slit his throat.

Blood spurted, arcing out to hit the ground feet away. Gallus tried to scream again, mouth open wide, but it was no more than a gurgle. His whole body jerked and his hands grasped at his throat, futilely trying to stem the flow.

Jett shoved him forward, eyes glittering in vicious satisfaction as he smirked down at the twitching body. Then he looked up at Joxer.

Joxer couldn't move. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Jett kill before, but never with such glee and never because of him. It was horrible to see, and in some very twisted way, kind of...nice wasn't the word for it. Joxer wasn't sure he knew how to describe it.

"Lesson learned?" Jett asked, amusement in his tone and that made Joxer shudder again.

He nodded quickly though. This was definitely one he didn't want to repeat.

"Good." Jett threw the dagger down, perfectly aimed, embedding it in Gallus' back.

Gallus didn't move. The pool of blood was growing around him and Joxer knew that if he wasn't dead now, he was just heartbeats away from it.

Jett stepped over the body, ignoring it completely as he walked up to Joxer. Somehow Jett didn't seem to have gotten a drop of blood on him, or maybe he did and it just didn't show on his leathers. There was none on his hands though which he clamped on Joxer's shoulders.

"No one hurts you, Jox," he said quietly, for their ears alone. All amusement had vanished, his expression suddenly intense.

Joxer swallowed hard, but forced himself to nod again. He couldn't thank Jett, not for this, but he could understand it.

Jett seemed to be waiting for something though, just standing there staring at him, close enough for Joxer to see the flecks of lighter brown amongst the dark brown of his eyes. Their eyes, he supposed.

"Um...Jett?" He finally spoke, his voice just as quiet as Jett's. "Can I go inside now? The sun's hurting my head." And his face and the bit of his chest the front of his tunic revealed, and the pressure of Jett's hands on his shoulders was making the burn ache, but no way was Joxer going to mention that. Maybe no one else got to hurt him, but Jett didn't include himself in that sweeping statement.

"Huh." Jett, thankfully, dropped his hands. Head tilting to the side, he frowned. "Yeah, you're looking a little charred. Let's go take care of that."

He whacked Joxer on the arm, an open handed, friendly slap for him, but it made Joxer hiss in pain. Not that Jett paid any attention. He just used that hand to yank Joxer around towards the house, then gave him a hard shove between the shoulder blades, sending Joxer staggering in the right direction.

---

The sun had really done a number on Joxer's back and shoulders. His arms and chest weren't as bad off and his face was more used to the sun exposure, so the burn faded within a day. His scalp still burned and itched though. Rags soaked with vinegar and cool water drawn from the deep well outside the kitchen, laid over his burning skin for hours that eventually became a nearly two days. After the first round of it, lasting well into the night, the heat had been taken out of the burn enough for Joxer to get a few hours rest, but he eventually woke up when it began to itch horribly. That started the next round.

Through it all Jett stayed there in Joxer's room. He didn't bother himself with the rags of course, Joxer would've been shocked if he had. A slave tended to Joxer's sunburns while Jett sat on the edge of the bed talking, or in a chair, or just stood in various places around the room watching in silence. Jett wasn't normally much for long conversations so the staring didn't really bother Joxer; he just gave Jett a strained smile to let him know he appreciated Jett's presence. It could've been a long, painful and dull process, but with Jett around it seemed more tolerable.

When Jett did talk it was just...inconsequential things, for him. Observations about the new weapons Lichas was having forged for his men, how the smith he was using this time around folded the iron better than the last one. Thoughts about the campaign Lichas was waging over near the coast, how long it would take for Dryas, the opposing warlord, to admit defeat.

"Because he doesn't have a clue about flanking maneuvers," Jett said, standing at the window, staring outside into the dusk. "At least that's what Dad said before he left. Still, it's been a week too long so maybe Dryas learned since their last battle."

Joxer didn't have anything to add to conversations like that. He liked a good weapon as much as Jett, but he didn't really understand how they were made and he certainly couldn't put them to the uses Jett could. He didn't grasp tactics as well either, couldn't wrap his mind around a battle the way their father had tried to teach them. Jett had picked it up immediately but no matter how many times the lessons were repeated, Joxer just couldn't quite get it. So he just remained stretched out on his bed, listening to Jett when he chose to speak and enjoying his brother's presence, the sound of his voice.

Odd that for all they were alike physically, Jett just had to open his mouth and the differences were obvious. Joxer had struggled for months after his voice settled to get that same sound, that low, threatening intensity, the harsh undertone, but he'd had to give up. He thought he had a nice voice, although Jett's occasional teases about him whining made him wonder sometimes if he just sounded like that to other people. Not to him though. His voice was decent, not as deep as he'd wanted maybe but it was...manly sounding enough, at least to his own ears. Still nothing like Jett's though and that was a continued disappointment. But it didn't stop him from enjoying the sound of Jett's voice, imagining how intimidating he could be if he could manage tones like that.

Jett only left when Joxer had to, accompanying him to the bathroom. Slaves brought food, which they both ate, and finally some wine which Joxer was glad to see. The red vintage this year was excellent, sweet and smooth and Joxer was developing a real fondness for it. He gave a quick prayer of thanks to Dionysus before savoring his first goblet of it.

"Shouldn't you be working with Niamh, or at lessons with Eleon?" Joxer asked sometime during the second day. For that matter, he realized with a frown, he was missing his own lessons with the family tutor. Eleon had come all the way from Thrace and his services weren't cheap, as their father had reminded Joxer whenever he failed to learn his lessons.

"It'll wait a while," was all Jett said.

By early evening the next day, Joxer's sunburn felt far better. It no longer had that deep, almost purplish red look, high up on his shoulders and had turned more of a light red. The itching was gone, disappeared the night before and Joxer was far more relaxed. Enough so that he'd dozed off after the mid-day meal and rested without being disturbed by discomfort until Jett woke him near sunset.

Lying on his stomach, head resting on one arm, Joxer was comfortable and didn't really want to wake up. It was the hard poke to his still tender shoulder that got him up.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed.

Jett was squatting down beside the bed, sitting back on his heels as he stared at Joxer. "Hey, Jox," he said, smirking slightly, "awake yet or should I give the other shoulder a try?"

Joxer narrowed his eyes. "Do it and I'll--ow!" he yelped as Jett reached out fast and twisted his nose.

"Don't threaten me, bro," he said in a bored tone. "That burn's looking way better so toss on something presentable and join the family for dinner. Dad's back."

That got Joxer's attention. He shoved himself up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Really? Dad's back?"

"Yeah," Jett said with far less enthusiasm. "We got word right after you went to sleep."

"Why didn't you get me up?" Joxer asked with a frown. "I should've been there with you and Mom when he arrived!" Because he didn't doubt for a second that Jett had been right at the front doors, greeting Lichas as he walked in.

Jett was shaking his head though. "Made my case stronger if you were still laid up."

"Huh?" Joxer stared at him without understanding.

"Gallus," Jett said with a roll of his eyes, and then stood.

"Oh." Now it made sense and Joxer nodded. "Dad's not happy, huh?"

"That's an understatement." Jett shrugged. "But he'll get over it." His tone was dismissive and he winked at Joxer, an unconcerned smile settling on his lips. "Now get up and throw on some clothes; Dad wants to see you at dinner."

Joxer was quick to follow Jett's orders, but mostly because he was eager to see their father, hear about the campaign and see what Lichas might've brought back with him. Still, putting a shirt on over a sunburn plus half healed bruises and cuts wasn't the most comfortable thing and he would've preferred a loose chiton, but that wouldn't have been appropriate. At least he was a fast healer; it could've felt much worse. Only his palms were still really sore and the blisters were starting to clear up. That made it difficult to dress himself though and he was grateful when Jett stepped in and began assisting.

A few minutes later he was dressed in something presentable for dinner. Jett had helped him into one of his better pairs of leather pants. Not the ones with the decorative stitching along the legs, that was reserved for festivals and trips to Ares' temple, although then he usually wore armor over his clothes, the only time he was allowed to. He chose one of his whiter tunics and a nice, unscuffed pair of boots, and although it took a while to get things on right, Joxer thought he looked good enough.

"Finally," Jett said with an annoyed huff of breath. "Let's go get this over with."

He strode out of the room and Joxer hurried after him.

---

Dinner was a mixed affair. On one hand Joxer was thrilled to see their father after so many months and hung on every word Lichas said about the campaign he'd waged against Dryas. Joxer wasn't surprised that it had gone in Lichas' favor; if there'd been bad news word would've been sent ahead and Jett would've woken him up much earlier and filled him in on it. But while Lichas talked freely about the past few months and gave Joxer a smile or two, he cast darker looks in Jett's direction.

Jett spent the entire time with his eyes cast down at the table wordlessly, eating in quick, economical movements. He showed no fear or worry, but it would've been completely out of character if he had. There was really no way to tell what he was thinking just looking at his face; Jett was good at showing absolutely nothing.

Joxer could read him though; he'd always been able to do that. Just the fact that Jett was making an effort to show nothing meant that he was feeling something strongly, and Joxer suspected it was either anger or impatience, possibly both since it concerned a dispute with their father. He wondered how that would play out, just what Jett would do to get out of this, or if he even would. It'd been a long time since Jett had been punished for anything, not since that incident in Ares' temple three years ago with the ceremonial knife and the annoying priest, but that didn't mean Lichas would hesitate if he thought Jett deserved it.

When dinner concluded and Lichas stood, Joxer was curious to see what would happen, but those hopes were quickly dashed.

"I'll speak to Jett alone, now," Lichas said, a clear dismissal.

Joxer was disappointed but he wasn't going to question their father's decision, it wasn't his place. He did stall a little though, deliberately moving slowly, leaving last after their mother and the slaves, hoping to hear something. But nothing was said and he remained disappointed.

Walking out into the corridor, he sighed in frustration. It wasn't that he was eager to see Jett punished, he just wanted to know what would happen now with a new weapons instructor for him. It would take a while to find a new one; requests needed to be sent to the proper people, interviews had to be conducted and a price agreed on. It could take months, or longer, but it was possible that Lichas already had someone else in mind and Joxer wanted to know.

He paused for a long moment, just a few steps down the corridor on his way to his room. He'd left and Lichas was alone with Jett, so technically Joxer had followed orders. It wouldn't be real disobedience if he just...listened, would it?

Of course he knew it would be, but he could split hairs in his mind and justify it, just so long as he wasn't caught.

There was no one in the corridor. The slaves had disappeared to wherever it was they were needed and his mother would've gone to her and Lichas' room to await her husband, so there was none there to see when Joxer went back to the doorway. He moved as quietly as possible, creeping forward on the tips of his toes. He'd pulled the door shut behind him when he'd left, but it hadn't closed all the way; perfect.

He didn't dare look through the gap left open, that risked him being seen and punishment would definitely follow. Instead he stood close to the door, just near its edge, and listened hard.

"...made this very difficult, Jett," Lichas was saying, his tone hard.

"Hey, I did what I had to," Jett said, his tone completely unconcerned.

"Joxer looked fine tonight."

"And three days ago he collapsed."

"Gallus was an experienced mercenary; he was likely just trying to toughen Joxer up. Your brother is too weak."

"Gallus was more interested in beating Joxer, tormenting him instead of training him!" The first traces of anger worked its way into Jett's tone. "Talk with Niamh if you doubt me. He deserved what he got."

"What he 'got,' Jett, was brutal and cruel and--"

"Yeah, I know," Jett interrupted in a pleased tone. "Inspired, wasn't it?"

"It was badly timed! You should have done it out of sight of the men. Instead they've spread the tale all through Athens. Any replacement for Gallus I tried to hire would hear it within minutes of reaching the city. You've made certain your brother won't have another instructor."

Joxer stifled a horrified gasp. He had to have another instructor! Lichas wasn't home often enough to teach him personally and Jett wasn't patient enough.

"Pay Niamh extra, whatever you would've given Gallus, and use her." Jett sounded bored now.

"She's not a stupid woman, Jett. Do you really think she'll risk her life by teaching Joxer? After what you did? What if Joxer gets hurt while under her instruction; she has a good idea of what'll happen and she won't risk it."

"You'll find someone else, somehow."

"There won't be anyone else." Lichas' tone was final. "You've seen to that, Jett."

Joxer had to steady himself against the doorframe. His heart felt like it'd dropped somewhere around the level of his feet and his mouth had gone dry. He couldn't be hearing this.

"But it's probably for the best." Lichas said with an audible sigh. "Joxer should be at your level now, not still playing around with wooden swords. If he can't advance past that, then maybe our life isn't for him."

"No," Joxer whispered, unable to hold it in. He couldn't believe his father had just said that. He was going to be a warrior, it was his destiny!

"You're giving up on him?" Jett's voice went flat.

"If he hasn't shown any promise by now, forcing him to train more isn't going to help. I'd had...better hopes for him, but it doesn't look as though he'll live up to them."

Joxer couldn't hear any more of this. He shoved away from the doorframe and ran down the corridor, no longer caring if anyone heard him. He ran to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh gods!" he gasped out, the enormity of that entire conversation striking him all over again.

Dad wasn't going to get another instructor, he wasn't even intending on letting Joxer train anymore. It was like something out of Joxer's worst nightmares. It was bad enough that he knew he was far behind Jett in training, or that he'd never been able to force himself to take a life, but to hear it from his own father, finding out what a huge disappointment he was...Joxer wasn't sure whether to start breaking a few things or start crying. And wasn't that another sign of how he didn't belong here, the fact that he'd even contemplate crying in the first place?

Zeus on Olympus! He'd never felt so lost, so utterly cast adrift in his life. No matter how badly he'd screwed up in the past, he'd always known that he was still part of the family, but now? He didn't think he could bear hearing it said to his face. And in that moment, he realized that he'd made a decision.

---

It was harder than Joxer had thought, figuring out what to take and what to leave behind. His good sets of clothes would probably be useless on the road, but what if he ended up someplace where he'd need them? Like maybe in a king's personal guard. That sounded good. There was always the army, although not Athens'. They probably wouldn't take anyone who hadn't been dedicated to Athena and it was public knowledge that Joxer's family worshiped Ares. Still, there were plenty of other city-states out there and they had armies, so that was always an option.

If he had his choice though, Joxer wanted to find a good warlord and join him. That was how Lichas had gotten his start and Joxer wanted to do the same. If he managed that, fought for a few years in under a decent warlord, rose up in the ranks, then he could come back home with proof that Lichas had been wrong about him. Lichas would have to admit that Joxer was part of the family then.

Joxer thought it was a great plan, but he was still having a problem with the packing part of it. He'd never been much of anywhere in his life, barely outside of the city and that had only been for some less than successful riding lessons. He wasn't sure what he needed to take. He knew food was going to be necessary so after he finished packing his clothes, he intended to sneak out through the kitchen and grab some food along the way.

He finally decided to leave his best outfit and take his second best, the one he was currently wearing. He couldn't travel in it though so he stripped it off quickly, bundled it up and shoved it into the bottom of the bag.

He didn't have a sturdy travel bag, but he'd made do buy emptying out a sack of old toys he'd kept, stored under his bed. He certainly wouldn't be needing any toys on his journey so he'd kicked them back under the bed, pausing only for a moment when a doll caught his eye.

It'd been a present ten or more years ago, from Jace. And that was so like him, to spend his time making dolls with frilly outfits instead of playing with toy soldiers like his brothers. Still, Joxer had kept it, even took it out a time or two to stare at it and wonder about Jace's strangeness. But seeing it now just strengthened his resolve to get out before he had to listen to his father say things Joxer didn't think he could live with hearing. So he'd shoved the doll back under the bed and got on with it.

He threw in another change of clothes, this one far more everyday in quality, along with a pair of boots. Pulling one of his more worn tunics over his head, he realized he'd probably need weapons on the road, and that meant a side trip to the armory on the way to the kitchen. He wasn't allowed real weapons to practice with, let alone keep in his room. Unlike Jett who had his own collection of daggers and knives on the wall adjacent his bed. Jett's room was an armory in its own right, but Joxer wasn't about to take anything out of there, even if it was only next door, which would be a far shorter side trip. Jett adored his weapons and Joxer wouldn't hurt Jett by stealing any of them.

There was a decent variety in the armory and as he pulled one of his more used pair of pants out of a drawer, Joxer made a mental list of what he'd need. A sword, definitely, but also a good knife for eating and a dagger for defense, probably to keep in his boot. He'd learned that lesson from Jett, always keep something hidden. He might need armor too, now that he thought of it. The road was a dangerous place, or so he'd heard from evenings of listening to some of Lichas' men tell stories; Joxer would need all the defense he could get. But would that be taking too much? No way was he taking a horse; not only was he a horrible rider, but that was something Lichas would come after him to retrieve, so did armor fit in that category too? Sighing in disappointment, Joxer decided it did. If he wanted armor, he'd have to find his own somewhere.

The door opened and Joxer spun to face whomever it was, mentally slapping himself for not latching it closed and praying that it wasn't his father. He relaxed, but only a little, when he saw Jett walking into his room. Hearing those...things from Jett would still hurt, but not as much as from their father. Joxer just wished he could avoid it all together. He turned his back on Jett, shaking his pants out of their fold, studying them to make sure there weren't any holes or they weren't too worn to hold up on the road.

"What're you doing, Jox?" Jett asked, and his voice was strangely quiet, tone even. Normally that would've made Joxer wary, but right now he just didn't care.

"What's it look like?" he snapped, anger and hurt making his own tone sharper than he usually would've dared to use around Jett.

"It looks like you've lost your mind, bro," Jett said.

"Yeah, well what's it matter? I'm outta here and you don't have to worry about it."

The door closed with a muted thump, but Joxer doubted he was lucky enough for Jett to have simply left, a suspicion borne out when Jett spoke again.

"You were listening."

Joxer looked at him now, just to give him an exasperated glare. "What do you think?" he said sarcastically, then threw his pants on the table with his travel bag. He still needed boots and he wasn't sure which was the best pair to wear. He had a very used pair but they might not hold up under leagues of walking, but his other pair pinched his toes and he really didn't want blisters after only an hour of traveling.

"I think you're being stupid," Jett said, his tone starting to take on an edge.

Joxer laughed sharply, without a trace of humor. "Not like it's a big surprise to you, huh? I'm stupid; that's Dad's whole point, isn't it? I can't learn to fight, I can't understand strategy, I don't remember history, Tartarus, I can barely read!" He yanked a pair of boots off the floor, the older pair but he didn't care anymore. If the soles came loose on the road he'd find a way to patch them. Better than having his toes squished and blistered. Now he needed a belt.

"Hey, you're not stupid, Joxer. What Dad said, it was directed at me, not you; you weren't even supposed to be there!" Now Jett's temper was starting to show. "He wanted me to feel guilty about what I'd done and using you is the only way that could ever happen."

"Oh, please!" Joxer snorted in disbelief. "Like you could ever feel guilt. And it doesn't matter why he said it, I know it's true, Jett, so it's better if I just leave, before Dad throws me out like he did Jace." He tossed the boots on top of the pants and pulled out another drawer, one where he kept his belts, gloves and his money purse; he'd need that too, he realized. That probably should've been the first thing on his list.

"What?" Jett sounded incredulous. "What gave you that idea? Jace was an embarrassment to the family."

"Like me," Joxer said bitterly

"Not like you. Jace got caught by the neighbors in their barn with their son and three other neighbor boys; he would've eventually brought shame to our family because he didn't care about being discreet."

That made Joxer pause. He looked up from his perusal of belts to frown at Jett. "You're serious?" This was the first he'd heard of that incident. Unless.... "Wait a sec, is that why you killed the neighbors?"

"Of course it was." Arms crossed over his chest, Jett gave him an exasperated look. "It's not a great idea to slaughter the neighbors for no reason, you know. Dad didn't want that story around the city so I volunteered to shut everyone up. There was no choice but to kick Jace out after that."

Joxer looked away, staring at the open drawer in front of him without really seeing it. A whole year and Joxer was only just now hearing this? He hadn't understood why Jace had been here one day and gone the next, or why everyone had been so upset and refused to answer his questions. It definitely made sense now though.

"Okay," he said with a nod, "so maybe I'm not as bad as that, but I know Dad is ashamed of me, the way I can't be like you, so there's no point in staying." Shaking his head, forcing his mind back to what had to be done, Joxer pulled out his black belt with the silver filigree. Too fancy or not?

"Gimme that." Jett was suddenly there right beside him, grabbing the belt from him. He tossed it back in the drawer and shoved the drawer closed with his hip.

Joxer glared at him again but Jett only stepped closer, putting him right in Joxer's personal space.

"Dad's wrong," Jett said, his quiet tone matching his expression for sheer intensity. Jett believed what he was saying; there was utter conviction in his voice, in the way he stood there, his very stance daring Joxer to contridict him. But Joxer didn't get it, couldn't understand where Jett was getting this. Lichas was an excellent judge of talent when it came to warriors, otherwise Joxer wouldn't have been so hurt by Lichas' assessment of his lack of skills.

"What're you talking about?" Joxer frowned.

"You're not stupid or hopeless or worthless or any of those other things that're probably wandering through your head right now." Jett reached up and poked at Joxer's forehead with two fingers. "Got it?"

Joxer stepped back, slapping Jett's hand away. "Just because you say something doesn't make it true, Jett. I know what I am." And at that moment he hated it, hated himself.

"Stop it!" Jett grabbed the front of his tunic and spun him around, shoving him back against the set of drawers. "Just stop it, Joxer! No, you're not like me and you never will be, but there's nothing wrong with that, hear me?"

Joxer teeth clacked together when Jett shook him. He tried to shove Jett away from him but that was solid muscle under all that black leather, unlike Joxer who barely had any, and he couldn't make Jett move. Certainly couldn't break his grip although Joxer tried, prying at Jett's fingers futilely.

"Let go!" He kicked at Jett. His foot connected with Jett's shin but Jett showed no reaction.

"Why, so you can run off like a wounded puppy, tail stuck between your legs?" There was no contempt in Jett's tone, just straight anger, but the words still hurt and Joxer flinched. There was truth in that, he was running away out of hurt, but he still thought it was better than the alternative.

"There's nothing left here for me!" he said, giving Jett another ineffectual shove.

Jett's eyes narrowed, the knuckles of his hand whitened as his grip tightened. There was a sharp ripping sound and Joxer's widened as he realized one of Jett's fingers had torn through the material of his tunic; he could feel the back of it pressing against his chest, right above his collar bone.

"And what about me?" Jett asked, speaking slowly, his voice deadly quiet.

"Huh?" Joxer didn't get it but that tone made hair stand up on the back of his neck. "I--I don't--" He stopped, swallowing hard to clear his throat. "What're you talking about? You're the perfect son; you're gonna back the family so proud." Bitterness crept back into his voice. "You'll be better off without me here and you know it. I'm nothing but a distraction from your training." He tried to pull away from Jett's grip, stepping to the side, not caring now if his tunic was torn in half. He just wanted out.

Jett snarled and shoved Joxer back again, driving a sharp gasp from Joxer as the wood dug into his back.

"You're not going anywhere," Jett said, stepping forward into the last bit of space between them, pinning Joxer against the drawers. He finally let go of Joxer's tunic, hand sliding out from between them, only to grasp Joxer's arm tightly.

"I'm a grown man, Jett, I can go wherever I want!" Joxer pushed at Jett's shoulders, hoping but not really expected to get him to move.

"Well, I'm not letting you go!"

Joxer winced as Jett's other hand came up and grabbed at the back of his hair. "Jett!" He couldn't pull away without losing a good clump of his hair. He could barely move anyway with Jett's whole body leaning into his, pressing him back hard, the top of the drawers digging into his upper back.

Jett leaned close, the tip of his nose brushing against Joxer's; his pupils were so wide, dark. "You're my little brother, Joxer." His voice was hardly more than a low growl. "My responsibility, mine to look after, my--my...just mine." There was scarcely breathing space between them, and then Jett removed that.

Shock held Joxer immobile, hands frozen against Jett's shoulders, breath caught in his throat. Jett's lips were warm, dry, and pressed hard against his and Joxer couldn't do more than stare, Jett's eyes so close they filled his vision. He was trapped in that gaze.

Jett didn't back off, his lips pressing harder, hand tightening in Joxer's hair. Joxer wanted to close his eyes, not see the intensity in Jett's gaze, but he couldn't make himself move, not even to blink. His throat hurt, his chest starting to burn and--air! Gods, he needed to breathe. It was involuntary, his lips parting in a gasp for breath and Jett's lips parted with his and he was breathing in air that tasted like Jett, just for a moment, then Jett's tongue was pushing into his mouth.

Joxer gasped, a muffled sound into Jett's mouth and his fingers were clutching at Jett's shoulders now, digging in as a shiver worked its way through him. Jett tasted like the wine from dinner, faintly sweet but with a touch of something sharp beneath, something that was just Jett. Jett, whose tongue was sliding over the roof of his mouth, licking the back of his throat, and Joxer's whole body jerked with the shock of it.

A soft moan, not his, and Jett's eyes finally drifted shut, breaking the gaze that had held Joxer still. Jett leaned in harder, the pressure of his mouth increasing, tongue slipping over Joxer's, and the moan this time, Joxer was dismayed to realize, was his. Jett kissed better than any of the slave girls Joxer had been with and Joxer didn't want to like it, but he couldn't help it. Wet and slick and teeth nibbling at his lower lip now, then Jett's tongue back in his mouth and stroking deep and they both moaned, echoes of each other as Joxer tilted his head for a better angle and that was good, so good.

Jett pulled back, his harsh, gasping breaths a match for Joxer's. When he opened his eyes, there was something...dark there, intensity to a level that yanked Joxer out of the daze he'd fallen into, back to the harsh reality before him.

"Jett," he started, shaking his head, "this can't...we can't do--" Jett's lips against his silenced him.

It was fast this time, just a quick, hard press of lips and Jett drew back. "It can," he said, his voice deeper than normal, "and we will."

"No." Joxer shook his head again. "No, Jett. I know you're angry, but this isn't a way to--"

"I'm not angry." And Jett sounded faintly surprised, his eyebrows rising fractionally. It was like the words were as much a revelation to him as Joxer.

"You're not...." Joxer's words trailed off as he took in Jett's expression, saw what he'd failed to see before.

He'd seen anger from Jett so often, many times tinged with annoyance and a couple memorable, horrible times bordering on cold fury, but he'd never seen this. It was so close to anger he wasn't surprised he'd missed it, that it'd fooled even Jett himself. Passionate and intense and brimming with barely repressed emotion, but none of it was anger. And that frightened Joxer even more than Jett's temper could have.

Joxer wanted to refuse what he knew was coming, but before he could say a word, Jett's hand came up sharply between them and his finger pressed against Joxer's lips, touch strangely gentle.

"Shh," he said, barely audible. Then he took a step back, hand leaving Joxer's hair, finger falling from his lips.

His voice was still so very quiet when he spoke again. "Get into bed, Joxer."

Joxer didn't say anything, couldn't, because he knew he was going to do it.

---

Door shut, latch drawn, clothes scattered on the floor and Jett's breath came in rasping gasps near his ear. Joxer's arms had already given out beneath him and with the trembling in his spread knees, he thought that it was only Jett's arm around his waist holding him up. Jett had told him to breathe but gods, he couldn't. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth digging into his lower lip and every slight movement seemed to open whole new worlds of raw pain.

Jett's lips pressed against his shoulder, sliding on the sweat beading there, and he pushed hard. Joxer couldn't stop the broken sob that escaped him, muffled against the pillow, bright sparks of pain flashing behind closed eyelids. He managed a single, shuddering breath, filling starved lungs, but the next caught in his throat, threatening to become another sob.

Time seemed to stretch out on a wave of tight pain that only gradually faded. His muscles were tense, anticipation of another push, more pain. But Jett was still, chest pressed to Joxer's back, and, Joxer realized, hips tight against him. With the pain slowly diminishing, he could feel other things. Jett's free hand on his hip, fingers stroking reassuringly, lips still on his shoulder, Jett's heartbeat against his back and--and inside him.

A dull throbbing inside, no longer the bright, tearing pain it had been and Joxer suddenly found he could breathe. His legs weren't trembling anymore and he could draw in a deep breath, and then another, easing the burning in his chest. Jett's fingers stilled on his hip.

Jett's chest peeled away from his back in a slick sound of skin leaving skin; his lips vanished from Joxer's shoulder. He was sitting up, Joxer could feel it in the flex of Jett's thighs against the inside of his own. Both of Jett's hands were on his hips now, grip firm, tight, and Joxer had just enough warning to get one arm under him, bracing himself, then Jett was moving. Against him, inside him, and it still hurt, making Joxer hiss at the pain, but it wasn't as bad as it had been, didn't feel as tight, rough.

The angle was different now, the pain more discomfort than anything else, and on one deep push in, Joxer gasped at something that definitely wasn't pain. Not quite pleasure either, but enough to send a shiver through him, make him wonder if he might do more than just endure.

A few more deep strokes in and the feeling was back, steady now with every movement Jett made, fighting against the lingering discomfort for Joxer's attention. He'd never associated pain with pleasure before and it was jarring feeling it now. The pain a jagged edge beneath the other growing sensation, one he tried to focus on, wanting to ignore the sharp burn beneath it. But the two wouldn't separate; every time Jett thrust against him, fingers digging into his hips, both sensations sparked bright flashes behind Joxer's closed eyes, through his tense body.

Soft groans from Jett, moans and gasps, sounds Joxer had never expected to hear from him, but then, there was nothing else here he'd expected either. Jett was moving faster, rocking hard into him, the bed vibrating with the force of it, headboard tapping against the wall. A sudden, deep, guttural groan, sounding as though it came through clenched teeth, and Jett went abruptly still.

Loud gasps for air, and Joxer realized they weren't all Jett's. His own chest was heaving, limbs trembling. Sweat was soaking into the pillow from his damp face; he could feel it sliding down his sides too, the back of his thighs -- and that wasn't all sweat. Too much of it, too heated, sticky.

Jett was leaning down again, distracting Joxer. One arm slid around Joxer's waist as his chest settled against Joxer's back, skin just as hot and slick as Joxer's own. Joxer's eyes snapped open in surprise when Jett pulled him over onto his side. Jett was still pressed close against him, hips flush against his own, still inside.

A hand slid around his hip, to the front, grasping him and Joxer knew he hadn't been aroused when this had started. He was only half way there now, but a few strokes of Jett's hand fixed that. Joxer couldn't help watching; now that his eyes were open he couldn't look away. A hand so similar to his own, pulling and sliding in just the perfect way and he was moaning, pushing into Jett's hand without any conscious thought. Jett's lips touched his shoulder, his neck, and his thumb flicked in just the right way, making Joxer's hips jerk forward.

Stroke after stroke, and Joxer was trembling. Wet, hot tongue flicking over the back of his ear, Jett's hand tightened and he pushed his hips forward, nudging inside and Joxer moaned at the spark of pain/pleasure that shuddered through him. Then he was shuddering for a different reason, pushing hard into Jett's hand, rocking back against him. He gasped, open mouthed, the sound close to a name.

---

Joxer was used to feeling tired, wrung out after bedding a woman, but this was a new kind of tired. Curled up on his side, every muscle seemed to ache, a faint tremble still held his limbs and there was a dull burn somewhere inside. The bed was wet beneath his hip, his thighs sticking together now, but he couldn't look away from Jett, sprawled carelessly beside him on his back.

One of Jett's legs was draped over Joxer's, an arm behind his head as he finished licking his hand. And Joxer stared at that, the sight a shock in ways he couldn't put words to. There was something...obscene about it, visceral, and Joxer had the suspicion that if he hadn't been so tired, he still might've reacted to it in a way that was anything but repelled.

"Y--you've done this before." Joxer finally managed to find his voice.

Jett smirked. "And you hadn't. Are we done with the obvious?"

"But...how? I mean, I never knew. I thought, you know, all the pretty girls around here...it's what I do so I thought you--" He was headed off by Jett's amused snort.

"I'm discreet, Jox; remember that word? I don't advertise it."

"But, why me, Jett? I've never even looked at a guy, you know that."

Jett dropped his hand and shifted over onto his side. He kept one leg over Joxer's as he faced him. "You liked it," he pointed out, reaching up to trail his fingers over Joxer's lips.

Joxer shook his head. "I know, but...I don't get it, Jett."

"You're a part of me, Joxer, didn't realize how big of one until you decided to run off. You're not leaving me." Jett's tone was gentle but there was a finality to it as his hand cupped Joxer's cheek.

"I--I can't spend my whole life attached to you, Jett!" Joxer protested. "I wanna find something I can do and I can't do that following you around."

"Yeah, I know." Jett smiled, his thumb stroking along Joxer's cheekbone. "But I won't be ready to leave for a couple more years; I've got too much to learn. You'll stay until then and after that, well, I'll think about letting you go."

"Stay doing what? Dad's not gonna get me another instructor, and it wouldn't do any good anyway." Joxer pulled away, pushing Jett's leg off of his as he sat up.

He intended to get out of bed but Jett was faster. Joxer found himself flat on his back, Jett straddling him. He settled on Joxer's upper legs, staring down at him.

"I'll show you a few things, some defense, a couple tricks with the sword," he said.

"You'll teach me?" Joxer snorted in disbelief. "You don't have the patience, Jett, and you know it." He reached out to shove Jett off him, but Jett caught his wrists.

"I'll find the patience. I'm not sending you out on your own completely defenseless." Jett sounded utterly serious. "We'll figure something out, Joxer."

And he meant it, Joxer could see that. He also saw he wasn't going anywhere, even if he refused Jett's instruction, which he wasn't going to do. It was the only chance he had left to be a warrior.

"You'll learn something, Jox." Then Jett grinned and leaned down, pressing Joxer's wrists into the mattress beside his head. "And some lessons are gonna be more fun than others."

Joxer's breath caught; he easily recognized the look in Jett's eyes now.

"There's so much I'm gonna show you, Joxer." The tip of Jett's tongue flicked out over his lips and he leaned closer. "We'll see just how fast you can learn, with the right incentive."

Joxer could've told him the answer to that; it took him forever to learn things. But then Jett's mouth was covering his, cutting off any possibility of speech and Joxer realized it didn't matter. He'd learn or he wouldn't; either way so long as he was here, he belonged to Jett, and there was nothing he could say to change that.

Jett's tongue slid along his lips, dipping into his mouth and Joxer moaned, surprising himself.

The brief thought drifted through his mind that eventually he might not even want to change it. Then thought disappeared entirely.


Fin