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Emerging from the heat of battle, Ares revelled in the fire burning under his skin, the sweat dripping from his forehead, mingling with blood on the way down. His grin was wide as he took in the aftermath, countless bodies strewn about him, and his hands itched to dig into the gore and begin stripping the finest armour for his walls. He froze, however, as he spotted the figure leaning heavily against an overturned chariot, body shaking.
Not just any figure. Thanatos, his Thanatos, hunched over, hood hanging down to obscure his face as shaky sounds came from his mouth. Panic flared in his mind, dropping his kopis without thought among the bodies to close the distance between them quickly. He stopped just short of Death, hand reaching out but hovering midair, unsure of how to approach, what to do in such a situation.
Thanatos looked up and met his gaze from below the hood, tears in his eyes. Ares’ mind was reeling, trying to understand what had happened, what could have caused such a reaction while he was busy with war. But then he noticed that the corners of his mouth were upturned, and slowly Ares recognised the sounds to be not sobs but laughter.
Laughter.
Death was laughing.
“My death-dealing friend,” he started carefully, hand lowering to his side but twitching in place uncertainly. “This is… most unusual. What has amused you so?”
Death straightened, his laughter cooling to chuckles and smile forming into something like a smirk as he straightened his hood. It was an odd look for him but not an unwelcome one, and Ares felt his initial worry calm into bemusement.
“Before the truce ended,” Thanatos started, sounding like he was fighting back a grin, “I was up there, on the walls.” He gestured to the city at that, to the spot where Ares knew the royal family sat often, watching the fighting take place below them.
Ares raised an eyebrow, surprised that Thanatos would be lingering there without reason, but nodded for him to continue nonetheless.
“The king, he asked about Agamemnon,” he started again, trying to fight back his amusement. He ultimately failed, laughter spilling out as he leaned forward to catch his breath, a hand held up in apology. It was mesmerising to Ares, and he found himself smiling at the sight of Death enjoying himself, regardless of the reason.
“And described him,” he got out between bouts of laughter, finally meeting his gaze again to finish, “as the one with a waist like Ares.”
He blinked, processing the words and then frowning deeply.
“Agamemnon? Agamemnon. He compared me to Agamemnon?”
“Indeed, bane of men.”
“I… see. And you? Do you think us alike?”
Thanatos grinned, moving closer to wrap his arms around Ares, pulling their bodies together as if he could examine his waist only through contact with it.
“Well,” he mused teasingly, “He does have an impressive waist.”
Ares huffed, about to pull away, but Thanatos caught the sound with his mouth, pulling him into a greedy kiss, ignoring the tang of blood in his mouth from the war god fresh from battle. He could live with that, Ares decided. Until the end of this war, at least. Then perhaps he would have to speak with his father about a suitably grisly end for the Mycenaean king, if only to keep Thanatos’ eyes on him.