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Icarus flew low over the sea, the ocean spray and wind kissing his face, and felt more alive than he ever did before his death. He spent most of his life locked away, most of his afterlife fighting Chronos, and now with the Titan gone he could finally fly free. He closed his eyes, a soft smile upon his face as he basked in the warmth of the setting sun. For the first time, there was no one to stop him from flying far into the distance, no kings, no gods, not even the limits of his own body. If he wanted to, he could finally fly up to the sun and see what was hidden within its warm embrace.
But that would be another day.
He flew over the Rift of Thessaly, passing where he’d usually run into Melinoe, headed towards the base of Mount Olympus. He didn’t dare fly high enough to enter, settling for soaring low over its beaches. He was only a shade, and knew he could not enter Olympus unless invited. The only gods he had founded bonds with were of the Chthonic variety, and he was lucky to have that.
Still, he couldn’t help but fly close, just to see. He had long known that his curiosity was one of the things that he couldn’t control. It was why his life had been so short, after all.
There— a few stragglers from Chronos’ army lingered on the sands, looking for a way to get up and into Olympus. Melinoe was on a run to the Underworld, so there was no one to deal with these villains. No one but Icarus, of course.
Icarus swooped like an osprey, unhooking a bomb and launching it at the monsters below. They dove for cover, scattering into the landscape. Icarus kept hot on their tails, launching bomb after bomb at them. Before the war, the thought of such violence would have made him flinch. Now these beasts were simply getting what they deserved.
A flash of gold light pierced through the dimming skies. Icarus barely had time to swerve out of the way. It cut his cheek, barely grazing him. He spun in midair, tugging on the controls of his wings, searching the ground for the assailant. As soon as he caught a glimpse of gold in the corner of his eye, Icarus spun and hurled a bomb towards it.
He realized as soon as the bomb left his hand that the figure was not a monster, but human.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Icarus hissed. He folded his wings in and dove.
Wings pressed flat against his back, he shot past his falling bomb. He crashed directly into the figure, pushing them back into the ground. With a pull of a cable, his wings formed a protective barrier over them both as the bomb hit.
The sound made Icarus’ ears ring. He grit his teeth as he crouched over the figure, bracing his arms against his wings to hold up the barrier as shrapnel bounced off it. He was thankful he had the foresight to add this function to his wings, though he did not think he’d have to use it because of his own damn folly.
Once the world quieted and the smoke cleared, Icarus took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I did not realize—“
This was when he turned to look at the person he had almost killed, the person he had crashed into, the person he was practically straddling.
The God of Light and Music, Apollo himself, shone beneath him. Icarus didn’t know if it was Apollo or Helios that shot him down that day, angry at his childish pride, but knowing his luck, it would be the god below him. When gods were involved, not even death could hold back their wrath.
Quickly shaking off his own dazed expression, Apollo laughed at the look of horror that overcame Icarus’ face. “Hard to tell if someone’s a monster from far, hm? Even if they’re shining brighter than the sun?” He put a hand on his chin. “Well, maybe that just makes me a more obvious target.”
Icarus scrambled off of him, stumbling against his wings. “I did not mean to, I swear. I was just flying. There were monsters, and I-I thought that you were one of them. I never would have dreamed— I never would have tried to bomb you. I shouldn’t be here in the first place. I’m so sorry, sir—“
“Ugh, don’t call me sir. It makes me sound as old as my father.” Apollo wrinkled his nose, then returned to that easygoing smile that he loved to wear. “Youre Icarus, aren’t you? Melinoe’s friend?”
Of course Apollo recognized him. Icarus wasn’t a fool-- even if it was Helios who had a grudge against him, the two obviously worked close together. Apollo knew everything. He could’ve been the very one to shot him out of the sky that day. Icarus couldn’t remember it well. That entire day was a blur, the memory nothing more than an exhilarating light, followed by sinking down, down into the sea.
“Yes.” Icarus bit back apologies, knowing too well he would continue to ramble. He bowed where he sat, pressing his face against the sand. “I’m so sorry, Lord Apollo.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it. I shot first, it’s only fair. I thought you were one of those blasted harpies making a ruckus.” Apollo sat up, his bow on his lap. “We’ll call it even.”
Icarus looked back up, and that was a mistake.
Apollo was… beautiful. Icarus had heard tales of the god’s youthful and handsome appearance, had seen depictions of him in tapestries and upon pottery, but none of those held a candle to the real thing. The god was radiant, his golden hair like liquid sun upon his shoulders, his dark skin aglow in the rosy light of the setting sun. Icarus understood now why the god had so many lovers. Who could resist him?
But there was something else glinting in those eyes. A danger that all beautiful things held. Icarus knew well how dangerous the sun could be, how quickly it could burn. He knew that Apollo may be the god of medicine, but he was also the god of plague, and was prone to inflicting harm as much as he was to healing it.
And the way Apollo was looking at him right now reminded Icarus of a raven ready to strike.
Icarus broke eye contact, turning to examine his wings. He let out a long sigh as he took in the damage. He had done a great job in making that bomb, which meant that his wings were in poor shape. They had done their job- protected him and Apollo -but they were falling apart. It would take him a while to fix them enough just to get back to the Crossroads, where he could do the proper repairs at his workbench.
“Ah, shame,” Apollo said from behind him. Icarus didn’t turn to look, but he knew the god was leaning over his shoulder. “They’re a lovely little invention. You can fix it, I hope?”
“I should be able to.” Icarus rummaged around in the pockets of the tool belt around his waist. “At least just enough to get home.”
Apollo swung to his feet, eyes scanning the horizon. “You’re not going to do it out here, are you? Chronos’ lackeys have been liking the beach lately. And not for leisure.”
Icarus folded his wings, tying them into a manageable bundle. “Well, I’m already dead, so there's not much they can do to me. And I still got bombs.” Plenty of them.
“Well, why don’t you come over to my place?” Apollo suggested, as casually as if he was simply offering to help Icarus to stand. “Then you won’t have to waste any of your precious little bombs.”
Icarus stumbled to his feet, clutching his wings to his chest. “Oh, no, I can’t impose. I’m just a shade, you see. Not one for Olympus. Well, I don’t mean that I’m not worthy of it. Oh, but I know it’s an honor. I just mean that—“
Apollo threw his head back and laughed, a light and musical sound, like chimes upon the wind. “Oh, hush, now! Consider it my apology for shooting at you in the first place. Come along, now, before any of those fiends try and attack while you’re grounded.”
He did not leave Icarus any room to refuse, but Icarus was already following him. Icarus knew he was making a mistake, but that overwhelming curiosity had seized his heart, the very same that had him soar up, up, up all those years ago. Icarus clutched his wings to his chest as the god led him through an overlooked path. After unlocking a door with his divine powers, Apollo held it open for him.
“After you.” Apollo waved a hand.
Icarus told himself he wouldn’t act a fool at seeing Olympus, yet as soon as he crossed the threshold, his jaw dropped. Olympus was far grander than he could have imagined, multiple times bigger than the palace he had been imprisoned in, and far more luxurious. Even in the state of disrepair the war had left it in, Olympus was a paradise.
“This way, bird.” Apollo caught his attention by crooking his finger. “Best if we don’t run into Father. He loathes it when I bring unexpected guests. Oh, but don’t worry. We won’t get caught.”
Icarus hurried after him, forcing himself to stop looking around like a star-struck traveler. Apollo’s words made his heart quicken. Icarus was never good with people who flirted as their main form of talk. He could never tell if they were like that with everyone, or just him. With Apollo, it was hard to tell. He certainly spoke as easily as if he addressed everyone like that, with a pet name and a smile. Still, there was something in his gaze when he’d look back that Icarus couldn’t shake.
But who was he kidding? He was just a shade, and a lowly one at that. One whose greatest feat was dying young and stupid. It was a miracle he was even there at all, following Apollo into--
A private bedroom.
Icarus swallowed as he stepped into the room. It was larger than Melinoe’s room at the Crossroads, larger than the entire little shack that Icarus had taken for himself to be his home in the afterlife. Gauzy curtains shone pink in the setting sun like rose petals, swaying in the evening breeze. Various instruments were strewn about-- gold and glittering, but clearly well-loved. The bed could’ve easily fit ten people in it. A giant snakeskin hung above it like a canopy, the green-gray scales glittering and sharp.
“Is that--”
“Yes, that’s Python,” Apollo said. Though his voice was calm and easy, it was clear he was proud. “Nasty work, terrorizing the Oracle of Delphi. No match for me, though.”
Apollo lead Icarus to a large table, brushing aside scrolls and quills to clear it. “Hope this isn’t too bad of a workbench. I mostly use it for composing, these days.”
Icarus held back the temptation to look through Apollo’s compositions, instead laying his wings upon the table. “Thanks. I think it’ll do just fine.”
Usually, Icarus was a quick worker. As soon as he sat down, tools at the ready, he would fall into a deep focus. It would bite him, sometimes, when he’d lose track of time and find himself exhausted, but in his undead state he found it more useful than not.
But he couldn’t focus with Apollo staring at him.
The god sat on the stool beside him, elbow propped up on the table, chin in hand. He didn’t say anything, didn’t get in the way, just watched with those glittering eyes. Icarus forced himself not to stare back, keeping his gaze set firmly at his work, but Apollo’s stare still burned through him. It made him fumble, a little, his tools catching upon the bolts and chains a little more rough than usual.
“Are you nervous?” Apollo asked, and Icarus could almost hear the laughter he was holding back.
“A little,” Icarus admitted. “Never had an Olympian watch me work.”
“Don’t you work with Artemis?”
“Oh, not very much. Our paths don’t really cross. She’s nice, though. Smart. Given me some pointers on how to increase the accuracy in some of my weapons.”
This earned a nod of approval from Apollo. “Good. I don’t care for people who don’t get along with my dear sis.”
Icarus knew that well. He had heard the rumors, of people struck down with the plague or golden arrows. He kept his head down as he nodded. “It must be nice, having a sibling. I never got the chance.”
“Honestly, I’m just lucky that we get along at all, with the terrible relationship my family has with one another at times.” Apollo yawned behind one hand. “Oh, but don’t mind me distracting you. Carry on”
Icarus was thankful for the silence. It was easier to put his head down and work when Apollo’s melodious voice wasn’t worming its way through his mind and burrowing into his heart. He kept his breaths steady, pulling out a small pair of magnifying spectacles to help him with the more delicate repairs, hunched over as he made quick work. It wasn’t the best work he had done, by far, but he needed to get out of there before Apollo killed him-- figuratively or literally. Icarus didn’t know why the god invited him here, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out.
(He did. He wanted so badly.)
A shifting in the corner of his vision caught Icarus’ eye. Without realizing what he was doing, he glanced over. A mistake.
Apollo was leaned back against his half of the table, taking off his sandals. Chiton hiked up over his knees, he slid the straps down his legs. Icarus’ gaze locked onto his muscular calves, the magnifying spectacles revealing the soft, curly blonde hair dusting his skin that was easily missed by the naked eye. Icarus couldn’t look away as Apollo’s hands slid down his legs to massage his calves, delicate yet strong fingers kneading into his dark skin. Icarus’ gaze followed those fingers as they traveled up his legs, ghosting past his knee and up to his thigh, underneath the hem--
All this time, Icarus’ hands had kept working. He drove the hammer into his first two fingers. He recoiled with a curse, pulling back his hand and shaking it, as if somehow that would get rid of the pain.
“Oh, poor little bird,” Apollo cooed. He scooted forward, holding out his hands. “Allow me. I’ll fix you right up.”
Icarus had never seen Apollo’s healing magic, so he didn’t know what he expected.
He certainly did not expect the god to take his injured fingers in his mouth.
Icarus froze, staring at him with wide eyes. The corners of Apollo’s mouth were curled in a smile as he ran his tongue over Icarus’ fingers. He was sucking upon them, unashamed as he cradled Icarus’ hand in both of his. When he finally pulled off, there was a small line of spit running down the corner of his mouth.
“Better?” Apollo asked, as if he was innocent.
Icarus could only manage a nod. Well… at least his fingers didn’t hurt anymore.
Apollo laughed, the sound making Icarus’ cheeks burn. The god reached out and hooked two curled fingers under Icarus’ chin, gently turning the shade to face him.
“You’re a darling little thing,” Apollo told him. “Now, watch.”
What could Icarus do? Hands folded in his lap, body tense, he watched as Apollo unhooked his pauldron and breastplate, setting the armor upon the floor with a gentle click. Icarus’ mouth went dry as Apollo reached for the pin on his chiton.
The god of the sun stood before him, naked and radiant. Icarus couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling between his legs, past the golden curls upon his stomach, to his cunt. His small cock stood proud and hard from under its hood. The gods were fluid, born with the luxury to choose whatever form they so pleased. To see that Apollo chose a form so close to his own made Icarus run hot.
“Well?” Apollo tilted his head, his hair falling over his shoulders in soft waves. “What do you think? Do I please you?”
Icarus spoke without thinking. “Yes. You’re radiant. Well, I know that’s expected. You’re Apollo, after all. God of light. Oh, um, forgive me. I don’t mean to sound eager. I just mean… yes. You’re beautiful.” Icarus cursed himself, wanting to curl up and die in his shame.
Apollo sunk back down upon the cushioned stool, once again leaning one arm against the worktable. “Oh, you don’t have to hide it, little bird. I’ve seen the way you look at me. All those glances. Like you’re starving. Why don’t you sit at my feet and make a feast of me, hm?”
This was a bad idea. Apollo was crafty. Icarus still didn’t know his agenda, why he would invite someone who angered him into his room. This could all be some sort of ruse, some way to humiliate or punish Icarus, in the end. Icarus couldn’t be that lucky, to have a god giving himself to him.
But Apollo’s voice was like honey. Icarus wanted so desperately to find out how he tasted.
Moving like a man possessed, his body feeling slow and syrupy, Icarus slid from his stool and to the floor. He knelt at the god’s feet, between his legs, but did not partake, not yet. He was eager, but he knew better. He could see the fire burning behind Apollo’s eyes.
Apollo reached down to take the magnifying spectacles off Icarus’ face, folding them up and gently setting them upon the table. He ran a curled finger down the Icarus’ cheek, swooping below his jaw, before drawing his face in. Icarus’ eyes fluttered closed, letting out a deep, longing sigh as he buried his face into Apollo’s cunt.
Later, Icarus would wonder how the hell he managed to get here, pleasuring one of the two gods that he had angered in his life. But in the moment, there were no thoughts plaguing him. He ran his tongue over Apollo’s cock, shuddering when he heard the god let out a labored breath. Apollo’s hand moved from his face to his hair, gripping tight and holding him in place as Icarus lapped at him, slow and steady.
“Ah, good. I can tell you’ve done this before.” Apollo’s voice was breathy and high. “Lovely. Keep going, little bird.”
Icarus did not know if it was divine powers or if he was just delirious, but he could swear that Apollo even tasted lovely. The smell of his body was musky and floral, invading Icarus’ senses. He couldn’t help but lose himself in Apollo, truly feasting upon him, running his tongue around his cock, sliding it down to his slit, and back up. He dared not pause or look up, but the pleased humming from Apollo told him he was doing well.
It was the sound of a bottle opening that made Icarus glance up. Apollo had pulled out a bottle of ambrosia, sipping from it while Icarus pleasured him.
“Oh, would you like a taste?” Apollo asked.
Icarus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Then you’d better make me come.”
A moan escaped Icarus, making Apollo laugh. The god leaned back against the table, bracing his weight upon it so he could wrap his legs around him. Icarus was trapped between the gods' thighs. Despite Apollo’s legs being slender, Icarus could feel the strength within them, and it sent a flash of heat down between his legs. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Apollo’s thighs, holding onto the god just as tightly.
“Ah, good little bird.” Apollo returned one hand to Icarus’ hair, gripping tight as he sipped the ambrosia. “A-ah… Yes. Just like that. Hm.”
When Icarus drew Apollo’s cock into his mouth and sucked, Apollo let out a long, keening cry. It was almost musical, pleasant to the ear. Of course the god of music would never make a sound that was harsh or unpleasant. Every breath was a symphony, every moan the most beautiful thing Icarus had ever heard. It went to his head and to his cunt. He had never grown wet from a sound alone before.
The bottle of ambrosia clattered against the table as Apollo buried both hands in Icarus’ hair, moving his hips against Icarus, fucking his mouth. “O-oh, yes! Good little bird. Fuck—“
Hearing that sweet voice curse, and being the cause of it… Icarus thought he had left his ego back in the depths of the sea, but it had arisen with him. He grinned against Apollo’s cunt, doubling down on his efforts, determined to be the best god damn lay the god ever had. Whatever Apollo wanted, Icarus would deliver, just as long as he could keep him singing praises.
Apollo came with a long, drawn out moan, tensing and curling around Icarus. Icarus was glad he was a shade and didn’t need to breathe, for he might have suffocated. What a way to go, though— dying at the center of a god’s orgasm.
“Ha… there we go. Good little bird.” Apollo tugged gently upon Icarus’ hair, pulling him back. “And look at you. Enjoyed that, didn't you?”
Icarus knew he must be a sight- lashes fluttering, mouth slightly open, his lower mouth covered in his own spit and Apollo’s slick. He couldn’t respond, catching his breath out of habit, pressing his thighs together.
“Oh, but don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten your reward.” Apollo picked up the bottle of ambrosia once more, taking a sip. Mouth pressed closed, he gestured at Icarus to rise with the crook of his finger.
Icarus shot forward, too eager, bumping their foreheads together. Apollo chuckled, keeping his mouth closed, guiding Icarus’ lips to his. When they touched, Apollo opened his mouth slightly, just enough for Icarus to slip his tongue inside. Icarus didn't know what tasted better- the ambrosia or the god. He whimpered as he drank from the god’s lips, some liquid escaping the corner of his mouth and dripping down his neck. After the ambrosia was drunk, Apollo pulled Icarus onto his lap, holding him close while he lapped up the trail of gold from Icarus’ skin. Icarus couldn’t keep quiet, gasping and moaning as the god mouthed at his neck.
“Such an eager little thing,” Apollo crooned, his voice growing low and dangerous. “I thought you’d be more stubborn, but you’ve changed, haven’t you? You’ve learned your lesson. You know you must bow to me.”
Icarus pulled back, face-to-face with Apollo. His defiant heart spoke before his mind could stop him. “I am dead and serve no one. I fly on wings of my own creation. If I had not been stopped, I would have soared higher than any of you have ever dared.” He was weak to Apollo's advances, sure, but he was here of his own volition. He was chasing his own pleasure as much as providing it.
Next thing he knew, he was on his back and on the floor. Apollo was straddling his lap, an inverse of their meeting, tearing the clothes off of him.
“You think you, a mere mortal, could out shine me?” Apollo made quick work of all the buckles that Icarus wore, tossing the belts aside. “I’m light itself. I’m blinding. I’m brilliant. I make you weak. You could never best me, in life or death, even if you spent all eternity trying.”
Icarus glared at him, but let the god make quick work of his clothes. “You underestimate us mortals. I have no realm. I can be anything I want to be. I fly without fear of falling. You are nothing but your epithets.”
With a flourish Apollo ripped the last of Icarus’ chiton off, leaving him bare upon the floor. He positioned himself so his cunt was flush against Icarus’, causing the shade to whimper.
Apollo leaned in to whisper, “You say that now, little bird, but wait. I will make you sing. You will come worshiping me.”
Apollo ground their cunts together. Icarus let out a cry, throwing his head back. He saw stars.
The god was relentless, unhindered by any mortal limitations such as stamina. He ground against Icarus with steady, deep thrusts, almost like he was truly fucking him. His flesh was so warm, Icarus thought for a moment that he was going to be burned alive. All he could do was lay back and take it, and, as shameful as it felt, he was more than happy to.
The worst part is that the entire time, Apollo looked good while he did it. No hair out of place. A single, aesthetic drop of sweat sliding down his forehead. He put one of Icarus’ legs over his shoulder, pushing him open. The sound their cunts made against made Icarus’ face flush deep red- slick and wet.
To Icarus’ embarrassment, it did not take long for him to come. It snuck up on him, even as he was trying to hold it back. He threw his head back with a yell, legs quivering and trying to close while Apollo held them apart.
“Sing for me, birdie,” Apollo crooned, looming over him. “Sing my praises, of my beauty and prowess.”
Breathing heavily, Icarus glared at him from heavy-lidded eyes. He jut out his chin.
Apollo was not perturbed. “I see. Well, little bird, prepare yourself for my brilliant light.”
With a wave of his hand, Apollo summoned light between his own legs. It settled into the form of a cock, hard and slick, on top of his cunt. He laughed at Icarus’ wide eyes, head thrown back and shoulders shaking.
“I wish you could see yourself right now! The desire upon your face— You adore me. You lust after me. You want me to fuck you with every fiber of your being.”
Icarus couldn’t deny that. He would never admit it, though.
Apollo leaned in close to press a quick kiss against Icarus’ lips, giggling when Icarus tried to chase it. “Don’t worry. I am as kind as I am beautiful. I will give you what you want, out of the goodness of my heart.”
Then he thrust into Icarus, burying himself inside of him. Icarus’ back arched. He let out a wild cry, hands flying up to grasp at something- anything. Apollo’s divine cock was burning hot inside him. It filled Icarus perfectly, just big enough to feel almost too much, while still sliding in with ease. Icarus realized, distantly, as he filled the air with noisy gasps, that Apollo had made it just for him.
He couldn’t be undone like this. He bit back the stream of praises and prayers that had tried to escape his lips. He just needed to come again, then he would be fine. Apollo would grow bored of this game and give up. He slipped a hand between his legs--
“Oh, none of that.” Apollo snatched Icarus’ hands and brought them together. Conjuring a string of light, he bound them. “You come because of me, or not at all.”
But Icarus was already hurtling close to the edge. He held back a grin, trying to look as if Apollo’s words affected him. He felt the wave crest up inside him, rising higher and higher--
Apollo stopped.
Icarus’ head shot up. “What?” he tried to hiss, but it came out as a whimper.
The god brought a hand to his mouth, making a big show of yawning. “Oh, sorry, birdie. Just thought I’d take a quick second to catch my breath.”
Icarus stared at him. He was no longer close, the waves of pleasure dissipating before they could crash down. The fucking bastard had ruined his orgasm, and he knew it.
Apollo smiled sweetly at him, leaning down to press a kiss to Icarus’ forehead. “I told you,” he murmured, “You either submit to me… or you’ll get nothing.”
Though lust was a thick fog in his head, Icarus’ pride did not want to be wounded. He squirmed under the god, trying to thrust himself against Apollo’s dick, to find any type of friction. Apollo settled upon his chest, resting his chin upon his folded arms as he watched. He reminded Icarus of a snake in wait.
“You’re a cunt,” Icarus spat.
“You’re a brat,” Apollo returned in the same cadence as bestowing a compliment.
With Apollo on top of him, Icarus was pinned to the ground. Icarus prided himself for the strength he had gained over the years, but how could he hope to measure up against a god’s? A whine slid past his lips as he tried to move, to touch Apollo, anything.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” Apollo remarked. Whetting his thumb and forefinger upon his tongue, he began to roll one of Icarus’ nipples between his fingers. “I bet you look gorgeous when you come. Your voice cracks, doesn’t it? You’re already so tight around me, I can’t imagine how it will feel when you finally find your pleasure. Ah, what a shame.”
Icarus knew what he was doing. Apollo was trying to break him. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breaths to be slow and easy. However, he couldn’t stop the squeaks and moans that escaped him as Apollo fondled his chest. Gods, he wished that he could at least tune Apollo out. The god’s voice was his most dangerous weapon. It was so soft and unassuming, worming its way into Icarus’ mind like a parasite. Icarus hated it. He loved it. He wanted to hear Apollo say his name, call him sweet things. He wanted Apollo to whisper filth into his ear as he fucked him. He wanted to hear Apollo laugh when he finally came--
“Apollo,” he gasped.
Apollo’s head shot up. He leaned forward, the action pressing his dick further into Icarus, making the shade’s breath hitch. “Yes, little bird?”
Icarus shook his head, as if that could somehow hold back the desires that were threatening to burst from his chest. Apollo pressed his forehead against Icarus, stroking his cheek with his thumb.
“Give in, Icarus,” Apollo whispered. “Give in, and I’ll give you everything.”
Icarus fell. His pride, once again, lost to the depths.
“P-please!” he cried, the words bursting out of him like one of his bombs. “Apollo, please, let me come. Fuck me. Oh, gods, I need you to fuck me. Come in me. Make me yours. Please. Just let me come.”
For a second, Icarus was afraid that Apollo wouldn’t. The god took a moment to stretch his neck, to shift his weight. Then, he kissed Icarus, soft and sweet.
“As you wish.”
Icarus hadn’t realized Apollo had been holding back before. He wasn’t now. He bent Icarus nearly in half as he fucked him, his knuckles pale from how tight he held onto Icarus’ hips. Icarus’ back scraped against the marble floor- he knew it would be red and sore afterwards, but at that moment he did not care. His eyes rolled back. He could no longer keep quiet. Gasps, moans, whines, cries, it all left him freely, and Apollo loved it.
“That’s it, sing for me my bird.” Apollo pressed kisses against Icarus’ neck. “Sing for me. Worship me.”
“F-fuck. Apollo… You burn so bright. Y-you’re burning me alive. You’re warm and divine a-and you’ll be the death of me. I need you. I need you. Please, Apollo. Destroy me.”
Icarus knew he was speaking nonsense-- dirty thoughts that left his mind as incoherently as they appeared. But this was prayer, this was worship; the truest thoughts and desires laid bare to the god above him.
This was the first time in his existence that a god heard his prayers and answered.
Apollo pressed his mouth against Icarus’ ear. “Come.”
Commanded by the power of the god’s voice, Icarus came. His pleasure rocked through his entire body, making him cry out. Apollo had been right-- his voice cracked. As Icarus prayed for, Apollo fucked him through his orgasm, chasing his own, until he came inside with his own, melodic moan. Distantly, as the haze of sex sunk over him, Icarus felt something hot fill him.
Looming over him, smug and perfect, Apollo asked, “Now, was that too hard?”
Both Apollo’s cock and Icarus’ bindings vanished. Weak, Icarus reached down between his legs to feel his cunt. When he brought his fingers up to his face, he saw they were coated in a strange iridescence, like liquid light. He brought his fingers to his mouth, and tasted something sweet. Almost like honey.
Though vindictive, Apollo was nothing if not a gentleman. He scooped Icarus in his arms and carried him to the bed. Despite his earlier bravado, he cleaned Icarus’ cunt with his tongue, granting him another, albeit softer, orgasm. He was a braggart, but true to his word.
“You’re proud of yourself,” Icarus murmured.
Apollo settled in beside him, drawing Icarus’ body close to his own, wrapping both an arm and a leg around the shade as he nuzzled against Icarus’ chest. “Oh, of course. It is important to have confident in one’s abilities, especially if you are very accomplished.”
Icarus rolled his eyes, but let himself sink into the bed and Apollo’s embrace. “Next time, I’ll win.”
“Ha. I’d like to see you try.”