THE TOUCH does itâs job. his hands slide from patroclusâ hips, upward, over his sides, up to the firm ribcage, just touching him. every part of him aches for this, even whilst heâs here, itâs bittersweet, a victory, a death. he doesnât doubt that this moment, itâs borne from all that heâs wanted, all that heâs EXPECTED. the bombardment of dark feelings, those he doesnât indulge in often, the guilt, the fear, the loss, theyâll fade with Patroclus back.Â
     but for now, they remain a tide, hungry, unthinking, wasting the shore slowly.
he smiles ; he knows itâs not his fault - patroclusâ death was borne on the hands as FATE just as his own was, but he could never forgive anyone for it. even himself. it matters less now, now that patroclus is here, breathing, smiling.Â
â Â maybe youâll listen to me better this time around, then. Â â Â itâs mostly a joke, he knows Patroclus is incapable of indulging him in this; and he smiles, leaning in to kiss him again, still hungry, unable to ice anything, heâs a fire and a car crash. but the kiss warms him, heâs smiling when he pulls away, letting go of Patroclus and stepping back, eyes on him still, tracking him in his movements like prey ready to meet his spear.Â
    â  youâve got two floors of âiceâ â better hurry though.
       Iâve got a lot more to thaw you with, Patroclus.  â
  It would be foolish, Patroclus, to expect Achilles to settle, and yet some part of you always has expected it, a little.
  He hasnât dwelled on his death much, and refuses to now. No matter how much Achilles wants to rehash it, he doesnât think heâll remember anything more than the downwards thrust of Hectorâs spear, and moreover, he doesnât care to. Briefly, he thinks about the tattoo heâd planned to get where the blow had pierced him â cypress flowers blooming from the wound â and wonders if itâs still a good idea. He decides that it probably isnât, but that he probably doesnât care. Chances are, heâs not going to get any better at listening to Achilles anytime soon, and frankly, it has usually served him well. With the exception of the dire warnings of his own death.
  âYou know me, Achilles. How likely do you think that is?â
  He pulls back from the kiss and turns towards the stairway again, once more resisting the urge to laugh. He doesnât think heâs had to suppress so much mirth so often for a long time. If he dials Achilles down a notch, Achilles generally dials him up one.
  Since itâs just two floors and he doesnât want to give Achilles another ready handle to hold them up at the top, he doesnât take his hand back, but he does cast a glance over his shoulder and raise his eyebrows.
  âIâm not sure you get the point of icing something. Thawing is usually the opposite of what you want.â