TITLE: After

AUTHOR: Scorpio

scorpiofic@aol.com

ARCHIVE: This was originally posted Oct. of 2001, but with the exception of my own site (blows kiss at Sentinel Cat) all of the archives that had it are down. So, I'm reposting it. If you want it, go for it.

FANDOM: Xena/Hercules

PAIRING: Ares/Strife

RATING: NC-17

WARNING: *DARK FIC* Disturbing images, adult content, major Strife owwies.

DISCLAIMER: TIIC, not poor underpaid Scorpio.

SUMMARY: Strife's life (such as it is) after his stay in Tartarus.


After
by Scorpio


Strife leaned back into the comforting warmth of Ares' lightly furred chest, trying to press even closer to his only link to calm and safety. The War God seemed to realize this even in his sleep and wrapped his thick muscled arm even tighter about him. Silently, as only a person who had had his vocal cords torn out could be, Strife sighed in relief at this minute and unconscious gesture. Although, to be honest, it would be almost physically impossible for them to *be* any closer than they all ready were.

Ares' chest was pressed tightly to Strife's back and his uncle's long legs were tangled with both of Strife's. Beyond that, Ares' thick erection was still buried deep inside of Strife's body, a connection that the newly resurrected Godling was loath to give up. It stretched him, filled him and it was a constant reminder that he was alive. Thankfully, Gods could control that aspect of their anatomy, unlike mortals, and so whenever they were alone Strife had the reassuring sensation of Ares' penetrating his body.

He hadn't always been this needy, this broken. His life *before* had been so different. He had been young, yes, but he had also been filled with surety and self confidence. He had once boasted a wonderful sense of humor and a deeply intense mind. Granted, his outlook on life had been a bit...unusual, but he had been *mostly* sane.

Not anymore. Death had changed him, and not for the better.

At first his stay in Asphodel hadn't been *too* bad. Great Uncle Hades had gone out of his way to make him comfortable and he had been granted free access to both the Elusion Fields *and* the Plains of Asphodel. His only restriction had been Tartarus. Zeus had told Hades to keep him in the underworld for five full years as punishment for messing up with the blonde bitch Callisto and getting himself killed with his own Dagger. And he had been cool with that. It was easy as far as punishments went and what was five years to an immortal being after all?

No, the *real* ordeal began when he got bored. That's the kicker. What happened was his own damn fault. He was *bored*. All that pain and suffering could have been avoided if he had just found something else to do with his time. But no, he had to be 'the big man' and ignore the rules and do whatever he wanted to do.

See, he didn't understand *why* Uncle Hades had made Tartarus off limits. The briefly murmured "it's too dangerous" hadn't been enough of a deterrent to the Mischief God. Full of himself and bored, he had wandered down there alone. And he had found out *exactly* why it was too dangerous.

Hades kept the Titans down there.

They had no beef with the dead mortals and left them alone, but *Olympians*? Titans *hate* Olympians. They had ever since Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Hera, Hestia and Demeter shoved them down into Tartarus against their will. And then along comes dumb stupid Strife. All alone and without his Godly powers.

It had taken over 20 years and the combined power of Hades, Zeus, Hera, Ares and Discord to get him back from the Titans. But by then, Strife was broken.

Now his life was a far cry from what it had been *before*. Loud sudden noises would send him fleeing to the nearest corner to huddle in hysteria, tears streaming from panicked eyes as his body shook and shivered. The physical touch of anyone besides Ares caused him to instantly translocate himself *away* without thought or direction. Bright lights hurt his still healing eyes, but total darkness frightened him into incoherence. Too many people in his presence at once made him flustered and confused, instinctively searching out a place to hide.

His entire world had changed and it was all hard edges and razor sharp points. Only Ares could calm him down from his attacks of blind panic. Only Ares could come close to him, touch him, ground him in reality. No one could figure out why Strife had fixated on Ares, but it was simple really. Who else but *War* could truly understand the pain and agony that he had suffered?

So here he was, warm and safe in the War God's bed, practically smashed into the black silk sheets by the weight of his uncle's heavy muscled body with his thick erection imbedded deep inside of his body. Anchoring him in the here and now.

Praying to Morpheus that when he closed his eyes that he didn't find himself back in Chronos' torture chamber with his innards once again being yanked out to the sounds of his echoing screams.

Unconsciously, he shuddered. One of Ares' big sword callused hands came up and petted him soothingly from his shoulder down to his hip. The War God didn't awake, but his body began rocking slighting, his erection sliding in and out of Strife's well oiled channel gently. Soothingly. Lovingly.

Little by little, Strife's panic and fear began to drain away as Ares made love to him in his sleep. Concentrating on the only sensation he had found in *life* that he hadn't experienced during his death, Strife drifted off to sleep as well, Ares thick erection still moving slowly within his body.


END: After


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