by Cath, Bard
The characters of Xena and Gabrielle and others belong in their entirety to Universal/MCA, Renaissance Pictures, and all the other powers that be. No copyright infringement is intended. I wrote this story at the urging of my muse; it should never be used for profit. Please do not copy or cite elsewhere without express permission of the author.
None in this tale, exactly.
This story depicts a loving friendship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story. “Control” is part of a relationship trilogy that includes “Possessed” and “Prunin’.” If you enjoy this, you might like those tales as well.
To Heather – for the suggestion. And to my compadres at The Tavern Wall. Plot? What plot?
Comments? Questions? Feedback gladly accepted, but be nice, be constructive.
Email me at: MsCL@ix.netcom.com
"Hold it," the Bard commanded quietly as the Warrior's strong hands grasped the neck of her thin sleeping shift.
The Warrior counted to ten, then ripped the garment, baring her partner's glorious body.
Mutual passion ensued.
"…Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…now…" The Warrior's lusty growl carried through the twilight.
The Bard sighed despite the sparks of pleasure that singed her from head to toe, playing particular havoc with that sensitive area just below her tightly toned abdomen. She thanked the gods for the extra thread she had purchased in Amphipolis.
"OK….now." The young woman relented.
Again, her shift became a casualty of the night.
The Bard punctuated the firm statement by extending her arm, palm facing forward, to halt her partner's amorous onslaught.
The Warrior paused. With pleasure, she watched the woman lift the much-mended shift over her head. The Bard smoothed her short, golden hair, and dropped the shift to earth.
Strong, callused hands caressed willing shoulders and breasts.
The third night exceeded all expectations.
The Bard stood before the Warrior. Sapphire and ice met sea foam and emerald.
The Warrior inhaled and leaned down for a kiss - long, slow, sensuous, moist. Tongue to tongue. Teeth to lips.
On tiptoe, the Bard nipped at a soft, edible neck.
Only sheer willpower kept the shift in one piece.
They lay together, clothing intact, embracing through a warm and loving fourth night.
The Warrior swallowed rapidly as the Bard took forever unfastening the buckles and clasps that held the tall woman's armor tightly to her body. She inhaled the clean, light scent of the smaller woman and began to relax.
"Excellent," the Bard concluded as leather and metal fell away.
A fifth night of passion followed.
Slowly, temptingly, the Bard drew the shift halfway. She paused to catch the Warrior's eye and pull her gaze upward. Then, she lifted the garment over her head. Her body glistened in the campfire's golden-red glow. Trembling, she watched the Warrior step back to admire her. Sapphires devoured ivory.
The Warrior unhooked the buckles and clasps at her own shoulders. The Bard's eyes widened; her nostrils flared. Her breathing came in short, quick gasps.
"How's that?" the Warrior asked.
"Perfect. Just perfect."
The sixth evening's full moon transformed writhing forms to molten silver.
"Not tonight, Gabrielle."
The Warrior didn't feel like counting. The Bard realized the futility of her admonishment as powerful hands grasped the neck of her thin sleeping shift and ripped the fabric with passion's strength.
"All right, Xena." The Bard had to smile. "But we start working on control again tomorrow evening, got it?"
The Warrior grinned at Gabrielle as she guided her to their bedroll.
The Bard's last coherent thought that seventh night was how much she enjoyed these lessons.