Inspired by Picolo's art. Check him out gallery/57677240/Icarus-and-the-Sun?offset=0
I hope I didn't go out of character? Heehee.
His father had warned him about it. All the time. Do not feel too much. Do not get too close. Do not get too smug. Do not get cocky. It's like Icarus is stuck within the complex, marble labyrinth his own father created. A prisoner. Freedom is his luxury. It's not like he can fulfill any sort of expectations burdened on him. If two dozens of cacti in his room are any indications, it is that he can't live up to those expectations. He is a dull being. He's compulsive, thinks a lot, and literally has zero passion (unless you count smoking cigarettes as passion), asides from the ones assigned to him. He lets his fears and inner demons interfere with his life too much.
Icarus knows he is foolish to be attracted to fire. But she is so fiery, so bright, so reckless, so endearing, so impulsive. The complete opposite of what he is. And God (if God even exists at all), the thing she does with her tongue. Good God. Icarus is pretty sure she is able to send him plummeting into the dark abyss.
Her kiss is positively haunting; sucking his soul out of his body. His arms snaked around her slim waist. She feels so warm. Her hair and skin glow beautiful amber. He pulls away, and she whimpers at the loss, eliciting a moan that sends him over the edge with mirth and satisfaction. 'Do not get too self-satisfied', he can almost hear his father's voice inside his head. But he doesn't care. It is him who made her draw out that beautiful noise. It is him who makes her glow that way. She is his. his. His.
And then her hot, sinful lips are on his neck, and he loses all his coherent thoughts. He feels warm; from his feet, to his ear, to his core. Weird, he never feels like this before. Pleasure and heat coil in his lower belly. This is so wrong- he can feel it. And yet, it feels so right. It feels so good. His whole body vibrates at the sensation. Don't stop, he wants to say. But words turn to air at the back of his throat.
A look into her topaz orbs, and he knows. He knows he'll be lost in its bottomless chasm. After all, who could say no to those eyes? Those lips? These soft fingers caressing his jaw?
She sucks at the skin there, and he feels as though the feathers and wax on his back are getting heavier. Heavy- so heavy that his shoulders tense, it almost pulls him backward. Why is it so moist in here? Why is he sweating so much-
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no no.
This is what his father had meant.
'Do not get too self-satisfied. Do not fly too close to the sun.'
He's melting.
She's melting him.
Stop, you're melting me, he wants to scream. But words turn to smoke at the back of his throat.
please hear what I'm trying not to say.
