Paperwork
by Amorette

Anyone familiar with my writing should be able to pick out the line I was given as part of the challenge. Not my usual stuff but I had fun writing it. Special thanks to Taz, my beta reader, who gave this story the final polish and made it much better.

"Courage," muttered the God of War as he faced the horror. "You can handle this."

It was the dead of winter, cold and wet. No war was brewing anywhere.

At the request of Demeter, who liked to keep the population down, there'd been a plague the previous summer, followed by a hard winter. Which meant Ares couldn't have raised an army if he'd gone out and recruited personally. Which meant he had no excuse not to catch up on his paperwork.

In a corner of the Halls of War, in an office that Ares avoided unless absolutely necessary, were piles and piles and piles of scrolls. Mostly petitions, but also forms Hades needed filled out and forms Athena needed filled out and records the Muses insisted had to be kept for 'posterity.' Also overdue invoices from Hephaestus, letters he owed to gods of other pantheons and all the boring flotsam and jetsam of a god's life.

Sighing, Ares tossed a fireball at the hearth so that a cheerful blaze competed with the gloomy gray light coming in the windows. He summoned up a pot of that tasty brown stuff Illapa, the Incan God of War, had sent him a few years before as a Solstice present, sat down at his desk, unrolled the first scroll and started working.

For all his bloodlust and violence, Ares had a determined, even methodical streak, necessary for success in battle or anything else. It kept him working through the day and well into the night. Petitions were answered, forms were filled out, in triplicate, notes were written and the mess of scrolls slowly resolved into several neat stacks. After hours of boring work, Ares sat up, rolling his head on his shoulders to work out the kinks, and surveyed his efforts with a certain amount of pride. He was done. Even Athena and Hades couldn't complain. Except...

A scroll had fallen between the desk and the wall.

Frowning, Ares leaned forward and picked it up. It wasn't a neatly rolled scroll, tied with ribbon and sealed with wax. It was, in truth, a rather grubby scroll, rolled crookedly so the ends didn't line up and there were numerous smudges. Ares could see where the edges were torn. Not something from Hades or Athena or the Muses or the Fates or Nike or Dike or even a warlord. No warlord would send a petition to the God of War with wine stains on it.

Ares unrolled the scroll, smoothing the parchment as he went. It didn't start properly. It didn't really start at all. First was a short list of names:

Jason-me

Iphicles-me

Iolaus-me

Jerkules-Hera? (This had been smudged out, Priapus written in, also erased, followed by Zeus and the words 'coz its so bent.')

Joxer-Ares

Joxer? Ares frowned. He recognized the others but who in Tartarus was Joxer? Oh, yeah, that annoying creature Xena and Gabrielle kept to be the butt of their petty disdain and cruelty.

Another turn revealed several crude drawings, sexual in nature. Whoever had written this had been blessed neither by Eros nor Athena.

What was this thing?

A little further on, he found the sentence: "Ares stood a few feet away from the four heroesand their friend Joxerr wondering how they were going to react when they found out they were all pregnant by three different Gods."

"Strife!"

"You bellowed, your badness," his nephew chirped, popping into the room. "Paperwork got your panties in a twist?"

Ares stood up, holding the scroll open so Strife could see it.

Strife was already so pale he couldn't have turned any whiter but his jaw dropped, his eyes went wide and his hands started waving helplessly in the air.

"Do you," said Ares, his voice silky, "know anything about this?"

"That?" Strife attempted to maintain his composure by striking a pose, pretending to lean on the mantelpiece even though it was a pace away. "Why, no. What is that?" He smiled.

With a flick of the wrist, Ares knocked him on his ass with a bolt of blue energy. "Wrong answer," he said. "Try again."

Strife stood up, rubbing his backside, his smile had turned into a tragedy mask. "Well, um, you see. . ."

At the look in his uncle's eyes, Strife did turn a whiter shade of pale and he decided to come clean.

"Well you like to make the beast with two backs with the Goddess of Lurv and I've seen the scrolls she sends you."

"Which has what to do with this?"

"It's erotica." Strife straightened, folded his arms and tried to imitate Ares' fierce glare. "You get your jollies your way. I get them mine."

"Erotica?"

"See, this way I get to do the deed to Jason and Iphicles and Iolaus. They're more fun than ol' Jerkules. But then I thought the Jerkster would be there anyway, so why not get him involved."

"And this Joxer person?"

"Ah." Strife tried very hard to look innocent. "He's your type."

Ares ran his tongue across his front teeth and made a disapproving noise.

"I can understand wanting to fuck Iphicles or Iolaus. Maybe Jason, back when he was younger and more fun, but what's with the pregnancy thing? Did no one ever explain the facts of life to you?"

"I like my facts with a spin on them."

Ares said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, fine. But don't you think stud-muffins like Iphicles and Iolaus would be hot if they were pregnant?"

Ares dropped the scroll in disgust. "They're male, you twit!"

"So? Zeus has given birth to two kids. Why not. . .extend it." Strife's expression went dreamy. "Imagine, all of them running their hands over their swollen bellies, feeling the babies move inside. Getting interested in extra action because of the whole hormone thing." He gave his uncle a salacious wink.

"BLEAH!" Ares directed a fire bolt at the scroll. "I knew you were sick, but this. . ." He shuddered. "I feel as if I need to wash my hands and I'm a god! If I ever, ever, see or hear anything about this. . .perversion again, I'll fix it so, not only will you never write this kind of smut again, you won't have the body parts to write it with!"

On that note, Ares disappeared in a flash of light.

Strife looked at the smoldering ashes of what had been his scroll. Ares had a point. Maybe he'd overdone it. Maybe having all those hot guys pregnant all at once was too much. Maybe he should restrict himself-just a little.

He sat down, summoned up a new scroll, a fresh quill, and started to write: "Ares the studly god of war woke up in the morning feeling sick to his stomach after his night of breathtakingly good sex with his incredibly well-endowed and sexually talented nephew, the gorgeous and sexy and humongously hung Strife, God of Skirmishes and Arguments."

Oh, yeah. Ares pregnant! Strife's eyes half closed at the thought and he slid one hand down to touch his hardening cock. That would be hot.

It was hot, all right. Strife was so busy he didn't even see the fireball coming.

November 2002