#I'm not tagging Hektor he does not deserve to be brought up in these two and their weird flirting

[gingermintpepper]

I have a ton of assorted Hyapollo writing laying around that I'm never going to do anything with so instead, I will make it my tumblr's problem. The text itself is below the cut!

Rating: G Content Warnings: Athletic nudity, Hyacinthus is pining hard

Setting: A gymnasium in the mid-afternoon. Hyacinthus has watched Agreus-Apollo wrestle for the better half of the hour. None have managed to best him, including Thamyris who very valiantly tried. Now, Hyacinthus helps him wash up. The topic strays to Hektor's very expressive wooing of Andromache.

"I always forget how close you are to Hektor." Hyacinth hums, runs his palm across the breadth of Agreus' shoulders. He knows he will not find any scratches or bruises - none had managed to pin Agreus even fleetingly - yet still, he searches. Agreus is so warm beneath him. "That he is more your brother than your friend."

"What difference does it make?" There are faint bands of dark pigment staining just beneath Agreus' shoulder blades. Hyacinth picks at the lines running parallel to his spine. Agreus' breath hitches just like he knew it would - he's playing now, leading Agreus further away from mere routine and stumbling down into something far more dangerous but Agreus isn't stopping him.

His friend tilts his head, exposes the length of his neck to him. Laughs like he doesn't know what Hyacinth is trying to do with his fingers scraping against his unpainted back, like he could ever feign obliviousness when Hyacinth is practically crowding him like a dog in heat. "It means you are more prone to following in his footsteps. That you are more likely to agree with his impropriety." Hyacinth's hand freezes right there, stuck to the small of Agreus' back like the breath suddenly caught in his throat. Surely, that was - The man puts a single step of distance between them and Hyacinth feels his lungs deflate. Of course, his approach was without finesse and lacked respect. There was never any guarantee that Agreus was doing more than flirt, after all. Said man unpins the great length of his hair, back still turned to Hyacinth. The gold of his curls against the warm brown of his skin, the way his fingers skillfully comb through the strands, setting them right without ever seeming to preen. Hyacinth wanted him. He wanted all of him. Yet he was stuck in place, hand still outstretched in the shape of the curve of his great back. He swallows, hard and dry and tentative, "You are not swayed by Hektor's speeches, then? You also think the Saint-King of llium is nothing but a love-stricken fool?" And like a golden tempest, suddenly Agreus is upon him again, crowding him, standing chest to chest with him, stomach to stomach. He's blindingly hot against Hyacinth's flesh, and when his nimble hands settle upon Hyacinth's hips, they sear his skin like brands. "I said nothing about disliking your battle-brother's pastimes, Hyacinthus." And oh, he's meeting Hyacinth's gaze directly, the already paper-thin veil of master-and-servant burning to ash between them with just the utterance of his name. Hyacinth feels as though there are birds trapped within his chest, like his bones will leave his body if he does not kiss Agreus or Agreus him - but when that incorrigible man leans in, when his lip brushes against the trembling bow of Hyacinth's lip, it is merely to laugh. "Besides, what shame is there in being a besotted fool?" He pats Hyacinth's ass - both cheeks at once - returning the playful pinching with a smack that echoes in the empty room around them, then puts true distance between them. "Go towel off," he sighs when Hyacinth continues to stare at him, owl-eyed and foolish and with cheeks that burn so hot he is sure Agreus must think it sunburn. "I'll paint your face when you've cleaned off the oil." The birds in Hyacinth's chest are breaking their wings against his ribs. He knows dismissal when he hears it. He doesn't understand why Agreus' words feel nothing like it.

A little later: Agreus-Apollo is out under the stars. Hyacinthus joins him after dinner, still mulling over the ambivalence of their afternoon encounter.

"Did you mean it?" Agreus' eyes are so blue they're silver under the starlight. He turns to Hyacinth, reed between his lips and stares at him, waiting patiently for Hyacinth to get the rest of his words out. "When you said there was no shame in being besotted. Is that truly what you think?" Agreus simply looks at him. Scrutinises him like he's testing the sincerity of his words - like he can see clear to the anxiousness bubbling up in Hyacinth's heart. Then, he takes the reed from his mouth and sets it in the grass beside him, sliding closer to Hyacinth so they're pressed shoulder to shoulder, so Agreus' pinky kisses Hyacinth's. "Are you asking what I think of Hektor or what I think of you?" And oh, this man will never cease to be a wonder. Will never stop defeating Hyacinth at every turn, will never stop bewitching him with the clarity of his voice, the gentleness of his gaze, the sharpness of his tongue. He knows. Of course, he knows, he's Agreus and it is like Hyacinth could never be anything but knowable and familiar to him, like they shared the same heart, the same desires, the same love. Hyacinth meets that gilded stare of his, shuffles his hand even closer until his fingers lay atop Agreus'. The weight of them draws Agreus' bright stare down to their commingled hands and he looks at them as though trying to solve a puzzle. "I would like to think I know very well what you think of me." Agreus hums, absentminded and far. "Who knows." He tests the weight of Hyacinth's hand over his, wiggling his fingers, rotating his wrist. Hyacinth remains firm, studies Agreus' face for signs of frustration or offense. It never comes. Instead, Agreus huffs, sliding his fingers out from under Hyacinth's grip then quickly interlocking their hands, palm to palm, finger nestled against finger. "The mind of the infatuated sees shapes where there are merely suggestions, Hyacinthus. Be cautious." And then he brings their braided hand to his lips and kisses the back of Hyacinth's palm. And Hyacinth wants to dig him into the dewy grass and kiss him. Wants to swallow up the wisdom he offers and kiss his tongue mute. Wants to see what shade of blue his eyes will be when they reflect the dark red of Hyacinth's hair and not the pallour of the moon and her stars. He wants, he wants, he wants. "Those are my only words of advice for you. From one besotted fool to another." Hyacinth very carefully does not look at Agreus then. He does not know what he would do. He does not know if he could stop himself if he were forced to see that affection laid plain on Agreus' most calm face.