Title and Chapter Number: The Warlord 1/1 PWP
Fandom: Xena/Ares' Temple
Disclaimer: Xena, Ares, and other Herc/Xenaverse Characters are owned by their respective creators and they retain all rights. Priestesses own themselves. Fireheart and other OC's are owned by me.
Special Warning: Semi-non-con. You'll see.
Cast: Unnamed Priestess, Unnamed Warlord
Spoiler: Not really, since this never happened
He lifted her, pressed her against the wall. The priestess turned her head and closed her eyes. "Please, don't," she whispered. But he held her securely, pinning her with his weight. Supporting her with one muscular arm, he took her chin roughly, and turned her face to him. She averted her eyes as he searched her face. He kissed her forcefully, bruising her lips. She tried not to respond, but his excitement filled her. She pushed against his shoulders with her considerable strength, but the warlord was a huge man, rippling muscle.
He broke the kiss, and turned to throw her to her bed. "Oh, you're going to be so good," the warlord said as he knelt on the bed over her. The priestess moved as far from him as she could, backing into her pillows. She curled herself in a ball, her heart racing. He grabbed her ankle, pulling her towards him and stretching her out on the bed. She tried to roll over, twist out of his grip onto the floor, but he lunged with a speed belying his size, and with his free hand grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to him. "Oh no," he said, "you're mine."
She sagged in his grip, trying to relieve the pressure on her scalp. He gently laid her down, releasing her hair. With her stretched across the bed, he straddled her hips, effectively pinning her to the bed. He removed his sword belt and pulled his shirt loose. Unbuttoning it, exposing tanned muscle, he slid it off of his broad shoulders.
Realizing the innate power in this man, the priestess began to struggle again, but he had her tight. "Struggle; I like it when you fight."
~Gods! What is it in him that I want so?~
He leaned down over her, supporting himself with his arms, and lowered his lips to kiss her. She turned her head, and raised her hands to his chest. Not put off, the warlord kissed her neck, grazing her flesh with his teeth. Her breath caught and her fingers curled, leaving warm red trails on his chest. He bit her throat and a small cry escaped her.
Freeing a hand, he reached for his waist, releasing the buttons on his leather pants. The priestess panicked. Wiggling and kicking, she managed to get half out from under him. He grabbed her dress, which promptly split at the seams, leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air and to his attention.
He laid his length on her, pressing her deeply into the mattress. He grabbed both of her forearms, raised them above her head, and transferred both wrists into one of his large hands. Straddling her hips again, he used the other hand to stroke her breasts, the rosy nipples hardening under his touch. Instinctively, her back and neck arched into him, making it that much easier for him to reach her nipples with his tongue and lips. He cupped her breast in his hand, circling the nipple with his tongue, wetting it, then blowing on it.
He reached suddenly for her lips, and taken off guard, the priestess had no time to move. Hovering over her, one hand holding her wrists, the other supporting him, he moved one leg, placing it on her knees, pressing to get it between them. She yipped at the pain of his weight pressing her knees backwards. Now she began to fight in earnest. Her movement made it difficult for him to get a hold of her, but with one flick of his wrist, her dress loosed completely and he tossed it to the floor.
Her form lying beneath him, fighting to get away, excited him beyond his control.
Again shocked at his power, the priestess relaxed, giving the warlord time to wiggle out of his leathers. Looking at his tanned muscular body so near her, the smell of him, the taste of him still on her lips, she knew she must have him. So she fought again.
Pushing him, kicking at him, until he snapped, all gentleness gone.
Growling he forced her down, and her legs apart. He saw a small smile light her lips as she looked finally into his eyes. A feral look crossed his face. He pressed into her; she locked her ankles around him, her knees at his armpits. Her tight walls barely accepted his considerable member.
They moved together, pumping hard. The priestess still fought; the warlord still held her down. But the pleasure was too great for her. She moved one hand down his chest, around his broad back, grabbed his hard ass, digging her nails into his skin, pulling him into her even deeper. The other hand she twisted into his hair, lifting herself off of the bed as he pounded her.
The warlord rocked the priestess. She raised her hips to meet his thrusts. Little animal noises were forced from her throat. Hearing her whimper, the warlord pushed harder, pumped faster. She clutched at him, clawed his flesh.
Waves of heat swept through her, originating and ending deep inside her. Her inner muscles squeezed him, he ground into her. The priestess tossed her head back, uttering an undulating cry of pure primal pleasure. The warlord bit her throat hard, leaving teeth marks, as he pumped his seed inside her.
He relaxed onto his elbows, her legs still wrapped tight around him. She could feel him inside her, still throbbing.
Slowly, they relaxed, disentangling their limbs. The warlord rolled off of the priestess, to lay on her pillows. The priestess stood and stretched her cramped legs, retrieving a discarded blanket. The warlord reached for her, pulling her to his chest. She rested her head on his thick chest, smiling to herself.