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(………)
Achilles steps forward, looming over him, all bronze and gold set alight in the flicker of the oil lamps. His broad shoulders are rolled back and his head lifted high in a pose that would seem arrogant if not for the blind expression of pain on his face. He slips the pin from his chiton's shoulder fastening and throws it to the ground. Zagreus’s breath stops for a moment. All he can do is take him in: the way his long hair straggles over his chest, his muscles golden-furred and taut, the twin grooves that run beneath his strong hips and disappear under the red linen that still hangs from his belt. It almost hurts to look at him.
"He was a prostitute from Pedasus," Achilles whispers, closed eyelids trembling. "I… used him. I was …. not kind."
Achilles steps over him and kneels, straddling him with a leg on either side of his chest. His bare thighs clench against Zagreus’s ribs, firm and cold in contrast to his flushed skin. This is wrong. This is completely wrong. Achilles doesn’t want this; he won't even open his eyes to acknowledge him. All the times he's imagined this, being held down like this, Achilles on top of him gleaming and solid and perfect – but always he had wanted it, too, at least in his dreams. Now the Fates have chewed that up and given it back to him in a nightmare.
When Achilles's eyes finally open, they're bloodshot, rimmed with tears.
"I would never," he breathes. "Not you. I would never."
"I know," Zagreus whispers, beginning to hate himself.
Then Achilles shifts, and an unmistakable heft presses against his stomach. Achilles is erect. His focus shatters, thoughts flying in a thousand different directions. Zagreus has never felt this aroused in his entire life. It feels like he could actually die from it. His breath is coming out short and fast beneath Achilles's weight, a black haze swimming around the edges of his vision. He opens his mouth to try to say something and has to close it quickly to keep from whimpering.
This isn’t meant for me. Achilles doesn’t want this. He doesn't want me like this. This is his punishment. He regrets this and it’s hurting him and he would never touch me this way -
Achilles reaches out to brush Zagreus’s face, and his eyes close again as if he knows what's coming.
"Gods on Olympus forgive me."
His thumb slides past Zagreus's lips, pulling his jaw down slightly. Zagreus holds as still as he can, barely breathing, but he can feel his body starting to move again against his will, acting out what this prostitute must have done. His hand fastens on Achilles’s wrist and his head bobs slightly up and down, making all the right motions even though he’s not allowing his mouth to do anything. Achilles thrusts his thumb back further, scraping against his teeth, and this time Zagreus can’t keep a little moan from escaping, a hot flush of embarrassment stealing down his face. He’s trying so hard to restrain himself for Achilles’s sake and it has to stop, now, before he loses it completely – how can this feel so good when he knows what it’s doing to his mentor?
Achilles slips his thumb away, only to follow up with three fingers this time, curving down inside Zagreus’s mouth with force, digging into his gums. A rustle of fabric – Zagreus adjusts his eyes to see the warrior’s other hand tugging at his chiton, unwinding the fabric from his belt, throwing it behind him along with the thin rope. Achilles is bare and sweat-slick against his chest, skin on skin now. The thought of it breaks off inside his mind, like a rock tumbling off a cliff, whirling, dizzying – his heart keeping up a trembling tempo as Achilles’s hand retreats, and Zagreus follows with his eyes widening as he grasps his cock – it’s so big, it’s so big..... Achilles brings himself forward and raises one leg to perch alongside Zagreus’s head, stepping on his hair. Close enough to touch it, to –
Achilles rubs his cock over Zagreus’s lips, tracing their outline with the smooth head. Zagreus keeps his mouth closed, clamped shut hard enough to hurt, biting down to erase any temptation, but then Achilles grips him rough by the hair and angles his head back just enough to thrust against his mouth, forcing it to give, to break apart. Shallow at first, feeling it out. In a panic, Zagreus holds his mouth wide open, allowing Achilles as much room as he can to shove inside without touching – his cock sliding over nothing, thrusting into his breath.
Achilles’s head is down. His shoulders tense and shake with the shudder of every breath. He grimaces in what must be pain, his teeth bared, tears dripping from his chin onto the swell of his collarbone, down the majestic course of golden, perfect muscle. To see him like this, naked in torment, rips at Zagreus’s heart like cloth pulled in two different directions. He shuts his eyes but his lids are trembling, and there’s no escape from this in blindness. Achilles is fucking into his mouth with determination now. Zagreus can barely focus - all he can do is try to accommodate the width of Achilles’s cock as it enters. He can feel his tongue trembling, brushes of hot, pulsing skin passive over the surface, just trying to keep his teeth from scraping it.
With no preamble, Achilles pulls out of his mouth and begins to work himself with a hand. Zagreus catches his breath as fast as he can. He swallows, jaw shaking from exhaustion. Slickness paints over Zagreus’s chin, the tip of his nose, as Achilles fists his cock with inhuman speed, spit-come and fire-sweat leaking onto his skin, the wet sound of it suggestive beyond what he can even imagine with his eyes closed. A sharp twinge of overwhelm runs through him on the heels of that sound, spreading from his toes to his scalp as though he could come from the excitement of this alone, the shock of it, and he spills out a short moan – then a gasp, searching for his voice, trying to cover for it -
"Sir," he starts, quavering, but Achilles jolts like he's been slapped across the face. He doesn't want to think about this at all. He doesn't want to remember that Zagreus is here.
He doesn’t want me doesn’t want this doesn’t want me-
Pulled by the strings of this dream body, his arm rises to clutch at Achilles's hip, pulling himself closer, and then he doesn't have time to think anymore - his face is crushed against the breadth of his cock and he has to open his mouth or else suffocate - could he suffocate and end this? - Achilles shoving deep inside now, merciless, pushing Zagreus's face down onto it with his fingers tightening on the small hairs of his neck, and he tries to cough but can't get any air out past the size of it, sealing his throat. Swallowing around it steals him half a breath, and when Achilles pulls out Zagreus inhales as fast as he can before his cock fills him again. Making a rhythm of it, too panicked to concentrate on anything else, just finding moments to breathe around every thick choke, every thrust. Working some moisture into his dry, terrified mouth, Zagreus tightens his cheeks and moves his tongue, feeling the wet smoothness of the head of Achilles’s cock right as he slides it out, and Achilles makes an unrecognizable sound – is that good? Is that better? Is that good?
This time Zagreus tries to suck when it jabs inside his mouth, drawing over the swollen boundary of it with the point of his tongue, tightening his lips, wiry hairs rough against his nose from the depth of the thrust. He thinks about what Achilles would look like if this were anywhere else, anywhere - a hand in his hair like this but softer, stroking him, encouraging - yes, lad. There’s my good lad.
"Stop," Achilles chokes out, with a harsh sob that echoes louder than the word. "Please – please stop."
Immediately Zagreus slackens his mouth again, a pulse of shame almost deadening his arousal, forcing a skip into his heart. He holds his jaw wide and breathes, breathes, as Achilles’s thrusts become erratic, and then finally a strangled sound like a knife running through the warrior's throat, high-pitched, wet and desperate, and he takes his cock in hand to aim his ejaculate all over Zagreus’s face. Zagreus winces as it lands on his cheek, catches in his hair, drips down to his chin. Achilles is keening now, at a register he's never heard - trapped between the scald-heat of hearing his mentor come, feeling it on his face, and his agony at being brought to this point. Zagreus can feel his own frustrated tears forming. If only he could stab out the part of him that wants this. if only he could gut himself of this feeling, snip every nerve that runs straight through him like lightning every time Achilles moves, this terrible ache that won't go away - he wishes he could pray to Aphrodite and offer up his body here, just to strip him of pleasure completely, just to tear it out of him until this is over -
His thoughts scatter again as Achilles touches his face. It’s a soft stroke across his cheek, in jarring contrast. But he's not caressing, he's - Zagreus swallows, his entire body clenching - Achilles is gathering his own come with a swipe of a finger, moving down to press inside Zagreus’s lips, forcing them open before he can do it himself. Zagreus keeps himself still as the come smears over the roof of his mouth, trying to forget the taste of it as soon as it registers, the taste of Achilles, his salt and sweat. Then Achilles bends over him, golden hair draping around Zagreus’s face like a curtain, coming closer, and his finger withdraws, dragging come over his lower lip and across his chin. Achilles opens his eyes, bloodshot blue and narrowed in pain.
"Forgive me," Achilles tries to say, but mistimes it as his body leans forward and his mouth presses into Zagreus’s, the words coming out muffled against his open lips - a brief exchange of breath, the closest thing to a real kiss, the need for it gripping hard in his chest - just one kiss, just to taste him again - and this one must have lasted longer, because Achilles is lingering here with his lips shut tight and his hot tears dissolving the come on Zagreus’s cheek, brief twisted huffs of breath from his nose, the strong weight of his warrior's chest trembling with the force of every cut-off sob. Zagreus wants so badly to hold him. He wants his arms to move so he can give Achilles comfort without having to speak (without having to open his mouth and feel Achilles’s lips brush over his). How much longer can this go on? He’s already come - he's already finished - what more is there for him to regret? Unless -
Achilles lowers himself, stretching his body out over Zagreus like a heavy sheet, hips and solid thighs pinning him to the furs, and - and - he can't escape it can't hide it anymore - Zagreus’s rigid cock presses against Achilles’s navel now, painting a wet trail over the stone wall of his muscles, bending beneath his weight and trapped between them now. The immediate rush of sensation at the contact is strong enough to break the dream's hold. A crack in Zagreus’s desperate restraint, a sudden rupture, fire and lightning and shame and unthinking, uncaring ecstasy, and his back arches beneath Achilles as this sensation floods through him, crashing and ripping and tearing -
"Nonono," he's pleading against Achilles’s lips but it's too late, his hips shoving up rough against his mentor and spraying him with his come, splattering over their skin, Zagreus’s entire body shaking, and it's too late but he can grab at Achilles’s shoulders now, holding onto him with a terrified clutch like he's drowning, like this feeling could rip him apart.
"I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry." Achilles’s eyes are wide open now, staring down at him. "I’m so sorry, I - I’m -" still shaking, aftershocks singeing over his skin, making his spent cock twitch, still impossibly sensitive, and he's too far gone to stop himself from raising his knees to wrap himself around Achilles for comfort - to comfort himself, like he might have done after a rough sparring session or an insult from his father, just needing to feel Achilles there even though it's the worst thing he could do - "I didn't - I’m sorry sir I -" needing Achilles not to hate him, not to cast him off after this, and he can't look away from Achilles’s gaze, almost unrecognizable with his brows twisted up and his face wet and splotched red and swollen from tears.
"No," Achilles whispers. "No. I’m-" his voice cracking, collapsing into a garbled, wordless cry, the pure misery of it wrenching inside Zagreus’s chest like a spearpoint.
Then everything is white. Sheer white filling his eyes, burning through his eyelids. The sudden sensation of falling backwards, shocking cold against his wet skin. Erebus. The dream has ended. He’s ruined it, pulled them both out. Zagreus is still clinging to Achilles, green fabric under his hands now, his own chiton sticking to his come-soaked skin. One, two seconds of realization and Achilles leaps backward like a frightened animal, stumbling over Zagreus’s legs and landing hard on his hands and knees. Before Zagreus can move, Achilles is gagging, dry heaving with his fingers pressed white against the marble floor, a thin trail of spit from his mouth. He waits, panting, until another urge to retch comes over him. This time he leaves his forehead pressed against the marble. His hands come up to claw at his face, tangled through his hair, dragging streaks of red-white over his skin, and Zagreus chokes out a sob at the sight of it. What he's done - what he's allowed him to do -
"Achilles," he tries in a thin voice, but the warrior can't hear him. Achilles’s cut-off, shuddering breaths echo through the stillness of the courtyard, punctuated by wet sniffs, guttural swallows and moans, muffled by his hands.
His heart feels like it's burning to ash. Zagreus forces himself to sit up. He pats the ground blindly for the sword that should have been left behind. His hands are numb, slick with cold sweat. they curl around Stygius's hilt on instinct, though they don't feel like his hands anymore - this could be anyone sitting here holding this sword, anyone's body stained with come, heart still racing, throat dry and tight with shame.
Stygius tears his heart open, coming out through his spine on the other side, and he falls forward onto the same floor as Achilles with the hilt clattering against the tile, back to death, back to red.