Showdown

Love's Gamble #4

Showdown

Disclaimer: Well, I was playing poker with them last night, and they had to sell themselves to me to work off their debt, so yes, I do own them. Ha, take that!
Ok, no, I wasn't being serious. If you thought otherwise, you have even less of a grasp on reality than I do. ::snicker::

Little note: Showdown is a poker term. When all the betting is done, if more than one player is still in the pot, showdown is the process of figuring out who wins. Just so you know. :)

Joxer yawned and stretched, blinking sleepily. He felt a gentle tugging on his scalp, and twisted his head around. A soft smile flitted across his face as he watched Strife search blindly for the lock of hair he'd been nursing on. Content, he closed his eyes and scooted closer to his sun-warmed lover.

Strife muttered happily, wrapping his arms around Joxer and burrowing into him. He recaptured the sodden bit of hair, smiling. The quaking in his arms disturbed him, though, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. "Hnh? Wazt?" He pulled back, smacking his lips and wrinkling his nose as his tongue caught on a strand of hair that was stuck in his teeth. "Bleh." He picked it out, then arched an eyebrow at the giggling bundle next to him. "Ya think I'm funny?"

Joxer nodded, face lit up with a huge grin.

"Yeah, well, you're tha one gonna end up bald if I keep doin' that, so there!"

Joxer dissolved into giggles, aided by Strife's fingers dancing along his ribs. "S-s-stop," he gasped out, squirming away. "Please...t-ticklish! C-c-can't..."

Strife kissed the mistreated skin apologetically, relishing Joxer's breathy laughter as he calmed. "Love that, y'know. Ya sound like...a waterfall. Or somethin' poetic like that."

"Oh." Joxer blushed, ducking his head away only to find it firmly turned back to face his lover.

"Hey, I like sayin' nice stuff about ya." He smirked widely. "An' I love seein' ya blush all ovah like that. Makes me wanna do things to ya."

Joxer turned an even deeper shade as he finally realized that he and Strife were still naked. He sat upright, scanning the area for his clothes. He grabbed them up, pulling them on quickly.

Strife watched sadly as the mortal's pale flesh was hidden from his view. He knew part of the reason for Joxer's bashfulness was the belief that his scarred body was somehow ugly. But not to Strife. The god knew that the frail-seeming flesh housed a spirit strong enough to overcome what had been done to him. And he was determined to help any way he could. An' I know just where ta start.

With a sigh, Strife clothed himself as well, standing to join his lover. "Jox," he whispered. "These," he ran a hand over a scar visible on the back of his shoulders, "don't matter to me. I got 'em too, ya just can't see mine. I've nevah known anyone more beautiful than ya, inside or out. 'Kay?" He wrapped his arms around Joxer's waist, pulling the man back against him.

Joxer remained tense for a moment, then relaxed with a sigh. He turned in Strife's arms, nuzzling his head into the god's neck. "M'not beautiful," he mumbled.

Strife snorted. "Hey, who's tha god here? That makes me right, so deal." He kissed the top of his head, then stepped away, slipping his hands down to hold onto Joxer's. "Now, I got some things I gotta do, so I'm gonna get someone ta take ya on a tour of tha place. That ok with you?"

Joxer nodded, then frowned. "Who?"

"Oh, my cuz," he replied with a wave of his hand. "C'mon." He pulled Joxer behind him, quickly moving back indoors. Not too long after, there was a knock, then a blonde head peeked inside.

"Yo, Strife. You rang?"

"Hey Cupe, gotta favor ta ask." Strife nudged Joxer over toward Cupid. "See, I got a gig this afternoon, an' I wanted ta see if ya could kinda show Jox here around tha place."

"Sure, no prob." Cupid took a closer look at Joxer. "Hey, don't I know you?" He thought a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Oh wait, you're that dude that hangs with Xena. Mom's always talking about you."

Strife giggled. "Speakin' of 'Dite, how's she doin' after her little...show?"

A broad grin stretched across Cupid's face. "Man, she is not gonna be living that down for a long time! And all because she lost some bet with Ares." He shook his head. "You'd think she'd learn by now. Dad doesn't make bets unless he knows he's gonna win." Then he shrugged, looking at Joxer. "So, what do you want to see first?"

"I dunno," Joxer replied.

Strife cleared his throat. "Cupe, can I talk to ya for a sec?" He tugged the winged god across the room, giving Joxer a reassuring wave. Then, in a whisper, he addressed his cousin. "I thought ya could, ya know, show him your temple. Tha...carvings an' pictures an' stuff."

"I...suppose. Um, which ones?"

"Tha naked ones, a'course!" He lowered his voice again. "Ya know that...problem I had a while back that ya, um, helped me out with?"

Cupid’s brow wrinkled. "You mean when we had sex, right?"

"Shhh!" He cast a glance over to Joxer, heaving a sigh of relief when he noticed the mortal absently studying a wall hanging, not paying any attention to them. Still, he shot Cupid a scathing look. "Keep it down, would ya?" he hissed.

"Woah, chill dude! What's the deal?"

Strife ran a hand over his spiky hair. "Ya 'member why we hooked up then, right? Well, Jox has tha same kind of...situation."

"Oh." Cupid's eyes widened as it hit. "Oh! You mean he... Oh. Well, shit."

"Yeah. Tell me 'bout it. See, I just kinda wanted him ta see some of your nicer...er, works of art."

Cupid nodded, smiling. "Right. Gotcha. Can do, cuz." He winked at Strife, then strolled back over to Joxer. "So, you ready?" he asked the mortal.

Darting a glance to Spike, who nodded and made shooing motions with his hands, he smiled tentatively. "Sure. I guess so."

"Cool." Cupid stepped close and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get going then. Later Strife!"

Joxer waved at Strife, and the last thing he saw as the room blurred around him was Strife grinning and blowing him a kiss.

Hera heard the timid footsteps behind her and, wiping a hand across her neck, turned from her gardening to view her visitor. A bit taken aback, she blinked. "Strife. And to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of this visit?"

Strife scuffed his feet, not meeting her gaze. Flopping down onto the ground, he plucked at a blade of grass. "Granma? I-I need some help."

Unused to being addressed by Strife in a manner that wasn't either cocky or sullen, Hera slowly laid her trowel down. Spreading her skirts around her, she gave the young god her attention, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

There was silence for long minutes as Strife continued to massacre the greenery around him, making a tiny, fragrant pile in his lap. Eventually, though, he peeked up at his grandmother. "See, I...kinda have a...boyfriend. An', well, I really like him, an' he likes me, an' it's lookin' like it might be pretty serious, y'know? But see, some really bad stuff happened ta him, an' I-I..." he took a deep breath. "I wanna gotathaHallsofTime so I can seehispastandfindoutwhohurthim, andIneedyourpermissionforthat." He sucked in another breath at the end of that statement.

"Uh-huh." Hera dissected that statement, then quirked an eyebrow. "What you're saying is, you want me to allow you access to the Halls of Time so you can view your lover's past, find out who the perpetrators were of this injustice that was wrought on him, and...punish them I presume?"

Strife hesitated, then nodded. "Um, pretty much, yeah."

"Explain," Hera commanded shortly. "Why should I allow this?"

Strife blanched. "I-I can't tell ya. It's...it's not... I can't."

Hera simply folded her arms, waiting impassively.

Teeth caught at a lip, nibbling frantically as fingers twitched nervously. Then Strife met Hera's eyes. "I...see, Jox, he got hurt bad when he was a kid. And I just wanna find out who all did it so I can make 'em pay."

"Hurt how?"

Again an evasive averting of the eyes, and more grasses mangled by jittery fingers. "He was...raped," Strife admitted quietly.

Hera felt a pang, knowing how horrible that must have been for such a young man. Still, she needed a good reason to allow Strife to follow through with his plan since she knew it would result in bloodshed. "And you want to find out who this man was, and kill him?"

Blazing blue eyes shot up to glare into her own. "Men," he corrected venomously. "An' I wanna make 'em hurt for eternity!"

Hera bit back a shocked cry at that, but continued. "Why don't you simply find out from him who these men were?"

Strife's jaw clenched. "Was gonna," he admitted quietly, "but I don't want him ta hafta think about it no more. It'd only hurt him, an' I hate seein' him hurt."

"But even so, what good would it do? The past is done, you can only deal with the present."

Strife snorted. "Yeah, well I sure as Hades know I felt bettah when Uncle Ares hunted down tha guys who did it ta me an' tortured 'em ta death!" he shot back.

Gasping at this revelation, Hera reached a hand out to her grandson. "Strife? Why...why didn't you ever say anything?"

Strife turned away from her. "Would anyone have really cared? Discord made sure none of ya liked me, or saw me as anything othah than a nuisance. Made it easier for her ta play her little games with me. I just lived up ta my rep."

The goddess winced at the ages old betrayal evident in his tone, knowing that what he said was true, but wanting to believe that something still could have been done. She couldn't lie to herself, though, and instead resolved to do what she could to help her grandson now.

Standing, Hera held out a hand to Strife, pulling him to her feet. "Come," she said softly, "we shouldn't waste any time."

Hera was pale, holding a hand over her mouth as she observed the cruelties visited upon the child who was now her grandson's lover.

Strife just watched dispassionately, quill gripped tightly in hand as he jotted down the names and descriptions of the men who had aided in the attempted destruction of his lover's sweet soul. Next to each name was a list of the extent of their actions, every curse, every lash, every rape, every single mark, visible or not, that they laid upon his beloved. Anger burned inside him, but he held it in check, saving it for when it would do the most good.

After what seemed an eternity, Strife relaxed inwardly as a brave young man carefully led Joxer away from his captors, giving him a chance at a new life. He made note of the identity of this individual, determined to reward the mortal in any way he could.

Finally, it was over, and Strife stood. He nodded stiffly at Hera, then spun around and left the Halls.

Hera watched him stalk away. As soon as he was gone, she turned back to the still-moving picture. With a wave of her hand, she changed the scene. In horror, tears streaking down her cheeks, she watched as her daughter lashed out at her own son over and over, from the time he was just a small child. She wept openly as events culminated, showing the young god chained down at the mercy of Discord's favored mortals, his innocence brutally violated.

She watched as her daughter mocked his pain, laughing cruelly while the broken figure cried out again and again, pleading for death.

Watched as his limp form was hauled carelessly from the room, to be dumped on Ares' doorstep.

Watched as her son, War himself, gently cleaned his nephew, held him carefully, tended to him.

Watched how War slaughtered the mortals who had ripped away the shattered god's innocence, presenting their bloodied corpses to Strife, whose timid smile was the first she'd seen.

Watched how, decade after decade, the haunted young god struggled with his memories, isolated from the rest of the Pantheon by the reputation his mother had built up for him.

Watched how, for the first time, Cupid introduced his bashful cousin to the gentle side of sex, showering him with tenderness and love, bringing out the young god's laughter and encouraging his playful streak.

Watched how Ares constantly protected him, kept Discord from getting her hands on him again, then eventually pushed and prodded, manipulating events so as to get Strife into a position to meet Joxer.

Watched as Strife and Joxer connected, a bond forming between them as they shared their bodies and their hearts.

Watched as her grandson quickly fell in love with the mortal, not caring about his past, only wanting to drive away all traces of hurt.

Watched as something beautiful grew between them, and how Ares looked on with desperate hope that, together, these two would find a way to heal.

And while she watched, her tears turned from heart-rending agony to bittersweet joy, as she realized how terribly she had misjudged her dark children, and by doing so, how much pain she had helped perpetrate. But the hope! The bright, shining hope that was even now being reborn as wounded hearts took solace in each other, twining together in an unexpected union.

And as the picture grew dark, she bowed her head, resolving to do all in her power to aid Strife in his self-appointed mission.

Strife checked his list, making sure that all the mortals whose names hadn't been crossed out were gathered in the room. The others were those who were already dead, and he'd just have to deal with them in Tartarus. Which was where this lot would soon be...

He glared around the room, sneering at the quivering men who were bound naked and spread-eagled to the wall. The barest surge of power was expended to make sure that every man here would remain awake and aware through the coming hours, until death itself finally released them. Temporarily, anyway.

Picking a captive at random, he strolled over to him, casually pulling out one of his daggers and trimming his nails with it. "Ya know why you're here?" he asked conversationally.

Wild eyes scanned the room, resting horrified on each implement of torture that was lying about. A firm grip on his chin brought his face back around, and he stared at the slight man who had managed to capture him.

"I asked ya a question." The cold voice was totally devoid of any emotion, which only made it even more terrifying.

In response, the man shook his head. He had a bad feeling about this, though...

"Hmm." Strife tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What's your name?"

"B-B-Brelon," the man stuttered.

"Uh-huh." A scroll was unrolled, and a finger traced down the list, alighting on his name. "Right. Here ya are. Ya was one of tha 'nicer' ones. Huh. Guess that mean's ya get off lighter that tha rest." The scroll was re-rolled and tossed onto a small table that suddenly appeared.

Brelon pales, swallowing hard. His suspicions that this man was more than he seemed were now confirmed. Somehow, he'd managed to piss off a god. "P-please lord," he pleaded. "I swear, whatever I did, I'll fix it. Give me another chance!"

"Oh, very pretty." Strife rolled his eyes. "Annoying, but pretty. Y'know, it'd be a shame ta gag ya, I'd miss all those lovely screams you're gonna produce." He shrugged. "Well, can't have everything." He reached out with the knife, flicking it across the man's chest. He took his time, laying down a patchwork of thin, shallow cuts.

Brelon struggled, whimpering as the burning heat in his chest built. A cry escaped him when the knife was set aside and a long, corkscrewed implement took its place. As it was slowly drilled into his chest, he convulsed, nearly biting his tongue off in an effort to reign in his screams.

Strive screwed in the bit of metal, stopping just short of piercing the man's heart. Stepping back, he cocked his head in consideration. Then, a long, thin needle appeared, and he knelt, lifting Brelon's shriveled penis away from his body. Squinting in concentration, he inserted the needle into the howling man's flesh, working it carefully through the tip of the penis all the way down to the base, lodging it in such a manner as to keep it balanced sticking straight out from the man's body.

A handful of similar needles were summoned, and one by one, Strife forced them through tortured flesh, at right angles to the first needle, until an entire line of them prickled out from the man's penis. When the needles were gone, Strife sat back to survey his work, grinning in satisfaction. Standing, he scoffed at the mortal, poking derisively at tear-streaked cheeks.

"Aw, c'mon now, that was nothin'. I'm lettin' ya off easy, don't be such a baby." With a shake of his head, he reached for the screw again, twisting it until it just breached the man's heart. Blood flowed faster from the small wound, and Strife stepped away. "I'd say that'll kill ya in about two hours. Give or take."

Dismissing Brelon, he walked over to one of the other men. This one had already urinated on himself in terror, and Strife grimaced disgustedly. Ah well, dirty job, but someone's gotta do it! The scroll reappeared in his hands. "And what would your name be?"

The wails of agony and despair filled the room, and Strife drank them in as he continued his work.

By late afternoon, the room contained a tired god, and a score of bloated, blood-streaked, mangled corpses. Strife had taken his time with some of them, making sure their final moments of life were devoid of anything but searing pain. Now, to take care of their afterlives.

With a thought, he relocated himself to Hades' palace. He made his way towards the main hall, coming to a halt in front of the harried god of the Underworld.

Hades rubbed his eyes wearily. "Strife," he sighed, "I don't have time. I've got too many souls to process right now."

"Yeah, well, I can take a few offa your hands." He held out a clean, neatly scribed list of names, watching as Hades perused it.

Handing the list back with a shake of his head, Hades explained, "At least half of these are already taken care of. The rest just arrived in a group, and I have to deal with them."

"I know. I sent 'em here. An' now I want tha othahs too." He crossed his arms in determination.

Hades opened his mouth to protest, when a sparkle beside him caught his eye. Turning, he plucked up a scroll that he knew hadn't been there a moment before. Opening it, he read through quickly, eyes opening wide. Setting the scroll back down, he stared hard at Strife. Then he nodded. "Fine. You can have them to do as you will. Provided...they remain in my realm and are taken care of suitably."

Strife flashed him a grin, then dashed out.

Slumping down into his seat with a groan, Hades asked aloud, "Why did I just give him permission to do that?"

Hera appeared next to him. "Because I asked you to. And because he needs it."

Hades caught her hand before she disappeared again. "Am I ever going to find out the reason?"

Smiling sadly, Hera leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against his cheek. "For love. Someone should be able to find happiness. Even if it wasn't us."

Hades swallowed hard. "I still lo--"

Hera stopped his words with a finger over his lips. "Hush. I know. As do I. But it can never be." She moved away from him, unshed tears in her eyes. "Find a new love with Persephone, as I never shall with my husband." Biting back a ragged sob, she vanished.

Hands clenched into fists, Hades pounded the table, cursing his youngest brother's long-ago betrayal.

Strife strolled out to the field where the souls he'd requested were gathered. Some of the men paid him no attention, others looked at him curiously. The newest residents of the Underworld, however, all gaped at him with dawning horror. These men tried to back away, but found themselves unable to move.

"Aw, ya remember me. How sweet." He looked at the terrified souls, smirking with satisfaction. Clapping his hands loudly, he made sure all eyes were trained on him. "'Kay now, you're prob'ly all wonderin' what's goin' on here. See, thing is, good ol' Uncle Hades is lettin' me decide on your punishments." He snickered. "Ain't that a blast?"

His face grew serious, and he glared at each man in turn. "Now, I'm gonna tell ya all why I'm about ta make your afterlives so...interestin'. See, I have a lover, and I'm pretty sure ya all know him. Tha name 'Joxer' ring any bells?" He growled at the lack of understanding. "Fuck, didn't ya even know his name? Young guy, ya all passed him around, kept him like a pet?" And now eyes were flickering with recognition as each man was reminded of the 'toy' that they'd so enjoyed those long years ago.

"Yeah, thought that might enlighten ya." Again a knife was pulled forth, blade glittering in the harsh sunlight above the field as he tossed it up and down. "I don't take kindly ta people messin' with someone I love. So...ya get ta spend tha rest of eternity payin' for what ya did ta him." He squinted up at the sun, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead.

With a casual wave, the gathered men found themselves chained against smooth black rocks that now littered the field. The surface of these rocks immediately soaked up the heat from the sun, and the men squirmed uncomfortably as their skin began to bake.

"Oh, don't think you're gettin' off that easy," Strife assured them, noticing that some of the men had relaxed slightly, thinking this punishment wasn't much worse than others they'd suffered.

A low chittering sound slowly built in volume, then thousands of small insects poured out of the ground, making their way over to the rocks. The men flinched as tiny feet skittered across their flesh, and they struggled, trying to dislodge the creatures.

"These guys are gonna keep ya company. Thought 'em up myself. Kinda like termites, but they don't snack on wood...they like fresh meat instead." Cries began to sound as the insects began to feast on the banquet that was laid out so invitingly for them. "And guess what? I made 'em so they go for tha best bits first." A cruel smile graced the god's face as he watched the little bugs gather over the men's genitals, working their way into the flesh. Others burrowed down further, crawling inside the convenient opening there to begin their feast from the inside.

"Course, they're only interested so long as there is somethin' ta eat, so I made sure ya would eventually grow back any parts they manage to devour. An' on that note, I still gotta find one last person. Hope ya all have a lovely afterlife. Really, I do." So saying, he turned his back on the blood-curdling screams, nonchalantly flicking an errant insect off his shoulder and back onto one of the restrained men.

Joxer couldn't hold back his blushes as Cupid led him on a tour of a series of extremely explicit paintings and wall hangings. One in particular caught his eye, and he leaned forward, breathless.

Cupid backed up to see what had captured the man's attention. Upon seeing the picture, he smiled. "I remember that," he said quietly.

Joxer traced his lover's naked image with a trembling finger, nearly gasping at the beauty portrayed as Strife was held close in the arms of... He pulled his finger away as if burnt, and Cupid looked at him with concern.

"Hey, what's wrong."

"That's...you," Joxer whispered.

"Yeah." He studied the picture. "Pretty good likeness, huh?"

"You're with...Strife. This...this really happened?"

"Uh-huh." Cupid grinned in fond remembrance. "Damn, that was a while ago. See, it was his first time after...um, you know. Gods, he was so nervous, and it only made him sexier. We ended up having loads of fun."

Joxer swallowed hard, averting his gaze. "You two were lovers, huh?"

"I guess. Not really, though. We loved each other, still do, just not the way you guys do. We never really bonded, not like the two of you have." He frowned, noticing the mortal's withdrawal. "Hey, you're not gettin jealous or anything, are you? Man, that was all a long time ago, and it was never anything serious. Strife can tell you that."

Sniffling, trying to hold back his tears, Joxer shrugged. "Yeah, but look at us. There's you," he gestured at the bronzed, muscular, extremely handsome God of Love. "Then there's me," he pointed to a nearby mirror that showed a pale, slim man with wounded eyes that spoke of deeply rooted pain.

Cupid moved behind the mortal, hugging him. "I am. And I think, what Strife and I had was fun. What the two of you have is real love. And there's no comparison there. Trust me. I know. He'd choose you over me any day of the week."

"You think?" Joxer asked in a small voice.

"Definitely," Cupid assured him in a firm voice. "If I'd had the brains, I'd have snatched you up myself when I had the chance."

Now Joxer blushed. "Be serious."

"I am. Totally. You are, like, seriously delicious looking. But I know better than to mess with you, 'cause Strife will fucking kill me if make a move on you. So I'm gonna be a good, albeit horny, god and keep my hands to myself." He smiled broadly. "Now, let's get on with the tour. There's a scroll in the other room that shows this technique that will have Strife panting at your feet."

Strife waded through the skirmishes, absently wiping away a splatter of blood that blossomed over his face as a man next to him lost his head...literally. His eyes were fixed in the distance on the imposing black tent the he knew contained the man he sought. The one who'd started the free-for-all abuse of his Joxer.

Arriving at last, he flung the outer curtain aside, shouldering his way past the men that were congregated there. "Out!" he snarled, sparks of lightening flashing off his body, providing enough incentive for the protesting men to shut up and scramble out of the tent.

Strife waved a hand in front of his face, trying to dispel the cloud of smoke that hugs there. The stench of rotting flesh filled the enclosed area. He wrinkled his nose, plunging through the heavy miasma of incense and death. It seemed almost a cruel joke on him when he finally came face to face with the 'great' Brakus, defiler of innocents, tormenter of children...and currently a wasted husk of a man who was rotting from the inside out as the result of a serious gut wound.

Cursing under his breath, Strife moved closer. The man was obviously on death's door, and so it seemed he would be denied his opportunity to give Brakus a fitting end. Then again, perhaps this end was somewhat fitting in itself.

He snapped his fingers close to Brakus' face, forcing the man's eyes to open and focus on him. "Ya ain't gonna last much longer, man. An' then I'm gonna have lots of fun with ya. This death ain't gonna be an escape; I'm gonna make sure of that."

Brakus let out a shuddering sigh, eyes turning glassy, and a foul odor burst forth as the man's body voided itself in death.

Snarling, Strife spun away, once more heading back to Hades' palace.

"I can't." Hades shook his head regretfully, wincing internally at the flood of curses that were heaped upon him by the young god at his refusal. He held up a hand to halt the torrent. "Hey, hey, it's not my call! He was one of Ares' top guys, and as such, gets to go to the warrior's hall. It's in the rules. Just like all the other gods' favored mortals get reserved places. Nothing I can do about it, you'll have to take it up with Ares. Although he probably can't help, either. It's one of Zeus' little edicts." Hades grimaced, not voicing his opinion that it was simply a way for the king of the gods to keep his favorite mortal playthings easily accessible even after death.

Strife balled his fists with frustration. Immediately, he located his uncle, vanishing from Hades' realm to reappear beside the God of War.

Ares glanced up from his battle plans, frowning at the harried appearance of his nephew. "Strife? What's wrong?"

Strife plucked Mister Fuzzy up from a nearby chair, plopping himself down and hugging the stuffed tiger close. "Brakus," he muttered, glaring at his uncle.

"Brakus. Ok, that was completely unhelpful. Care to expound on that?"

Strife shot back up, pacing the tent. "Brakus! He fuckin' went an' died before ya kicked him off your list of top warrior dudes, an' now he's gonna get ta go ta tha warrior's hall so I can't punish him!" He sniffled, pouting miserably, arms crossed childishly over his chest as his eyes brimmed with tears.

Ares sighed. "Damnit Strife, why didn't you come to me first? I would have helped out, you know that. But I can't do anything now that he's dead." He stood, crossing the tent to pull his nephew into his arms, stroking the other god gently.

Strife jerked away, furious. "So, what? He hurts Jox so bad it's amazin' tha man is still alive an' sane, an' he gets rewarded for it?" He dropped his tiger and pounded on the table, sending cups and pitchers crashing to the ground. "He gets ta spend eternity with all your othah great warriors, makin' merry an'...an'..." His eyes grew wide, and his breathing quickened. He spun to stare intently at Ares.

"Eternity in tha warrior's hall, huh?" A mischievous glint appeared in his pale eyes, and he rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I can work with that." He cocked his head, a blatantly evil grin stealing across his face. He bounced over to Ares, tugging the other god's face close and whispering in his ear.

Ares let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, that's fitting. Very good. Definitely doable." he snapped his fingers. "I'll see to it that Hades allows you free reign with that idea.

Strife clapped excitedly. "Oh, goody! Gotta bail, Unc!"

Ares waved him away with a roll of his eyes, still chuckling softly.

Groaning, Hades looked up once more to see Strife lounging against his desk. "What now," he snapped tiredly.

Suppressing the urge to stick out his tongue, Strife settled on smirking. "Unc said I can do a little tweaking 'fore ya send Brakus on ta his 'eternal reward'."

"You can't harm him. It's not allowed."

"Not gonna lay a finger on him. Cross my heart." His face was the picture of innocence.

Hades snorted. "Riiight." Shaking his head in consternation, he knew that his opinion in this matter was pretty much a moot point, so he summoned Brakus' shade with a simple gesture.

Brakus gazed around the ornate room, his eyes finally settling on his new god. "Lord Hades," he said with a tilt of his head. He cast a disdainful glance at the jittery young man standing next to Hades, somehow getting the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

"Ah, Brakus." Hades made a show of searching through his pile of parchments before pulling one out. "Says here you were a high placed warrior of Ares, yadda yadda, you get to spend eternity partying with the other big guys in the warrior's hall. Congratulations and all that."

Brakus bowed. "I but lived to serve, my Lord."

Strife rolled his eyes, then stepped close to Brakus. "Ya don't know me, do ya?" He asked lightly.

"I can't say as I ever recall meeting you, no."

"Hmm. Pity. 'Cause, see, I get ta make a little addition ta your stay here in tha underworld."

Brakus quirked an eyebrow curiously. "Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh." Strife studied the man closely. Brakus had been a large man during his life, extremely fit, the epitome of manliness. A face that many would call handsome, muscles even Hercules would be envious of, and an air of arrogance that bespoke his knowledge of his prowess both on the battlefield and off.

Well, not anymore, if Strife had any say in the matter. And he did. He concentrated hard, and Brakus shifted uneasily as he felt a tingling sensation run through him. The room seemed to grow bigger, and he stared around in mild shock. Still, the truth of what had happened wasn't fully apparent until Strife gestured and a mirror appeared next to him.

Brakus gaped. His reflection clearly showed a beautiful young boy, curly blonde locks framing luminous blue eyes. A lightly tanned body was covered with a simple, short tunic that barely served to cover him decently, and when he opened his mouth to protest, a clear, sweet, boyish voice sounded. He whirled. "What have you done to me!?" he squeaked out indignantly.

"What, don't ya recognize yourself? That's what ya looked like as a kid. Mmmm, I'd say you're about, oh, 12 or so." He bent forward, eyes glinting harshly. "Same age Joxer was when ya first beat him, an' raped him. You remember Joxer, don't ya? Your 'pet'?"

Brakus gasped, scrambling away. "You can't...you can't hurt me. I'm one of Ares' favored!"

Strife nodded solemnly. "Yep. And now ya get your reward." The room shimmered around them, and Brakus stumbled as it melted away, to be replaced by another.

The sounds of revelry died away as the group of warrior turned to stare at the lovely child that appeared in their midst. Brakus gazed around in horror at the growing hunger in those hard eyes as the men slowly rose to their feet and prowled closer to him. He turned, frantically seeking out Strife. "Please!" he begged in a tearful voice. "Change me back!"

"Ummmm...no." Strife narrowed his eyes, grinning with satisfaction. "Have fun. I'm sure you'll learn ta enjoy it. An' if not...oh well. Don't worry, though. You'll heal up pretty quick from whatevah they do."

Brakus cried out as the god disappeared, then flinched away as a pair crude hands grabbed his arms, and others worked their way under his short tunic to fondle his bare flesh. "No, please!" he shouted. "You don't understand! I'm Brakus! I'm a great warrior! You can't do this!" He nearly gagged when foul-tasting lips pressed against his, silencing him as a thick tongue was thrust into his mouth.

He felt himself lifted, draped across the table as his tunic was ripped off, exposing him to the lewd stares of the hardened warriors around him. He struggled, but his boyish strength was no match for the bruising grip of the men. As the first thick cock breached his tight, virgin opening, his piercing shrieks filled the room, nearly drowned out by the raucous laughter of the men who were greatly enjoying this new addition to their eternity.

Elian held his wife's hand tenderly, biting back tears of grief. He pressed a gentle kiss to limp flesh, giving her a brave smile.

Jenna made a soft noise, and Elian bent his head closer. "Hush now," she whispered raggedly. "It hardly hurts at all any more. Be strong for me, my love."

Nodding, Elian began to sing brokenly, hoping to soothe his wife of only six months. Six wonderful months, full of love and laughter. But now she lay dying, the miscarriage of their child leaving her too torn and weak to recover, the fever that even now raged through her body robbing her of what little strength had remained.

He spun around at the flash of light, squinting at the two figures that appeared. He stood, moving protectively in front of his wife. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want with us?"

The pale, oddly dressed man stepped forward, holding out a hand in a placating gesture that froze him in his tracks. Elian watched, unable to move, as the tall woman leaned over his wife, touching a hand to her forehead. Jenna gasped, stiffening, then relaxed, eyes fluttering shut. The woman looked over at him, giving him a small, sad smile, then vanished.

Elian rushed forward, frantically scanning his wife's body. A hand touched her cheek, and he moaned in relief when he felt flesh that no longer burned with fever, but instead slowly became flushed with the healthy bloom of life. Before his very eyes, Jenna's body grew stronger, her wasted body once more becoming firm and strong. Whirling, he gasped out, "What? How did you--? Who are you?"

"That was Hera," the remaining intruder replied. "I asked her ta heal your wife. She'll be back ta normal by mornin'."

Trembling, Elian sank down on the bed beside his wife, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't understand," he confessed.

"I'm Strife. Ya saved my lover, so I...saved yours." Strife shrugged. "Payback, ya know?"

"Your...lover? I don't...who?"

Strife smiled, face lighting up with love. "Joxer," he answered.

"Joxer. Oh gods, the boy from the camps." He bit back a sob. "I couldn't...I couldn't get him out sooner. I tried, but there was no way..."

"Yeah, I know." He grinned lopsidedly. "Ya did what ya could, though. He prob'ly wouldda died if ya hadn't rescued him, and then I'd nevah have met him. I owed ya for that."

Elian glanced back down at Jenna, nearly laughing for joy as it sunk in that his wife was going to recover. Was going to stay with him. "Thank you," he told the god, tears of happiness in his eyes.

"Nah. Thank ya." Another awkward grin, and the god was gone.

Elian knelt next to the bed, bowing his head as he offered fervent prayers of thanks to the goddess who'd given him back his love, adding to them a heartfelt wish for the well-being of the boy whose life he'd been compelled to save that fateful night.

Strife wandered through Cupid's temple, drawn by the sounds of muted giggling he could hear coming from one of the rooms. Pushing a door open, he startled his lover, who blushed furiously and snatched a parchment off the floor, flinging it behind his back.

Strife frowned playfully. "Ya tellin' him all my secrets, Cupe?"

Cupid snickered. "Nah. Just the dirty ones." He jumped to his feet, pulling Joxer up with him. With a gentle shove, he propelled the mortal into Strife's arms. "Go on, you two. Go home and...play." He smirked as the two disappeared, wishing a bit wistfully that he could join in, but knowing it would never be.

Strife pulled Joxer into a kiss as soon as the mortal was in his arms. When their eyes opened again, they were in his rooms in Ares' temple. Strife backed up to the bed, collapsing on it and dragging Joxer down with him.

Laughing, Joxer squirmed up his lover's body, planting a wet, smacking kiss on the god's cheek. "You have a good day?" he inquired.

"Yeah, well, ya know. Just had a few errands ta run, now I can focus on tha important stuff. Like this." He brought Joxer's head down for another kiss, somehow managing to wriggle out of his clothes while never loosening his grip on the mortal. He quickly divested Joxer of his clothes as well, and the two writhed against each other in abandon.

Joxer pulled away, looking Strife in the eye. "I want to try something," he explained, then shifted around so his face was level with Strife's thighs. A hesitant hand reached out to trail along the taut flesh of the god's erection. "I want to...I want to put you in my mouth."

Strife groaned, thrusting against the wandering fingers. "Don't hafta," he gasped out.

"I know," Joxer said softly. "But I want to. I never wanted to before. Just with you." He leaned in closer, breathing over the leaking head before teasingly darting his tongue out to lap up the fluid that had dripped down.

"Me too." Strife turned on his side, pulling Joxer's own erection toward his mouth. "Wanna taste ya too, Jox."

Joxer opened his mouth, taking in stiff, heated flesh, suckling lightly. It was so different than the other times. No brutality, no uncaring thrusting that drove deep into his throat, heedless of his choking and gagging. Now there was only gentleness, slow, unhurried movements as he devoured the heady flavor of his lover's cock. And again he felt the heat of Strife's mouth surround him, lovingly caressing every inch of skin as lips worked their way down his length.

Together, they built to a slow climax, hand petting, occasionally brushing against sensitive balls, throats milking around smooth, hard flesh. Strife groaned, cumming in a rush, and Joxer eagerly swallowed his seed. The vibrations that Strife's vocalizations produced around his cock spurred him on, and, still sucking on his lover's softening cock, Joxer came, giving out a muted yell.

Panting, the two clutched at each other, unmoving until Strife tugged Joxer back around, cradling him to his chest. He kissed the sweaty mop of hair. "Love ya, Jox. More than anything evah."

Joxer smiled, kissing Strife's damp skin and snuggling in closer. "Love you too," he replied sleepily.

Strife held his mortal as he they drifted off to sleep, not even bothering to put out the lights or crawl under the covers. They would keep each other warm, and the dark wasn't something either desired to contend with tonight.

Finit

So??? Let me know what you think!