Fools' Gold

Consciousness returned to Tulio like a slap from a jilted lover - sudden, painful, and with the distinct feeling that he probably deserved it.

"Miguel," he groaned, "if you let me drink that fermented cactus juice again, I swear by all that's..." He trailed off, his voice sounding wrong. Maybe he was still drunk. That would explain why everything felt... shifted. Off-center. Like someone had rearranged all his furniture while he slept.

Speaking of sleeping, something warm and heavy was pressed against his chest. Two somethings, actually. He tried to roll over and immediately regretted it as various parts of his anatomy decided to follow the motion with a slight delay, creating a ripple effect that his hungover brain absolutely refused to process.

"That's... new," he managed, his voice still oddly high and melodic. Maybe he'd been poisoned. That would explain the strange weight distribution and why he felt so... breezy. Had someone stolen his clothes? No, he could feel fabric, just... significantly less of it than usual.

He cracked one eye open and immediately wished he hadn't. The world was too bright, too golden, and definitely spinning more than it had any right to. And then there was the hair. Masses of it, long and silky, spilling over his shoulders and pooling around him like a river of ink. It smelled faintly of flowers and something spicy, tickling his nose and making him want to sneeze.

"Right," he said to no one in particular, "I'm still dreaming. Obviously. Because the alternative is that I've somehow..." He gestured vaguely at himself and froze. That was definitely not his arm. It was too slender, too graceful, ending in delicate fingers adorned with gold rings.

He sat up carefully, which caused several interesting shifts in mass that his brain steadfastly refused to acknowledge. The room swayed alarmingly, though whether from the hangover or the mounting panic, he wasn't sure.

"This is fine," he told himself in that strange new voice. "Everything is fine. I'm just having a very detailed hallucination brought on by whatever was in that drink..."

He made the mistake of looking down.

"Those are not mine," he said with remarkable calm. "Those are definitely not mine. Those are..." He poked experimentally at one of the bronze teardrops barely contained by what appeared to be some sort of ceremonial bandeau. It responded with a jiggle that sent his mind skittering off in several impractical directions.

Standing proved to be an adventure in advanced physics. His center of gravity had shifted dramatically, and his new hips seemed to have their own ideas about how walking should work. The brief wrap of fabric around his waist swished against thighs that were definitely curvier than he remembered having yesterday.

"Now listen here," he addressed his hips sternly, trying to walk in a straight line and failing spectacularly. "We are not going to... undulate. There will be no swaying, no shimming, and absolutely no..." he stumbled, his new curves automatically compensating with a distinctly feminine sway. "...that. None of that."

His hips, apparently, had other ideas.

"I mean it," he muttered, gripping the stone wall for balance. "This is a temporary situation, and we are going to handle it with dignity and..." Another step, another unconscious swing of his newly generous backside. "Oh, for heaven's sake."

"Having trouble?"

The voice - HIS voice - made him spin around, which set off a chain reaction of bouncing that took several seconds to settle. There in the doorway, wearing his face like she'd been born to it, stood... well, himself. But the way his body was leaning against the doorframe, one hip cocked in a pose he'd definitely never attempted, made it clear exactly who was driving.

"Chel?" He squeaked, then cleared his throat, trying to sound more authoritative despite his new soprano. "What did you... how did you... why am I..."

"Eloquent as always," she smirked, and it was deeply unsettling to see his own face wearing that particular expression. "Though I have to say, my voice sounds different when you use it. More... panicked."

"Panicked? PANICKED? I'm not panicked! I'm just..." He gestured wildly at his new form, setting off another distracting series of jiggles. "Why am I bouncing? Why is everything bouncing? And why are you ME?"

"The Mirror of Xibalba," she said casually, examining his - her? - new masculine hands with obvious satisfaction. "Ancient magic. Body-swapping. Very traditional, really. Though usually it's used for more..." she waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "religious purposes."

"Religious... you used sacred magic to steal my body?"

"I prefer to think of it as a free upgrade," she said, striding into the room with a confidence that looked wrong on his normally anxious frame. "For both of us, really. You get to experience life from a new perspective, and I get to..." she stretched languorously, "enjoy the benefits of being a god."

"This isn't happening," Tulio muttered, pacing frantically which only served to make everything bounce more. "This is just a very detailed nightmare brought on by bad shellfish or that weird purple fruit or..."

Chel-as-Tulio picked up a polished golden plate from the altar, holding it up like a mirror. "See for yourself."

The face that looked back at him was hauntingly beautiful, with high cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. He blinked. The reflection blinked. He touched his new face. The reflection touched hers.

"That's... that's..." His voice rose to a pitch that probably only dogs could hear. "That's YOUR face!"

"Mmhmm," she agreed, clearly enjoying his mounting panic. "And this," she gestured at his former body, "is YOUR face. Well, was your face. Currently my face. Though I have to say," she ran his hands through his hair in a way he definitely never had, "you really weren't making the most of it."

"This isn't... you can't just..." He spun around looking for something, anything that would make this make sense, which just set off another cascade of jiggling that made him grab at his new chest in frustration. "Stop that!"

"You know, they're attached. Yelling at them won't help."

"Change us back!" He demanded, trying to sound authoritative despite his new soprano. "Right now!"

"About that..." She lounged on a pile of cushions, manspreading in a way that looked deeply wrong with his body. "No."

"No? What do you mean no? You can't just... just... keep my body!"

"Actually, I can. And I will." She stretched again, clearly enjoying his mounting horror. "Consider it a promotion. You get to be a beautiful temple dancer, I get to be a god. Everyone wins!"

"How exactly do I win in this scenario?"

"Well, for one thing," she smirked, "you get to experience what it's like being me. Maybe gain some... perspective."

"I don't want perspective! I want my body back!"

"Sorry, no refunds or exchanges," she stood up, adjusting his clothes with far more grace than he'd ever managed. "Face it, I make a much more convincing god. And you'll make a much better temple dancer. The way you're already swaying those hips? Natural talent."

"I am not-" Tulio started to protest, then caught himself mid-sway. "They do that on their own!"

"Mmhmm."

"Tulio? Chel?" Miguel's voice echoed from the corridor. "Are you two- oh." He stopped short in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"Miguel, it's me! Tulio! She-" he pointed accusingly, "stole my body!"

Miguel blinked slowly, looking between them. "Did I miss something? Is this a joke? Because if it is, I don't get it."

Chel-as-Tulio shrugged, smirking. "She seems to think she's Tulio. Apparently we switched bodies last night. News to me."

"This isn't funny!" Tulio snapped, stomping his foot which just made everything jiggle again. "Miguel, you have to believe me. Remember Barcelona? The incident with the chicken and the three nuns?"

Miguel's eyes widened. "How do you know about that? We swore never to speak of it again!"

"Because I was there, you idiot! I'm Tulio!"

Miguel looked at Chel-as-Tulio suspiciously. "What was the color of the chicken?"

She held up her hands. "Don't look at me. I'm just the innocent bystander here."

"It was brown with white spots," Tulio said exasperatedly, "and it wasn't a chicken, it was a rooster. Named Pepe. The nuns were very clear on that point."

Miguel's jaw dropped. "Tulio? Is that really you?"

"Yes! Finally!" Tulio threw up his hands, then quickly crossed them over his chest when the motion caused more bouncing than he was prepared for.

Chel-as-Tulio slow clapped. "Bravo. What a touching reunion."

"Change us back," Tulio demanded. "Right now."

"No can do," she said cheerfully. "The magic of the Mirror of Xibalba only works on the full moon. You're stuck like this for a month."

"A MONTH?"

"Oh, and one more thing," she added, examining her nails nonchalantly. "If you experience the, shall we say, 'ultimate pleasure' five times while in my body, the change becomes permanent. Just a heads up."

Tulio made a strangled noise. Miguel looked confused.

"Ultimate pleasure? What does that mean?"

"Forget it," Tulio snapped. "It's not happening. None of this is happening. I refuse to accept this reality."

"Refuse all you want," Chel said, "but the reality is, you need me. Both of you do. If you want to keep up this gods charade and get your gold, you need someone who knows the culture, the traditions. Someone who can keep you from putting your divine feet in your mouths."

"She... may have a point," Miguel admitted.

"Whose side are you on?" Tulio demanded.

"The side that gets us the gold and gets us out of here alive!"

Chel lounged deeper into the cushions, somehow making Tulio's lanky frame look more regal than he'd ever managed. "And speaking of staying alive, there's the small matter of tonight's ritual."

"What ritual?" Tulio asked.

"Oh, nothing major," she examined Tulio's fingernails with exaggerated casualness. "Just the Uk'inal K'in. You know, the sacred dance that ensures the sun will rise tomorrow instead of plunging us all into eternal darkness." She paused. "I assume you've been practicing?"

The color drained from Tulio's borrowed face. "Dancing? Nobody said anything about dancing!"

"Did I forget to mention that part?" Chel's smile looked unnervingly predatory on Tulio's features. "Silly me. Well, as one of the temple's lead dancers, I really should have been practicing all morning. The gods would be very displeased if their favorite performer wasn't ready for the ceremony."

"But I'm not--" Tulio gestured frantically at his new body, setting off another cascade of unwanted movement. "I can't--these things have a mind of their own!"

"Those 'things' are the least of your problems," Chel said dryly, "you need to master the hip movements."

"Hip... movements?" Tulio's new voice cracked.

Miguel cleared his throat. "It can't be that difficult, surely? I mean, you just sort of..." He attempted a movement.

"Please never do that again," Chel and Tulio said in unison.

"Look," Chel stood up, "you have exactly six hours to learn this dance before the ceremony. Either you figure it out, or we can explain to the high priest why his sacred dancer suddenly moves like a drunk donkey. I'm sure he'll be very understanding right before he has us all sacrificed."

"You wouldn't," Tulio narrowed his eyes. "They think you're a god now. You need us."

"Correction: I need one of you to maintain the illusion of divinity, and Miguel here is much better at improvising." She winked at Miguel, who promptly dropped his lute. "Face it - either you learn to dance, or I'll tell everyone you're not fit to be a dancer, while Miguel and I continue our divine charade without you."

Tulio looked desperately at his friend. "Miguel?"

Miguel retrived his lute. "Remember that time in Barcelona with the three-legged horse?"

"That was different! Nobody's life was at stake!"

"Actually, several people almost died."

"That's not the point!"

"The point," Chel interrupted, still sprawled across the cushions in Tulio's body with a casual grace that made her former hips look positively sinful, "is that you need to learn this dance. Now." She clapped her hands. "Miguel, you'll need to provide the rhythm. It's like a heartbeat - *thump-THUMP, thump-THUMP*."

Miguel strummed experimentally. "Like this?"

"Slower," she instructed. "More... primal."

Miguel adjusted his tempo, finding a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to pulse through the temple stones themselves.

"Perfect," Chel purred in Tulio's voice. "Now, *Chel* dear, first position."

Tulio stood awkwardly, her new body refusing to cooperate. "Which one is first position?"

"The one where you look like you're actually enjoying being alive," Chel drawled. "Shoulders back, chest up--no, not that much up, you'll throw your back out--and hips..." She demonstrated with Tulio's body.

"I do NOT move like that!" Tulio protested.

"You do now," Chel smirked. "And speaking of moving..." She gestured to the guards. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the ceremonial ankle bells? Our dancer seems to need additional... motivation."

The guards hurried off, leaving Tulio to glare at her stolen body. "Ankle bells?"

"Oh yes. They let everyone know if you miss a step." Her smile turned wicked. "And believe me, they'll be listening very carefully. The last dancer who missed a step... well, let's just say the jaguar pit got a midnight snack."

"You're making that up."

"Are you willing to bet your life on it?"

Miguel's rhythm faltered. "There's a jaguar pit?"

"Focus on the music," Chel commanded. "Try to look less like you're being tortured and more like you're communing with divine forces."

"I AM being tortured," Tulio muttered, but attempted to mirror Chel's movements.

"Better," Chel said as the guards returned with what looked like several pounds of golden bells. "Now, let's add some... musicality to your movement."

The ankle bells, when attached, made Tulio sound like a wandering herd of very uncoordinated goats.

"Remember," Chel called out as Tulio stumbled through another attempt at the basic steps, "this dance tells the story of creation itself! The rising of the sun! The birth of the world! The--" She winced as Tulio nearly toppled over. "Maybe we should start with something simpler."

"I'd like to see you do better in this body!" Tulio snapped, then immediately regretted it as Chel's eyes lit up.

"Oh honey," she drawled in Tulio's voice, "Would you like a demonstration?"

Before Tulio could protest, Chel had risen from the cushions and begun to move. Even in Tulio's body, she made the dance look effortless.

"You see?" She executed a perfect turn. "It's all in the intention. You have to mean it."

"I mean to strangle you with your butt-length hair," Tulio offered. "Does that count?"

The guards exchanged worried glances.

"Our dancer," Chel announced smoothly, "is simply overwhelmed by divine inspiration. The gods' presence can have that effect on mortals."

"Oh yes," Miguel added helpfully. "Very overwhelming."

Tulio's eye twitched. The ankle bells chimed accusingly.

"Perhaps," Chel suggested with malicious glee, "we should practice the part where you balance the sacred flames on your head while dancing through the purification pools?"

"WHAT?"

"Oh, don't worry," Chel's smile was pure evil on Tulio's face. "The flames are quite safe. As long as none of your hair catches fire."

Tulio reached up to touch her new long, flowing locks. "You're joking."

"Am I?" Chel raised one of Tulio's eyebrows.

Just as Tulio was about to launch into a tirade about the many, many ways in which this was not okay, a commotion at the temple entrance drew their attention. The enormous Chief Tannabok, resplendent in his ceremonial headdress and gold-embroidered robes, was bowing deeply before them.

"My lords," he intoned, his voice reverent. "I come to pay tribute to your divine presence and to humbly request your blessing for tonight's sacred ritual."

Chel (as Tulio) stepped forward, her stance regal. "Rise, Chief Tannabok. Your devotion pleases us."

The Chief stood, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of "Chel" standing beside the gods. "My lord, forgive me, but why is the temple dancer here? Has she displeased you in some way?"

Tulio (as Chel) opened her mouth to protest, but Chel (as Tulio) smoothly intervened. "On the contrary, Chief. Chel has been chosen as our sacred vessel. Through her dance, our divine power shall flow and bless your people."

Miguel, catching on, nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, very chosen. The most sacred of vessels. Absolutely brimming with divinity."

Tulio shot him a glare that could have melted gold.

Chief Tannabok, however, looked elated. "Truly, the gods have blessed us! To have our humble dancer serve as a conduit for your power... it is beyond our greatest hopes!"

"Yes, well," Chel smiled magnanimously, "we are nothing if not generous. In fact, we would be honored if you, Chief Tannabok, would personally prepare Chel for her sacred role."

"Me?" the Chief looked stunned. "My lord, I am not worthy to--"

"Nonsense," Chel waved a hand. "Who better to anoint our chosen one than the leader of our faithful? Miguel, the sacred oils, if you please."

Miguel, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and concern, startled. "The, uh-"

"Tulio" gestured to an ornate jar on the altar. "The sacred oils. For the anointing."

"Oh, right! The anointing! Of course!" Miguel scrambled to retrieve the jar, nearly dropping it in the process. "Silly me, always forgetting about the... anointing."

He handed the jar to Chief Tannabok, who accepted it with trembling hands. "My lords, I am honored beyond words."

"As you should be," Chel said smoothly. "Now, if you would be so kind as to prepare Chel for her divine duty..."

Tulio, who had been watching this exchange with growing horror, finally found his voice. "Now wait--"

But Chief Tannabok was already approaching, the jar of oil in his hands. "Please, allow me to serve the gods."

Tulio backed away, her new body's movements still awkward and unfamiliar. "I really don't think this is necessary--"

"Hush now," Chel (as Tulio) admonished. "The gods have spoken. Who are you to question their will?"

Tulio shot her a look of pure betrayal, but found herself backed against the altar, the Chief looming over her.

"Be still, child," Tannabok murmured, his voice low and reverent. "You have been chosen for a great honor."

He dipped his fingers into the oil, the scent of ylang-ylang, cacao flowers and copal resin filling the air. Tulio flinched as those large, callused hands touched his shoulders, the oil cool against his skin.

"Relax," the Chief whispered, his breath hot against Tulio's ear. "Let the gods' power flow through you."

Tulio shuddered as those hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts. He bit back a gasp as Tannabok's thumbs brushed over her nipples, the thin fabric of her top doing nothing to dull the sensation.

"Such perfection," the Chief marveled, his hands cupping and kneading the soft flesh. "Truly, the gods have blessed you."

Tulio squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations, the humiliation. But there was no escaping the feel of those rough hands mapping every inch of her new body.

The Chief's hands slid around to Tulio's back, tracing the line of his spine, the dimples above her ass. Tulio jerked as those hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing and spreading the flesh.

"So responsive," Tannabok chuckled, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Tulio's loincloth. "The gods will be pleased."