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
The character of Las Vegas exists in all its glamour and glitz. To disclaim it would do the city a disservice since it is justly proud of its disreputable reputation.
The volcano erupted with thunderous bursts of sound, a violent red inferno. Water gushed everywhere. Fire exploded in the midnight sky; burnt orange, crimson, and scarlet. The heat was intense. The flames leaped higher and higher. The volcano roared one last time and a red-hot blaze spilled down the sides transforming the water into streams of molten lava. The tourists lining Las Vegas Boulevard applauded.
The God of War shook his head as the ersatz volcano in the counterfeit lake in front of the luxurious Mirage Hotel finished its eruption. The cars on the Las Vegas Strip honked their horns in salute and began to move again untying the five minute gridlock. ‘What a ridiculous sight,’ Ares thought.
He strolled farther up the Strip to Treasure Island. Tourists lined the long walkway in front of the hotel’s Buccaneer Bay. The show was about to begin; the British Royal Navy versus Hispaniola pirates. Ares watched as the H.M.S. Britannia floated stealthily around the corner of the bay and the ship’s captain ordered the pirates to surrender their booty and ship. The pirates refused. Suddenly the air was filled with clamorous sounds. There were gunshots, flames rose from exploding munitions and cannon balls crashed into water and ships. The pirate’s cannon hit the H.M.S. Britannia broadside and the ship exploded into flame. The British crew leaped into the water and watched as their ship slowly sank into the bay. The tourists yelled and applauded. Five minutes later the ship rose magically from it’s watery grave to perform its next show. Ares shook his head again. Though the pirates won the fictitious naval battle, he was still disappointed. Fake carnage was no fun at all!
He turned away, walked again past the Mirage down the crowded boulevard toward Caesar’s Palace. He took the electric walkway past the huge fountains and into the opulent hotel. It was gigantic. There were counterfeit warriors in togas and statues of Greco-Roman soldiers and the Roman Gods everywhere. The noise in the casino was ear splitting; ringing, dinging slot machines, spinning roulette wheels, beeping video poker machines and rolling dice. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘the dice tables.’
He strolled slowly over to watch a crowded table apparently oblivious to the interested looks from both women and men. He had chosen to appear to the denizens of this place as himself yet not himself. He had not made the same mistake as the last time he’d been there when he’d worn his normal leather apparel. This time he wore a white double-breasted silk suit with a white T-shirt, classic and timeless. He knew the outfit accentuated his dark coloring. He strolled through the crowded casino. His powerful body, muscles rippling beneath the fabric of the suit, gave off the male scent that was uniquely his, grabbing attention. He rather enjoyed the admiration, he admitted to himself. Worship was worship, even if only of a sexual nature.
Ares observed a tall gray-haired man at one of the tables. The man’s eyes were full of passion and lust as he cradled two dice reverently in his hand. He held them out to an attractive young woman wearing a very low-cut dress who blew on them. The man caressed the dice, then tossed them across the green felt table.
The man’s posture as he threw the dice was confident, when they landed, showing two single spots on each, "snake eyes," he crumpled. He looked to the woman who shook her head and walked away. The man turned, now broke and broken and left the table. A new shooter, a small redhead, took the dice. Her eyes were aflame with passion as she blew them a kiss and threw. A roar went up at the table; she made "seven!"
Ares felt a rush, a surge of pure power course through him. ‘I like this!’ he thought. He could feel the intense passion, lust, and rage rising off each player at the table. They treated each roll of the dice as a life and death moment. When they won, the charge they got was sexual and when they lost, they crumpled as in death.
He watched for a while longer, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He nudged his way to the table and had the croupier change his cash to chips. Then he waited his turn to throw the dice. Within an hour, he had won over three hundred thousand dollars. They changed the dice ten times, but they couldn’t stop him from throwing a natural seven every time. He knew the pit boss was sure he was cheating, but there was no way they could prove it. His powers were not traceable and certainly not preventable. In the process of winning, he had made everyone at the table his best friend.
Finally, he grew bored. He decided to take his winnings and find another diversion. There were twins at the table, tall, nearly identical brunettes, dressed in outfits that would have embarrassed even the Furies, giving him the eye. With one on each arm, he strolled away from the table. "And where are you from?" the one called Night asked him.
"Greece," he replied.
The one who was called Day asked, "Where in Greece? You don’t have an accent."
He laughed softly. The two girls exchanged looks. "Do you have a room here?" Day asked.
Again he laughed. ‘So they think they can get me alone and roll me for my money? Fat chance.’ Still, they weren’t bad looking for working girls. "No," he replied. "Do you think they’d give me one?"
Again, the girls exchanged looks. "I think I can arrange it," Night assured him.
Day took his arm and led him to Cleopatra’s barge bar as Night walked off to arrange accommodations. As they walked, she rubbed her right breast against him. ‘These mortal women are so transparent,’ he thought. ‘Really, you’d think they’d know if I could throw that many passes, I’m not stupid.’
Day led him to a table and insisted she would order for them. She asked the waitress for three "Flaming Torches." The God of War smothered a smile. They were going to try to get him drunk. Along with the drinks, Night returned nonchalantly carrying a large key. She said, "They were so impressed with your play they decided to comp you a suite for the night."
Ares smiled and asked, "Comp me a suite?"
Again, the twins exchanged looks. "Yes. They don’t want you to leave with your winnings. They’re giving you a room in hopes you’ll give them a chance to win their money back."
He knew this perfectly well, but decided to see how far the women would push it. He was also curious to know if they were shills for the house or just very greedy working girls. He drank his flaming torch in one large gulp. He pretended to be affected and said, "Where is the suite? I feel the need for a rest." He paused and then added with an evil grin, "With some company of course."
The women giggled. Each took an arm as they led him to the hotel elevators. He pretended to stumble as he walked, so Day gripped him tighter. In the elevator, Night began to nuzzle his ear. Day rubbed her chest against his arm. He grabbed each woman around the waist. It had been a long time since he had played with twins. This was definitely going to be fun.
The elevator went to the Tower. Caesar’s evidently wanted their money back; a high roller suite was waiting for him. The suite was opulent, but he wasn’t interested in the luxurious decor of the living room. He made straight for the bedroom while Night went to the wet bar. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘a king size bed with a mirrored ceiling.’ Next he checked the bathroom, a wall mirror with Greek key patterns inset and a mural depicting the Roman baths set off the marble shower and a spa tub with a multitude of jets, perfect for three. This bathtub, symbol of sybarite luxury appealed to him. One of his favorite pastimes when he was young in Greece was to bathe with his priestesses. The symmetry of again bathing with women, in a false attempt by money-grubbing entrepreneurs to return to a time he remembered very well, appealed to his sense of irony. He walked back into the living room to find the two women chatting. Night had opened a bottle of champagne. She offered him a glass. He accepted it and the first sip of wine was his undoing. As he finished swallowing it, he felt the world shift and then all was blackness.
Zeus materialized as soon as the God of War had passed out. He laughed at the sight and thanked the women who had metamorphosed into Eris, Goddess of Discord, and the Fury, Alecto, for their help. They vanished to leave father and son alone. Zeus was very angry with Ares. No matter how many times he warned his wayward son not to steal from mortals, not to interfere in their games of chance, he refused to listen. He knew Ares was bored. There was no challenge in getting modern day mortals to go to war. They all seemed more than eager to fight, to maim, and to kill. More often than not, Ares encouragement wasn’t required, but that was no excuse. His son was still a god, imbued with the responsibilities of a god. Or had been. With a wave of his hand, Zeus rendered Ares mortal. ‘Let’s see how much he enjoys this,’ Zeus thought nastily. ‘You’re on your own boy. Good luck. You’re going to need it.’
The maid found the man in the white suit passed out on the living room carpet. No one was supposed to be in the suite. She was there to prepare it for that day’s high roller. She did as she had always been told to. She called hotel security and got out of there. Two burly men dressed in cheap suits appeared a few minutes later. They searched his pockets and finding no money and no identification picked him up and carried him out of the suite. They did as they had always been told to. They put him in their car and drove him away from the luxurious hotel and into a seedy part of downtown. When he began mumbling something in the back seat, one of the men hit him. When they got to the KittyKat Club they threw him out of the car. He hit his head on the edge of a dumpster when he landed.
Ares woke up in an alley. His head throbbed. He rubbed his hands over his forehead, then his jaw and looked around. The alley was filthy, garbage overflowed the dumpster, trash lined the ground, and he appeared to be lying on some rotten lettuce. Tattered newsprint blew around him in the wind. He looked down; he wore shoes, socks, a suit that had once been white, a white T-shirt. He felt inside the pockets of his jacket and pants. Nothing, no money, no identification, nothing.
Gingerly, he pushed himself to a standing position. The world spun for a second and then righted itself. ‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he thought, ‘but where am I? Who am I?’
A tabloid magazine blew into his hands. He studied it. "Las Vegas Girls, Girls, Girls," it advertised. He flipped through the pages curiously. Pictures of women in various stages of undress with names like Desiree, Lolita, and Heather invited him to call them. They seemed to offer a variety of services, massage being the most prevalent. His entire body pulsed with a pain he did not understand and did not ever remember feeling before. ‘I could use a massage,’ he thought.
Suddenly, a door he didn’t realize was there opened, smacking him in the back and knocking him to the ground. He landed on his behind as pain jolted through his body.
"I’m so sorry," the woman who stepped out of the open door said. "I didn’t realize anyone was there. Are you all right?"
He studied her. She was tall and quite beautiful. Short wavy hair the color of honey surrounded a heart shaped face. Almond shaped brown eyes with thick black eyelashes looked at him with what appeared to be genuine concern. She had a lovely mouth; a pink tongue peeking out between partially opened lips. Her body was lithe, long limbed, her arms and legs well muscled. She wore a short blue dress; revealing dimpled knees and a great deal of thigh. The halter-top of the dress barely restrained her full breasts as she bent toward him.
"Can you get up?" she asked. "Is something broken?"
He continued to stare, awe struck, drinking in the sight of her. Somewhere in his befuddled brain, he recognized he must look like an idiot.
"Let me help you up," she said. "You look like you had a pretty bad night. Even before I hit you." She offered him her hand. He grabbed it like a lifeline. With strength he was surprised she had, she gripped his hand and yanked him to his feet. He continued to stare dumbly at her.
Kate studied the man. She thought at first that he was one of the homeless who frequented the back of the strip club. His suit was filthy, but now that she took a closer look, she realized his poverty was an illusion. His shoes were new and expensive, the suit as well. His fingers looked manicured and the scruffy beard probably only needed a brush to fix it. ‘He must be a gambler who lost his bankroll. Maybe he got drunk, got rolled.’ She shook her head. She needed to go home, needed to have breakfast with her daughter. Still, there was something in his eyes, something curious and confused, that drew her. "Are you all right?" she asked again.
He was fascinated with her. She reminded him of the first breath of spring fresh and innocent. Her voice was like music soft and lilting. As he stood there staring, a thousand feelings overwhelmed him.
Now she was concerned. "Can you speak? Can you hear?" Maybe he was one of the forgotten ones, abandoned by the system, thrust into a world he could neither cope with nor understand. Her generous heart opened to him.
He nodded. Still he said nothing, waiting for her. Not knowing what to say, content to simply warm himself in her presence.
She couldn’t leave him here; he would get himself killed. "Do you have somewhere to go? You look like you need . . ." She wasn’t sure what she thought he needed. His dark eyes were watching her with a curious mixture of surprise, interest, and delight.
"I don’t know," he confessed in a deep warm voice. "I woke up here. I do not seem to have any money. Any identification. I don’t know who I am either."
"I should get you to a hospital," she said. "Did you get hit on the head? Can you remember anything?" He shook his head. "Let me look at you," she said with a sigh.
He bent toward her, offering her his head. Her fingers explored the tangle of his hair, thick, soft, and clean. She knew he could not have been in this condition long. Gently her fingers examined every inch of his skull. There, she found it, a tiny lump just beginning to form at the back of his cranium.
He found he very much enjoyed her attentions. Her fingers caressed his head gently, touching lightly. As her fingers moved through his hair, his body experienced a shivery tingling feeling; he recognized it as the beginning of arousal. He knew somehow that he had never felt anything quite like it before.
She removed her hands, raised his head. His eyes found hers and he smiled. She smiled back and said, "You have a little lump on the back of your head. Are you hurt anywhere else?"
He shook his head vigorously; the movement caused the world to spin again. She sensed it and put a strong arm around his waist to keep him from falling. "Will you let me take you to a hospital?" she asked.
"No. I do not have any money. They won’t treat me," he answered. He did not know how he knew that, he just did.
She nodded, knowing he was right. Well there was nothing else to do. "You can’t stay here," she said firmly. Keeping her arm around his waist she added, "You need some rest, a shower and a hot meal. Come on, you can come home with me."
She led him to her car a beat-up blue Ford Mustang. She settled him in the passenger’s seat, seat belt buckled, then got in on the driver’s side. She hoped the car would start. With only the smallest hesitation, the motor throbbed to life and she took off for home. Far away from the neon and lights, the glitter and glamour that was the Las Vegas the tourists knew. She drove away from the Strip, away from downtown, toward city streets lined with trees, stores, houses, not multi-million dollar fantasy palaces. She passed small shopping centers and fast food restaurants as she drove east on Flamingo. She stole a glance at her passenger. He was staring out the window at the scenery as if he’d never seen anything like it. There was a look of rapt fascination on his face.
She turned right on Flamingo to Green Valley Parkway then left on Wigwam. It was all residential now, no longer Las Vegas, but Henderson. She turned into a little side street, pretty houses and bungalows surrounded by greenery. She pulled the car into the driveway of a one-story house. The front yard was landscaped like a desert, rosemary bushes, desert sage, cactus and a mesquite tree all surrounded by the dull rose and brown rocks indigenous to the area.
She put the car in park and then turned off the ignition. She looked at her passenger. He felt her eyes on him and turned toward her. She said, "My name is Kate. What do I call you?"
His eyes clouded over. "I have no idea," he replied sadly. He looked at her hopefully.
She shook her head. "I have to call you something." She studied his face. Even lightly covered with grime he was handsome. "How does David sound?" she asked.
"David?" he repeated. He thought about it. He shrugged. "For all I know it could be my name. I guess it’s as good as any."
She nodded and undid her seat belt. She got out of the car and waited for him. He seemed to be having some trouble unbuckling the seat belt. She went around to his side; he looked at her helplessly. She touched the button that unlocked the belt and helped him out of the car.
She led him to the front door. Unlocking it slowly, she pushed it in calling, "Maria, Elana, I’m home. I’ve brought a guest." She did not want to scare her daughter. Elana was skittish enough around strangers.
Maria, babbling in Spanish, her apron covered with flour, stepped into the hallway. She took one look at the tall stranger and shook her head. Kate had found another charity case. Would the woman never learn? She said, "Elana refused to get out of bed this morning. I am making blueberry muffins. Who is this?"
"David" stood in the hallway of the small house drinking in the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and scents. There was a wonderful smell in the house. He sniffed deeply, trying to sort out the impressions. He recognized the scent of something baking, lavender, and woman. He looked at Kate and smiled.
She smiled back, it was hard not to, he had a very infectious grin. "Maria will take you to the kitchen. I need to tend to my daughter." His face grew clouded. She patted his arm reassuringly. "It will be okay. Maria will feed you. You must be hungry."
‘So that’s what that empty feeling in my stomach is,’ he thought, ‘hunger.’ He mentally tasted the word.
Kate went to Maria, whispered a few sentences in Spanish, too low for him to hear, and then vanished down the hallway.
Maria took his arm and led him in a different direction down the hall and into a large sunny room. He looked around. "What is this place?" he asked.
Maria looked at him strangely. "It’s a kitchen. You’ve never seen a kitchen before?"
He shrugged. He was not sure if he had or not, but he found he liked this room. The sun came in through large patio doors that overlooked a wild garden. There were wooden chairs and a table set with plates, cutlery, and flowers. The walls danced with brightly colored tiles and there were flowers and plants everywhere. The room felt warm and safe.
He sat down in a chair to wait. Maria shook her head. Kate had surely brought home a strange one this time. Another stray who would probably eat her out of house and home.
The timer rang and Maria went to take the muffins out of the oven. She had the pan in her hand when she heard the sound of a cat screaming in agony. She turned, her hands full, to see David holding Blaze upside down by his tail. "Put him down," she shrieked. "You’re hurting him."
David looked embarrassed and dropped the animal. The orange cat landed on his feet and looked up at the man, his green eyes puzzled, his tail swishing back and forth. ‘Humans did not treat him like that,’ the cat’s eyes seemed to say. ‘Humans loved him.’
"It tried to sit on my lap," David said.
"And you don’t like cats?" Maria asked as she turned the muffins out of the pan and on to a plate.
"Um, I don’t know if I do or not," he answered slowly. "I seem to have a great many holes in my memory."
‘And a big fat hole in your stomach,’ Maria thought as she watched him devour the entire plate of muffins in five minutes. She sighed at his crestfallen look when he realized they were all gone. She began to mix another batch and wondered where Kate and Elana were.
Kate was sitting on Elana’s bed trying to discover what was bothering her daughter. Elana was six, small for her age, shy, and too sensitive. Her father, an inveterate gambler and unrepentant adulterer, had taken off one day when Elana was four. The young girl, who adored her father, had been devastated.
It had taken Kate a year and most of the money she had, but she found Frank in Reno. He was living with a rich older woman who did not mind his ways. Once found he refused to come home, refused to see his daughter. He wanted nothing to do with either of them, lost as he was in his addictions. Thanking her lucky stars she lived in Nevada, she divorced him quickly. Then she set about making a new life for herself and her child.
She had few skills and the money she made working as a clerk in a bookstore was barely enough to cover the rent and food. Las Vegas was the land of opportunity; all the ads urging people to move there said so. She could have gotten a job in a casino, the pay was decent, and the benefits great, but the hours were impossible. She wanted a night job that paid well enough so she could move somewhere nice and spend as much time with Elana as possible.
One Saturday, when Elana was at a friend’s birthday party, Kate went to lie by the pool. Her next door neighbor, Glenda, was there and motioned her to take the chaise next to her. Kate did and changed her life. Glenda, she discovered, worked at the KittyKat Club. She was an exotic dancer. Exotic dancing, stripping, was legal in Nevada and regulated. Glenda made good money at her job and one look at Kate’s body told her Kate could as well.
Glenda arranged for Kate to audition at the club two weeks later. Kate got the job and in addition to a decent salary made an enormous amount in tips. She never needed to augment her income with lap dances or anything else. She could pay the bills, afford to rent the house where they now lived, and to pay Maria to watch Elana. There wasn’t much left for luxuries, she knew she needed a new car, and there was Elana’s college to plan for. Still, she could worry about all that later. Right now, she needed to find out what was troubling her daughter.
"Elana, why are you still in bed?" Kate asked.
Elana peeked out from under the covers. Huge brown eyes so like her mother’s stared out of a small gamin face. Kate stroked her child’s hair, her heart filled with love. She gathered the small girl into her arms, holding her tightly. "Tell me what’s wrong."
"I don’t feel good," Elana replied softly. "I have a tummy ache."
Kate knew this was a lie. It was her favorite excuse when she was the same age. "Why don’t you want to go school?"
Elana loved school. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t the other children, though most had two parents. She missed her daddy, but it wasn’t that either. It was constantly feeling as if she never belonged. "My tummy hurts," she said again. "Can’t I stay home with you today?"
Kate gave up. She did not have the energy to deal with this now. "Okay," she answered. "But if your tummy is that upset, I want you to stay in bed. No TV, no video games. I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?"
Elana nodded. "Did you say we had a guest?" she asked hopefully.
‘So that’s it,’ Kate thought. ‘But surely she must realize I would have told her if it was her father.’ Kate said gently, "A poor sick man who doesn’t know who he is. I’m going to try to help him."
Elana nodded again. "Mommy, I don’t feel much like eating. Can you
just hold me for a while?"
Kate rocked her daughter gently until she fell asleep in her arms. She lay Elana down on the pillows and left her daughter’s room. She wanted nothing more than to go sleep herself. Instead, she went to the kitchen to see how her guest was doing.
David was sitting at the table, munching blueberry muffins. He looked like a happy contented child with butter dribbling down his chin.
Maria was staring at him, dumbstruck with awe. "That’s his third plateful," she whispered to Kate. "I’d swear he’d make himself sick, except he seems so happy eating them."
Kate opened the refrigerator and got some apple juice. She poured herself a glass and went to sit at the table. She watched David eat. She didn’t think she had ever seen anything like it in her life. His entire being was totally and completely concentrated on the task. He picked up a muffin, slathered on the butter, waited until it started to melt, and then took a big bite. His face lit with joy as he began to chew, clearly savoring every single mouthful with intensity incredible to see. His eyes shone with a kind of pleasure that she had always associated with sex. She wondered where that thought came from and immediately pushed it from her mind.
She watched as he finished the last muffin. His face took on a look of regret when he realized they were all gone. He looked at her hopefully. She shook her head. "Maria said you ate three batches. That’s about eighteen muffins. I don’t know when the last time you ate was, but surely, even you should be full by now."
He thought about that. He did seem to feel a little funny, his belly overfull in fact. He grinned sheepishly, wiped some butter off his mouth with a napkin, and said, "Really good muffins."
The expression on his face made Kate laugh. He looked at her with wonder. The sound of her laughter was beautiful. She smiled at him and said, "David, can you stand up for a second?"
Although he didn’t know why, he did as she asked. She studied him; he was the same height as Frank, though broader of chest. ‘Still,’ she thought, ‘Frank’s clothes might fit him. He needs something else to wear.’ The white suit, besides being filthy, was beginning to smell. She said, "Come with me. I think some of my ex-husband’s clothes will fit you. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you could really use a shower."
"A shower?" he repeated. ‘Shower,’ he thought. ‘I know what that is.’ "Yes," he agreed. Suddenly he realized the unpleasant aroma he now smelled was him. "A shower and some clean clothes would be welcome."
She led him to the garage where she knew among the unpacked, unopened boxes, would be the things of Frank’s she had never thrown away. For some reason, she had kept them. Now she was glad.
She finally found the box, ripped the tape off, and began to dig through it. She found gray sweat pants and a T-shirt. She sneaked a look at her guest. He seemed fascinated with the home gym, Frank’s pride and joy. He was examining all the controls, the weights. "I’m afraid that’s probably not functional. No one’s touched it since Frank left two years ago. I still don’t know why I moved it."
He grinned at her. "Would it be all right if I used it?"
She studied him closely. Even in the suit, she could tell that he was well muscled. Well, maybe using the gym would bring back some memories. "Sure. Right now, I think you need a shower and some clean clothes. You might have a concussion, so you shouldn’t sleep, but you can watch TV or something. I need to get some sleep. Later, we can try to figure out what happened to you."
He nodded. She led him back into the house and showed him where the guest bedroom and bathroom were. She asked, "Will you be okay?"
"Sure," he said. "I’ll shower and then get dressed."
She left him standing in the guest bathroom and went to her bedroom. She managed to get her dress off before she fell asleep, but just barely. When she woke six hours later, it was to the sound of her daughter’s delighted laughter. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. She threw her robe on and walked into the kitchen.
Her heart almost stopped when she saw what was going on. Elana, usually so shy around strangers, was showing David how to make cookies. He was making a mess of it; there was flour on his face, on his hair, on the front of the tight gray sweat pants. His thigh muscles bulged through the fabric, as did the rest of him. He might have been the same height as Frank, but his body was a lot bigger. His chest was straining the seams of the navy blue T-shirt. His arms were huge. ‘That suit must have been custom-made,’ she thought. ‘Maybe we can trace him through the label.’ She swallowed hard as he turned his back and she could see the rest of him outlined in the tight pants. She forced herself to raise her eyes to his face. He had straightened out his beard and his hair. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ she thought. ‘And what a body. There must be someone somewhere missing him.’
She watched the man and child intent on what they were doing. They didn’t even notice her. David put on big oven mitts in order to take a batch of cookies out of the oven. "If you eat all those cookies," she said, "you’ll both spoil your dinner."
David turned from the oven, a cookie sheet covered with chocolate chip cookies in his hands. He put the pan on top of the stove and shut the oven. "Don’t blame Elana. It was my idea," he said. "She gave me the last cookie and I liked it so much, she told me how to make more. It’s my fault. I’m sorry."
Elana would not meet her mother’s eyes. She guiltily looked at her feet. Kate smothered a smile. She had never seen Elana take to anyone the way she had to David. She smiled at them and said, "So do I get a cookie or what?"
Four weeks later they still had been unable to discover David’s identity. The beautiful expensive suit and shoes had no labels, no identifying marks. They had been to the police. The officer took the report but pointed out David was an adult, unless he had family or a spouse somewhere that reported him missing, there was nothing they could do. They contacted several missing persons groups, even checked the Internet, but it was no use. It was as if David had appeared from thin air and Kate was very much afraid one day he would disappear back into it. Then the family the three of them had created would vanish too, along with her daughter’s happiness. For Elana loved David and David seemed to love her. Certainly, he was always gentle and kind with her, patient beyond belief. Kate knew she should have made him leave, knew she should not have allowed Elana to get attached, but there was something so engaging and loving about David, that she couldn’t, wouldn’t send him away. She had to admit, even if it was only to herself, she was attached to him too.
David was very much enjoying his new life. There were vast holes in his memory. He knew all about weapons but not how to drive a car. He could use a computer, but didn’t understand a bicycle. He could read and write a number of languages, but it had taken him three days to figure out how to work the home gym. The complicated system of pulleys and weights on it reminded him of something, teased at his memory. The exquisite pain he had caused himself when he tried to lift more weight than he should have reminded him of something too. He was incredibly aware of his own body in a way he knew he had never been before. Each day brought a new and unique sensation. The sun beating on his back as he pulled weeds in Kate’s garden, the taste of ice cream on a hot day, and the touch of Kate’s hand on his arm, were far more sensual and intense than he recalled.
Still, his memory teased him. The strongest images came in dreams. Terrible dreams filled with bloody representations of violent death and torture. The dreams terrified him, tormented him with thoughts of unrestrained rage and violence. In the dreams, he was urging men to kill, screaming for blood, more blood, and more death. ‘That is not who I am,’ he would remind himself when he awoke from them. ‘That may have been who I was, but it is not who I am now.’ He kept his fears to himself. He knew he wouldn’t have liked the man he’d been before, as he knew Kate wouldn’t have liked that man either. Whenever he felt a memory try to rise to the surface, he pushed it aside. He loved living with Kate and Elana, loved them with a wonder and a passion that was overwhelming and did not want to risk losing them.
On Kate’s first day off in two weeks, she made chili for the two of them. Elana was spending the night with a friend. Kate was at the sink washing the chili pot, her hands deep in the soapy water. David had enjoyed the chili with gusto, as he seemed to enjoy everything, though his expression when he first tasted it was priceless. ‘He is amazing,’ she thought. ‘His memory is so strange. Things I take for granted delight and surprise him.’
She felt his eyes on her. Knew he was watching her, as he so often did. She found his gaze pleasantly puzzling. Though he could not remember who he was, where he came from, he had a uniqueness, a strength of personality that was fascinating. Everything he did, he did with intense concentration and single-mindedness. He focused completely on any task, whether it was washing dishes, working out on the gym, or weeding the garden. She wondered, not for the first time, what making love with him would be like.
David studied Kate. Her arms were beautiful as the muscles lifted and moved through the water. He admired the way the sun coming in from the window seemed to halo her with light. He walked over to her and stood close behind her, inhaling her scent. ‘Hmm,’ he thought. ‘Baby powder, strawberries, woman.’ He wanted her so much and thought she wanted him but she had never given him any encouragement. Still, he thought he saw something in her eyes that night when he was licking his chili spoon. He reached out with tentative fingers to massage her shoulders.
The touch of his fingers on her neck sent a tingle of arousal through her. His body radiated heat. Working as a stripper, she could always tell the players from the pretenders. She had always sensed a powerful sexuality in him, one her own longed to match. His hands were working on her neck and shoulders gently kneading the knotted muscles. "That feels so good," she murmured. She let herself lean back against him. His body felt hot, hard, and welcoming.
He took her leaning against him as acquiescence. The gentle massage turned into gentle caresses. One hand left her neck, slid down her side to her waist, pulled her tight against him.
She could feel his arousal. She pressed against him, letting him know she wanted him too. The intensity of her desire scared her.
He began to kiss the back of her neck, his lips soft on her skin, his beard and tongue tickling her. She moaned softly. His mouth continued to trace the hollows and curves of her neck, her shoulders. He tightened his grip on her waist, keeping her body pressed to his.
She pulled her hands out of the water and dried them on a towel. Her entire body tingled, felt warm, that delicate first flush of arousal was turning into a raging fire. She had not been with anyone since Frank left. Two long sexless years. She pressed herself against him, moaning his name.
His mouth continued to travel along the nape of her neck, kissing and tasting the wonderful woman he had come to love. She was responding to him with more fervor than he had dared hope. He stopped kissing her neck and turned her to face him. Her eyes were looking at him with such warmth. He kissed his way down her face, felt her arms go around him, her body press to his. His lips tasted her eyes, her nose, her cheekbones, then finally her lips. She tasted of strawberries, sweet and juicy. He kissed her gently, not wanting to scare her with the passion he felt. He was delighted when of her own volition she deepened the kiss, pressing her lips harder to his, her mouth opening eagerly for his tongue.
Her entire body was aflame with desire, with heat. She wanted him so much she couldn’t stand it. She pressed against him, her fingers tangling in his thick hair, pulling his mouth closer.
He gripped her tightly around the waist, lifted her into his arms, and carried her into her bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and joined her there. He lay next to her, tracing the planes of her face with gentle fingers. Her hands reached up to stroke his face, to play with his beard, and trace the line of his lips. His tongue flicked out and touched the tip of her finger. She shivered.
"David," she whispered. "It’s been so long."
"You’re so beautiful," he said with wonder. "I just want to love you."
His words took her breath away. She gave herself over then to the feelings she had tried to ignore, tried to fight. She didn’t care who he was, didn’t care where he came from. She wanted him and she would allow herself this gift. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard with a passion she had buried for a long time. Her hands began to explore his body. She had wanted to since that first day, when he wore Frank’s clothes. She felt the muscles in his arms, his chest, and his legs. His hands were moving too, over her body, softly, delicately, caressing each spot with a tenderness that seemed impossible.
His gentle fingers unbuttoned her blouse and reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. He easily pushed the blouse off her shoulders, then the bra. His hands caressed her firm breasts, rubbing the nipples lightly with the tips of his fingers. She moaned his name. Her hands moved under his shirt, to feel the hardness of his chest, the furry hair that covered it. She tried to help him remove his shirt. He quickly did it himself.
‘God, he’s beautiful,’ she thought. ‘So lean, so muscled, so impossibly beautiful.’ She wanted him so much; her body was reacting to his attentions with a responsiveness that surprised her. She tried to reach for his pants.
"Kate," he murmured passionately, "let me love you." He pushed her hands away and began to kiss her again. He made love to her in a way she had never experienced before. He didn’t take possession of her; he literally loved her body. He kissed his way over every inch of her until she was moaning and writhing in ecstasy. He stayed at her breasts for a long time, kissing and licking and sucking her nipples until she came once, just from that. Still, he took no pleasure of his own, would not even let her touch him.
He moved from her breasts to down between her legs, she moaned simply from the thought of his tongue. His beard rubbed against her thighs; his mouth and tongue tickled and teased her. She felt his sweet breath on her womanhood and when he slipped his tongue inside her, she had a shattering orgasm, spurting hot liquid all over him. This only seemed to encourage him. He slipped his arms under her legs and pulled her to him, his face buried in her pubic hair. He teased her with his tongue and his lips. "Oh god," she breathed. "David, please." She reached down and stroked his hair. His tongue traced her sweet spot over and over until she felt her body begin to convulse and shudder in another climax. He lifted his head to smile at her. His beard was dripping.
"David, please. I want to feel you inside me," she whispered.
He smiled happily and finally removed his pants. He slid up the bed toward her, his mouth stopping again at her breasts. Her hands were reaching for his erection to guide it in. She couldn’t believe the size of him. She slipped him inside her. He glided into her wetness quickly. She raised her legs, pushed them between his, and pushed her pelvis toward him, wanting to feel him move within her.
He raised his face from her breasts, saw her passion, now equal to his own and touched her face gently. "Please," she whispered. "David, please."
He made love to her slowly, gliding in and out, each time going a little bit deeper, touching her soul. Her body met each thrust and tried to pull him deeper and deeper inside her. Then finally he began to move faster harder each thrust more powerful. The slowness of his stroking had begun a slow build in her towards yet another pinnacle of pleasure. Now he seemed to feel what she felt, he was going deeper, filling her completely. She felt the moment overtake her, she screamed his name and then seconds later felt him shudder into orgasm too.
He lay flat on her, his breathing labored, his heart beating erratically. He knew he had never had a climax like that before. Everything had been so intense, so much more so. When he’d felt the powerful tightening in his loins, just before release, he was afraid he might die; his heart beat so fast, his breath was so difficult to catch. It had been extremely pleasurable and extremely painful. He wanted to feel it again and again and again.
After that first time, Kate and David had a difficult time keeping their hands off each other. Two weeks later, Kate came home from work with a surprise. "David," she said, "I got the club to agree to give me a vacation."
"A vacation?" he looked up from the cookbook he was reading.
Kate pulled the book out of his hand, "Cookies again?" she laughed. "Yes, a vacation. You know, seven days off, no work. You and Elana and I can go somewhere or," she added as she came up behind him and put her arms around his neck, "you and I can just stay in bed!"
"I like the stay in bed part," he said with a wicked grin. "But Elana’s at school. How about right here?"
Several hours later he said, "This deserves a celebration."
"We can celebrate once I’m on vacation. I have to work tonight," she replied.
He eyed her speculatively. "I’ve never seen you perform. I would like to."
"David . . ." She studied his face. Her dancing, though just a job, was not necessarily something she wanted him to see. "I’m, that is, it’s not . . ." there did not seem to be a way for her to finish that sentence.
He nodded as if he understood. "You are embarrassed. Ashamed. You think I will think less of you, if I see you dancing naked for other men."
She shook her head. "First, I never get completely naked. Second, I am not ashamed or embarrassed about what I do. It’s just, what we have, what we are to each other, it’s different from anything I’ve ever had before. It’s somehow clean. And the KittyKat Club is anything but that. My dancing is anything but that."
He took her hands, looked deeply into her eyes and said, "You could stand on the stage, completely naked and fuck an army and it would not change how I feel about you. Kate, don’t you know? I love you."
His words made her weak in the knees. She stared at him with astonishment. She could tell he meant it. She swallowed hard. "David, I don’t know what to say."
"Try saying you love me too," he said with a laugh. "I know you do."
She shook her head. When had it happened? How had it happened? She knew so little of him and yet, what she did know she loved. He was strong, gentle, kind, patient; he had a joy in living she had rarely, if ever, seen in an adult. He could be childlike at times, especially when he discovered something new and pleasurable. She did not know where he came from, who he really was, but she knew, in that moment, all she ever really needed to know. "I do love you," she said.
"Then let me see you dance," he whispered.
She took him to the club, got him a front row seat, and waited nervously backstage until it was time for her first performance. She came out on the stage, in her costume, Amazonia, and her staff. She had never danced for anyone she knew before, never danced for a man she loved. She could feel his eyes on her, but could not see him because of the lights. She did not know how the fight started or who was involved. Still, when it was over, and the police had come and gone, she knew something terrible had happened.
David was watching her dance. She was so beautiful, so sexy. There was something about her costume and her dance that was teasing his memory. Something familiar. He almost had it, almost knew, when the jackass sitting next to him made a rude comment. Then he made another and another and suddenly it was all too much. No one could speak about the woman he loved like that. All the rage he had buried under his new persona, all the anger he had hidden, boiled inside him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was punching the man, pummeling him with his fists. It took three bouncers to get him off. The man was in bad shape, but still alive when the ambulance came.
The police took Ares away, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. He knew who he was now. In the moments when he nearly beat that man to death with a fury so powerful it could ignite a war, he remembered who he was. Ares, Greek God of War, over five thousand years old and as he felt Zeus return his power to him, immortal. He remembered everything.
He allowed the police to take him to the jail. He did not want to cause Kate any more trouble than he already had. She had been kind to him; kind to a stranger she had no reason to help, except she would always, with her loving heart, help someone in trouble. He did not think he would see her again. Better not to, better not to even attempt to explain. He knew she would hurt, knew she would never understand. He was going to kill Zeus over this. He felt the rage begin to boil in him again, too long unfed, too long tamped down. As soon as they placed him in the cell, he vanished.
Six months later, driven by a dream she did not understand, Kate went to Caesar’s Palace. Megabucks was over fifteen million dollars. She stood by the slot machines looking at them. Suddenly a very old man was standing next to her. He said, "The double diamonds have always been good to me. Why don’t you try them?"
She took a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and sat down at the machine. Slowly she fed the bill in and watched the credits rack up. She pressed the maximum coin button, the wheels spun, and nothing. She did it again and again she got nothing. The old man was watching her. He smiled encouragingly. She smiled back thinking there was something a little familiar about his eyes. She pressed the maximum coin button one more time and one Megabucks symbol then two then the miracle, the third symbol appeared. She had won! There were bells and whistles, the machine was making tons of noise, lights were flashing, and she sat there stupefied. She looked around the casino and ten employees were rushing toward her. The old man was gone.
Ares was satisfied. He could never make up to Kate and Elana for the hurt he had caused them. Now that he was himself again, he didn’t even want to. Still, he knew she needed money and as payment for her kindness had given it to her. She would never have to worry about money again. Even Zeus, whose responsibility the whole mess was, couldn’t fault him for that.