By: Corona and Tequila Worm
E-mail: Corona- firstname.lastname@example.org TW- email@example.com
Rating: will eventually be NC-17
Distribution: AJCS, The Bottom of The Bottle
Disclaimer: WE don’t own them. RENPICS does. The world is SO unfair.
Summary: Joxer has legs and he knows how to use ‘em.
Author’s Note: TW is sick. Sick as a dog. Corona made a comment, TW made one back. Then TW said she had to clean…and this fic was born. It’s not meant to make sense. It’s meant to amuse. The damned thing is fluff. Fluff, we tell you!!
Dedication: TW—To my honey, as always. Also, to Corona, for having the patience…or the insanity…to put up with me. Luv ya babe!!
Legs, that was the first word that sprang to mind, the first coherent word anyway, since gah, hn and muh didn't count. Why hadn't anyone told him that forty inches of perfectly smooth tightly muscled flesh separated Joxer's waist from his feet. This seemed like the sort of thing that should have been left in a memo, though not one that was passed around, a special memo that had to be burned afterwards. He carried on following the legs, came to the very edge of the short black skirt.
Which was practically blasphemy because he was fairly certain there was more leg under there and something even better, something which filled out the back of the skirt to stretching point.
The black continued, broken only by a filmy white bow, to the back of a tanned neck and soft brown hair. Ares stood there, practically drooling as he took in Joxer’s outfit.
Humming quietly, Joxer was unaware of scrutiny. His feather duster whisked over the surface of the shelf he was cleaning, leaving the ebony wood clean and shining. He leaned over, reaching for the shelf above it, causing his skirt to hitch up a bit, revealing even more and leaving even less to Ares’ imagination.
Ares unconsciously leant in, craned his neck just a little because he was fairly certain that underwear didn't come with the outfit. That was when he made a sound and he'd be damned if it wasn't a whimper.
Joxer, hearing the groan, smirked to himself. He was fully aware that Ares was behind him, and that his god was getting an eyeful. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?
The legs twisted, and if that wasn't distracting enough something clicked softly and then thumped hard against his chest, driving him back an inch. Joxer had turned his head enough to look at him through half open eyes, almost lazily, which any moment now was going to make him whimper again.
He'd been hit with the extendable duster, pinned to the end of it while Joxer looked him up and down.
"Looking for something?"
Ares stared in shock at the feathers pressed against his chest. Then he looked at Joxer. Then back at the duster. And back to Joxer again. His worshiper, and secret obsession, was dressed in the skimpiest outfit that he had ever seen. Tiny black dress with a short white filmy apron, a little ruffled cap and heels. Ares didn’t care that Joxer was a man, dressed as a woman. All he cared about was the insanely sexy man standing on his altar.
"Hands." Joxer purred at him. Ares blinked and had a moment of utter incomprehension. He didn't know what Joxer had done with his voice but he liked it, he liked it a lot.
"Hands." It was repeated quietly but the metal against his chest dug in fractionally until a breath of air was forced out. Ares wordlessly cupped his hands.
Joxer smiled and shifted a leg, let it sway forward and settle on Ares palm. The heel dug in sharply as Joxer's weight shifted onto that leg, and Ares let out a tiny groan when the other leg followed it, swung down and settled on the marble of his temple floor.
Joxer now stood in front of Ares, smirking, his feather duster, normal length again, still stabbing Ares in the chest.
“I thought that I’d do a bit of cleaning for you. This place gets so dusty. You shouldn’t let that happen, you know. Could make you sick, pet.” Joxer’s voice was still a low purr, and, combined with his soft brown eyes, Ares was slowly falling under Joxer’s seductive spell.
Joxer pressed slightly with his duster, causing Ares to back up a step. And then another…and another, until Ares had his back pressed against the wall.
“Seal the temple, pet. You aren’t going to want anyone in here.” Joxer’s voice was commanding, and Ares found himself waving a hand in the air, sealing the temple so that no one could get in.
The metal relaxed against his chest, then slid upwards and settled on his cheek.
"That was very good, very quick, I like that you can do what you're told, I like it a lot." One of Joxer’s hands lifted and grasped his chin gently, and those long legs separated a fraction, balancing him to lean in and look down at Ares with a very unfamiliar expression.
It was the face of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and had every intention of grasping it in both hands.'