Box of Chocolates (C/Icaurs/Ahote)

Icarus

There was a moment of silence as Icarus digested what he'd done and the reaction to it. How dumb was he? "Ahote, that's not fair," Icarus said quietly, lowering his arms. "I actually would have told you," he said, as bewildering as that was to consider. Now it felt a little like a mistake. Maybe it was wrong for him to want that considering what they were. He felt foolish for his outburst and that he was the one to out his own secrets simply because he felt like Ahote didn't care, and for that moment he wanted someone to care for him. He was always the detached one. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought."

Turning, he went back to wrangling the mattress into the new frame. Once it was finally placed, he sat down on it with a heaviness quickly compounding. He brought his hand to his face and pressed his fingers to his eyes, then rubbed them as if it would release some of the tension. "Our relationship," he repeated flatly, not any more prepared for this conversation than he usually was. "The lines have already blurred more than... I don't know what to tell you. We sure as hell aren't just boss and employee anymore, are we?" he asked, looking back up at Ahote. Maybe he'd wanted Ahote to ask about his scars because he subconsciously wished to come clean. Maybe he was finally ready to form a bond, as ill-advised as that was. It was natural. It was biology. It just hurt like hell and was more complicated than he wanted to deal with. Alana had been dead a long time now, though. Had he not moved one? "Tell me what...what's going on in your head."

Icarus

A wave of discomfort washed over Icarus. So it really was time to face this. Given his outbursts for today and the thought he'd paid it while he was away from Ahote for a few days, Icarus knew what was going on in his case. Ahote was being a flavour he craved, just like the coffee he'd grown to like because of the man. Fucking other people had lost the thrill it once held. He'd tried, but his mind wandered back where he didn't want it to go.

"..fuck." Icarus sighed, eyes averted from the brunette seated at his side. He didn't want to label it. He wanted to leave it unchanged, unspoken. He also knew that it couldn't stay as it was. Not now. It was time to choose the path. Run away or ride it out. Icarus could be gone by tomorrow as if he'd never been in Ahote's life at all. He was a congenial but elusive person. Many times he'd had no trouble flipping the switch and becoming an insufferable asshole that the other person was glad to see disappear. The temptation was strong, but it wasn't the only temptation. Leaning forward to rest his arms wearily on his knees, one hand raised to both rub and support his aching head. Staring at the floor would do him little good, now wouldn't it? Turning his head in his hand, his half-lidded goldenrod eyes were deeply contemplative.

For a long moment, he gazed at Ahote. His question seemed to cause Icarus some sort of pain, as told by the tense and fluctuating tension in his jaw and the set of his mouth. Ahote wanted more. He wanted some sort of anchor placed to hold them in place instead of allowing them both to freely float. More than trists after work to get off. He wanted to talk, to touch, to kiss. Those things had been Alana's alone. Alana was dead. Icarus was not. And Icarus, while talking was a little more difficult, also felt the draw to touch the man and kiss him even when nothing more could happen. The trauma of losing her ran deep. Getting hurt that way again was pure terror. Icarus had been completely shattered and had to be put back together again. If he let this progress, he knew he'd end up consumed, and if something happened to Ahote, there wouldn't be enough pieces to repair.

If only he could just get a moment to smoke.

Even at this confusing stage of whatever they'd evolved into, Icarus knew he'd miss Ahote if they split. The glowing ears and borderline OCD, the torturous horniness, how he could get excited over eating utensils and plates, how he could unleash scathing truths and be shyly indirect with the same mouth that moaned his name. They'd already vaulted over the lines when the ICEA trip happened. The rules had changed.

He put out his hand toward Ahote, not to show his scars this time, though they were still visible, but instead to ask for the other's touch. Icarus finally broke the tormented thoughtful expression by crooking one corner of his mouth up. There was no denying that he liked the other man. "What kind of different things might I want to try, Ahote?" he asked, apprehensive but interested. "Asking for you to kiss me?" he asked, lifting his head from his hand, though his battered body remained hunched over. There was a spark of playfulness as he accepted the new dynamic between them, but it didn't linger. "You'll have to learn patience with me on the talking portion. I've picked up some bad habits. If you get to know me, maybe you won't like me anymore."

Icarus

As Ahote ran his fingers over the scar, a shiver ran down Icarus' spine, causing him to gently shudder. It wasn't hurting him, but the sensation was quite odd. It was almost pleasurable. The skin there was especially sensitive due to being covered for so long and the damage done to the nerves at the slice mark proper made touch feel tingly, like hot or cold, but he couldn't tell which. It brought an involuntary snicker, which caused his cheeks to tint with heat. How stupid.

Clearing his throat, he answered Ahote. "Yeah, I guess that's okay. What other choice do we have?" Icarus said, relenting. There was a peace in it, though his voice was tired. He wouldn't run away this time. At least, not today. "I hope you do come to like me more," he said softly, still gazing at the man in the dazed way he had all day. Icarus had never been so off his game in front of Ahote before, but there was little that could be done about it.

In the interest of starting this new venture on the right foot, Icarus decided to work on the talking issue. He could tell Ahote was curious about the mark he was caressing but didn't want to ask. It was a difficult subject, whether he'd tried to hide it or not. "It was a couple of years ago," he began, feeling his mouth go dry. If he was perceptive enough, perhaps Ahote could pick up the increased rate of pulse from his wrist. He'd never talked about it before. "I...Mm..." The wall was not easy to crack. It seemed the words would not come easily now, even though he'd been so prepared to blurt them out earlier. Would Ahote think less of him? Would it shatter the facade of unflappable easy-breezy cool he'd built? There was a pause as he turned his face away, casting his weary eyes on the floor. "It is what it looks like," he ended up saying, squeezing the hand in his as if to keep it from escaping. "I made those marks."

Icarus

Icarus heaved a heavy sigh, accepting Ahote's closer proximity by turning and leaning his forehead back into the crook of his neck, where he'd had it earlier. Despite his usual disposition, Icarus had once been a very soft boy like he was being currently, though this perhaps had more to do with his injuries than his genuine decisions. The perfect storm of feeling like shit and the leather band breaking cracked a small hole in his wall. "I lost someone," he said quietly, not ready to speak her name aloud. He let the heaviness hang in the room. He didn't need to explain that he'd loved her with everything he had, did he? He'd risked everything for her. Maybe it wasn't clear to Ahote if he meant a lover or family or friend, but Icarus couldn't bring himself to elaborate. There was a lump in his throat. "It was my fault." Icarus' voice was strained but was deadening. "I couldn't deal with it."

He fell quiet again after that. Ahote's skin felt soothing and chilled against his feverish forehead. He always got feverish when he was in pain. His wounds grieved the position his body was in, but he didn't care. After a few deep, calming breaths, Icarus spoke again in his usual tone. "But I was saved by Omera and I'm okay now. I'm not who I was back then," he said, looking at this wrist as the pearly sheen over it flashed at the mention of the goddess' name. Was this the worst of his story? It was depressing that Icarus wasn't sure. There was so much more, but he wasn't ready for that. This was a good enough place to test the waters. He'd reveal just the tip of the iceberg. Ahote was likely to see the scars eventually even if this hadn't happened. Perhaps it was Omera's will that he forge a new bond. It was comforting to think of it that way.

Icarus

"I owe everything to Omera. She's the goddess that saved my life," Icarus said with admiration, simply enjoying Ahote's attention and tender touches. He was aware that they had a lot to do, but as his lover suspected, Icarus was starting to struggle under the weight of the conversation, but more because of his injuries. His bandages were turning red in some places as his wounds seeped, turning the white shirt he should have never put on pink in spots. Ahote might have purged most of the flat of his blood, but he'd yet to witness the carnage in the bathroom. "I didn't know anything about her before I made those cuts, but she chose to save me anyway. I'm sure I'd be dead several times over if not for her blessings." Bellian people were already a country of highly religious folk, but their god was Arcanos and no one else. Why would someone whose magic had all but betrayed him worship the God of Magic? Magic was the source of all of his problems. Icarus had simply shifted his beliefs from one god who didn't help him to the one that did, something his home country would despise, he was certain. Among other things.

If things went as planned, he'd be posing way more of a problem to their culture soon enough.

Heaving a sigh, Icarus planned to sit up and get back to work, yet lingered. "I should put up the canopy curtains," he said, nuzzling his forehead more into Ahote's shoulder. He very much didn't want to move unless it was to lay back for the rest of the day, but there were things to do and he wasn't one to quit in the middle of a project. At the very least he could put the sheets back on the bed and hang the curtains. Leaning up with heavy reluctance, he looked over at Ahote with a tired smile, slowly getting to his feet. "Thanks for listening. It's...weird talking about it, but I think I feel a little better."

Icarus

Icarus blinked slowly at Ahote has he turned testy, pointing at the shirt he'd had a hard time putting on earlier. Slowly his honey eyes dropped down to where he was indicating. "It seemed like it'd be less worrisome if I put on a shirt," he stated dimly. He brought his hand around to press lightly on one of the pink stains, darkening it. Frowning, he was nearly about to wave Ahote off and go on about his business, but he knew he hadn't done the best job wrapping himself up. "I'm just all sorts of trouble for you today, aren't I?" Icarus asked. There was a tittle of embarrassment in his posture and the way he lowered his head, but he did as instructed.

Or he tried to, at least. In the same way he'd encountered difficulty getting the undersized shirt on, he couldn't get it off. His wounded shoulder limited the movement needed to get it up over his head. It was probably humorous to watch him wrestle with the shirt in futility before he lost his patience with it. Using his good arm, he reached up to the collar and gave it a good yank, tearing the fabric down the middle. He then shrugged it off to drop on the floor. "I hope you aren't squeamish. It's grim under these wraps," warned the blond. He removed the bandages to show the damage. A wince tensed his whole body as the comforting pressure was removed and the air hit open wounds. "Shit..." he muttered, looking as if he'd collapse for just a fleeting moment, but he steadied on his own.

There was no doubt that he struggled with his battle. A claw mark wrapped around his right shoulder and snaked down his arm, accounting for his difficulty with the shirt. By the time all the wrappings were gone, the entirety of the portrait revealed itself. The knot on his head and the bruising around his cheek and mouth were nothing compared to the deep, nearly black ones from blood pooling under the skin of his front and back. There were a couple more gashes, but the king of them was across his chest. It was deep. Icarus had assumed that because he was still alive that it had been non-fatal, but that wasn't the case. The demon's talon had intruded very deeply. He would have bled out into the thirsty sands in a matter of moments if not for the pearlescent film still in the process of sealing it off. Omera's protection over her disciple continued. Once it was finished, it would match the shiny scars on his wrists. "Heh...demon claws are really sharp..."

Icarus

As most did, Icarus went in with a breezy attitude. "I'll be fine," Icarus assured his lover, seating himself and trusting his bloody body to Ahote. Cleaning it could hurt no worse than receiving it. It was just soap. "No hospitals. Omera will keep me alive. I have faith."

As most found out, that was not the case. As soon as he started cleaning it, Icarus' fingers clamped onto the seat of the chair beneath him and every muscle in his body contracted at the same time. His lips pressed into a hard line and his eyes squeezed into slits, but this lasted only a moment before his mouth opened and he unleashed strained curses and groans of pain. At one point, his balance wavered on the chair and his eyes fluttered as if he was about to lose consciousness, but Icarus managed to hold on and endure. It just took most of what little strength he had left.

Despite what he wanted others to think, Icarus was unaccustomed to dealing with most hardships in life, especially pain. He grew up with the silver spoon in his mouth. He had learned to exist without money in his solitary years, but one didn't glean all the necessities of life in such a short time. Back in Bellum, the Vivaldi were a deeply rooted family of powerful mages. As nobles, they had clout and expectations to be on top of the food chain. Untouchable. His youth was days of luxury and others doing everything for him. The closest he came to injury was during his magic lessons. Every day he endured tedious tutoring, both with his weak magic and the secret holder magic. His teacher wasn't allowed to leave more than a bruise on his high-class ass. After the incident that prompted him to run away, Icarus had little choice but to adapt to injury since the world cared not for his status, but that also meant he had little to no idea how to care for himself nor how to deal with the pain.

By the time Ahote had Icarus all bandaged up again, the blond was reaching out to grab onto the other man to keep steady. All the blood had drained from his face and he had broken into a cold sweat. He looked quite poorly. "I need to lay down," he said weakly, moving from the chair back to the bed, though he took Ahote with him. As he returned to heavily sitting on the naked mattress, he peered up at Ahote. "Will you stay with me? Please?" Icarus asked, hating that the furniture construction was over for him for the day even though the task wasn't finished, but not wanting his lover to leave.

Icarus

If Icarus had his way, Ahote wouldn't be working anymore tonight either. As the brunette gave in and laid beside him, the injured man curled up against him, throwing an arm over him to keep him from escaping as well as to enjoy the warmth of his body against his chilled one. It was comforting having him there, even if the day wasn't what they'd hoped. Even if Icarus wasn't feeling his best, just laying down with Ahote was an improvement. "Yeah, it was worth it. It was worth everything," he sighed, attempting to stave off sleep in favour of chatting with his lover. "I think I have enough jewel to go back now. I'm running out of time," Icarus mumbled into Ahote's shoulder.

He was quiet for only a moment, then sharply inhaled. He hadn't meant to say anything about that. He was too chatty today, but couldn't seem to help himself. That did bring him around to thinking about Ahote. It felt weird that he'd revealed what felt like so much, but he still knew nothing about his boss other than he owned Boomslang. "Ahote," prompted the blond in a sleepy tone. "Tell me something about yourself. All I know about you is you own a club and you have zombie magic. And you think I'm cute," he grinned, letting his eyes fall closed. Icarus wasn't sleeping yet. His eyelids were simply too heavy to keep up.