By Rhiannon
This story contains scenes of graphic sex between a man and a woman. If you are under 18 or if this is illegal where you live, please go away.
Ares belongs to Universal Studios and Pacific Renaissance. No copyright infringement is intended. The author is just having fun.
Rhysa groaned and tried not to think about her aching head, her shaking body, and most importantly, her full bladder. What kind of bad luck did she have to get sick with the fever once everyone else in the encampment had just gotten well? She couldn't even turn over on her side without making her head hurt worse.
Because she was the last to get sick none of the healers had any sympathy for her. It wasn't as if she asked for much, just a little attention. She couldn't even talk to her friends, not that she had much strength to do so. She hated being sick!
Alynn walked around with a huge grin on her face, she wouldn't tell anyone why she was so happy, perhaps it was because the fever that had sweep the camp missed her. She'd been smart and stayed by the river. Lysia was still in the forest, she didn't trust anyone near her for another week, or so Rhysa had been told. Tira had been lucky, she'd stayed in the camp, but must be immune to whatever caused the fever. Of the four friends only Rhysa had been cursed with this blasted illness.
If only there was some way she could be distracted. The only thing she could do without making her body hurt anywhere was to think. She thought she'd grow homicidal first and find the idiot who brought the illness to the camp. Who could it have been? Lina had gone to a nearby village to trade. Ales had been with her husband (how she and her husband made that work Rhysa didn't want to know). Penelope had just returned from a mission for the Queen from Delphi, and Melissa had left the day before the fever had struck it's first victim. It could have been any of them, or really any one of the others. This was hopeless.
She struggled to her feet, grasping the posts of her bed to steady herself, and walked over to a chamberpot. How degrading; to have to be reduced to using that thing! Ah, well, one must do what one must do. She staggered back to the bed and sank back in relief. At least one part of her body wasn't hurting her any more. She wished she could say the same for her head.
"Ah, poor Rhysa. Is no one making you feel better?" That deep voice had to be Ares, though what he was doing here, she couldn't even guess.
"Ares, I'm sick! What do you want?" Her patience had long been whittled away from her enforced idleness. She didn't want to look at him, if he was there. She was probably hallucinating. That was it, the healers had told her that if her fever rose again that could happen.
"Why to talk to you, of course. Why else would I visit you? You mortals never seem to have any respect for the gods these days." Rhysa turned her head to see the god of war shaking his head with a look of mock regret in his brown eyes.
She didn't believe him, he always had an ulterior motive. If he wasn't so... so.. so.. she lost her train of thought as she took a good look at that body of his. His arms were sleek and firm, his chest and legs rock hard. She stole a glance downward at the part of his body, which had at one time, given her great pleasure. Yes, just as she remembered it. As she stared at him, she noticed that he was paying attention. All of him was paying attention. She grinned wickedly. She couldn't do anything about it in her condition, but one could dream, and there was no harm in looking.
Ares stepped forward and broke her concentration. "Nothing to say? Would you prefer I find something to do other than talk?" He bent down over her prone body. "Action did always work better for you as I recall. Ready and waiting, I see. I like that." He smiled that wicked smile. The one that always made her tremble with lust.
"Ares, if you haven't noticed, I'm sick. It won't do you any good. I'm not in the mood." She was a liar. Her mind was definitely in the mood. She wanted to feel his body over her, under her, around her, and inside her. She'd take him any way she could get him. But her body was in such rotten shape that dreaming was all she could do for a while. Gods, it'd taken most of her strength to move to the corner of the room. She didn't have enough energy to do what she wanted with the god of war. It was too bad. Ares was a hard person to forget, and for more reasons than one.
He got closer to her. She could smell him now, that unique mixture of leather, smoke, and him. "I'm a god, or did you forget. I can make all your worries fade away, starting now." He kissed her, a deep kiss, full of passion, the kind that made her want to grab him and beg him to never stop. He was not playing fair. She wanted him now, but it was impossible. And oh, that mouth of his. Being immortal had fine-tuned his technique, no one kissed like Ares. She succumbed for several heart-stopping moments.
She gathered her mental strength and tried to move him off her. "Ares, this isn't fair. I don't have the energy. I've been sick for the past week. Couldn't you have decided to visit when I was well?" She was trying to be noble now, better now than to have him witness her passing out during the exertion of sex.
"Why do you mortals try to keep imposing limits on yourselves?" Ares got directly in her face. The only things she could see were those molten eyes of his. "I. Am. A. God." She barely heard his next words; his eyes had mesmerized her. "I can make sure you enjoy yourself, sick or well, it doesn't matter to me." He kept staring at her, and she began to realize that he was waiting for an answer.
In a last burst of defiance, just before she was tempted to bring that talented mouth back to hers, she shouted "Prove it!" Rhysa blamed it on the fever, it was still making her irritable.
She vaguely saw Ares shake his head in disappointment. "Why must you always make me prove myself to you?" She was still looking in his eyes as he tore off his clothing. She couldn't bring herself to look away. She could feel herself stop breathing as she took in the sight of him in all his glory. Ares was incredible, the only problem was that he knew it and used his body to get what he wanted. She wouldn't complain because now what he wanted was her.
Ares sank back onto the bed. Rhysa felt the weight and warmth of his body next to hers. He put his hands on her shoulders, gathered the gown she was wearing, her oldest garment, in his strong, powerful hands, and ripped it off her. She would've gasped, but his lips had swooped down and taken hers captive again.
All Rhysa could do was moan as his hands wandered over her body, rediscovering all the dips and crevices he'd once kissed and caressed. She moved her hands to behind his head and lifted him from her. "No?" he asked, disappointed. "No." He sighed and started to leave, but she stopped him. "No, you misunderstand. I'm done with kissing." She moved his mouth to her breasts and sighed as he took the hint and took them into his mouth to torment, one at a time. She'd forgotten how wonderful that felt as she felt that mouth and lips and tongue begin touching every inch of her body.
Rhysa moved her hands down the muscles of his back to clasp her buttocks firmly to her. She spread her legs for him and waited for him to thrust into her. She wanted him now, and didn't have any patience left. When he took too long for her peace of mind, she moved her hands to the front of his thighs to grasp his pulsing sword in her hands and sheathe it into her welcoming body.
Ares was the one to moan as Rhysa clasped her legs around his waist and undulated in counterpoint to his thrusts. She pulled his head back to her and kissed him with everything she had. She'd missed the god of war. No mortal man had ever felt the way he did. And that sword of his was everything she wanted at the moment. She was so close.
Rhysa started to see spots and momentarily started to think she was going to pass out for real. She moved her hips faster, higher, anything in an effort to get him as deep as possible. She wanted to feel his pleasure before she went to talk to Morpheus.
Ares gasped at her actions, she'd never been so aggressive before and he found that he liked it. He obliged her by pounding into her harder and faster. He barely had time to feel her reach her peak before he joined her.
"I didn't pass out." Rhysa was astonished. She was sure that once they'd started moving she'd prove Ares wrong.
"Of course you didn't. I made sure you were well enough for this before I joined you tonight." Ares was still a bit out of breath, and it showed in his speech.
"You've been watching me?" Why would he want to do that. Surely it hadn't been fun for him to watch her sleep for days.
"Watching and taking care of you. Who do you think bathed you as your fever broke? It wasn't your precious healers, they've been too busy with the aftermath of this illness to concern themselves with you. I keep my eyes on you, Rhysa."
"But why would you want to do that? You've got duties. You're a god, for Zeus' sake." Rhysa was more out of breath from shock at his statement than she'd been from her climax.
"Ah, but you, my dear Rhysa, you are a fever in my blood. And there's only one way to cool that." Ares smiled and gathered her close to her as he began to kiss her and move inside her again.
Rhysa answered him by pulling him close again. She'd have to get sick more often if this was her reward! Who cared about this kind of fever?