Blue eyes watched every movement with appreciation, a look of content in them while tapered fingers tapped in a ghost rhythm against the wine glass. In a long while, Apollo felt completely content, having drank up life in fast desperate gasps to rid the ashen taste of death still apparent in the back of his mouth. The moment at the present was nothing desperate, but soothing, almost as normal as things came to be.
"I'm sure the both of us are imaginative enough than that," he teased, abandoning the wine glass on the counter and closed the distance between the both of them. The same fingers took hold of the Muse's hip as lips dipped down again for blessed friction.