Wings of Icarus

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Three months of breaking bones and spirit led to this night. This dance. The spotlight glinted against Icarus' skin like moonlight on wildflowers. He raised his sharp chin, cutting through the light and his legs levitated from the stage. Unhinged from earthly bounds to be welcomed into tranced heavens. Dark locks hovered over his pale face, silver glimmers trailing the bridge of his nose to his lips; pink and puckered.

The cherry taste still lingered on Laurents' tongue, giving him a sense of privilege. Nimble fingers swayed over the grand piano notes. He heard it sing before touching the shining keys.

Laurent looked at the academy crowd. A sea of Italian suits and cashmere gowns. All bought out of their parents pockets, sitting here to gain social status. None of them cared about the work, the tears that rolled down Icarus' cheeks when he failed a move. The dance academy provided success on a silver platter but Icarus ran on hard work. Laurent still felt the warmth of his passion whenever he talked about dance or practiced in the dead of night.

None of them showed the same interest.

Only one had the face of unbridled joy. Alastair watched his boyfriend on stage, large eyes and glowing face. Naivety sparkled in Alastair, glowing amongst the fleeting yet magnetic tingles of young love.

Icarus twirled on his toes by the dance of Laurents' notes. Communicating the story of a soul torn in two. Between the flowery essence of a first kiss or the fiery throes of forbidden pleasure. Icarus dropped on his knees, clutching his chest at the shrieking accession of the scale. His body pulled from one end of the stage as a smile tugged at his lips. Just then, another string pulled him back by the hips. His head threw back, features twisted to mimic the thrills of coming undone.

Laurent imagined sweat layering his skin, hair matted to his forehead and cheeks flushed as his warm thighs caged his hips. Those same features. What would Alastair think? Was he ever suspicious? Did Icarus truly care? Could ecstasy take over so much sense that ones' soul lays dormant for a heaving moment?

Icarus covered his face, ashamed of his own splitting soul. How uncouth I am now, he thought. The man who spoke his dreams without a hitch of his breath. He managed another twirl, stepping towards the path that could win back his grace. Hesitation returned. Guilt ripped through his softness as Laurent played staccato notes. *What a pity*. He looked so much prettier when he understood his path. So reassured. Now he resembled a priest committing his tenth sin, hopelessly asking for forgiveness.

Standing at center stage, Icarus stood frozen in time. He stared at his choices on each side of the stage and then bowed his head.

Laurent held in his scoff as he played the final note.

Thus this concluded the dance of an infidel choosing his power over two souls rather than fixing his own. 

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