Part 21 - Wakey Wakey
Morning came awful early when Apollo was a neighbor.
Joxer's eyes cracked open to blaring sunlight and he wondered if they'd passed out right in the garden last night. He scrubbed his face with one hand and sat up slowly, mindful of every single sore spot on him. One in particular was making itself known and he smiled sleepily. Sitting was going to be adventurous today. Adventurous and delightful.
Slowly, Joxer took in his surroundings which were not the garden outside Ares' Olympian Hall. It was a brightly appointed bedroom with cathedral ceilings and large colorful windows that stretched up so high they made his neck hurt to look at them. The walls were cream-colored and decorated with tapestries. A large armoire stood on one side of the room, alongside a door and the smoky residue of candles still hung in the air, a pleasant vanilla smell wafting with it.
And the bed.
Joxer ran a hand along the bed he was in, feeling the smooth, cool cotton of the sheets and the fuzzy plushness of the blankets that surrounded him. It was easily the nicest bed he'd ever seen, let alone been allowed to sleep in. The wood was a highly polished mahogany with many intricate, decorative carvings along the head and footboard. That there was even a head and footboard was far more than any bed he'd occupied, but these were artwork, seen to by a master's hand. He ran a finger along the headboard softly, as if not to disturb any of the designs. There weren't any figures, just a beautiful swirling, like an active night sky.
The whole room was impossibly beautiful and calming, which was all the more shocking considering who was also in the bed with him. A tangle of dark hair spread out on the other pillow, framing a face far too innocent to ever belong to the God of War. Joxer almost expected him to be sprawled out decadently, covers just barely draped over him to make him enticing and alluring. As if anyone could actually sleep that way for real. No, Ares was just asleep, one hand under his pillow and the other clutching the fluffy throw that covered them, drawing it to his chest. Sweet, if not a little vulnerable. It was an incredible sight - and it only added to Joxer's image of his former god, helping flesh out the areas he'd never been privy to as a follower. There was a man behind the mystique and mythos, a man who probably wasn't all that different from Joxer himself in many ways. Which was nice to know. It was one thing for him to be Ares, Prince of Olympus, Son of Zeus, Protector of Greece, Tormentor of Heroes. It was quite another for him to be someone worth knowing and talking to� and loving.
He knew it was serious, as he blushed straight to his feet. Whether or not it was welcomed would remain to be seen. Reciprocated? He didn't dare dream. Even if this was only something sticky and fun that passed in the night, he'd take it. Whatever Ares was willing to give him was more than enough.
A gurgle sounded in Joxer's belly, astonishing him. After all he'd eaten yesterday, he was sure he wouldn't need another meal for at least a week. Of course, considering all the activity last night� he blushed again just thinking about it. His stomach protested its empty state again, louder this time. OK, OK, I hear you already. Reluctantly, Joxer hoisted himself out of that magnificent bed, noting that he still had on those sandals with the shimmery laces that bowed behind his knees. And nothing else. More heat infused his skin as his attire - or lack of attire, as it turned out - enforced the reality of last night. As if he'd need reminding. No, last night was one for the scrolls, and he doubted he'd be forgetting it quite so soon.
Before he even considered leaving, Joxer pondered where his clothes might have gotten to. Not the toga, but his other outfit, the one that Strife had whipped up for him. His sore posterior ached a little at the thought of those ultra-tight pants and he guessed maybe he shouldn't be greasing himself into them so soon. Casting an eye to the bed, he guessed Ares wouldn't mind him borrowing some pants, unless he had some kind of 'clothing optional morning after' rule. Vowing to give them a good washing out before returning them, Joxer located a pair of flowy linen trousers in the large armoire that would suit the situation without giving him too much grief. There was an astonishing amount of leather in there, along with some surprisingly non-War-God types of garb. He shrugged to himself, guessing that everyone needed to go casual once in a while. The soft breeches were a little big on him, but a drawstring at the waist kept them from sliding down to his feet after a few steps. He disposed of the sandals in the corner, his feet eternally grateful for the freedom once more. He couldn't figure out when he'd put them back on last night, but he was too groggy and hungry to nitpick right now.
