DISCLAIMER:
The characters belong to Studios USA and Renaissance Pictures and were used without permission. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made.

WARNING:
This story contains explicit descriptions of male/male sexual relations, bdsm and sexual violence. Please skip the story if these subjects disturb you.

You can find more stories by MB at her site Millefiori by MB

Send feedback to millefiori@mail.com

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Practice Makes Perfect
by MB
July 2001

Jett's breath left him in a sickening whoosh as Strife landed a kick to his stomach with a booted foot. He didn't know how, but he managed to jump back, out of range, struggling to regain his breath as he circled warily and watched for an opening to counterattack. The god was holding back, of course, limiting his strength and speed to that of a mortal, but they'd been at it all morning and Jett was exhausted, bruised and sore.

He dispassionately reviewed the tactics he'd learned over the course of years in a warlord's household, as well as the techniques Strife himself had taught him, clicking through them in his mind, as if searching for the one most likely to be successful in this situation. Strife grinned, no doubt listening to his thoughts, and Jett exploded into motion, distracting Strife with an unexpected sideways feint, then leaping forward with a hard kick to the ribs. Jett let his momentum carry him into position and then let fly with a solid punch to the jaw.

Strife staggered under the blows and Jett tried to press his advantage, but his chest was heaving and his muscles felt like lead. He fell back, beyond the reach of Strife's deadly feet, for just a moment's respite. He blinked as sweat stung his eyes and slowly swiped the back of his hand over his wet forehead.

Strife backed down slightly, merely watching and matching Jett step for step, giving him a chance to recover. Despite Jett's height and strength, Strife said he was still young, that his bones were still forming. It was sweet how Strife worried over Jett that way, backing off when he thought he'd pushed too far.

It was also an advantage Jett was prepared to use against him. Strife's head rocked back as Jett's foot met his jaw in a vicious kick. Unbelievably fast, Strife grabbed his ankle, jerking him off balance and flipping him to the ground. Jett landed hard on his back, the fall knocking away the last of his precious breath.

Strife fell on him, hands tight around his neck, grinning fiercely. Jett fought for air, grimacing at the screaming pain in his back. Apparently that last fall had broken a few bones. Strife loosened his grip slightly and Jett felt a burning heat from the god's hands, heat that spread through his body, easing strained tendons and muscles, knitting broken bones.

Jett's lips twitched as pain and exhaustion gave way to renewed strength and vitality. Strife moved just in time; Jett's knee rammed into his buttock rather than his sensitive testicles. Strife grunted in approval as he rolled away, coming to his feet in a defensive crouch. He grinned, gesturing with a hand for Jett to come forward.

Jett smiled then, the wide, charming smile that never failed to stun Strife, making him hesitate for one critical moment. That moment was all he needed. Jett was on him, wrestling him to the ground, twisting a hand into the wild black hair. Strife knew what Jett was doing; he'd taught Jett the technique himself. Strife struggled to escape, but his efforts were too little, too late. Jett shoved hard between the shoulder blades as he jerked Strife's head back by the hair. Then he let go and Strife, his neck broken, fell limply to the floor.

Jett braced his hands on his knees and hung his head, his harsh panting the only sound in the silent temple. Finally Jett straightened and hooked the toe of his boot under Strife's shoulder, kicking him over onto his back. "That was good, wasn't it?" he asked.

Strife laughed as he jerked his head back into proper alignment. "Good? That was perfect - if I were a mortal I'd have been dead before I hit the ground."

Grinning at the compliment, Jett knelt beside Strife, pulling a dagger from his boot. "There are other things I need to practice, hmm?" Jett smiled and dragged the point of the knife across Strife's cheek, marking him with a scarlet thread, then plunged the dagger into the god's chest. Strife gasped and closed his eyes.

"Damn," Jett said, frowning. "I hit a rib, didn't I?"

Strife slowly licked his lips and gazed at Jett with dilated eyes "Yeah," he breathed. "Uhm... You didn't get all the way through the outside of the heart either."

Jett stood and took Strife's hand, pulling him to his feet. Holding Strife's shoulder for leverage Jett grasped the handle of the knife and wrenched it free, pursing his lips as metal ground against bone. There was no need for that. Had his aim been true the blade would have slipped right between the ribs and into the heart, no muss, no fuss and no damage done to his best dagger. He stared at it for a moment, bright silvery metal covered with rich red blood, then he trailed the flat of the blade across Strife's chest, frowning at the little clinking sounds the blade made against the metal rings on the god's uniform. "I think we need to get rid of this," he said, picking at the leather with the point of the knife.

"Good thinking," Strife said, and the jacket vanished.

Jett ran his palm over smooth, white skin, gently prodding the wound. "Hmmm, I think I see what I did wrong," Jett murmured. "From that angle it should have been here." He pressed his fingertip a minute distance from the cut. "Right?" He looked up at Strife's face.

Strife grinned. "You got it."

Jett returned his attention to Strife's chest, again trailing the flat edge of the blade down the god's sternum. Jett smiled, brushing the backs of his fingers over a pebbled nipple and was rewarded with a low gasp.

"I like the way this looks," he said, looking up into Strife's eyes. "The blood on your skin, I mean." He turned the knife slightly and brought it down Strife's chest again, this time leaving a thin red line behind. He bent his head and licked at the wound, his lower lip dragging against the warm skin.

Strife groaned and pulled Jett closer, capturing his mouth in a savage kiss. Jett felt a growing heat in his groin and he pressed forward with his hips, grinding against Strife. After endless moments Jett pulled back, breathing hard. He raised the dagger and pressed the tip of the blade right at the perfect spot, just holding it there. Strife leaned into the pressure and the tip punctured the white skin, red blood welling around the metal. Jett bent to lick it, then hissed as he sliced his tongue on the sharp blade. He smiled as the hot, metallic taste filled his mouth and he raised his head for a kiss so he could share it with Strife.

As Strife sucked at his tongue Jett smoothly plunged the dagger into the god's body. Strife groaned into Jett's mouth before pulling back and shaking his head. "Right spot, but you're still not getting all the way through the wall of the heart. You have to do it harder, deeper," he said, punctuating his words with little thrusts of his hips. "Otherwise they'll take forever to die."

Jett nodded his understanding as he withdrew the dagger then savagely thrust it back in. Jett grinned triumphantly; he'd felt it that time, a slight difference in pressure as the blade pushed through the tough muscle and entered the hollow chamber.

"Oh yeah," Strife gasped, his hips rocking against Jett's. "That's it."

Jett closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation. "I think I'd better try again," he whispered as he pulled the dagger free. "So I'll really remember."

"Oh yeah, as many times as you need..." Strife's voice trailed into a moan as Jett suited actions to words, plunging the dagger in hard and deep, then slowly pulling it out.

Jett glanced down at the crimson trails streaking down Strife's abdomen and into the top of his pants. Strife followed his gaze and with a wave of his hand the rest of their clothes were gone. Jett gazed at the erection straining forth from the bloody pubic hair. He smeared his hand through the blood and then grasped Strife's cock. Nothing in the world felt like blood, he reflected. If only it didn't dry so quickly.

"We need more," Jett whispered.

"Yess," Strife hissed, swaying forward and rubbing their cocks together.

Jett reached up and grabbed a handful of Strife's dark curls, pulling his head back to expose his neck. Jett brought the dagger up below his ear, pressing the edge against the pale throat. Strife whimpered as the sharp edge bit into his skin and he reached between their bodies, holding their cocks together and slowly stroking.

Jett kept his tight grip on Strife's hair and used it to pull him forward into a hungry kiss. As their lips met he slashed deeply with the dagger, cutting down the length of Strife's neck. Strife moaned, pulling Jett closer as hot blood gushed from the deep wound.

Jett dropped the dagger and it clattered unnoticed on the stone floor. Strife stepped backwards until he was leaning against the wall, never releasing Jett's mouth. Euphoric, Jett held his hand over the gaping wound, feeling the blood pulse through his fingers with every pounding heartbeat. Strife's hand covered his, then pulled it down between them and they both grasped the straining cocks in their bloody hands.

Jett was sailing on a wave of ecstasy, as the fire in his groin flamed higher, intensified and then he was coming, clutching at Strife's shoulder with his free hand, groaning his pleasure into Strife's kiss, and finally sagging bonelessly against his god, his whole body shaking with satisfaction. Strife held him secure with an arm around his waist, softly kissing his panting mouth.

Then, without warning, Jett was whirled around and his limp body slammed up against the wall. He forced his eyes open and saw Strife grinning at him. He followed the god's gaze down to the smear of blood and semen on his abdomen and smiled as Strife collected it in his palm, slowly stroking the pinkish fluid over his already bloody cock. Then slick hands were under his thighs, lifting and spreading him open and he could feel Strife's cock pushing, pausing for a moment, then thrusting in. Jett gasped in shock at the suddenness of it and bit down, causing a fresh flow of blood to fill his mouth from the wound in his tongue.

Strife laughed softly and kissed him, a slow gentle kiss, his tongue thrusting and swirling around Jett's own. Jett forced himself to relax and Strife hummed in approval and began to thrust deeper, harder. He moved his hands, gripping Jett's buttocks and changing the angle of his entry. Jett groaned at the new sensation and his cock started to fill again, the delicious tingle of arousal growing with every stroke.

Jett's legs were shaking with tension and he lifted them a bit, hooking his ankles behind Strife's back. The god moaned, his movements becoming erratic and Jett stared, fascinated by the intent expression on his face.

"Jett..." he panted, then gave a last wild thrust and fell forward, gasping something unintelligible in a language Jett didn't understand. Jett smiled, holding Strife close as he slowly relaxed against Jett's body.

He waited a moment for the god's breathing to slow, then slid his hand through the blood that still pulsed from Strife's neck. As he reached down to grasp his cock Strife intercepted him, holding Jett's wrist and shaking his head. "No," he whispered. "Want you to fuck me." Before Jett could blink he found himself lying on a soft surface, Strife's sticky body hot and pliant beneath him. "How do you want it?"

Jett stared, trying to gather his wits. Strife was so magnificent, so perfect, lying there covered in sweat and blood and semen, lips swollen, pale eyes dilated with excitement. This was his. His god. Forever. For a moment he just looked, basking in the glory of Strife, offering the love and awe that flowed through him as a silent prayer.

Strife smiled beatifically, his face sublime with ecstasy, and he reached up and stroked Jett's face; a blessing.

Then he handed Jett another knife.

The end