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Nico is no stranger to guilt. He battled with it for years after the deaths of his mother and sister. He clawed through the dark murkiness of guilt and grief, drowning in the pain it brought him.
The type he feels now is different. The edges have not lost their sharpness, there is still pain with it. The only difference is how good he feels at the moment. The joy he feels in the moments with Will.
It’s how he feels in the morning after Will stays the night. Prickling guilt spikes at his chest, chiding him from not telling Reyna or Will about the other. His brain yells at him for keeping Will a secret, his secret, but a secret all the same.
But the guilt is welcomed if it means Nico can have Will like he does. He lets it war with the pleasure, the all consuming, nearly earth ending pleasure he enjoys. It’s intoxicating, stronger than any wine he’s ever tasted.
Will lays next to him, lazy and calm in the early morning. Sun slips through the drawn curtains, illuminating his naked side, blurring it until Will looks ethereal. He’s carved from the sun in moments like these, blaring and gold even in the dark of Nico’s bedchamber.
In these moments, Nico understands the appeal of statues. He believes Will should be carved from marble, every dimple, every freckle, every muscle, preserved for years. Will deserves to be remembered for generations to come, gazed upon the way Nico gazes upon him. With awe and admiration, no other emotion would do him justice.
Back in the day, Will would’ve been a god. People would’ve worshiped him, thrown offerings to him, prayed to him. They would’ve known him, his name, his accomplishments, his duties.
However, they would not know him. They would not know every spot on his body just by touch. They would not know his footfalls just by paying attention. They would not know the way his voice sounded, loud or quiet, raspy or smooth.
They could not know him the way Nico does, and knowing was all Nico could give him.
Will stirs, stretching out against the sheets. The covers dipped, giving Nico a view he would worship for. It’s in these moments he can gaze unabashedly at the tanned skin dotted with freckles, putting the stars to shame. He can stare at every muscle that he has the privilege to feel against him.
What a privileged life he gets to live. Not because of his status, the crown means nothing to him. He has the privilege of gazing at the sun in the form of a man. He has the privilege to hold and be held by him. He has the privilege to utter his name, and for him to utter his.
Will wakes slowly. His eyes open, glittering the color of the summer sky, clear of clouds. He stretches again, making noises of contentment as he nuzzles back against the sheets. He blinks lazily at Nico, smiling with enough power to burn.
“Good morning,” he whispers. Nico loves his voice in the morning, there’s an accent in there that he hides during the day. It shoots through him, settling in his chest like the stray animals that walk around the kingdom.
“Good morning,” Nico whispers back. He is not done looking at Will, drinking him in when he is awake. He is fit for the day, bright and alluring. He sustains life with his presence, sustains Nico with his presence.
Will smiles. “Is there something you like?”
What isn’t there to like about Will? Nico could not find one thing to dislike. No one could, it was impossible.
Nico doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he asks his own. “Do you know the story of Icarus?”
Will laughs, quiet and low with sleep. “Of course I do,” he says, looking over at Nico through his lashes. “Who doesn’t?” Then, “Why do you ask?”
Nico caresses Will’s face. He trails his hands over his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, the dimples on his cheeks. He hovers his lips over Will’s, barely touching them no matter how much he wants to dive in.
“I think I finally understand why he did what he did.”
“Oh?” Will breathes. His eyes dip to Nico’s lips, then back to his eyes. “Do tell.”
Icarus fell due to his pride, his hubris. He believed he could reach the sun, disobey his father. His wax wings melted, resulting in his crash into the sea.
If Will was Nico’s sun, he would not hesitate to fly closer. Wax wings be damned, he would fly until his death as well. He would crash into the currents every time just to feel the golden embrace.
“If you were the sun,” Nico whispers, eliciting a sharp inhale from Will. “There would be no hesitation, I would fly towards you every time.”
Will kisses him, lighting every part of Nico up. He clutches at Nico like he will leave him, even though Nico would face death before letting go of Will. There’s a fire inside him, running rampant under his skin at every touch.
“If I were the sun,” Will pants, “I would fall with you.”
Nico believes every word. The fall of one would be followed by the other. The loss of a lover is directly proportional to the loss of the sun.