The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the
Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights. If you don't agree or
disapprove, please go read something else.
Xex Alert: Oh Boy Is There. .This is a Prurient Piece with a Bit of Kink
(If you hear the crack of the whip then you'll be in the neighborhood) Proceed at your own
risk. :)
Remember, this is all meant in fun!
Things were
well underway by the time Nisus' lieutenant arrived. She was shorter than Xena, taller
than Gabrielle, muscular, had skin the color of dark chocolate and a surprisingly friendly
face. Xena thought of her as one of the toughest (at least endurance wise) women she'd
ever met and intended to woo her away from Nisus at some point, depending on how this
evening went. According to the lieutenant, the two "sportsmen," as she jokingly
called them, had settled down nicely once apart. With Xena's help, Nisus had arrived at a
suitable penalty for the two boisterous men. Gabrielle would no longer have to taste test.
Xena continued to feed herself and Gabrielle at a leisurely pace (they had all night
after all), dipping in for the occasional extra *sauce* in ways sneakier than any pocket
snatcher could ever hope to be and otherwise deliciously distracting her bard with some
subversive carnal exploration that caused that impassive mask to drop for a few seconds at
unexpected intervals (It drove Nisus nuts, because he knew Xena was up to something, but
didn't know what it was. But hey, he wasn't going to complain). It became a game between
them and Gabrielle was rapidly losing. She chose to think of it as compromising. Her
expression eventually turned into one that mixed impassivity with sleepy eyed desire,
which made her expression seem, if it were possible, even raunchier. At some point the
warlord had the wine surreptitiously switched to a very light juice mix for Gabrielle's
sake. She didn't mind Gabrielle being a little tiddily, but the olive skinned woman wanted
the her bard to stay as aware as possible, just in case.
Xena didn't worry about getting drunk herself. She'd learned long ago how to function
normally, alertly despite whatever might be trying to addle her brain. It wasn't that she
didn't feel the flush of chemical pleasures. She did. How else would she enjoy sex as much
as she did. And she TRULY enjoyed sex. She adored it, reveled in it, savored it.
Especially, it seemed, with Gabrielle. It had been a long two years of *almost*
abstinence, (she wasn't a Hestian virgin after all), which she'd maintained out of a
mixture of obligation, circumstances and a hesitancy to overly reveal herself around the
bard. It's funny what one will hide, even from their best friends. Now, however, that
drought had been broken and it didn't look to be returning any time soon, if the humidity
on her thigh was any indication. Xena gave her bard an inexplicable languorous look that
would have melted the red head into a puddle if she were made of anything other than
flesh. Instead Gabrielle's flow increased for a moment and there was a bit of unconscious
rocking that went on, which thoroughly pulled Nisus out of the conversation for the
duration.
The point: Xena felt everything. Everything. Absolutely, as much, maybe even more than
anyone else, but she could work with what she experienced and stay as aware or not, as
necessary, depending on circumstances. (It was why she'd been able to use sex as a tool,
as well as a pleasure) She could appear as drunk as she needed to be, or appear more sober
than one of Athena's priests. And in this case she held the appearance of being pleasantly
inebriated; not quite drunk, but not quite sober. It made her seem approachable and eased
the other warlords into speaking freely in her presence.
It was the same, for her, with pain; different sensations, but same principle. Oh there
might be times the body shut down despite herself, like when she was so wounded by that
mighty trunk which had smacked her so hard and destroyed her innards. But under normal
(for her) circumstances, she could go on when others could not.
Gabrielle was currently learning that neat trick, of being able to go on. She was
mastering the ability to adapt to the erotic haze, and her very real experience of
pleasant inebriation, and yet still cognitively function. It was amazing to her, however,
that a simple glance or touch, or even Xena's scent could cause her to go spinning off in
some revelatory fleshly experience. Right now, in fact she was in a state of high
consciousness, very aware of her surroundings, very aware of the sensations that Xena was
bringing out in her (and her responses) and very aware of what the warlords were doing and
she was glad for it.
Why? Because *They* were talking. *Xena* was talking, really talking, comfortably,
sociably. The warlords and their lieutenants were speaking as equals, enjoying each others
company, telling tales, gossiping about other warlords, talking about the *problem* up
north, waxing poetic, discussing strategies and difficulties, talking playfully and
seriously.
Gabrielle screamed inside at the injustice of it. Not the topics. The topics were fine,
though some were very dark (VERY dark, things that made her shiver and had Xena pulling
her close into an embrace that promised safety and at one time asking her in concern if
she wanted to leave. But Gabrielle wanted to stay. She wanted to hear all of it, to know
all of it. It was a way of learning about her warlord that was safe. .well as safe as one
could be, given the circumstances.) Dark humor, dark deeds, dark wounds, dark past and
possibly future were talked about. The warlords had long ago resigned themselves to
Tartarus and Gabrielle wondered if that wasn't how Hades made his decision. Maybe Hades
didn't really do the deciding about where a person belonged.
But there was more light interspersed than she ever expected; Light humor, light deeds,
light wounds, light past and possibly (definitely in Xena's case as far as Gabrielle was
concerned, certainly she would help her in that direction) a lighter future. The dark and
light melded in the conversation, treated mundanely or not, much like, she supposed, the
tapestry the fates wove. She learned more about Xena's past in the few hours that passed
that night, than she'd been able to drag out from the Warrior Princess over two years and
there was more to admire in those tales than Xena ever indicated. Gabrielle learned about
Xena, the strategist, the healer, the lover, the comedian (oh and she'd pulled some funny
ones), the warrior, the sadist, the punisher, the friend, the Warlord. Truly she was a
woman of many skills. Gabrielle suspected that this conversation had not even scratched
the surface of the events of Xena's life. Gabrielle yearned for her quill and pen. These
were stories worth telling and she had to pile them all within her, make them her own
memories while she could. She only hoped that she might remember the half of what was
illumined for her this night.
It was all in the focus, wasn't it. Xena wouldn't talk about anything, hardly, that had
to do with her past, not the bad, the human or the good, when they'd traveled. She blamed
herself too much to share the burden of her whole self, her whole life. She'd destroyed
the villages, plundered, punished her men in ways so cruel that Gabrielle almost dried up
for a moment (and considering the state the bard was in that was a pretty difficult
accomplishment), yet the warlord also healed them, celebrated holidays, had fought for a
good cause once or twice, had spared a village now and then. Cruelty and kindness mixed
together in a complexity that was hard to pull apart. How much good atoned for the bad?
Was there such a thing? Xena could never make up for what she'd done, but should she
always hold *only* the bad of her experience in her mind?
Then Gabrielle thought, maybe it wasn't a matter of atonement. Maybe that was an
impossible demand that Xena placed on herself. Necessary, in a way, maybe; the driving
force, but impossible. The dead so rarely came back to life (no matter what miracles Xena
had accomplished), the crippled aren't always healed. Maybe it wasn't about atonement, but
acceptance and choice. Balance. Choosing to do better, to make whatever good one could out
of life. It went back to how Gabrielle functioned herself. If you feel guilty about
something, do something good, repair what you can and go on.
But Xena's experience had been more than guilt, wasn't it. It was shame. That creeping
belief that inside you were worthless, nothing, having no reason to do other than what you
did because you were bound to by some flaw of the personality. Perhaps, for the longest
time Xena had felt that *she* WAS the bad. That was it, wasn't it. That was the trap the
warlords fell into. They condemned themselves through the belief that they couldn't *be*
any other way, let alone act. And the key to that was. . the way to heal that path was. .
.to be seen differently. Wasn't it. The key was to have someone who saw the whole person,
the good and bad and didn't flinch from it, but accepted them, unconditionally. Perhaps
with the expectation that those being revealed in such a way, could and maybe, someday see
themselves differently and that would lead to the actions.
This wasn't to say that everyone could be saved that way. Gabrielle knew there could be
monsters that passed themselves off as human beings, who'd long ago lost their hearts.
She'd met more than her share in this life while traveling with Xena. She shuddered in
memory of Callisto. (She could only hope that one could be redeemed, but that would take
the Gods doing.) But there were those who were like Xena, who, despite everything, had a
heart that could be reached. Thank Gods Hercules happened along, convinced the warlord
that she could be something else, more than what she'd fallen into. Gabrielle's debt to
Hercules, as Xena's friend, turned lover, was more than enough reason for the bard to
hazard this whole experience. To remind him that he was more than the warlord.
And that was Gabrielle's job here, wasn't it. Not just to be Xena's lover, her slave,
but to help the warlord remember her worth, to see the balance and set it. It wasn't the
bard's job to judge the actions taken, though maybe, if she saw some other way of
accomplishing a goal Gabrielle could point it out, save some heartache. She could act her
part. The bard wasn't ready to tackle whole cloth concepts of good and evil. There might
be things that Xena had to do that. . .Gabrielle couldn't put a word to the expression,
hesitating to call anything her friend did evil, not after the last time.
How long did it take to heal their pain after the their experience with the horde? Too
long. Xena had felt that she'd become less than, again. Why? Because she, the ever so pure
(not. . Xena wasn't the only one with a past. Gabrielle wasn't totally innocent in this
world. She was human after all), had judged Xena. She'd judged her friend and found the
warrior guilty and had, in her own bardic way, spurred the warrior's decisions. Like when
she'd killed the guy with the hatchet. All the sudden it was wrong? How many times had she
seen Xena kill? It was okay when Gabrielle thought someone "deserved" it? This
guy was running away, true, but this was after striving to kill *them.* She should have
KNOWN Xena wouldn't let him get away with it.
It was a base decision on Xena's part, Gabrielle had been right about that. Possibly,
had the woman been able to think clearly, she might have spared him, maybe. Shasta had
said it was unlikely. Xena had been under bloodlust. Gabrielle still didn't understand the
concept of bloodlust, but she knew the warrior wasn't always in the best state of control
when under its spell. At least that was how Rachis explained it, as a kind of spell that
occurred during battle. She said that in the north, far far far to the north, it was said
there were men who lived that way all the time. Who walked the madness and embraced it.
According to her, when Gabrielle had told the story, Xena had been in an amazing state of
control for someone so bespelled. She'd only chopped him in the back. Apparently, Xena
could do worse, and had actually chosen not to. (According to Shasta, if he'd seen it, he
would have believed that Gabrielle was Xena's mate at the time. That she'd been fighting
to protect Gabrielle and to keep her out of harm's way. Boy, that had led to a long
conversation)
Or How about that painted fellow, when Xena had jabbed his neck. She'd assumed Xena
would kill him, let him die, (despite the fact she'd seen Xena jab lots of others for
information, and not kill). Why had she believed it that time, when killing would have
served no purpose to Xena? Why? Because Gabrielle believed in the fear, more than in her
heart. Her approach about the whole matter had its own negative consequences, hadn't it?
She'd nearly destroyed the foundation of trust they'd labored so hard to build, all in
that moment, when she'd believed the very worst about her friend and had forgotten the
best. All because she had taken it upon herself to be Xena's "conscience." The
audacity. Like she had a right. Oh sure, it had all worked out. She'd figured out what
"Kaltalka," meant, and had acted on her beliefs (at first out of anger, then
she'd finally centered on looking for the good again) but Gabrielle couldn't help but
wonder, what if? True, Xena hadn't exactly been in the state of mind for deep
conversation, but what if there'd been a way? What if. . .
The golden slave shivered a little. The bard had been down that long road of
contemplation before, and didn't have to travel it again. Just as Xena did not have to
travel her's again. Things were different. Xena was different, Gabrielle was different.
They were together now. She'd learned from the experience. She set it aside in her mind.
She had her decision. She knew what she would do, and it was very much within the
boundaries of her ethics.
Gabrielle took a shuddering breath that caused Xena to look at her funny. The
strawberry blonde leaned forward, hands bracing themselves on the Warlord's thigh, and
kissed her lover softly with lips that revealed her heart, committing to her decision and
to its consequences. The kiss deepened, becoming hotly passionate, as Xena responded to
that hidden message, feeling it rather than understanding. There was a short lull in the
conversation as people paused to watch something that registered as important, though they
didn't know why. To all appearances it seemed to be the same fun and games that the
warlord had been up to since the beginning of dinner. Yet, for a pause in their
heartbeats, the warlords knew they'd witnessed something sublime, redemptive and
completely out of their reach. Then they forgot it quickly, almost deliberately (because
its difficult to stay completely hard hearted when you believe in something like love) and
went about their conversation again.
Gabrielle's cousin made a mental note. First, procure one of the professionals outside
of camp after dinner, at least for himself. Colchak would have to find his own tonight.
Second, Gabrielle's ma and da would just have to suck it up. Their notes to him about the
"lost" child were meaningless to him now. This was true love, something that
happened rarely in anyone's life, and by damn if he'd be the one to cause a ruckus.
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©September 1997