Box of Chocolates (C/Icaurs/Ahote)

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"That's really the last thing I need to hear right now, Icarus..." Ahote spoke under his breath as he let the compliment sink in, making him more self-conscious than he already was. As if he wasn't already on the brink of whisking Icarus away to some corner of the store to get some relief, the little teases here and there was not helping him get his mind out of the gutter. At least his arousal wasn't showing in other, more obvious ways, last time he checked.

The pair stopped at a wooden canopy frame, its color like a deep toffee, fabrics draped on all sides, swallowing the display mattress in a veil of privacy. It was relaxing and pleasant to just look at, so sleeping in it was probably even more therapeutic and soothing. Looking at it more carefully, it was clear that it was about the same size as the frame Icarus had at his home, as were many others in the surrounding vicinity.

After yet another teasing comment, Icarus tossed himself onto the mattress with playful delight as he waited for Ahote to follow suit. Instead of throwing himself like Icarus, Ahote turned around and just let his body fall and plop down on the spot next to him, his dark, wavy hair shifting out of place as he did. His eyes fixed to the ceiling as a wave of calm washed over him. This happened last time, too. Every time he laid down in a bed, sat down, or was otherwise in a position of rest, it was like all of the pent-up physical stress he had been carrying throughout his workday suddenly weighed on his shoulders, spine, and eyelids. It was like being unaware of how drunk you were until you stood up.

Quiet, he leaned back up alone to shove the fabrics back together, creating a thin barrier between them and the rest of the store, if only for a few minutes and laid back down next to him. He sighed through his nose and tilted his head to look at the blonde, his face still tinged with that peachy pinkness.

"It didn't make a lot of noise. What do you think?" Ahote stared at him calmly, his hands clasped over his belly. He really was a stunning man. Was he sleeping with other people aside from him? Well, it's not like that was any of his business, but he fell deeper into thought the longer he laid there. He could feel his face begin to warm up, and the temptation to roll over on top of him and get something started was inching upon him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to touch every last part of him. He loved that creaking noise his bed made whenever they moved, and he wanted to move. He craved it like nothing before. He wanted him to— "S-S--s-s-s-so..." Ahote's face had a distinctly pink strip of blush from ear to ear now, and he immediately rolled over onto his side once he caught himself mid-thought, his back facing Icarus, "are you a m-minimalist?" It was an honest question, but he wasn't really thinking about his answer right now. His mind was ransacked with panic.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? Is there something wrong with me? We're in an ICEA. Why am I... what the fuck is wrong with me? I couldn't do it even if I wanted to. We're literally in one of the most public spac—I'm going straight to Hell. I won't even be waiting in line. It's straight to the boiler room.

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"Icarus, I... that's not..." Ahote struggled finishing his thought as he Icarus climbed over him, moving back in forth in a rhythm so familiar to him. His neck became warmer, and he began hearing his own heartbeat at the bottom of his throat. Ahote could feel his grin from here, even though his wide eyes were fixed to the hand planted into the mattress next to his face. It was that dumb, coquettish grin he always made—he just knew it. But Ahote also knew that he couldn't look at him in the eye, or else it'd all be over. For almost his entire life, he had trained his mind and body to withstand the worst of humanity.

His entire track record was a compilation of doing awful things to other people without batting an eye. He had refined himself into a man of patience, composure, and a level-head to top it all off. Yet, here he was, his heart beating a million times a minute and his head rushing even faster, a touch away from being whisked into his overwhelming desire of his bartender. He almost couldn't even look at his hands—he wanted them to touch him all over, to devour him. And if Icarus didn't want to fulfill that role, Ahote wouldn't think twice about doing the same to him. He loved his hands, he loved his face, he loved the things he said to him and how he said it. He loved the occasional ache he got the morning after, and how he always had to take a shower and change clothes when he got home. He loved it, but maybe a little too much at this moment.

The entire time, Ahote remained lying on his side, burying his face as deep into the mattress as he could as he felt the bed gently rock to and fro. There were moments where he forgot to breathe as his heartbeat distracted him, and he was growing more and more self-conscious of the area down below. Was Icarus doing this on purpose, knowing how hard Ahote was trying to keep his composure? The dirty blonde loved to tease him, but to what extent?

"The bed's fine, really—" Ahote muttered, his eyes floating away from Icarus's hand and to his body that hovered over him. He couldn't get any pinker than he already was, so all this view did was blow out more of the remaining fuses he had left. He looked away immediately, his eyes widening fractionally as yet another rush of desire came over him. The only thing keeping him letting loose right now were the few sane brain cells that continued to function. How long until bystanders would get suspicious? "It's... It's perfectly sturdy... trust me."

Ahote couldn't stop thinking about it anymore. It was getting to a point where his body was aching for Icarus, just his touch. He had never done it outside of the bedroom before, but he wanted to kiss him right now. In order to keep any sort of cool he had left, Ahote decided not to move, especially with the rhythm of the bed. And to think they still had televisions to look at, speakers, and couches?

"W-We shouldn't do this for every bed we lay in... the staff might get annoyed, so..." Ahote suggested under his wavering breath, still refusing to look at Icarus. If he was going to be completely honest, he really just wanted to go back to Icarus's place and make as much noise as humanly possible, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could go before he'd had to excuse himself and give himself some temporary relief. "Please..."

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"Eh?" Ahote flinched when he heard that silvery laughter leave Icarus's mouth. He lifted himself off of the blushing brunette after a completely unapologetic apology, paused, and then walked off a few feet away to another canopy that caught his attention. Ahote was left... well, speechless. He was so shocked by what had just happened that he was left baffled, staring up at the ceiling as Icarus walked off. Did that really just happen? He just... got up, laughed, and continually assessing the next products. Granted, Icarus probably had no idea how aroused Ahote was right now, and it wasn't anything different from how he usually teased him, but he felt a little cheated.

Slowly, like a computer processing information, Ahote rolled over onto his back and cupped both of his hands over his face. Even his knuckles were red. He took one large breath and sighed for what seemed like an eternity, trying to cope with what had just happened. When Icarus had casually asked for his input on the other canopy, Ahote peeked through a small gap in his fingers, silently shook his head, and began to pat the mattress he was currently on with one hand, gesturing his preference of the wooden frame. He did all of this without saying a word, laying there with every joint of his body flushed with pink. It was like his brain had finally shut off, and he was rebooting.

At some point, Ahote had finally decided to get up, letting his hands slip away from his fatigued features before looking over at the tag by the pillows and pulling out his iLac again to type down the item number. Once he had finished that, he quietly heaved himself away from the canopy and over to Icarus, still trying to avoid looking him in the eyes. Even so, he still took it upon himself to grab his arm and drape it around his shoulders. It was probably the closest thing he was going to get to physical relief until they left the store.

"Let's go get your television," Ahote mumbled, leading the way into the electronic section of the ICEA. For most of the way there, he was silent. He didn't say a word and didn't look at Icarus, but that was only because he was eager to finish their trip. He was close to suggesting they continue their search online instead, but even during his hormonal turmoil, he still preferred being here in person. His words were dismissive and short, and he communicated through physical gestures when he could, and together, they managed to find every item Icarus mentioned earlier. They were reaching the end of their 'date' now, Ahote looming over the checkout counter with his iLac out, reading off the item numbers he wanted to order. With the swipe of his card and a signature to confirm his purchase, they had officially seen their venture at ICEA through to its end. They would be able to leave with the speakers today, but all of the other items were to be shipped to Icarus's place by the end of the week. However, Ahote wasn't nearly done with everything he wanted to do today.

The moment they stepped out of the building, it seemed like the tension that kept Ahote on the edge finally dismantled. Every salacious thought that cluttered his mind suddenly ran rampant again, and the image of them rocking on that display canopy... He knew that they never actually discussed the 'rules' of their relationship—they never really talked about what was and wasn't okay—but Ahote found himself at a point where only his body was talking. The moment his feet touched the concrete outside ICEA, he stopped and turned around so that he was facing Icarus, gingerly grabbing his chin and bringing his face close enough so that their noses were brushing up against one another.

"Is this okay?" he asked under his wavering breath, eager to go ahead and kiss him. He wanted to kiss him but hesitated. Fuck buddies didn't usually do this, did they? The entire trip was a bit out of character, to begin with. But still, the little things that transpired between then and now, Ahote simply couldn't leave this place without attempting to kiss him. He was at the end of his composure, and he had to remain silent the rest of the way in order to keep himself from saying or doing anything that should've been done in private. Whether it was lust or a genuine captivation that enticed him so, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he really even wanted to know. "Is this... not allowed?"

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Icarus hesitated, never connecting the kiss, and that's when Ahote knew that he might've overstepped his ground. That he might've taken things too far by even suggesting it. When those three words left the blonde's mouth, the brunette paused, his hands abandoning Icarus's chin and slowly running along the smooth edges of his body. They ran down his shoulders, his chest, his waist, and stopped once he felt the tips of his fingers touch the top of his pockets, appreciating every part of his body that his hands could touch right now. He couldn't think of anything other than being devoured by him. Anywhere would do.

"You don't know?" Ahote muttered back, feeling his lips brush against Icarus's as he moved his hand back up against the sides of his torso. His voice was low and wanting, but he could feel the words begin to clog his throat. What exactly did he want from Icarus? Today had only shown the disparity in their experience, and how amateurish Ahote really was to all of this. Controlling his carnal desire, reading others, and sifting through his emotions to figure out what was founded in lust and what wasn't. Was he starved for touch or just his touch? Why did he do all of this for his employee, anyway? It was one big, confusing mess of shit Ahote had never dealt with before, and that fact made him anxious. He knew that he wanted Icarus, but was it too much to want him to this extent?

Ahote didn't say another word after that slight hesitation, his hands returning back to the pockets around his hips, sliding his fingers inside as he finally finished connecting their lips. It lasted only a few seconds, and he didn't breathe in between. They had slept together so many times, so a kiss like this didn't seem particularly loaded at face value, but Ahote wasn't sure how he'd be made to feel if he left it like that when he was this close to it. He didn't know. He didn't know how he should've responded or acted right now. He wasn't really thinking about the ramifications of it all, just about what he wanted to do at this very moment. The brunette craved a touch beyond what was inherently sexual, but the issue was the uncertainty of whether or not it was founded in carnal desire or not. He just didn't know, right now.

A few seconds had passed, and Ahote pulled away with a small flinch like he was realizing what he just did, and quickly pulled his hands out of Icarus's pockets to cup one over his mouth. He didn't know what to say, and if he did, he wasn't sure how to say it. It was like a heavy feeling of guilt came over him when he detached his lips, along with anxiety. What the hell was wrong with him?  

"That was... I..." Ahote's began to lift his hand away from his mouth and pinch the bridge of his nose between his eyes, looking down with a small sigh, ears glowing. "God..."

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Ahote felt his neck heat up after that eager kiss, or maybe it was just his hands? His head? It felt like his entire body was warm, and he could feel his heart pound against his chest and the breath choke in his throat. Was he the only one losing his cool? The only one flushed like this? He had wanted to kiss him for longer, but then his nerves had gotten the better of him.

Suddenly, Ahote winced just slightly when he felt Icarus kiss his ear, nibbling it. For a moment, he had completely forgotten that they were only just outside of the ICEA, and his head swarmed with thoughts of the blonde's breath against his ears, and how smooth his lips were. Ahote began to ache for his touch again, reaching up to rub the spot he had been pecked and looking at Icarus with the same sort of 'look' in his eyes. He felt like he was being ogled, and he loved it. He wanted him.

The rest of it felt like a blur. The wings, the flight back to his place, the drag into his rackety flat and that kiss against his lips that he had ached for. In just one moment, all of the pent-up lust he was containing just spilled out of him like a dam, and his mind melted with the rush. It almost felt like instinct at this point, eagerly beginning to undress as one kiss turned into another, and then another. He had forgotten to breathe at all earlier, but now his breaths were hot and labored, his cheeks, nose, and ears all glowing. Ahote couldn't even think straight anymore.


A few days had passed since what happened at ICEA, and Ahote had been stuck in a brooding mood. His mind felt clogged with things other than work now, and that was most unusual. He'd wake up fifteen minutes past his alarm, walk into walls amidst his daze, and caught himself almost messing some people's orders up. Although none of these things were perfectly normal and bound to happen according to the average person, Ahote was a workaholic and a perfectionist and noticed when things were beginning to fall out of their monotony. It was irritating—the sort of irritation you'd feel when you'd catch a cold on the day of a school field trip. Like it was an inconvenience despite how normal and common it was.

Icarus didn't come to any of his shifts for the last few days since then, and he had forgotten whether or not they had discussed him taking days off beforehand. Well, regardless of the reason, every day he was absent, the more tense Ahote grew. He couldn't say what, but it felt like something had changed, even if it was small. He wasn't sure how exactly he should face Icarus, but he would have to decide soon, seeing as today was the day that the ICEA items they ordered the other day had been delivered to the blonde's flat.

Standing outside of Icarus's door was none other than Ahote, wearing what he usually wore outside of work—a slim-fitting, white dress shirt, slacks, and shiny black loafers. Next to him were several large boxes, some stacked on top of one another to save space. Needless to say, they were the parts that would come together to make Icarus's canopy, his couch, and table, and Ahote had taken full responsibility for ordering all of this stuff by committing to putting it together when it arrived. Arriving was easy enough, of course, but all he ended up doing was staring at the doorknob, glaring at it.

"..." Ahote stood there in silence. He knew that he wasn't in his right mind last time, but didn't Icarus open his door without unlocking it? Did he always leave it unlocked? He had never wondered about it before, since not only was Icarus always home when he came over, but he also knocked. But today, he wasn't actually sure if Icarus was back, and if he was home at all. Sighing, his brows scrunched together again as he placed a hand on the knob and twisted it. "This is so stupid..."

If he had known that it was locked, he would have knocked, but curiosity got the better of him as he carefully opened the door. Surely enough, it was unlocked, and something about that was... incredibly annoying. Now that he knew that there wasn't an actual lock—or at least a working one—on the door, Ahote almost felt obligated to talk to Icarus about it when he could.

"Hello?" Ahote didn't open the door all the way before calling in, waiting to see if he'd hear that familiar husky voice. He had more on his mind than usual, recently, but now he was just focused on putting all of this stuff together.

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When Icarus came over to the door and opened it to him, Ahote felt like he interrupted him storing a body of something. The whole apartment smelled like bleach and metal, and it looked like someone had just died with how much blood there was between wet rags, clothes, and bedsheets. It reminded him of the scenes he was left to clean up as a support operative, and he wasn't sure whether to be impressed or concerned that the room was in this state. What was like the cherry on top of it all was Icarus himself—his right arm and torso wrapped in tight bandages.

"You look like shit. Did the neighbors finally beat you up?" Ahote cracked a small smile, referencing the comment Icarus made about him being confronted by his neighbors about the noise they made every time they slept together. He wasn't sure if he should've acted with greater concern or panic in his voice, but he had grown so used to and accustomed to this sort of thing that even he could crack jokes about it.

Still, as Ahote looked around at the state of his apartment, he too was also looking for a shirt to cover Icarus with, but only could spot bloody clothes. He had remembered what he said about being a minimalist when they were lying down in ICEA, and suddenly a lot of it was starting to make sense now. He didn't seem to own a lot of clothing, let alone replacements for everything else that was soiled. It seemed like everything was soiled, and that was even more annoying for someone who cleaned as often as Ahote.

"Tell me what happened," Ahote walked into the room behind Icarus, leaving the door cracked as he took it upon himself to already start cleaning. He rolled his sleeves up past his elbow, and his first stop was the bed. It was probably a good thing that Icarus had known someone who cleaned up murder scenes for a living, and had followed his guild's mantra of never leaving his tracks. "You can't leave your door unlocked like that, either. And you need to wash your sheets as soon as blood soils them, or else it'll just be difficult to get it out later." Ahote continued to nag, stripping Icarus's mattress of the bedsheets and making a little pile on the floor. "Are you listening to me?"

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"I see." Ahote replied calmly, glimpsing at Icarus to watch his reaction. Some people were more comfortable with those sorts of jobs than others, if they were bothered at all. It seemed like it went as poorly as he made it sound, and he'd probably have some scars as little trophies of near-misses and life-or-death encounters as a result.

Unlike usual, Icarus didn't have that usual playfulness in his voice, and he carried himself like a dead man walking, his injured body here with Ahote but his mind somewhere else. He had a white, tight-fitting shirt only halfway on his torso and a look of aimlessness in his eyes as he started to bring in the boxes waiting outside of his apartment door.

"You can't even put a shirt on," Ahote sighed, putting the soiled bedsheets into the laundry basket Icarus had fetched earlier. He wasn't even sure if he had a washing machine of his own, or if there was a shared machine somewhere in the building. If he was at home, he could've used some unique products that were good for cleaning blood stains. "I'm the one who had it delivered here, so I was planning and taking responsibility for the boxes anyway. We're going to clean your place first..."

Crouching down to the ground, Ahote placed an open palm on the flooring, his fingertips glowing with a light blue color. Just in front of him, a magic circle of the same hue opened, and from it, a young man climbed out. It looked like a normal human being, with short, brown hair and eyes, and a typical Boomslang uniform to match. It was just a lich, nothing short of a zombie, and its ghoulish stare was telling of that. Still, as an accomplished necromancer, Ahote did put a little effort into making his liches "presentable", so to speak. Even more, the deceptively humanlike creature was incredibly powerful and would do all the heavy lifting for them since the occasion called for it. With the quick snap of his fingers, it passed Icarus on the way out of the room and began carrying the boxes inside.

"Do you want it on or off?" Ahote looked at Icarus as he approached him, grabbing the hem of the shirt that wasn't completely on his body as he waited for a response.

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Ahote only gave Icarus a look of disapproval when he finished helping him put his shirt on. It was so obvious that putting it was painful, or at least uncomfortable, and undressing was about as strenuous as dressing as well. He was only going to take it off in a few hours when his bandages needed to be changed, so what was the point? He was better off going shirtless. But maybe Ahote was thinking too hard about it.

What happened after that caught him off guard for a moment, but he didn't do anything about it. Icarus had rested his forehead on his shoulder, just oozing with fatigue altogether. It was clear that he likely wasn't going to be in any shape to help him put together the furniture, even if he'd insist on doing so. He really did look like shit, and Ahote couldn't help but wonder what exactly happened in Desierto during that job. Carefully, he placed one of his hands on the back of Icarus's head, gently stroking his hair as he watched his lich at work and another on his back, rubbing it sympathetically. Now that he thought about it, Icarus had probably never seen (or noticed) Ahote's necromancy. It wasn't a very common practice.

"Yes. Though, you know, saying something like that is one of the best compliments you can give a necromancer. I put a lot of effort into making them look alive for the purposes they serve," Ahote replied in a low, matter-of-fact voice, continuing to stroke Icarus's hair. "It's the reason I look different, sometimes. It takes a lot to maintain my appearance. Why? Does it gross you out?"

Ahote wasn't really sure where Icarus stood on a lot of different things. For the crowd Ahote was in, magic of any kind was just a means to an end. A tool to get the job done and to get it done well. It wasn't any different for him. He wasn't very good at it at first, but now he was able to make his liches and other ghouls appear however he pleased. If he had summoned the lich without any sort of magical modifications, it would probably look quite horrific. On jobs as a support operative, appearances hardly made a difference. Outside of work, however, was a different story.  

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Ahote stared at Icarus, dumbfounded. He was a little surprised to see him recoil like that, especially when he was enjoying stroking him like that, too. But when Ahote realized just what exactly had Icarus confused, his ears began to glow again, and a wide smile broken his serious, unreadable face.

"What the hell?" Ahote held a hand over his mouth, instinctively covering his grin as he began to laugh quietly, "No, I'm not dead. I just raise the dead. You... pft." It was an understandable thought to have. The way he described it would lead anyone down that same line of thought. After his laughter subsided, Ahote nodded his head over to Icarus's bed, looking at him with soft eyes and a relaxed expression. He hadn't really laughed in a long time—he couldn't even remember how long. "You should probably sit down and rest. You're not really in any shape to put furniture together."

After that little exchange, Ahote continued to go around his apartment, gathering fabrics that had blood on them. This guy really did leave a mess, which went against everything Ahote stood for. Which the lich doing the hauling, Ahote took the liberty of going through his closet to fetch the outfit, filling the sink with water so the rags could soak, and taking note of any splotches of blood that couldn't find its way onto clothing.

"I can come back another day if you're too stressed to deal with the noise," Ahote looked back at Icarus, "So?"

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As soon as Icarus was laid down and ready to rest, he was up again and preparing to put some stuff together. He didn't know what it was, but there was something annoying about that. It was easily more unsatisfying for him to do something and then stop than to choose to just not do it altogether. Still, it wasn't so bad. Just before all of that, he got to see a profound blush on Icarus's face, which was a rare sight. It was sort of refreshing. Cute, too.

Ahote stopped what he was doing to watch Icarus carry the sheets out of the apartment and across the hall to where the washing machine likely was, returning back all-smiles and all that. With his arms crossed over his chest, he stared at the blonde, looking at him from the head down like he was sizing him up. Ahote didn't believe for a second that he was as up for it as he made himself seem, considering how out of it he was acting just a few minutes earlier. His face was still soft, but there was a playful distrust in his gaze.

"I normally start with the biggest items, like your canopy or the couch. But I don't know if I should let a guy who bleeds everywhere and can't dress himself do anything but lay down," Ahote stroked his chin, beginning walk into the hallway to drag one of the taller boxes inside. "But if you really want to, we can start with your canopy. Maybe then you'll act right. We don't have to do it all today, either, so..."

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Icarus was... well, something. He didn't seem like the type to sit down and do nothing even when that was best for him, which was understandable. Ahote, too, was stubborn, but even he knew when he was at his limit. Despite everything Icarus had said, some sort of accident would probably happen. He was simply just too beat up to be particularly productive as far as Ahote was concerned.

Icarus had decided to put his efforts at unboxing the parts of the canopy, specifically the base of the bed frame itself, and got some of it put together as he went on. Meanwhile, Ahote went in between putting parts of the canopy together himself and tidying up the apartment as boxes and filling kept showing up. He liked things being organized, so all of the empty boxes were stack and full of plastic film that cushioned the wooden parts before they were opened.

ICEA instructions were simple for Ahote to follow, even if the item contained a lot of small parts and numerous steps, and at some point, he had stopped paying attention to Icarus altogether as he became engrossed with the process. He had grown so accustomed to doing everything himself or seeking assistance from sketchy figures that he ended up becoming his own handyman. He couldn't remember the last time he checked into a hospital or a clinic for his medical emergencies, and he was basically off the grid when it came to forms of government-issued identification. He wasn't a wanted criminal anymore, but it wasn't like his history had simply been forgotten by the state. Not only that, but he found great satisfaction in doing things with his hands.


Ahote paused when he heard something fall to the ground, looking over at Icarus with calm look in his sharp eyes. He had his hand clamped over his wrist, and for a moment, Ahote had thought he had cut himself. If that was true, the wrist wasn't a very good place to have it happen.

"Did you just cut yourself?" Ahote grumbled disapprovingly, almost expecting this to happen. Carefully, he set down what he was holding to amble over to Icarus. "Let me see."

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He cut himself, didn't he? It was no surprise. Icarus had been halfway in La-La Land this entire time, and it seemed like he needed to put effort into being his usual self. His quick responses were one thing, but his physical evasions were another, and once he had specifically hid his arm behind his back—a tactic Ahote believed only could work in cartoons—that's when he knew that the idiot hurt himself.

"I said, let me see," he repeated with a disgruntled expression, reaching over to snatch Icarus's hand from the shadows of his backside, pulling it out in front of them to find something unusual on his wrist. It wasn't so much a cut as it was a scar, deep and tinged with a silvery film within it. He had never seen a scar quite like it and ended up firmly holding it within his grip, staring inquisitively. Not that it meant anything, but at least this was from the past. However, judging by the way Icarus was so keen on hiding it, he was probably sensitive about the mark nonetheless. Realizing that his staring has continued for maybe a second too long, Ahote perked up and released Icarus's wrist. "My apologies."

He didn't mention it after that. Instead, he turned away and carefully stepped over the debris that had piled up throughout the building process, grabbing the box that Icarus had dropped and taking it with him to unpack. "You did a good job," he'd say, "you struggled on some easy steps, though."

Scars weren't anything new. They weren't any different than the color of someone's eyes or the shape of their eyebrows. It was simply part of their physical characteristics. However, although Ahote had gone out of his way to heal scars, replace tissue, and even go as far as restoring a missing arm and eye, there were some things he was still sensitive about. He wasn't a big fan of fire, for example. It was the reason he lost his eye and arm, and even though they had been restored through magic and the scars had disappeared, the trauma still existed. He at least understood that much.

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