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Disclaimer: Xena Warrior Princess, it’s characters and all related materials are the property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures.
Those lucky dudes.
Character uses are for entertainment only, not to hurt any rights. As always.
This is one of the hottest couples there ever was!!!
Besides their constant battle of minds and strength, there is also a lot of emotions and feelings, and lots and lots of “SMOKIN’ HOT POTATOES PASSION”!
Some of the words you find in here might be very graphic, so if you are under 18 years old, or this kind of story is forbidden where you live, please do not read it.
Or move… ;)
Mel’s / Xena’s POV: When day turns into night and silence washes over the adventures of the day, the newly found descendant of the Warrior Princess finally has the chance to come to terms with some unexpected discoveries.
The booming of thunder jolts me out of a restless sleep, and I sit up in the small bed, my head pounding, my heart racing so fast I am afraid I might faint from it. It’s completely dark in the hotel room we are in, lightning flickering outside the two windows, throwing dangerous scary shadows onto the white wall opposite of them. I turn my head, making sure I haven’t woken up Janice by my sudden frantic moving, and when I am satisfied that she is still sound asleep, I get up.
My bare feet make a strange sound against the cold wooden floor as I walk across it, silently padding over to the door that leads to the so-called bathroom. Another booming thunder accompanies me inside, and I carefully pull the door shut behind me, pushing the small safety bolt into place to keep it that way. My hand searches for the light switch and finds it, and I cringe at the stark white light of one single bulb above the sink, my eyes almost burning from its painful brightness.
I wait a few moments, my hearing, suddenly so sensitive I can hear the laughing of the few visitors in the hotels bar four floors below us, focusing on any possible movement inside our room. But it stays quiet, and I am once more grateful for the very sound, very deep sleep of my new companion. I allow a long sigh, closing my eyes as I lean heavily against the wooden door behind me.
It wasn’t the thunderstorm that woke me up. It was one of those dreams again, full of violence and blood, pictures of my ancestress’ life burning themselves into my memory. I saw wars, and felt hate, saw enemies falling at her feet, saw her sit atop that beautiful horse, so strong, so invincible, so above everything else in that world. It wasn’t the first time I saw those things either. I have been having these dreams ever since all that happened inside that mountain, and since that was almost three months ago, I am almost used to them.
I read a lot about things like that ever since we left that place and started travelling the world. Read every book about ancient myths and premonitions I could get my hands on. They all say the same, that given the chance to experience a joining of soul with your ancestress like I had it, it would be normal to share her memories as well. To see pictures of things she has seen, to recognize faces of people she used to know, to suddenly know things I haven’t known before.
So far, nothing out of the ordinary…for them.
For me, nothing is like it was before. For me, nothing feels normal, I don’t feel normal anymore. It almost is as if I lost a part of me inside that sacred place, only to have it replaced with something new, strange and frightening, and just the same, something I have needed for all my life. It feels as vital as the air I need to breath, centering itself inside my very being.
Almost as if now, finally, I am whole again.
Almost as if I am home…
I reopen my eyes and walk the few paces towards the small sink, opening the cold water and letting it run over my hands for a second before I cup some up to rub it over my face.
Nothing out of the ordinary for them…no, no they all say seeing things is what happens. But not one of them tells you what is going on when all of a sudden you start to not only see but…feel…
I see the pictures of war, and I feel her excitement, her anger, her pride.
I see visions of blood, and I feel her anguish at shedding it, her sadness, her pain, her fury.
I see beloved ones dying and I can feel a small part of her dying too.
And I see him…again and again, every night, I see him, his eyes, a glimpse of his face, a whisper of his voice. He is like a wisp of smoke, one moment I can clearly make him out in the middle of one of those dreams, only to have him slip away when I try to focus on him. His eyes burning, his smile dangerous, his energy dark and brooding…
…but there is more…so much more behind that…
I shut off the water and put my hands on the sink to support myself, looking up, meeting bloodshot blue eyes in the small, dirty mirror across from me.
My face seems a little different than it was before. Is thinner now, my cheekbones a little higher, tiny lines of fatigue and pain there that haven’t been there before. My lips shiver, but I know it’s not from being cold. It feels as if I want to say something, acknowledge something to myself, but I am still too scared.
A cool breeze blows inside the bathroom through the small window besides me, pushing strands of dark hair into my face, bringing another shiver in its wake. But this time, it’s not cold and frightening, but warm, and sensual, almost as if something was curling itself around me like a soft blanket.
I bite my lip, acknowledging that this, too, wasn’t the first time that has happened. And have I first thought for sure I was slowly descending into madness, I know now that there was a chance that something…someone…was close.
Because pictures of war and violence haven’t been the only ones haunting me at night.
A small smile tries to break through the dark clouds covering my features, and I allow it, desperately seeking the much needed diversion from my recent nightmare I know that special memories are going to bring.
I was surprised, and very much so, when that first glimpse of something so unlikely, so unexpected showed itself right the first night after we left the campsite in Macedonia. It wasn’t much at all, just a small…spark, of something that hit when his eyes flashed through my dream that night. I remember that at first, I interpreted it as a normal spark of recognition, because I had seen and met him, that dark and dangerous God of War. And even if it had been through her eyes, the impact he had on both our senses still lingered somewhere deep inside my soul.
But it changed. With every new night, with every new thing that I saw, the spark got stronger, changed into a warm, red, velvet glow that seemed to spread through every nerve in my body whenever he would appear. And had I first thought for it to be something simple and unimportant, the weeks and their nights that followed sure taught me a different story.
The pictures I saw that were just about him were so different from the ones usually presenting themselves. Those were always cold and frightening and full of hatred and loss and heartbreaking anguish.
But the ones with him…
Another breeze blows by, and this time, I can definitely feel a presence at my back, so acute that I am short of turning my head to make sure I am still alone. I stare in the mirror, my eyes still the only ones looking back at me, and yet there is something there now, something warm and alluring. Something that makes everything else around me fade into distance, and I can’t help but let it happen, closing my eyes, leaning back. Not at all surprised when there is a solid body behind me now, arms enclosing my waste in a secure grip, a hot breath caressing the skin of my neck as a smooth, deep voice whispers into my ear…
It calls every memory I now have about him to the surface, flashes of fights, hate and passion flooding my senses and I drown in them. The blood rushing through my veins for different reasons now, the pulse hammering in my throat making it hard for me to breathe.
I see him and her…talking, walking, holding hands…holding her close to him as he bends his head to kiss her…no…no, I can feel it so real now, the softness of his lips, the faint tickling of his beard…it’s not her memory, no…it’s mine…mine…
His voice is everywhere, so are his lips now, and I can feel it as intense as if it would be happening right here, right now. Him kissing me, caressing my naked skin, his touch leaving a burning trail of desire in its wake…the undeniable hunger that makes me cling to him like he was the only thing in the world for me…
He is whispering her name to me…no…no it is…my name…he is whispering it repeatedly…my name…my name…
I open my eyes in shock, and his brown, smoldering eyes look back at me through the mirror now. His smile warm now, and a little sad, and he is nodding, as if to assure my silent fear that he was only an illusion. But for this moment, I can see him, feel him, touch him…and I reach out my hand, just as he does. And I expect to feel cold glass under my hand as I reach for the picture before me, but I meet his hand instead, strong, and warm, not cruel and violent as he always was whenever someone else was around, but gentle, tender and caring.
The way he only ever had been with me, when we were alone.
And as our hands connect, I remember the whole truth now. I remember how hard it was to trust him at the beginning, and how often he has tortured and hurt me in the past. I remember trying to hate him, to keep him at distance, but that distinctive sense of belonging that always pulled me back to where I knew I was supposed to be. And I remember the many, countless nights we spent together at secret escapes and hidden places, lost in our passion and each other. Watching stars after making each other come again and again, him holding me in his arms, and talking about everything and nothing at all. Remembering that in those moments, I only ever felt right, and safe, and…loved.
His name drops from my lips, and he smiles, nods again, and then he’s gone, everything is gone, leaving me alone in that small bathroom, alone and shivering.
But I smile. Slowly shaking my head. Vibrant, now alert blue eyes winking back at me out of dirt stained glass.
“You never give up, do you?” I murmur, my voice deeper than before, and strong, and sure.
The ghost of a laugh somewhere…and a whisper, one more whisper, against the back of my neck…
“Until next time Xena…”
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