Part V - Fools in the House of Love
"Pull up a chair, Unc. We�re just havin� some breakfast."
"With one of mine." The God of War�s cool, bemused visage didn�t turn from the back of Joxer�s head. "Shouldn�t you be somewhere, Strife?"
"I needed an extra body for the big stuff." Strife only shifted his shoulders minutely, as if it meant nothing. "I figgered since it was a job for you, ya wouldn�t mind me usin� Jox. He�s got talent in this kinda thing."
"I�m well aware of all of Joxer�s talents." A few steps on the polished marble floor and he stood right behind Joxer�s chair. The would-be-warrior swore he was either dead where he stood, or� well, something equally as embarrassing and unpleasant. He could smell the god behind him, sweat and musk and leather. He just hoped Ares wouldn�t require him to stand because it wasn�t gonna happen. Not without upturning the table with his fully-awake-and-ready-to-rumble dick. Dammit! Why now? Why here? Why me?
"So, you know he�d be perfect to help out. With him lendin� a hand, it shouldn�t take me so long to get things rollin�." Strife waved a hand in the air, dismissing any doubt, he hoped. "Besides, it wasn�t as if you had anything planned for him lately, didja?"
"If I did? What then, nephew?"
Strife was about to argue, when he caught the challenge. It was an old tactic, one he�d faced many a time. Of course, he usually lost miserably, but that didn�t get in his way. A long, evil-looking smile blossomed on his face as he eased his chair back with a long, squeak against the floor. All the logic that should have been telling him not to give in to this flew out the nearest fabulous window into the garden. Cupid sighed and covered his eyes. "Please don�t, guys. I just cleaned the place up�"
"Then� I TAKE YOU DOWN OLD MAN!" Completely ignoring his cousin�s plea, Strife planted a foot on his chair, in one step climbed onto the table and, deftly avoiding the flatware and crockery, took off, using the few steps he could take to launch himself over Joxer and pounce on the God of War. Who was, naturally, ready for him. Ares stepped back to give himself enough room to catch his springing nephew, though it was an admittedly awkward armful. Strife wasn�t a little kid anymore. Now, he was mostly arm and leg and leather. Still, it wasn�t much of an effort for the war god to flip him upside-down and tug his tunic up, exposing his pale, skinny belly. "Don�t."
"Don�t what?" Joxer marveled at how even-tempered Ares was, considering. Though he had no doubt this was a game, a familiar one it seemed, but the mortal had been sure he�d have been aether by now. Mark down another wrong answer for Xena. That grin was a more amiable version of the sneer he usually sported when tormenting the warrior princess� his daughter? Well, it only really made sense, anyway.
"I�m three hundred and six years old, Unc. You can�t just�" Strife squirmed as he was slung up further on his uncle�s broad-muscled shoulder, secured by an arm of steel brawn. His bare stomach was right there, waiting for�
SWAT "UNC! DON�T"
SLAP "I AIN�T KIDDIN� HERE!"
WHAPPITY-WHAP-WHAP "YER ASKIN FOR IT!"
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK "I�M TOO OLD FOR PINKBELLYS!"
Strife�s last protest was punctuated by an ear-piercing shriek as the hand that held him wiggled against his ribs. Joxer was sure he�d never live past this day, but at least he�d get to spend eternity replaying this one over and over again. Even if the gods were feeling generous and just dropped him back in Greece, he couldn�t see ever not smiling at the image of Ares, the buff and burly God of War, dangling Strife, the wicked and crazy God of Mischief, over his shoulder and slapping at his belly while tickling him into hysterics. Tears streaked down Strife�s increasingly reddening cheeks and howls of laughter broke all his complaining down piece by piece. His legs, draped over his uncle�s shoulders, flailed and kicked furiously, as if that would help bust him out of this torture before all the blood rushed to his head to make his face as crimson as his gently abused stomach. His hands scrambled at his tormentor, splitting time between trying to pry that arm off him and parrying with those fingers. Nothing was actually working. His sides were aching from laughing, his midsection was stinging like mad and if Ares didn�t let up anytime soon, his bladder was going to give up the ghost and he was gonna tinkle on his uncle. The words played over and over in his head, making him laugh like a loon. Tinkle uncle tinkle uncle tinkle uncle tinkle uncle tinkle uncle tinkle uncle�
