Page 29 of Flamesworn

Humanity made much of war, from titles to uniforms to the weapons they waged it with, but that wasn’t really what it was. In its pure form, it was simply strife, a clash, as natural as hot air meeting cold and making it thunder.

I won’t let it happen again,she thought, as she slowly pressed the tip of the knife into Ares’ skin and drew it down, cutting deeper than she ever would with a human lover, regardless of how much of a masochist they claimed to be.No matter what else happens, you won’t be pulled to whatever side thinks they can use you up the fastest.Ares did bleed when she cut them, but the red was too bright, and there was the faintest scent of sulfur, the slightest curl of a smoke tendril.

“You–bleed fire,” she said, touching the blood, warm enough to nearly burn.

“Yes,” they said. “I wept tears of fire and turned the sand to glass, when Atreus died.”

She touched their mouth, slipped her fingers in, let them lick at the blood there. “I went there when I was younger. We all go there. It was said Atreus took the form of a great dragon, breathed fire on the enemies, and sacrificed himself for Arktos, and that was what made the glass red. But I knew they were wrong, I just didn’t know why I knew.”

“I did give him a dragon,” Ares said. “One of my brother’s wyverns, from the mage’s country. I’ve forgotten. I don’t care why they think I made the sand into glass, as long as they know it was for Atreus.”

They didn’t, of course, they thought it was forArktos. “They don’t. But I should have told them, because–he did,” she adds, realizing, of course, why she’d been so sure. “He knew.”

Ares smiled up at her, lovely and bleeding. Their body was so hot beneath hers that she felt her skin grow slick with sweat. “Do you like this, cutting me? That wasn’t very hard, I can take more–”

She smacked them again. “And you will, when I want to give it to you. But yes, I do like it. I’ve…never been with someone who wants pain like you do.”

“Yes, yes, it’s exquisite. Let me havemore.”

Ares was less a submissive than a pure masochist, and maybe that was the problem. They wanted to bleed, to thrash in ecstasy under the pain. Everyone else just wanted them to kneel, to be sheathed as a weapon ready to unleash. “I don’t think you’ve ever been fucked by a sadist,” she said, and oh, had she ever felt like this before? Her dominance was at a height, but her sadism felt like it never had before, a rush, a buzz in her head and a hunger clawing at her from the inside, but this time she loved it, reveled in it, grinding against Ares without realizing it.

Ares tilted their head, and their smile was a smirk, a challenge–andthatwas what she wanted. What was conflict, strife without someone to rise up to the call of trying to best youat it? An army could line up on a hill all it wanted, but without one on the other side of the field, was it a war or just an early-morning hike?

“You say you want me,” they murmured, pushing up, as Kataida had unconsciously moved so she was rubbing herself against Ares’ cock, “because you think I’m beautiful. But you yearn for war, I know. I can taste it, smell it on you.”

She cut them again, breathing hard, dimly aware they were moving together, simulating sex as she ground herself against them and they pushed up, giving her more, arms raised above their head. “Yes,” she admitted, because if she couldn’t tellthem, who could she? “But I care about my family, my friends, mycountrymore.”

“You want to feel it, though,” Ares taunted, and the difference between the emotional, needy god and this one was stark–confident, a bit of a brat, bleeding all over her sheets. “Your sword cleaving through the enemy lines. The symphony of the shouts, the mud under your feet. If you want me to be my true self, Kataida, you have to be yours.”

She felt wild, too hot, the urge to hurt, to cut, to make thembleedbuilding to an overwhelming pressure at the back of her skull. She was so turned on that if she touched her clit she would probably come. “Yes. Fine. I do, but I–I don’t like that, I–”

Ares caught her by the wrist, drawing it down so the tip of the knife was pressed against their throat. “You ask me to take my form, to hold it. Hold yours, daughter of Arktos.” Their voice rang like a war siren, and chills shuddered over her at the power she saw there, Ares’ eyes changing, all the color fading to pure, hotwhite. “If you would hold the line, earn the right.”

They stared at each other, and Kataida knew what they wanted. She drew the knife across Ares’ throat, slowly, deep enough that it would have decapitated a mortal. But this wasn’t a mortal, it was a god, and the god of war was such a masochistthat they bucked beneath her and she felt their cock twitch and spill hot and wet against her. The blood ran down from the cut, soaking Ares’ skin, and before she could think about what she’d just done, they drew her down for a kiss. She could smell the sulfur and copper of their blood, felt heat prick her skin and even tasted the slick copper tang of what must be their blood. It burned her tongue, but she kept kissing them, grinding her cunt against their softening cock.

She sat back, grabbed Ares’ wrists and slammed their hands down over their head. “We both know I will.” She took up the knife, moved back and let her legs fall open, and with both of them slippery with sweat, blood and come, she pressed the hilt of the knife to her slit and started to rub herself off on it, her eyes on Ares’.

They stared at her, bloody and ecstatic, eyes faded back to their coal-banked loveliness. “Let me use my mouth on you. My cock.”

She considered the latter–she could feel their cock growing hard against her ass as she worked herself closer and closer–but shook her head. “No. You didn’t ask before you came, and you should have.” But she was so close and suddenly all she wanted was their mouthandthe knife–

She took the hilt, slick from where she’d been rubbing it between her legs, and shoved the hilt in Ares’ mouth.

Kataida felt their cock pulse—being a god had to have some benefits, she supposed--and moved off them. She turned to give their cock a smack that didn’t really do anything but make Ares moan around the knife hilt. “You’ll ask first or I’ll break your fingers until you learn.”

Ares’ eyes rolled back in their head when they moaned this time, and Kataida watched them lick her taste off the knife hilt before she grabbed their throat, tightening her grip. “You don’t ask to come until I have. Keep the knife where I put it. Cut meeven a little and punish you, and not how you like, either. I’ll put you in a trunk, leave you somewhere in the dark.”

Ares tried to nod, making a noise that she supposed was assent as she let go of their throat. She had never indulged like this, spouting threats she’d never carry out just because she knew, in the moment, how badly it would scare them. A wild, euphoric rush of adrenaline assailed her as she positioned herself over Ares’ head and lowered down, breath coming fast and hard as she realized she wasn’t going to have to hold back. It was a bit tricky to work out how to get herself off with Ares’ mouth occupied by the shape of the dagger hilt, but she was so close that she knew it wouldn’t take long.

When she did this with mortal lovers, rode their faces, she would hold it a little too long, thrilling at how they bucked with increasing, frantic urgency beneath her. She always pulled back, of course, since the play was just that, play. But she didn’t have to pull or hold back Ares, and she was almost sure a mortal would have suffocated or cutthemselveswith the knife in the time it took her to come.

It felt unlike anything—the wood of the knife hilt, the slight, strange sensation of Ares’ teeth, their soft mouth and the erratic flicker of a tongue trying so very hard to give her pleasure. Ares never moved their hands, and the obedience and the whimpering had her come so hard she nearly sat directly on their face when her shaking legs gave out entirely. She managed to tip herself over so she didn’t, and when she turned to see the way they were staring at her...

Ares’ face was flushed and wet, the knife hilt in their mouth and the blade having sliced their cheek so their face and chin were covered in blood again, the sulfur smell thick between them, and her cunt still twitching lightly with aftershocks. She reached down and slid her fingers through her slit, and when she lifted her hand, Ares’ blood was on her fingers. She pressed it toher mouth and licked, and Ares groaned and reached down. For a second, she thought they were disobeying and getting off, but no, they were grabbing the base of their cock tostopthemselves from coming.

“Good, bright eyes.” She smiled and took the knife from their mouth, slipping her fingers in and hissing slightly–the inside of Ares’ mouth was so, so warm, enough to nearly burn her fingertips. They sucked at her fingers and she took up the knife, wet and messy and stained as it was, and lay the flat of the blade above the tip of their cock. “Ask me for it, Ares. Beg me.”

She drew her fingers out, and Ares started begging immediately–please, let me, may I, you’re so beautiful, let me come for you, slit my throat again, fuck me with it, the hilt, the blade, let me die a thousand times for you–

---