Chapter Text
His lips burned every time they kissed. What else did he expect from the sun god? But underneath the burning was a taste Icarus could never place. Maybe it was gold, like the locks of hair that curled around his lover’s ears, or it was poetry, spilling in tiny whispers from Apollo’s mouth into his own. Whatever that taste was, he could never get enough of it. Despite the burning, and the hurt, it was all he wanted. Apollo was all he wanted. Icarus had never considered himself a romantic, had always kept himself rooted in reality. But he could see Apollo in everything around him, and it drove him to poetry. He could never help himself.
He knew his father would be furious, that he would never accept it. If only it had been Athena, or any of the goddesses that day. Maybe it would’ve turned out different, Icarus always tells himself, even though he knows it wouldn’t have. He knows it every time he feels the sun against his back, every time the dust particles float in front of his eyes lazily, captured in the sun’s rays. Icarus closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his chest as he lay on the roof. He felt the sun's warmth turn into the feather light touch of Apollo's hands, caressing his shoulders before running down his chest, in the same way they had the night previous. The sound of a lute being plucked carried faintly to his ears, and he knew Apollo was with him. It would be a warm night.
"Not many men are capable of being in my presence, you know," Apollo said one day, the words dancing off his tongue. He looked up at Icarus, his head being in the other’s lap. Icarus looked down into Apollo’s eyes, and he could understand why. Apollo’s eyes were a bright caramel brown, and his honey colored hair was softer than any silk. But it was the way that the sun followed him, shining behind those eyes and filtering through that hair, that would drive any man mad. Icarus only smiled, running his fingers through Apollo’s hair as the world brightened around them.