Rating: NC17
Warnings: This story contains scenes of graphic consensual sex between a man and a woman. If you are under 18 or if this is illegal where you live, please read something else.
Disclaimer: The character of Ares, God of War belongs to Greek Mythology and also apparently to Universal Studios and Pacific Renaissance and this story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by MCA, Universal Studios, Renaissance Pictures or any other entity involved in the making of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Xena: Warrior Princess
Author’s Note: There is some mythological background information at the end that may be of interest, after reading the story.
It was a gentle rain at first, large soft droplets, soothing like a sweet caress. Then the rain changed, it stormed violent bursts of water, descending from the sky in heaving spasms, not unlike a birth. The wind howled and roared. The young trees began to bend, their heavy leafed limbs whimpering. Thunder exploded, lightening flashed purple and silver, slicing the gray sky to slivers.
The woman standing naked in the grove, poised on the balls of her feet, accepted the tribute, relished the power. She flicked out her tongue to catch first one raindrop then another. She laughed as the rain caressed her skin, more softly than human hands, then sharper like pinpricks. She gave herself over to the rebirth of the flowing water, raised her arms above her head, and offered herself to the sky.
"And just what are you are doing?" a deep male voice asked her.
She gazed curiously at the being that appeared before her. ‘How odd,’ she thought. ‘I don’t recall . . .’ She said, "I don’t remember summoning you."
The flash of his dark eyes was nearly as dangerous and threatening as the storm. "You do not have an exclusive on need," he roared. Then his tone softened. "I heard your laughter and discovered I wished to see you."
"Go away," she announced. "This is my tribute. My time."
He walked closer to her. She was breathtaking: gloriously resplendent in her nakedness. Her entire being was open to the rain. He could see, whether she admitted it nor not, that she was aroused. Rainwater cascaded over her body, her breasts were shiny with it, the pink nipples erect. Her green eyes were luminous, her face rosy with a flush he had seen often before and during their numerous trysts. She gave off a powerful scent, like an animal in heat. He did not believe she would refuse his amorous attentions. With a thought, he made his clothing vanish. Now he stood next to her. He studied her face, almost always completely unreadable, trying to understand what she felt, why she relished being there in the rain.
He had come across her one day in this very grove. She was lying in the sun, on the grass, her clothing in disarray, her hair spread around her, her lips parted, her breasts heaving. Her posture implied she had just had sex and yet she was alone. He felt an intense desire the moment he saw her. He joined her on the grass and without speaking a word, began to kiss her. She had responded passionately, completely, as if she had been lying there, waiting for him all along.
Afterwards, when he asked her name, she laughed and said she could be whomever he wanted. She vanished then in a flash of light. The encounter had bemused him. Three days later he found her again in the grove. This time she appeared to be making the flowers bloom. He knew then that she must be some kind of a witch, an enchantress. Still, when she saw him, she ran to him with laughter, pulled him to the grass, and with a passion that delighted him assaulted him.
After that, he was never truly surprised to see her in the grove. She seemed to have the power to travel as he did, to appear and disappear at will. Her other, more intriguing powers seemed nature related only. She fascinated and repelled him. Only once had she ever really surprised him and he was still, when he thought if it, ashamed.
She looked at his splendid nakedness. He was one of the most magnificent creatures she had ever seen. A study in physical contradictions; an angelic, beautiful face, uncommon for a man, especially one as virile as this one and a soul as evil and deadly as anything the world had ever seen. His shoulder-length black hair, thick, now dripping wet, framed that face. Dark eyes that could change in a moment, flash with anger, burn with desire, and in rare moments, twinkle with laughter. His lips, full, soft, sensual; outlined by a dark mustache and goatee, they could ignite passion or speak the harshest cruelest words imaginable. The body of a god, by definition, would always be perfection. He was tall, powerful; his arms and legs molded of muscle, strong enough to crush the toughest enemy. A chest that was broad and hard softly covered with dark hair. A body made for killing and if you were strong enough, brave enough, reckless enough, it could love you to death without a second thought.
She knew he was a study in emotional contradictions as well. He was the God of War; rage, vengeance, a lust for blood and death, and a lust for power drove him. Still, buried deep beneath those hard-edged trappings of his job, lay a reservoir of softer feelings. Hidden from the world and himself, lay a small cache, like a tiny beat in his heart, of a yearning to understand and experience love. He had been trained, almost from birth, to deny it, ignore it. To love was a weakness and the God of War could not have any weakness. Weakness was a fault, one he could not accept in others, let alone in himself. Anytime he ever felt that tiny cache of feelings start to bloom, he shoved it aside, turned it into rage, letting the power of anger overcome it. Softer emotion could not, would not, be tolerated. Any, who saw it, must be crushed.
Still, she knew it was there. Once she had surprised him, materialized in his castle bedroom when he hadn’t expected her. She had caught him observing a young blond Amazon through his looking glass. The girl was practicing moves with a sword, and the god’s expression as he watched was so full of longing, so full of a desperate and hopeless yearning, that it was almost painful to see.
He felt her presence and immediately made the image vanish. He knew she had seen it, seen him. He scowled at her. "How dare you just appear in my bedroom! Who do you think you are? What do you want?" he thundered at her.
Recognizing all the unfamiliar emotions rushing through him, she answered lightly. "I thought I was your lover. I thought I would be welcome."
He walked toward her, his face like a thundercloud, threatening, dark, and stormy. His eyes burned with emotion. "So you think you are my lover?" he repeated sarcastically. "In order for that to be true, there would have to be love, wouldn’t there?"
He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her pelvis to his, and pressed their bodies together. His eyes traveled up and down her body, taking stock of her attributes. His look was insulting, his tone even more so. "You are not my lover," he said with derision. "You are my whore."
His words sent a shiver through her. This was the God of War the world knew. Infamous for his foolish pride, his hot-temper, his sarcasm, his wrath. Still, as she looked in his eyes, she saw the depth of pain there, the pain he thought he had hidden.
She reached out a hand as if to caress him and he violently pushed it away. He grabbed her by her hair and brutally pulled her face to his. He began to kiss her hard, his soft, tender lips, were punishing, painful, pulverizing her lips. His tongue pushed insistently into her mouth, probing. Now his other hand traveled up from her waist to her breasts. He ripped her shirt open, palmed a full breast, and began to roughly rub her nipple.
She moaned against him. He now had her pinned to his chest, her arms trapped. She couldn’t fight him and didn’t want to. He may have thought this was a passion play, but she knew he was simply trying to drown his pain. She found, to her surprise, she wanted to help him.
He released his hold on her hair. The hand traveled down her back to her waist. He pulled her pelvis back against his. She could feel his arousal. He began to walk with her, pushing her, not to the bed, but up against the wall. He used his hands and his body to press her flat against the stone. His hands tore off what was left of her shirt. His mouth moved from hers, down over her neck, towards the breasts he had unleashed.
Her hands were now free. She used them to touch his hair, his face with gentleness. This inflamed him further. He stopped kissing her, looked at her with his eyes on fire, and shouted, "You are my whore. Say it!"
She looked at him sadly. She shook her head. He pressed harder against her, knowing she was aroused. With a hand, he ripped off her skirt. Now she was naked while he was still fully clothed. "You came here for sex," he hissed. "If you want it, you’ll have to beg for it." Again, she shook head.
He kissed her, his lips brutalizing hers, his hands roughly caressing her breasts, now one moved down between her legs, brushing lightly, teasing her opening. She moaned again and tried to push against his hand. He stopped touching her, stopped kissing her. "Say it!" he commanded harshly. "Say it!"
"I am your whore," she whispered, her voice gentle, loving, turning the words into a lie.
Then his mouth again took possession of hers; he shoved his fingers brutally inside her womanhood. She put her arms around his neck, let her fingers play with a curl of his hair. He made his clothes disappear. She could feel his erection pressed hard against her thigh. His fingers were working magic within her. She felt her body begin that long slow climb to orgasm, moving ever closer. He could feel it too. He pulled his fingers out. "What you want?" he asked harshly.
She looked him in the eye. "I want you," she murmured.
His eyes glittered dangerously. His mouth sought an erect nipple, teased it, his fingers again teased her womanhood, expertly bringing her closer to orgasm without letting her achieve it. He was an expert at all kinds of torture. Then, as he watched her eyes glaze, felt her body yearn, he asked again, "What do you want?"
She knew he was trying to degrade her, to punish her for seeing him, as he wanted no one to see him. To prove his power over her was as supreme as his power over his own feelings. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered passionately.
He grabbed her buttocks and lifted her up. He positioned her to the right height and commanded, "Put me inside you."
She reached for his erection. He moved forward as she guided him inside her. He pressed her back against the wall while she wrapped her legs around his waist. His head dropped down to her breasts, he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck. She moaned and pushed against him. He kept her trapped there, his penis throbbing inside her while he continued to suck her nipple.
She could not move. The pressure inside her was building in intensity. Still he did not thrust, did not move, he just continued to suck her nipple until she thought she would explode. She knew what he was waiting for. "I want you," she whispered. "Please don’t tease me anymore."
He lifted his head from her breast, a nasty smile on his face. He began to move then, to pound into her with a fury, a rage so intense she thought she would break into pieces. She clung to him, her heart open to his pain. She knew he would not admit what he felt, knew he probably could not even name it. She put her arms around his neck, pressed her face to his shoulder, let the tears of pain he could not shed, fall from her eyes. He stroked her furiously, with an intense concentration, as if the act of possessing her could drive all thought from his mind.
She raised her face to his, saw the rage and the pain. She pulled his face close, kissed him gently with her swollen lips. He returned her tenderness with more fury. His tongue pushed back into her mouth, his lips captured and swallowed hers. He would crush her mouth into nothingness if he could. He reached down with one hand to stroke her bud, not gently, but with a savage beat.
She began to shudder into orgasm, her pelvis moving, her insides tightening convulsively around him. Now he pounded into her as if there would be no tomorrow, as if somehow, with every thrust he could stop the world from ending. Within seconds, she was coming again, murmuring his name. One more powerful thrust and he too achieved release. He shot his seed deeply inside her with a thrust she thought would never end.
For a moment they just stood there, trying to breathe. Then she touched his face gently. Another nasty smile spread across his mouth. "You got what you came for," he said coarsely as he slipped out of her. He pushed her legs from his waist and her arm from his neck. "Why don’t you leave?"
She nodded and with closed eyes, thought herself elsewhere. She knew she had been a substitute for the one he wanted, but there was something in his pain, in his need, that touched her. She knew he would never apologize for his crudeness, his savageness. Still, the next time they were together, he was very gentle, almost affectionate.
He was still watching her carefully, his eyes unreadable. Why the godling appealed to her so much she could not explain. She knew he thought her a witch, an enchantress. She did not correct his misinterpretation of who she was. He did not like magic, did not understand it. He preferred things he could feel and touch. Powers he and he alone could control. Still, their moments together were always interesting.
He had an intelligent curious mind, though he often let himself get distracted, caught up in violent emotion rather than rational thought. Then he would lose his patience and fail. There was a part of him, she knew, even if he did not, that welcomed certain failures. If there was nothing to rail against, there was no reason to go on. She wondered if he would ever learn to let the two halves of himself coexist. ‘Probably not,’ she thought. ‘Well I have tried.’
She glanced briefly at the sky. It seemed to be clearing. She closed her eyes and centered her thoughts. The rain became gentle again, caressing again. She turned to him and smiled. "Ares," she whispered. "You may stay."
"As if I would leave, just because you said to," he retorted impatiently. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms, and began to kiss her. His lips were hungry, demanding. He crushed her against his hard chest, his mouth trying to devour hers, his hands trying to take possession of her.
She leaned into the embrace, rubbing her breasts against him, feeling the passion in him. Her mouth joined his in the hungry quest, her hands moved over his body, coming to rest in his damp curls, pulling his head closer.
The rain covered them softly. Its touch, another piece of fuel to the passionate fire. His hands slithered over her back, her sides, then back to pull her so tight against him she couldn’t tell where she began and he ended. His mouth, his tongue was aflame. The pressure of his soft lips, was intense, his tongue was like a knife, slicing inside her mouth, in and out so quickly, then slowing down to tease her.
She moaned against him. Her hands moved over his back, feeling the muscles, the hardness, and the strength. She ran her nails hard down his spine, felt him arch toward her, then traced the little depression above his buttocks. He moaned into her mouth.
He moved his hands to her waist and pulled her down to the wet ground, to the carpet of soft, damp grass and new fallen leaves. His lips devoured her throat, her neck, and her shoulders. His hands seemed to be everywhere; his need seemed urgent. When he began to suck and tease her breasts, she felt her own need grow. She closed her eyes again and the rain increased its flow. The gentle caresses that teased the pleasure turned into strong, hot sheets of rain, urgent as her need now was.
He lifted his head from her breasts to stare at her. He misunderstood her expression, thought she looked almost serene and untouched with her eyes closed. "Look at me," he commanded hoarsely.
She laughed and opened her eyes. ‘All men,’ she thought, ‘ mortal or god, want you to be impressed with their prowess.’ She smiled and reached down to touch his face gently.
He knew she was aroused, but her face seemed to mock him. That could not be tolerated, but worse, it made him want her all the more. His desire for her was too strong. He pushed her legs apart with his knees. He pushed forward, pushing himself into her, forcing her body to join his. He had to take possession of her, own her. He lay flat on her, using his weight, his strength to crush her to him.
She moved her legs up around his waist to try to bring him deeper inside her. Her hands gripped his buttocks, her mouth searched for his, finding only his neck instead. She bit him.
That made him laugh. Now he knew her need was a great as his own. His lips found hers, his tongue again flicking in and out of her mouth, this time in rhythm with his movements inside her. Knowing she wanted him now, as much as he wanted her, seemed to give him some measure of control. He moved slowly, teasing her. She arched forward, urging him with her body to increase his speed. He seemed determined to make them both wait for satisfaction.
She kissed him demandingly, now her tongue attacked his mouth, her hands again traced his spine, played with the cave by his buttocks. When he still teased her, only gliding in and out a little, she slipped her finger inside.
That inflamed him. Now he began to move faster, sliding more deeply in and out, but still too slow for her desire. She began to move her finger in and out of his anus, in time with his own movements inside her.
Now he began to grind into her, harder and faster. Their mouths broke apart, hers fastened on his neck, licking and biting. Her body thrust up to meet his, her free hand pulling at his buttocks, trying to pull him deeper and deeper inside her.
She felt the onset of orgasm and spurred him on, her pelvis pounding back against him, she slipped her finger out of his anus and now both her hands were on his buttocks, her mouth was searching again for his.
Their mouths met, he kissed her hard, then thrust into her with even more force and speed, going deeper and deeper. She felt for a moment as if the power of the thrusts would split her in half and then she was coming and coming, the pleasure a white hot, red hot fire, rushing through her, so intense, the rain would never put it out. Then it was his turn, with a groan he shot his seed deeply inside her.
He collapsed against her, his head dropped to her breast, like a child. His mouth open, his breathing labored. They lay, entwined for a long time, as the rain fell on them. She ran her fingers through his hair, traced the line of his jaw, the soft fuzz of his beard, and stroked his forehead.
Finally, he raised himself up on his arms and studied her face. What he saw there must have reassured him, for a slow wicked grin spread across his face. "You did summon me," he declared.
"Perhaps I did," she remarked with a laugh. "But it was for the last time."
"You do not get to decide that," he said. "If I wish to possess you, I will."
She laughed again and with a power she had always had, but never shown him, slithered out from underneath his prone body. She stood up, shut her eyes, centered her thoughts, and made the lightening come.
He jumped up in confusion. The rain was pelting down now, hard, painful to him, although he was a god. With a thought he dressed. "What are you doing?" he asked.
She ignored him. She raised her arms, her hands, palms up, to the sky, gathering power. She felt it first, before she saw it. The bolt of lightening was heading straight for her outstretched hands. She reached higher, stood on tiptoes, to grab it. Instead of the power she expected to feel, she felt herself pushed out of the way.
She heard his scream as the lightening glanced off his belt, his gauntlets, and his sword. Knew that if he had been mortal it would have killed him. Knew, even as a god, he would be injured. "You fool," she shouted angrily. "You do not know what you are dealing with."
He was on the ground, looking astonished. "You could have been killed," he shouted back.
He had surprised her. He had actually attempted, without a thought for himself; to protect her from something he was convinced would kill her. Maybe there was hope for him. She stared at him contemplatively. "No," she answered softly. "I could not. Do you not understand? I am made of water, of the rain, of the lightening, of the thunder."
He shook his head. He tried for a moment to stand and then realized he had more than the wind knocked out of him by the bolt. "What happened?" he asked.
"You stole my tribute." she replied softly. "But it does not matter. There will be another soon enough. This time, do not try to stop it. Stay where you are. I expect your strength will return eventually."
"I am the God of War," he roared. "There is no one, mortal or god who is stronger."
She laughed at his impotent rage. "You are the son of Zeus, son of the thrower of thunder bolts. But these thunderbolts do not come from him. They come from a force far stronger and far older than you or your father. Stay there and watch, godling, if you dare!"
Once again, she raised her hands; once again, the sky was rent with lightening. The God of War, stayed put, on the ground. He watched as a particularly large bolt headed straight toward the woman. She stood, again on tiptoes and raised her hands. The bolt came, split in half, one piece to each of those outstretched hands. He watched as the woman did not move, did not tremble, did not even seem to be effected. The power of the lightening seemed to be absorbed into her body. She glowed briefly then turned to him, a beatific expression in her green eyes. For a moment she seemed to shiver out of shape, into something he could not describe, a waterfall, a tree, a jungle cat, a spark of light, and then again she was a woman.
"Who are you?" he whispered. "What are you?"
She laughed. "You thought you knew, didn’t you? Thought I was a witch, an enchantress, like Circe or the Loreli. But you were wrong, godling. Very wrong."
"Do not call me that again," he said his eyes flashing. "I am not a godling."
"You are a child," she replied. "I am older than you, older than Zeus, as old as the world is. I am the earth and sky, I am the oceans. I am the clouds, the rain, the lightening. I am Eurynome, the Goddess of All Things. Without me, there would have been no life, no world for Zeus to rule. Ophion and I created and ruled this world. Then I created the Titans. Cronus overthrew Ophion and I vanished from god and mortal sight and memory. But it amused me to continue to watch as Cronus and later Zeus remade the world. Amused me to sometimes come and play among you." She smiled. "You were interesting and for a godling, quite talented."
"I do not understand," he said. She had never seemed to be anything more than a woman, with a few unusual powers.
"That has always been your problem." She stood over him for a moment, remembering how she had watched as Zeus had taken his mother Hera. Created the life that would become the God of War. Twisted the child’s heart and soul into a thing of blackness and evil, twisted it so well, that even he, King of the Gods, could not truly control him. She knew it was unlikely Ares could ever be healed. The contradictions of his nature would always be his undoing. "You do not allow yourself to feel. You do not allow that something, which cannot be touched, can be real. For you, everything must be tangible. Anything that would require a leap of faith to understand is an impossibility. But Ares," she said softly, "there is much in this world that is valuable, much that can only be tasted by the heart. Until you learn that, you will never understand anything important."
"No," he roared. He rose from the ground, his anger giving him back his strength. "I am Ares, God of War. It is my job to deal with the most intangible of all, death."
"Death," she proclaimed, "is the beginning of life. And life, the beginning of death. It is what goes on in-between that is important. Not the act of living or dying, but the actions of a life. And in order to live, one must learn to love. Everything else means nothing. I created this world out of love, a love so strong, so powerful, that even now I can draw my strength from it. I can feel everything that lives on this earth, the grass, the worms, the hawks, and the mortals. I draw my strength from the love I feel for them. A strength more powerful than anything you will ever know. You draw your strength from the dark things, from anger, hate, vengeance, blood, and death. But it will never complete you. Never give you back what you give it. You need to learn how to love."
His eyes flashed with anger, his face was a study in rage. "You do not know what you are talking about. I am much more powerful than you think."
She laughed. Her expression mocked him. "You can believe that if you wish. It would certainly be easier for you." She paused and then said pityingly, "I know you have it within you. It is just buried. But I saw it once, do you remember when I surprised you?"
His face grew angrier then; he pulled back his arm, his fingers twitched and a blue ball of fire came straight toward her. She laughed, caught the fire on the tips of her fingers, and blew it gently toward the sky. His mouth dropped open in amazement.
"I told you," she repeated. "I am far stronger than you. But I do not wish to hurt you. I had hoped to reach you, to teach you something about love. If not for your own sake, then for the sake of the world. The path you travel, you travel alone. To be alone is not good. But I can see you are not ready for this. Very well then. I leave you to it. Goodbye young godling. Be well. I will hope for you."
"No," he shouted as Eurynome shimmered into vapor and vanished. He
fell to his knees on the wet ground, pounding the leaves with closed fists.
Author’s Note: Eurynome appears in several different Greek myths. According to the Encyclopedia Mythica, she is an Oceanid, daughter of the Titan Oceanus and Titaness Tethys, consort of Ophion. She ruled Olympus with him until Cronus overthrew him.
According to Robert Graves and the Pelasgian creation myth, "In the beginning, Eurynome, the Goddess of All Things, rose naked from Chaos, but found nothing substantial for her feet to rest upon, and therefore divided the sun from the sky, dancing upon its waves. She danced towards the south and the wind set in motion behind her seemed something new and apart with which to begin a work of creation. Wheeling about, she caught hold of this north wind, rubbed it between her hands, and behold! the great serpent Ophion. Next she assumed the form of a dove and laid the Universal Egg, Ophion coiled around it seven times until it hatched and split in two. Out tumbled all things that exist, her children: sun, moon, planets, stars, the earth with its mountains and rivers, its trees, herbs and living creatures. Eurynome and Ophion made their home on Mt. Olympus. The goddess also created the seven planetary powers setting a Titan and Titaness over each." In this myth, she is the mother of all the Titans, including Oceanus and Tethys.
The name then surfaces again in conjunction with Zeus as the mother of the Charities and/or Graces. Whether this is the same Eurynome is unclear, but since the Charities/Graces were originally goddesses of fertility and nature it seemed plausible. Plausible too, she would continue to watch the world she created and perhaps attempt to enhance it. After that, Greek Mythology loses sight of her. I thought that was a terrible thing, so I decided to revive her for this story.