love and its decisive pain

   IT WOULD BE EASY TO BELIEVE. To roll over and drift back into the embrace of sleep and pretend he hadn’t felt the ash in his own lungs, woken to Hypnos’s gasp for air. He thinks that, perhaps, if he had been there none of it would have happened. People are intimidated of him by nature of his stature alone, even if they’re too oblivious to feel the power radiating from an of the three of them. Perhaps if Kastor and Hypnos had not been along Kastor would not have blood on his hands ( this lifetime, he thinks, is one of the only he had been allowed to remain so soft ) and Hypnos would not be having nightmares about mortal men with hubris to challenge his own in all of the worst places.

    ICARUS TAKES HYPNOS’S HAND, holding it gently to his face as he turns to press lips to inner wrist. His own hands bare the evidence of time spent at worktables and a habit towards distraction when handling more dangerous tools ( he allows them to scar his mortal form only because he thinks they add character ), providing a level of enchantment with Hypnos’s own hands, so small by comparison, pale and largely unblemished. Their love is made of contrasts and sharp corners but it is made nonetheless. Releasing his lovers hand his lips press to his forehead instead, own fingers coming to press to the place where wings would sprout should they appear on his form. For a moment he simply hold him, nose in his hairline, silent but not without tension or thought.