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A circle of light formed around the kneeling man.
If an uninterested observer squinted hard enough, they may have been able to discern silhouettes in the light. But there were no observers in this nonexistent land, just as there were no real people standing around the kneeling man. Once they had been real; heroes, defenders of justice and peace, but now they were just one presence, all-encompassing, omniscient presence of golden and white light.
Michael belonged to them – he WAS them, and they were him. For so long he couldn't quite remember when and where it all started, where HE started and they ended. All his memories were centered about that flawless peacefulness that had filled his mind then and didn't leave, at least not for long, long time.
But now, he could feel quiet, controlled anger oozing from the Light. No, not quite anger. Anger was dark, swirling energy alien to the forces of the Light. What he felt was displeasure, disappointment, closing in on him as he kneeled humbly before them, choking him with the weight of his deeds.
"Continuing the path down on earth was not his Fate," a voice echoed over his head accusingly and Michael wondered which one of them had spoken. He couldn't tell – no one ever could. It never mattered. They were one, one mind, one soul, one Light. And yet… he had done what none of them wanted. Now, there was a price to pay.
He hung his head, staring with unseeing eyes to the soft grass under his knees. Even the grass was lighter up here, lighter than what he had seen down there. As if the Light was poisoning everything – except it wasn't poison, but a cure. Everything was supposed to be perfect here… but Michael could tell it wasn't. Maybe it used to be, once, but not now. Not for him, anyway.
"You shall be punished accordingly, Michael. You have betrayed the Light by your actions."
"And I shall accept that punishment willingly."
One of his fellow Guardians materialized from the mass of light, kneeling in front of Michael to look in his face, as if he was hoping to read his mind.
"Tell me... was it worth this?"
Michael looked up, and all he could see in the Guardian's eyes was Light. He couldn't remember his name – and it didn't really matter. Michael wasn't them anymore. He couldn't be, not after what happened. Not after HE happened.
"Yes."
When Iolaus woke up, he was all sweaty and shivering again. Hercules gave him that concerned look which told Iolaus that his friend was already used to his morning moods, and so Iolaus didn't say anything and ate his breakfast in silence. It's been like this ever since he had left the Light – he liked being alive and down here, he loved it, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he missed something.
But this morning, Herc didn't just pass it with silence.
"Iolaus… is something the matter?"
Iolaus shook his head, but he had a feeling that Hercules didn't really believe him. He got that look in his eyes, the one that made Iolaus feel like he was ten again and caught stealing a cake.
And it also made him remember how it felt back there, in Light, when… he wasn't quite a part of them yet, but rather… he made THEM not one. He couldn't explain it, but… he knew that that one wasn't just a part of Light since then.
He remembered how he came to the gardens that were always bright and sunny, it was never too hot or too cold there, the air always smelled as if it had just rained, fresh and sweet-smelling and throwing all Iolaus' hunter senses off balance. There were no scents other than flowers and grass and rivers to pick up, no rustle of leaves or a crack of dry twigs on the ground that would be out of place. The gardens, or the forest or whatever it was, was a little too perfect for his tastes and even so, he was amazed by it. There was light everywhere, as if he could taste it and touch it, as if light seeped through his pores more than normal sun, as if it shone from the ground and from the trees and drew him into itself. He felt safe, and yet watched, as if there was someone at his back all the time. It was stupid – no one was there, not when he turned the first or the hundredth time. Eventually he stopped turning altogether, though he had no idea whether it was after a day or a month. Time didn't seem to pass there, it seemed to be still in that perfect, lighted moment, and Iolaus just couldn't get used to it. Especially to the feeling of being watched – even when he took a leak, he felt eyes on the back of his neck. Not that he had to do something so earthly – he did it out of habit, and just as with the turning, he stopped in the end.
It was weird: he was alone and yet he couldn't stop feeling there was more to the light, there were more… people or beings or something, and that they could see him very clearly. He still remembered the voice from back when he died, if it could even be called death since he could still remember his previous life with all details, even the bad ones. He definitely wasn't just reliving his memories, as he would in Elysian Fields, and the feeling of loneliness was slowly beginning to settle over his mind, even with the ever-present light.
He had just been on a walk around the lake, sparkling like a great mirror, with water so clear it almost felt like bathing in liquid crystal – Iolaus was never too good with metaphors, but that one seemed to fit. He had just been on that walk, when he appeared. At first, Iolaus thought he was just imagining things, and that maybe he was going crazy from this place, but then the being stepped closer – Iolaus called him a being in his mind, because he had never seen a man like that. And that meant something, considering his best friend was a demigod and he had met his fair share of Olympian deities through his life. They all had a certain sense of power around them, and this one was just… light. It was as if all the plants and water and sun dimmed when he came closer – or as if his light was more radiant. Or as if HE was what shone out of those other things. He told Iolaus that he was one of them now, a Guardian of Light, and that he should leave his earthly life behind him to become one with them. He told him his name was Michael, and Iolaus just nodded, drawn by the way his pale hair shimmered not in the sun, but in its own light, and made gold seem cheap in comparison. The man was wearing just a white long tunic, but somehow Iolaus felt inappropriately dressed in his leather vest and trousers near him, as if he was committing sacrilege on a temple.
When Michael started to leave, Iolaus asked him to stay. This was first company he had in who knew how long, and he didn't know when the next opportunity to talk with someone would arise. Michael's blue eyes became large, and Iolaus feared he would be dismissed with kind, yet firm words. However, Michael agreed and stayed with him, and Iolaus talked about stupid things like weather and fishing and hunting and adventures, things that didn't matter and made him feel as if he were a child trying to hold a decent conversation with a philosopher… but Michael never told him to stop, he just smiled and nodded and his eyes softly told Iolaus to go on, and so Iolaus did, talked and talked, and later he didn't even know what he told Michael, but it didn't much matter. To have a companion, someone other than the weird light presence, a solid human, made Iolaus feel better.
When Michael left, it felt like they were sitting there for centuries, and yet Iolaus wanted him to go back. He stayed near the lake, in case Michael would come back, but he didn't… for some time.
"Iolaus?"
He snapped out of his memories, grinning at Herc widely. This part of his adventure he never shared with Herc… and somehow it didn't feel right to talk about it even now. Up there it was another world, one Herc couldn't understand – one Iolaus didn't want him to understand. Herc was here, earthly despite his father's blood, earthly and real and here, and Iolaus didn't want to mix his memories of some place lost in light with the present.
"Let's go," he rose to his feet and dusted off his trousers, thinking about what would happen to them in the next village or town.
He hurt all over: his humanity had been long forgotten in the ever-present shine of the Light. Now, he had to dig it out from the depths of his soul… but he still felt terribly lost down on earth, without any possibility of returning to where he had belonged for so long. Being a part of an entity with so many souls and then being cast out felt like he was a lone brick torn out of a great wall – alone, he was vulnerable, weak, he had no purpose.
And he didn't even know where he was, something that had not happened to him for a long, long was as if the world had become a thousand times bigger… but Michael knew that in reality, he himself had just become a thousand times smaller.
He raised himself from the ground and looked down – his white tunic had long ago turned into rags and he felt weak in the knees. Something in him hurt, but he had yet to remember whether it was a need to breathe, hunger, thirst or something else altogether. He would have to get used to being human again – he snorted at that. How he would manage to make himself become human again, when he couldn't manage to make someone else surrender to Light was a mystery to him.
Maybe he could have done it. With anyone else he could have, but… not him. He did, several times, but… he had been different. Michael still remembered it clearly – his face, still so earthly and out of place near that lake, excited and thrown out of his world, and yet not completely in the world of Light. He shone, that part was alright – his soul illuminated him from the inside, though he was still probably too human in his mind to notice it. His light was still only his, he wasn't a part of the whole, of The Light… and maybe that was what fascinated Michael so much. That was what made him nod and ask about all those things he talked about – not for the sake of information, just for the sake of listening. When he talked, he became oblivious to everything and his eyes focused into distance, and Michael felt like looking at something that wasn't quite their kind of light. Just as strong, but… not theirs.
He felt himself being pulled away and he relented – the Light was him and this was the decision of the Light. Iolaus needed more time to become united with this place, to let himself be merged with them completely, and Michael wondered how it would feel when he became a part of them too.
But that didn't happen soon, and Michael was sent to him again. Then, Iolaus had already begun merging with them, but it just brought him heightened senses and a more intense sense of isolation as he discovered that just breathing was too much sometimes, making him overflow with sensation. He watched the earthly world through water, and unconsciously held himself away from the rest of Light. Michael felt himself being a part of the decision that Iolaus needed to get rid of his earthly habits and thoughts, and Michael went to help him with that.
Only he didn't help anyone – he couldn't, not when he took Iolaus to a small waterfall to purify him and instead became tainted himself – willingly yielding to something that should have been completely alien to him. Iolaus was alive, so very alive even after his death, his soul not at peace but excited and vibrating with new sensations, with the caress of water against his skin, with a whisper of wind in his hair, with just a breath of scent or a ghost of touch. He took a sharp breath when Michael touched him, and his eyes burned Michael's with intensity the Light never knew. Light was powerful in its own way, but it was silvery white, cool and smooth – Iolaus' light burned gold, he was liquid fire, he was the burn and the salve at once when his mouth descended on Michael's, tearing something inside him in two, something that could never be repaired again. It hurt and it confused and it burned and it warmed, and Michael pushed him away and let himself be united with the rest of them again, but he couldn't find balance. He knew the others, the rest, didn't know, somehow they didn't know, and that was what frightened him even more… because it's been so long since it was him and them instead of just Light.
And now, he would never be Light again – he was human now, in an alien world full of alien humans, mortals, like him… he was an immortal mind in a mortal body and it constricted his chest painfully. The smells, the sights, the actual reality of human body was too much for him, even though he felt sluggish and weak, as if he were treading through mud, not just air. He had been a being who once knew everything, saw everything, did everything, and right now he was just… a mortal. He was blind, he was deaf, he was mute and he was dead.
He saw darkness in front of his eyes and then his legs went weak, and the only thing he actually managed to do was to wonder briefly whether he was dying or whether this was a part of his punishment too.
Iolaus squinted in the sun – for some reason, he remembered that the light back there wasn't as sharp as the sun down here. It was brighter, but didn't hurt his eyes so much: he felt like he had walked halfway between two places and now didn't know how to return home or what was the way to where he had been headed.
He knew he enjoyed being with Herc down here, helping people, travelling, drinking and eating and sleeping and taking a leak and burping and breathing and doing all those human things that weren't done up there, but… he just felt as if he had dropped something important somewhere.
They walked the usual road back to Corinth, back where Iolaus should feel at home – and he knew Herc had suggested going there mostly because of him, because Herc tried to understand and help him come back completely: Iolaus just doubted that coming home would do the trick this time.
"Look," Hercules pointed at a small heap of grayish rags lying near the road, and Iolaus squinted at it, finally recognizing it as something human-shaped. Then his eyes rose to follow the road up to the nearest turn: faint outline of the first Corinthian inn could already be seen there.
"He probably just needs to sleep off the ale," he grinned, knowing full well how many times he and Herc had picked someone up from the ground in this area, just to have the drunkard throw up all over them and grumble at them to stop spinning his world.
But of course, he didn't even finish the sentence when Hercules was already kneeling at the man's side, shaking his shoulder lightly. No response came and Hercules rolled him over: Iolaus couldn't see as the demigod's broad shoulders were blocking his view, but the weird expression in Hercules' eyes when he turned to Iolaus wasn't a good sign.
"Is he…?" Iolaus asked, his mind ready for a fight immediately at the possibility that the man had been killed by some rogues, but Hercules just shook his head and shrugged. He seemed uncertain, which wasn't an expression that appeared on his face often.
"I think… you know him," Hercules said, and Iolaus hurried to his side just to have his breath catch in his throat. Oh, he knew him, indeed… or more like used to know him, when the man wasn't lying in a puddle of mud, dirty, unconscious and very much without any light in him.
"That can't be him," Iolaus shrugged, feeling dread at the mere idea that this man might, indeed, be the Guardian of Light Iolaus had once… known. After all, they have seen people who looked like gods all the time (Iolaus reminded himself of Herc's brother, Iphicles, and his similarity to Ares), why not people who looked like Guardians…?
"Whoever he is, he's not drunk. He looks sick," Hercules checked the man's pulse and pity flashed in his eyes. Iolaus knew they couldn't leave the man behind just like that, but… for a while, he wished for just that, leave him there and forget him completely, and decide that it was NOT Michael at all… but he felt ashamed for that thought immediately and didn't even say a word when Hercules picked the man up from the ground.
Alcmene drew a sharp breath at the sight of the unconscious man, put a hand over her mouth in shock, and then returned to her practical self Iolaus so adored in her. She fetched a bowl of water and a washcloth and in just a while, the man – Iolaus stubbornly refused to call him Michael in his mind – was clean and tucked under a blanket in Herc's bed. His hair turned out to be blonde after all, but they didn't really remind Iolaus of gold or sun, and the several days old stubble on his chin just accentuated the hollowness of his cheeks and the dark circles under his still closed eyes. He was in no way regal and radiant and Iolaus was more persuaded by the second that this could not be Michael.
And by the second he dreaded more and more that it very well might be.
So he focused on smiling and jesting with his old acquaintances when he and Herc went to the market to fetch some things for Alcmene – and it worked, until the sun set and they returned to find the man awake.
Iolaus nearly turned and fled, but Hercules was right behind his back, blocking his way unconsciously, and Iolaus had no wish to tell Hercules why he wanted to leave. So he was forced to stay and look and feel his heart clench at the dullness in the clear blue eyes that Iolaus had known as sparkling and irresistible.
The man looked up from the bowl of soup and his expression was blank, but Alcmene, sitting next to him, smiled at them.
"Boys, this is Michael. He needs a few days' rest and he'll be just fine," she smiled at him too, and patted his shoulder warmly, which earned her a small smile from him.
Iolaus swallowed hard and focused on putting the vegetables from his basket carefully on the table. He tried to ignore Hercules' questioning looks, and also Michael's presence. Because THAT wasn't Michael… just… couldn't be. Michael had been radiant and beautiful and there had been the aura of perfect harmony and yet so much strength about him… and this… creature sitting on a bed with a bowl of soup in his trembling hands was just pitiful and weak and… Iolaus had to go outside or he'd suffocate.
He was in the middle of taking deep breaths of the cool night air, hoping to find sense in it all, when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Stop blaming yourself," Hercules said softly, and Iolaus frowned into the night.
"Am not."
"Oh, come on, Iolaus. The man had his immortality taken away from him because he let you go."
A small sneer appeared on Iolaus' lips.
"You always know how to make me feel better, Herc."
"I thought you weren't blaming yourself?" Hercules chuckled, and Iolaus felt like growling, or just running, until his head cleared.
"I had no idea…"
"Would you have stayed there if you had known?"
For a moment, the air vibrated quietly with tense thoughts and the sound of crickets in the high grass, then Iolaus heaved a sigh.
"…no. Maybe. I don't know."
"It was his free decision. That is more than many people can say."
The catch in that was that Michael wasn't 'people', or didn't use to be, but Iolaus knew that Herc wouldn't understand Iolaus' obsession with that part. Hercules, who was a demigod and was acquainted or blood-tied with almost every god and goddess on Olympus, couldn't understand what it was that irked Iolaus so much about Michael losing his immortality – he couldn't understand that it wasn't Iolaus' guilt in the matter as much as the fact that Michael was mortal and… ordinary now.
He had always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Michael hadn't been telling the truth when he said that 'the Light had decided' to let Iolaus go back to his usual life. Maybe it was a part of his soul already merging with Light a bit, maybe that was how, but Iolaus knew, he had known all along… he had just always thought that there were no real repercussions for Michael. He allowed himself to think that even if it was Michael's own decision, he had been a part of Light to the point where it didn't matter whether it was his or Light's mind that worked the plan. By telling himself that, Iolaus was able to go on with his life, even with a slight sense of loss.
He imagined how great that loss must have been for Michael, when even Iolaus could still feel slight dissatisfaction after all this time since he had left. He shivered, and Herc's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"We've known entities that punish their traitors with far worse things than mortality."
Iolaus nodded, but it didn't calm his mind. Something was terribly amiss there, something that wasn't all that connected with Michael and his mortality, and he was missing the main point here… but he couldn't figure it out for the life of him.
"So I guess we'll be sleeping in the stables then?" he grinned at Herc over his shoulder, trying to avoid further discussion and Herc grinned back.
That night, Iolaus slept restlessly, the image of pale, dead blue eyes in his mind all the time.
Michael opened his eyes and heaved a sigh. It brought momentary relief to his constricted chest, but then the slight ache returned, and he reached for a small bowl of water next to the bed to relieve his thirst. He had found out that he needed to drink and eat often, lest he wished to end up like yesterday. If it were not for Hercules and Iolaus, he would have died there, on the ground, dirty and starved.
With another sigh, he lowered his aching body back to the bed. He had not slept in a long time, never needed it… and suddenly he felt like he could just sleep all day, maybe even longer. He certainly would like to sleep more than he'd like to meet Iolaus' guilty looks again – just his luck, that he had ended up in the one place he didn't wish to be. Or more like with the one person he dreaded to be – because Iolaus, even down here on earth, still had that golden glow about him and it unnerved Michael to no end, to see it and to feel drawn to it again. That was the reason for all his current problems, his inability to resist the pull of that glow – and in his weak, mortal form, all he needed was to stay away. He had thought the world so big for a mortal yesterday… now, it seemed that the whole world shrank just to let him know he wasn't able to create his own fate from now on.
He sat up and looked around – in the faint light of early sunrise, he could make out what was left of his tunic thrown over the edge of the bed. He took it and pulled it on; it had apparently been washed and Michael felt a slight sense of guilt for wanting to leave before anyone would wake up, but… he had to. It was almost too tempting to stay and let himself be pampered by Alcmene's motherly smiles and warmth, but he needed to make his own way in life, if he were to survive. He had twenty, maybe thirty years to go… a period that seemed like eternity in one moment, and like just a flash in another. It scared him – but he had no other option than to try.
He walked out of the house and let his feet just take him wherever they would: down the hill and through a few trees and bushes, too small to be called a forest. His feet hurt when he stepped on a small rock and he shivered when the cold moisture in the grass touched his skin. He would have to get used to it… the sooner the better.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw a small lake through the scattered trees: the dark greenish surface was blanketed with thick, milky mist through which first sunrays glittered, hardly enough to disperse the smoke on the water, but enough to make Michael feel like he was back in the Light again, even if for just a second. This light was too sharp, too intense, even if it was just a few rays, but yet it shone with silvery beauty Michael couldn't resist. Before he knew it, he was knee-deep in the water and the hem of his tunic touched the surface, clinging to his skin. It was cold, and even colder with wet fabric, so he pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it over to the strand. It caught on a small bush and then slid down to the wet grass, but Michael didn't care. All that was in his mind now was the light seemingly beginning on the opposite side of the lake, and he felt hypnotized by it, drawn like to Iolaus' glow, but less uncomfortably, less dangerously.
The ripples in the water caused by his movement sparkled in the rays, and he shivered more when the water brushed his hips, then his stomach. He dove in completely, feeling like he would freeze when the surface closed over his head. It was cold, terribly cold, but so peaceful when he opened his eyes slightly under the water, just to see light filtering through it. It was beautiful – Michael didn't remember seeing such fleeting beauty before. Maybe because he had had beauty, material and eternal, all around him, in him, he had been a part of it, it had enveloped him just like the water of the lake did now. He had not had time for such trifles, for things fleeting and dying… he had stopped understanding mortality.
Then something yanked him and Michael released his breath, startled – the bubbles of air burst to the surface and in just a moment, he was dragged towards the bank and the rocks at the bottom of the lake scraped his legs and his back.
"Are you out of your damned mind?" a yell echoed over his head and Michael sat up, wincing his scratched skin stretched. Only then did he dare open his eyes, just to see one enraged hunter hovering over him as if Michael was a stupid little boy who had just fallen from an apple tree, trying to steal from a neighbor.
"…why?" he asked, his voice rougher than he had remembered it to be. Things changed, obviously.
"Being mortal doesn't mean you can just go and try to kill yourself the first chance you get!" Iolaus yelled, and Michael blinked.
"Kill…?"
"And by the way, drowning isn't a very nice death."
"I wasn't trying to-"
"Do you know how Alcmene would feel if she found out? She takes care of you and you go and do what? Suicide attempt? Are you MAD?"
"But I wasn't…"
After the third try to interrupt Iolaus' tirade, Michael gave up and just sat there, being scolded like a silly child. In a way, it was endearing – it was a long time since anyone dared talk to him like that. Except Light, and that usually used his own feeling of guilt instead of words like 'stupid idiot'.
When Iolaus was finally done, the sun had nearly risen completely and the mist over the lake had almost vanished. The hunter scratched the back of his head, and sighed.
"Well, I came after you to say sorry. So… I'm sorry."
Michael raised an eyebrow at that and looked up at the hunter who was still standing over him. A shiver ran down his spine and he realized that he had been sitting in the cold water ever since Iolaus had dragged him out of the lake. Standing up, he reached for the tunic that lay not far from him, and tried to pull it on, but the wet fabric clung to his body uncomfortably and he shrugged it off again, deciding it was probably best to let it dry first. Oh, how he missed the ability to stay dry and clean even when walking on water surfaces.
Iolaus stared at his legs, covered in tiny scratches from the rocks, and grinned sheepishly:
"Sorry for that too."
Michael couldn't help but smile a little.
"And the first apology was for…?"
"Another time, another lake."
"…oh."
Michael looked towards the sun rising up the sky, squinting as the sharp light attacked his eyes. So Iolaus was sorry for that time… well… Michael was, too. But strangely enough, he felt that he wasn't as sorry as he was regretful. He could have not surrendered at all – and he could have surrendered completely. This weird state of going halfway, or more like not going either way, was gnawing at his chest in the weirdest way possible.
And Iolaus was standing there, glistening wet and glowing gold, and Michael felt himself being drawn to him again.
"I know just the appropriate way of apology," he smiled lightly and the question in Iolaus' eyes blocked his way out of this. Michael swallowed fear and conventions, and as he leaned in, he could see confusion in Iolaus' dark blue eyes along with light filtering through those depths, making Michael feel peace for a slight moment again, until he could feel Iolaus' warm breath over his own cold lips, until he pressed those lips over Iolaus', equally cold and wet, until the droplets of water melted into the tentative kiss and made it taste of cleanliness and purity.
He pulled away, desperately yearning for Iolaus to stop him, but the hunter didn't, he gaped and his eyes asked and disbelieved, and Michael's fingers tightened into a fist around the wet fabric of his tunic as he turned towards the woods again, disappointed in more ways than one.
Because what was supposed to end his feeling of being torn in two directions, just tore him further, beyond any state of repair.
Iolaus' eyes were wide as they stared into the blue-green distance mixed of trees, water and sky. He would have raised his hand and touched his lips, only Michael's kiss still burned on his mouth, cold and uncompromising in what it meant.
He wasn't thinking when he pulled Michael out of that lake – he didn't want Michael to die, because that would somehow make Iolaus' fault final, unchangeable, and he didn't want that to happen. It was much easier to pretend that what Hercules had said was true, that Michael could have been punished by far worse things than mortality – but what Herc didn't understand was that being a god was far, far away from being Light. Iolaus had never been Light, not entirely, but still, he could remember how intense everything had felt. He didn't know how being a god felt like, but he was sure it was nothing like that – if gods were able to feel everything to such extent, they would be probably different. If they would be able to feel a kiss, a touch, a breath so strong it made their heads spin, if they could sense how someone else felt when they were caressed or just looked at by them… Iolaus sighed and closed his eyes.
Oh, he damned well remembered that 'another lake' and 'another time'. He was going crazy, constantly drunk on the mere fresh air in his lungs, on the scent of grass and leaves, on the sweet taste of pure water in his mouth. He was shivering with need when wind blew over his skin, and he knew that he didn't really NEED, that it was merely the remainder of his mortality, but yet it drove him out of his mind.
And when Michael came to him then, beautiful, beautiful Michael made of the sun that made Iolaus too warm to bear, of every droplet of water that touched Iolaus' lips in quiet taunt, Iolaus found him irresistible. Not irresistible like pretty women he had known: whores, tavern wenches, honestly married women or naïve, young girls. They were all pretty much resistible, only he had made them out to be otherwise. Even Aphrodite, with her Olympian perfection that no statue could quite capture, with her sweet scent and lips that begged to be kissed, couldn't compare.
Because Michael was something so distant and yet so close to Iolaus – almost a part of him, really – that Iolaus caught himself staring at him in disbelief. Michael had a face of an old hero from the tales older than any myth Iolaus had ever heard, strong, angular face of a soldier with strength written around his eyes, and yet Iolaus didn't feel fear around him, not even respect – at least not respect in the way of war.
Michael was perfection, and the rapid pulse nearly tore Iolaus' heart out of his chest when Michael approached him, when he came to Iolaus and tried to make him lose his mortality. Iolaus tried his best, but it was too much – he felt Michael's fingers light on his side and if he were down on earth, he would have collapsed in laughter from the tickling, but at that moment all he could do was take a deep breath to steady himself. It didn't help, the air invaded Iolaus' lungs and mind, carrying a faint scent of a sunburn and rainforest with it, a scent Iolaus could only guess was Michael's. It was too much, too intense, too warm, and Iolaus whipped around, waist-deep in the water as he was, and latched his mouth to Michael's in desperation unknown to him before. He had a feeling that he would truly suffocate if he didn't, and the kiss had made the ache in him spread into every fiber of his being. He felt Michael's slightly cool lips under his own, sucked at them as if they could give up the light that radiated from Michael and made him everything Iolaus had ever craved for, even though he had not known before. It was a dream come true, a dream he knew but never could quite recall in the morning, a dream that dispersed, leaving sweet ache in his limbs. It was the world tasted on his tongue in a split second, his own kiss felt as if he had a part of Michael's mind in his head. If this was what being Light meant, Iolaus would gladly abandon everything and everyone, even himself, to lose himself in this…
But then Michael pushed him away and it was as if darkness settled over Iolaus' heart, losing that light after being merged with it for the tiniest of moments. He pushed Iolaus away, his eyes large and stormy and confused, and then he was gone… and then, the whole thing with the Apocalypse happened and Iolaus welcomed the distraction, trying to tell himself he had just been fooled by some higher entity again.
But he knew it didn't feel like being fooled – he had been tricked by gods before and this felt too real, too intense, beyond what even the almightiest of gods could create. He helped Herc and he didn't know whether to rejoice or curse when Michael had told him he was to continue his life down on earth… but he knew that there had to be something else, something Michael wasn't telling him – them – and he wondered whether it was as it seemed. Whether Michael had chosen Light over Iolaus; not that it would be an insensible choice. Iolaus could understand that trading the intensity of Light for a mere mortal, for him, would be stupid… and yet, he couldn't help but wonder 'what if'.
When he learned that his 'what if' was true, he felt cheated. Left out of the decision… and betrayed by the dullness of Michael's eyes.
Then, he had pulled the… man out of the lake, and in the morning light, his eyes were bright and pale, and Iolaus couldn't help but wonder again. Michael kissed him, probably out of some sense of duty, maybe repayment or revenge, and it wasn't nearly what it had been, it wasn't taking Iolaus' mind, it wasn't making him melt, it wasn't making him want to give up anything and everything… and yet… it was something.
Iolaus took a deep breath. He wasn't known for cowardice. If there was something… he had to know. Even if he had never felt anything – or even tried anything – with a mortal human. Back in the realms of Light, it was all too mind-hazing to notice that Michael was, indeed, a man… but heck if Iolaus was going to start to mind now.
He ran, Michael's slightly hunched, bare shoulders in front of him, and then he was jerking him around, pressing him into a tree and devouring his mouth in the earnest, earning himself a surprised gasp and in the next second, a content moan as strong, though slightly unsteady arms came around his waist and back. Yes, something was there, and strangely enough, Iolaus found it comforting that the mind-boggling intensity was gone. Yes, it had been unimaginable, dream-like… but Iolaus also appreciated the way his mind hazed over only halfway at a kiss or a touch. Michael's lips were smooth and cool, slowly burning up as if something was lit under his skin at every Iolaus' move, and he liked that, too, for it made him feel like he was the one giving up his light to give it to another person for once. Michael was mortal, human, flesh and bones, and he whined when the rough bark of the tree bit into his back when Iolaus pressed him into it further, grounding the bulge in his wet breeches to Michael's bare hip. His skin reddened where Iolaus dragged his nails over it, he shivered when Iolaus shifted and pushed his knee between Michael's thighs, grinding into him and making him throw back his head until it connected with the tree behind him. His silvery-blonde hair clung to his forehead, water and sweat curling them slightly and giving Michael a messy, human look Iolaus couldn't help but taste, drag his tongue over Michael's chin, still with the light stubble all over it, down his throat and to the hollow of his neck. The pulse beat against Iolaus' lips there, and he adjusted the thrusts of his hips to that pulse, racing and very much alive. Michael tensed and groaned, his hands tightened around Iolaus as he pulled the hunter closer, harder against him, and Iolaus was lost in the sensation with him, briefly admitting that mortality had its charms too, especially if it could make Michael look so utterly debauched and gone.
The silence of the morning forest filled with gasps for breath and struggles to regain composure, and then with soft chuckles and quiet words:
"I might end up liking mortality after all.""