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The revelation of the trains coming through this part of the west has been a double-edged sword. On the one hand, there’s a boom in population, which means a boom in economy. Life has popped up all around the little green watershed once hidden by the surrounding desert; homes, shops, and entertainment appearing like flowers after fresh rain. They even got a brand-new entertainment hall for those wanting to try their hand at the occasional ‘fancy moving pictures’. In all, life has become much better thanks to their new patrons, but it all comes at an ever-present price.
Everyone with some sense knows how to tip their hats and scoot along a little bit faster when the Myrmidon gang is in town.
The trains bring wealth, and with wealth, comes scavengers. Like vultures, there were plenty of people who wanted to make a sleazy, easy buck, from a child pickpocket to downright bandits. However, the ones that really made money were the train robbers, and of those in these parts, the Myrmidons were the swiftest and most dangerous. It surprised everyone then, when their smug leader- a handsome, fine-haired man with sharp green eyes and a glittering horse, looking more like he belonged in a wealthy brownstone out east than out in the sun and dirt- struck a strange peace with the townspeople.
In exchange for their cooperation, they will receive the gang’s patronage and guaranteed safety. That fancy new theatre? Stolen cash. All those nice, frilly, tight new dresses for the ladies in the brothels? Stolen fabric, followed by a nice little tip to watch them bounce around in them in reserved front seats. When they’re in town, they stock up, they shack up, and they drink until it’s time to move on. Everybody knows to smile and mind their business, lest they disturb a tenuously held peace. The most recent sheriff has been nicely paid to look in the other direction, especially after the last sheriff thought he was ‘going to institute justice’.
Justice got him abandoned in the rocky crevices of the desert, a good meal for the vultures. No one else planned on taking a chance with the man’s mercy.
So if any of the townspeople were willing to pay closer attention, they’d notice that out of all the shiny shops in town that the gang could go to, they always start with a small, dusty store right at the edge of the town limits. It’s a two-floor structure, wood bleached white by years of heavy sun, kept nicely swept with clean enough windows and organized stock.
Most important to Achilles is the handsome man that lives inside it.
With smooth skin the shade of oxblood under the sun, long locs braided down to his midback, and hard muscles that claim far more exertion than that of a man that simply stands behind a counter, Patroclus has a smile that crinkles his soft eyes every time Achilles flirts with him. And by God, Achilles is going to chat up this tall drink of water in this otherwise dusty world, every single time.
He’s on his way there now, everyone parting to make way for their horses, when someone leaps out in front of his path.
“Achilles! Get off that high fucking horse and face me!”
Achilles only blinks, not even looking down at the voice. How boring.
“Let me guess. ‘Duel. High noon,’” he recites. “I can tell you must be a visitor here, and you’ve been listening to too many tall tales, friend. I’d suggest you move on.”
The young man turns blue with indignity. “Fuck you! My family was going to be rich! We were going to have it all! Just to hear some varmint and his gang of outlaws stole it all! You’re lucky I have enough honor to challenge you, instead of shooting you where you stand! Now get your yellowbelly ass off that fucking horse before I shoot her, too!”
Achilles grimaces at Automedon, who shrugs. It might actually break Patroclus’ heart if something happened to Big Blonde on the way to see him, and he can’t have that. Annoyed, Achilles leaps down. It’s a morbid affair, the townspeople giddily peeking from wherever they stand. Everyone knows someone’s going to die, but duels were such rare, prime entertainment- who could look away? Automedon relaxes with a whistle, a high-pitched, stressful tune meant to unnerve all listening. Achilles preferred a show when things like this occurred.
A brave townsman stands between them. “Twenty paces!”
The men turn, beginning their walk towards potential execution. Instead of walking in silence, the man takes the opportunity to mock Achilles.
“You know,” he jeers. “In a way, I’m sparing your reputation from further disrepair. You should thank me.”
Eight, nine, ten-
“A sodomite, and not just that! I heard that you every time you come to town you try to shack up with that tar-skinned ni-”
There is no cloud of smoke to accent the blast, the raw power and innovation of the new pistol only slightly smoking. The draw hadn’t even been vocalized. With the look of sheer wrath in Achilles’ eyes, he might not have even needed the gun to commit murder, his opponent’s writhing body now bleeding out into the dust.
“My gut- you sidewinding cheater- you fucking dishonorable murderer- my gut, my god help me, it hurts-”
Unconcerned, Achilles walks back to his horse and- once properly seated- gazes out to the crowd.
“Anybody else feel the need to mind my god-damn business?” he calls. “Speak up, now! I got somewhere to be, so make your deaths quick!”
No one speaks.
“That’s what the fuck I thought.”
He dusts his shoulders off and trots Big Blonde closer to the dying man, still seizing. Without even looking down Achilles empties his pistol, the man’s cries hitting a crescendo before silencing with a burble. The whole gang rides past the corpse.
Automedon shakes his head. “Slow as molasses in January. Both in the head and in the duel.”
And that’s all that will be said about that.
The horses are familiar with the way the main road cuts to a green trail to the side, huffing and neighing as they get closer to the feeding troughs at the edge of the property. Antilochus, a gangly newbie with a charming smile when he’s not committing criminal acts, leaps off his horse first when they finally arrive.
“This shop carries such good items. Why don’t the townspeople patron here?”
Grumbles and awkward laughter travel around the group. Antilochus squawks as Automedon, one of the Chinese members of their gang, smacks him in the back of the head from atop his horse.
“Sometimes you really show that you were raised soft. You just saw it! You know why. The same way some of these piece of shit town businesses won’t service me when I walk in.”
Antilochus blinks. “Oh! Ohhh. Right. And wait a minute, Achilles was raised soft, too!”
“And yet,” Achilles adds, dusting himself off. “I don’t say stupid shit like that.” The blood spatter is on the bottom of his right pant leg- not too noticeable. “Now don’t talk like that in front of Patroclus, he’s got enough to worry about. And remember to-”
“Take our hats off, because we weren’t raised in barns.” The humored recitation around the group is of no concern to Achilles, who nods. Antilochus looks around, before scoffing.
“Some of you were raised in barns, though, since we’re talking about ‘soft’.”
The other men all affectionately punch Antilochus in the arm. As for Achilles, he dramatically removes his hat and slides into the cool shade of the store, the bell ringing behind him.
“You all make such a fuss when you arrive.”
Achilles grins, leaning rakishly against the counter. “Well I have to greet my favorite with a flourish! Now, for the brightest smile in all the west, what can I get?”
“Out. We require money here, sir.” With an affectionate eyeroll, Patroclus pushes away to point towards the stacked reserves. “I’ve got most of your regular set up prepared; thanks for sending someone ahead with a list, as usual. I assume you don’t want a discount?”
Achilles pulls out an envelope with a wad of green dollar bills, freshly looted from a new bank further east. “No need. In fact, tip the gorgeous man behind the counter for me.”
Patroclus swipes the envelope, swiftly flipping through the amount. There’s no need to count, it’s beyond more than necessary. His eyes sparkle as he opens the cash register. “Well. He’ll never say no to a little extra in these times.”
Even his voice was like melting butter. And again, those rippling muscles under that white shirt, yellowing after a long period of wear? God, Achilles might need to become a grocer- to hell with crime.
“So,” he begins, hiding his nerves under a nonchalant tone. He and Patroclus have been subtly courting for quite some time now, and he thinks it’s about time to take that next step.
“So?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me for some lunch, today. And before you worry,” he quietly adds, seeing Patroclus tense up. “No one would dare not serve you and risk me putting a bullet in them. What do you say? Me personally, I could eat an entire hog.”
Patroclus glances to the side, deep in thought. On the one hand, for obvious reasons he does not go up the road into town for ‘fun’. But there’s no denying he’s bored as all hell in this place; Achilles can see the way he lights up whenever they return.
Finally Patroclus acquiesces, ears hot. “I heard they got a new ice cream parlor. Somehow, they keep all that stuff freezing cold. I bet it feels heavenly in there.”
Thank goodness no one can hear the pig squeal of joy in Achilles’ head. “You can have all the ice cream you want,” he replies, turning the charm up extra high.
“And someone will watch the store?”
“Naturally. Antilochus might be a dope, but he’s great with numbers. That’s why I picked him up. Everything will be as neat and tidy as you left it.”
Patroclus scoffs at Achilles, currently making an adorable face that no good criminal should be able to. “Fine. I want to take Big Blonde, though.”
“You want to see her more than you do me!”
“Naturally. She talks less mess.”
Ten minutes later, they’re walking back up the dirt path, the clatter of civilization louder with every step. At first, Achilles was a little churlish. When Patroclus said he wanted to take the horse, he thought he meant that they’d ride together. As in, share the horse. Instead, the entire walk Patroclus pets Big Blonde’s nose, asking about her adventures with Achilles’ commentary on the side. Achilles can’t bring himself to ruin his fun- he looks so sweet. Patroclus has always had a soft spot for the horses, always making sure that they’re healthy and cared for when the gang rides through. Even Achilles has been chastised once or twice for pushing his steed too hard, leading them to build a temporary stable to the side in case Patroclus wants to check the horses one by one.
“They adore the oats you sell,” Achilles comments. “They’re practically city folk now; they think they’re too good for wild grass and oats from anywhere else.”
“Aww,” Patroclus coos at Big Blonde before turning to Achilles. “When it’s slow at the store- which is more often than not- I slice a bunch of apples up, bake em, set them out to fully dry, and mix the little chips into each bag. A little bit of sweet with the nourishment.”
None of them had ever even considered such a benevolent action. The apples couldn’t be easy to get out here, and the effort extreme just for the horses. “I never noticed.”
“Well the horses do, and that’s what counts to me.” Patroclus smiles with a wink. “It helps that I get a little extra cash every now and then to splurge.”
That’s me, Achilles grins to himself. Just as he’s going to ask what else the money goes towards, there’s a scream, plus a crash. Further down the road, a carriage horse has gone wild, yanking away from the carriage and hurtling their direction. Before Achilles can respond, Patroclus is up on Big Blonde, sprinting forward.
“What in- Patroclus, NO-” Achilles readies to sprint after them- fast as he is, even he can’t out-sprint a horse- but the next sight freezes him in his tracks.
With practiced ease Patroclus maneuvers up next to the horse, simultaneously loosening the rope at the side of the saddle and gently lassoing it around its lower neck. Over time they subtly slow, forcing the horse into a flail. The horse naturally bucks, upset at such an intrusion. Achilles’ heart pounds with fear and awe as Patroclus risks jumping down in front of the heaving beast, soothing the horse into calm. He even pulls some of those apple oats out of his pockets, and the horse- once a frightening specter down the road- is subdued with a sheepish whinny.
Achilles nearly faints at the sight, and it’s not because of the midday sun- though it did just get a little hotter behind his collar. Shaking off his stupor, he runs over to where Patroclus checks the hind of the horse.
“Stung by a hornet. Bad one, too, this is going to leave a lump for a time. I’m sorry, friend.” Just as Achilles is about to speak, three men chasing behind the horse approach. “He’s got a hornet sting, if you make a paste with-”
He can’t even finish when one of the men cuts the rope from the horse’s neck, dropping it on the ground before looping his own around and pulling the horse away. The other two only look at Patroclus with disdain, glancing fearfully at Achilles before rushing away. The disrespect nearly drives Achilles mad, but unfortunately, he’s already emptied his pistol. He’s ready to slit all three of their fucking throats instead when a hand clasps on his shoulder.
“These people aren’t fit to shoot at when you want to unload and clean your gun,” Patroclus whispers. “Let it go.”
He speaks with gravitas, but when he turns back around and speeds back down the trail, his shoulders are tight. It’s clear the slight cuts him deeply, words he wants to say caught hot in his throat. He even leaves Big Blonde behind, and Achilles has to grab and calm her before catching up. They’re in sight of the store when Achilles can’t take the tension filled walk anymore and moves in front of him, blocking the path.
“Achilles-”
“How long have you been able to do that?”
Patroclus’ eyes dart back and forth. “It- it’s just-”
“No, Patroclus, don’t lie to me! Don’t swallow your pride!” Achilles scowls, folding his arms. “I may not be a scholar, but I’m no fool. Most people can’t wrangle their feelings, let alone a cow or a horse at full speed. That was precise, Patroclus. What is such a skilled rider doing out here in a dusty grocery store in a town that treats him like that? Why wouldn’t you let me-”
“What do you think will happen to me when you leave?!”
The guilt and fear sink into Achilles’ stomach like steel as he acknowledges Patroclus’ true fear: retaliation. The temporary pleasure of the kill would only bring on hellfire, and it wouldn’t be for Achilles. Just the thought of leaving this place without him, returning to carnage… Achilles would rather die than consider that reality, but he has to. He’d raze the little paradise into ashes if they laid a hand on Patroclus. He spits on the ground, furious. “I’m sorry, Patroclus. I didn’t- you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. I know.” Patroclus covers his reddening eyes, trying to force down his tears. Finally, he sighs. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight, instead?”
“Darn too-” Achilles swallows his newfound excitement at the sudden switch up. “Yes. Do you… do you want to talk about this, then?”
“Now, what do you think. How do you run a gang with no common sense?”
With an arrogant hair flip, Achilles shrugs. “Who needs common sense when you can shove a foot up anybody’s ass? And I’m brilliant when I’m not around you.”
Patroclus huffs a laugh. They’ve made it back to the store, so at least he was able to drop him off well. “Yes, we’ll talk about it. Bring two good steaks and a dessert- I’m still in the mood for something sweet.”
After dropping Patroclus off, Achilles is halfway back to the Myrmidon camp when his joy finally overcomes him. He rears his horse back, tossing his hat into the sky with an exultant yeehaw, then rides off leaving a trail of dust behind him.
Achilles takes a deep breath, the outline of his body dimly lit under the covered torchlight. In his hand is a basket with two paper wrapped steaks (the best cuts the butcher had), expensive chocolates, a bottle of quality whiskey, and wildflowers. He’d bathed in the river, even slicked his hair back with some grease he stole from Automedon’s stash. After one last check, he knocks on the door. Patroclus opens it, his eyes widening as he takes Achilles in.
“Well, look at you! You clean up nice! Must have bought the whole town too, with all that.”
Achilles walks past, looking him up and down. “I could say the same.” He sneaks a peek at Patroclus’ pleasantly rounded posterior as he leads him to the kitchen, wondering if he’s got an extra pair of riding chaps… He flushes, pressing his lips together to stop from smiling. Herbs, pots, and pans hang over an old but functional stove and oven. The table is nicely carved, the two seats reinforced. There’s even a small pantry where foodstuffs are neatly organized. Outside the window, he can see the large wooden bathtub draining into the grass, a well a little further back.
“These are really good cuts,” Patroclus hums in approval, seasoning the steaks with the dried herb and salt. “Just enough fat for flavoring. I can’t wait to save this grease; I need to oil that register and those door hinges again-”
It’s as though Patroclus has forgotten he’s there, the way he mutters an entire conversation with himself about chores and plans. Achilles watches fondly as he switches between cooking and finding a jug to put the flowers in. Finally, there are two heaping strips of steak on their plates, plus some seasoned rice for good measure. The food is the best Achilles has had in weeks. He nearly weeps at the rice.
“To hell with the grocery store, you should sell this,” he sobs, shoveling in another forkful. “It’s so good. Those idiots couldn’t cook like this if they tried.”
“Those idiots are your friends, you know.”
“The best idiots around, including myself.” Achilles wipes his face. “But not dumb enough to forget what you promised me.”
Patroclus rolls his eyes, carving a slice of steak. “I never promised. Let me finish my food. Tell me about your travels, first.”
This is another thing that Achilles likes about Patroclus. No matter what he tells him about, Patroclus listens with the widest of tourmaline eyes, genuinely entertained. Life as a highwayman wasn’t all fun and games- for every grand hit, there’s thirty days hoofing it in the dirt, stretching the funds, and wondering where the next meal is coming from. Still, you’d think he was telling the finest of fairy tales.
“You know,” Patroclus suddenly interrupts, halfway through the box of melting chocolates and a few swigs of whiskey. “I could listen to you tell these stories for hours. Far more entertaining than my days.”
“Days filled with what, exactly?” Achilles prompts. “Let me guess- secret hero of the west, with those riding skills.”
“If only. It’s nothing that extravagant.”
“Of course it is, it’s you.”
“You and your words.” Patroclus exhales. “I don’t like to talk about my early days, so… here you go. I was born in the deep South, about a decade after the war. My father made it a point to make sure that I was taught to read, write, and all that- to start my family’s lives and future fresh. Unfortunately, it was never going to be safe for a Black boy to be… ‘too’ smart.” Patroclus pulls up his sleeve to reveal a bullet scrape on the side of his right arm. “My mother woke me up in the middle of the night, terrified. She hustled me a bag of provisions and a sharp knife, and my father put me on the back of a neighbor’s cart and told me to run. Didn’t take much to guess I was running from the rope. So… I ran. Hitched numerous rides, had many adventures and near misses, until I found myself a decent paying position in the prairies.”
Achilles leans in, subdued by the image of Patroclus outrunning such evil. He can’t fathom such visceral fear, especially as a child. His fear from earlier in the day only makes more sense, now.
“For three years I was a herder. Cows, sheep, pigs, and yes, horses. I was phenomenal out there. A natural! I’ve never felt so alive! Nobody could do it like I could… and they all knew that. I guess I was still ‘too arrogant’ because they took every opportunity to bring me down. ‘Call the cowboy to get em. Boy hold the horse in place. Boy bring the feed. Boy, boy, boy.’ I hated it.” Patroclus scowls resentfully. “And they were so damn cruel to those creatures. No wonder they all liked me more. I loved those animals like they were my own.”
“But, eventually they had folks that felt more entitled to my spot. So… putting it kindly, I got kicked to the dusty trails. From horses to homeless, in minutes. I was damn near dead by the time I collapsed into this town, laid out in the dust when the original owner of this place found me. Mr. Chiron, may he rest peacefully. That’s his picture over there if you want to see it. Had to drag him to get it taken.”
On one of the counters sits a black and white photo of a half-indigenous man with wavy, braided hair, a beard, and a confused smile. “How did he pass?”
“There was an illness that went through the town, just a little before you all showed up. Hearty as he was, I thought that man was immortal. He was so good with natural remedies instead of this strange liquid medicine too; to this day I don’t… I wish…” Patroclus’ voice fades out. “Anyhow. He cleaned me up, fed and watered me, and gave me a choice: either I can learn the tricks of the trade here until I can stand on my own two feet, or I can keep stumbling along with the extra three days of life he gifted me. I’m twenty-five I think, so that was… five years ago? I’m not ungrateful; it’s thanks to him that I was able to survive. It’s in his memory that I keep this place up and running, gives me the chance to pay it forward, but … it wasn’t the dream.”
Achilles sits back down. “And what was the dream,” he asks softly.
Patroclus pauses, visibly fighting with himself. Repression wins out; his expression closes. “I want to make enough money to get my family their own land. Some stability. I could even move my parents out here if I could find them, but I’d need the resources. Maybe we could run this place together.”
Even now, after all of that, Achilles laments, he’s not choosing himself. Silence weighs between them. Dream or not, the West was full of stories like this; of hopes, desperation, and sorrows. Add in Patroclus’ background and… well. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. Achilles chugs down the rest of his liquor, feeling like a heel.
“Well, I was going to offer you tickets to a moving picture tomorrow, but… I’d like to take you riding with me instead. Get some of the pressure off of you. Would that be all right?” Achilles sighs inwardly with relief when Patroclus’ face lights up; at least he’s made the right decision this time!
“That’d be fine.” Patroclus nods, eyes soft. “Mighty fine.”
Having closed the store early for the day, Patroclus follows Antilochus out to where the Myrmidon camp resides. If one weren’t looking closely, it would look like a bunch of ramshackle tents hidden amongst the brush, surrounding random fire pits with clothes, boots, and miscellaneous items sprinkled about. Instead, there’s a method, a personality to the chaos- you can tell just who is in every tent from how they’re set up, what they value, and just how high up the rank they are. The best spot is reserved for Achilles’ tent, under a wide, shady tree, with a clean, tall, well-kept tarp.
“He’s here, boss,” Antilochus calls. Achilles beams as he exits the tent, reaching for Patroclus’ hands.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m glad none of that racket behind you frightened you away.”
“I’ve seen worse. Your boys are good folk.” The multicultural group didn’t seem concerned by their open affection at all; at least they weren’t making it known if they had any opinions.
“They’d better be. Hold on-” He walks back into the tent, eventually returning and tossing something leather to Patroclus. “Try these on. It’ll help with friction.”
Patroclus glances down at the chaps in his hand and shrugs, entering the tent. “I suppose we’re similar enough in size. Thank you.”
Upon his return, Achilles giddily admits to himself that comfort wasn’t his only goal. The chaps are just slightly tight in the thighs, but not so much that Patroclus can’t move. Thus, his ass was sat nicely in the opening. Dreams really do come true.
“Ahem. Today you’ve got the fine honor of sharing Big Blonde with me,” Achilles beams, as though he’s announcing that they’ve found oil. Patroclus’ brow raises.
“Look me in my face: there’s no other horses to borrow?”
Achilles looks him in the face. “There’s no other horses to borrow.”
Patroclus glances over at Antilochus, who dips his head with a quiet cackle and flees. Being so shamelessly full of shit has done nothing to mar Achilles’ bright, mischievous smile, and Patroclus snickers. This man.
“Very well. But only if I get to hold the reins.”
Giving Achilles all the reasons in the world to hold onto him? “Sounds like a deal to me.”
Before they can make their grand escape on top of the golden horse, there’s an exaggerated cough. Automedon, Antilochus, and the rest of his men are now gathered around. Despite being a bunch of grown men, hardened criminals even, they look like curious little children.
“Everyone would like to be formally introduced to your beau, now,” Antilochus blurts, grinning. Shocked, Achilles swiftly glares at Automedon to handle it, and Automedon elbows Antilochus.
“We just want to spend time with Patroclus too,” Automedon shrugs. “He’s never outside of the store, that’s all!”
Achilles bites his lip, turning to Patroclus. Tell them no. Tell them this isn’t the time. Refuse them.
“Oh, it’s fine, Achilles.”
So much for a private date; of course he’d be too nice to refuse. With a fond click of his teeth, Achilles starts formally introducing the Myrmidons. Over time, Patroclus finds himself relaxing, even buddying up with some of them. Behind the notorious stories, these might be the most respectful people he’s met since Mr. Chiron, and then long before. His shoulders especially loosen at the sight of a few Black, Mexican, and Chinese faces amongst the mostly white bandits, all of whom have long grown comfortable. One of the other Black men even shows off his own tiny, budding locs with a toothy grin, admitting Patroclus had inspired the look. It leaves him warm in his cheeks, pleased.
It takes him a moment to recognize this warm, happy feeling: he’s feeling welcomed.
He gazes upon Achilles in a more respectful light. It speaks to an admittedly lesser-known part of his character that these men trust in his leadership. Achilles does not have a sterling reputation, known for being ruthless and bloodthirsty if he cannot have his way. Yet, watching him goof around with his men, Patroclus can barely reconcile the two.
It might speak to his own character that he finds he doesn’t really care to, either.
“Are you ready to go,” Achilles interrupts his reverie. “I thought we could head out further west for space to race, since we’re bringing the entire damn kit and kaboodle with us.”
It’s a foregone conclusion for the gang to follow Achilles’ directions the first time, so everyone tenses when Patroclus shakes his head. “Southwest. Follow the river, so the horses can drink when they’re tired.”
Rather than scowling or huffing, Achilles simply shrugs. “Southwest it is. The horses can have the river and we’ll just crumble into dust.”
“You’ll dry out even faster if you keep crying like that.”
“Hey boss, you okay?” Automedon interrupts their focused banter, eyes narrowed.
“Better than ever,” Achilles lightly agrees, subtly placing his hands around Patroclus’ waist. “Why?”
Because it must be magic that Patroclus has such easy sway over their notoriously hardheaded leader. Automedon only closes his mouth with a grin. He looks back at everyone else, his thoughts reflected in their expressions.
“Follow me!” Patroclus kicks off into the dust, as though he and Big Blonde had always been riding together. The wind blows through Patroclus’ locs, whipping behind him as they race ahead. He knows he’s headed to the river- they’ll reach there all too soon at this speed- but he imagines just… continuing on. Leaving this town far behind him, chasing the western sun until eventually he has to turn around and loop again. Seeing new things, anything other than this. There was so much world to be seen, he’s read about it in the papers. He could even see the ocean one day.
Suddenly, he imagines not just one man and horse, but two. Kicking his feet in the water with bright green eyes smiling beside him, maybe even eating fish under the stars. His mind focuses on the warm hands happily holding around his waist, face snug in his shoulder blades.
Is it too much for him to hope for?
Probably. And after everything he’s been through, too much hope hurts his heart.
He’s caught in his mind when Achilles pinches his back to gain his attention. Achilles then holds his hands out, forcing the entire gang to stop.
“Look,” he calls, pointing into the distance where a singular stallion, a beautiful jet black on its snout and neck followed by a dappled grey and white coat painted down its body, flails around. It almost looks as if it’s having a panic attack or a tantrum, stomping into the dust and rearing and whinnying.
“Poor thing,” Patroclus whispers. He leans his head back to Achilles. “Send some men back for some extra water. Do you have the oats on you?”
“I do.”
“I want to try to help it. Do you trust me with Big Blonde?”
“I trust you with my life, of course I trust you with her.” The way Achilles says such things easy as breathing will always fluster Patroclus. To everyone’s shock, Achilles jumps down, while Patroclus hustles forward towards the jittery stallion.
“Achilles, what’s going on?” Automedon hastens to his side, mind racing.
“Patroclus is going to handle it. Send back some men for some extra water and another saddle. Now, and tell them to hustle.”
“I thought we were pretending there were no other horses,” Automedon teases, and Achilles punches him in the leg.
“Plans change!”
Automedon relays the command, before Achilles commandeers a spot on his horse and they trot within visible distance of Patroclus. The stallion, now sprawled out on the ground happily eating apple oats, allows itself to be observed.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Automedon takes his hat off in wonder, running a hand through his hair. “Tamed a wild stallion just like that. The oats have to be magic.”
“Naw, it’s just him,” Achilles grins, moving forward to where Patroclus smiles at his new friend. “Brought a wild stallion to the ground. Must be a world record.”
Patroclus gently rubs the horse’s belly. “This one isn’t wild. Entirely too sweet for that. He must have gotten lost from someone’s caravan. A damn shame, he’s a handsome one. I think he was just scared, and tired of being out in the dirt and heat on his own.”
A little bit later, someone arrives with a large bowl and a leather sack of water. It’s admittedly not much, but the way the stallion laps from the bowl shows that he’s just as dehydrated as Patroclus surmised. As soon as it’s done, it finds its head right back in Patroclus’ arms, huffing and snuggling happily. It nearly brings a tear to Achilles’ eye, it’s so sweet.
“Do you have a name for him?”
“A name?”
“Cause if you’re going to have a horse, you got to call him something, right?”
“Have a-” Patroclus pauses, inhaling sharply. His eyes water with hopeful tears. He hadn’t even considered it. Achilles takes the extra saddle and heaves it up, holding it out.
“Well he’s got nobody else, and he seems to love you more than anything in the world already. I’d say he’s all yours.”
Patroclus vacillates, running his fingers over the horse’s silky body. He can’t help his goofy smile, but he shakes his head. “I’d love that, but how am I going to take care of such a beauty? He deserves more than being stuck in my backyard.”
“Take him anywhere you want!” When Patroclus tries to refuse once more, Achilles shoves the saddle into his hands. “Just try him out. If not, we’ll just take him with us and bring him back. But he really seems to favor you.”
Achilles looks so excited for him, practically jumping out of his shoes. It’s precious, and Patroclus swallows the endearment in place of a soft laugh. He looks over the horse’s coat, and smiles. “Stardust.”
“Stardust- oh, his name! I like it! Hop on Stardust then.”
While Achilles leaps back onto his own horse, Patroclus wobbles on Stardust, soothing both of them as they adjust to the saddle. Stardust adjusts quickly, adding more credence to his theory that the stallion has been trained before. Wow. My own horse. My very own horse! He can’t help his giddy grin. It’s something he dreamt of, but never thought would come to fruition so soon or easily. He can go riding whenever he wants. Life was about to become slightly more bearable. As soon as he’s balanced, he glances over at Achilles.
“Let’s go!”
Stardust was truly someone else’s loss, because under Patroclus’ lead, he runs swifter than the wind. With some more love and care, he would probably be an ideal racing horse. The horses slow a hundred yards from the riverbank, everyone hopping down to lay in the sparse grass. Achilles rides up next to Patroclus, accenting his approach with an exaggerated stretch.
“You know I was letting you win, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you just seemed so happy on your brand-new stallion, I figured I’d let you take charge,” Achilles teases. “But everyone knows there’s no beating me and Big Blonde when I mean it.”
“You can smack his big head off his horse if you want Patroclus,” Automedon calls from his spot on the ground. “We won’t look.”
“He won’t hit the ground; there’s so much hot air in there that he’ll just float away,” Patroclus retorts, and Achilles smirks as everyone cackles.
“Sounds like you’re up for a race, then?” Despite all his blustering, this is what Achilles really wants. He wants to see Patroclus push himself, to really let loose. He looks around at the environment, eventually finding a good spot in the distance. “Down there. Antilochus, you see that small tree? I want you to go mark that spot.”
“On it!” Once Antilochus is at the tree, hopping and waving, Achilles flirtatiously turns to Patroclus.
“There and back. Whoever wins owes the other something. Simple, yes?”
Patroclus doesn’t need to do this. He knows Achilles is seen as the fastest rider and shooter in the west. It would be silly to allow this man to goad him into something he might not win.
But-
“You’re on. Let me check my horse, first.” After a swift look over Stardust- he can’t push him too hard, he just got the baby- Patroclus determines that they’re ready. Automedon stands to the side, his gun pointed up in the air.
“Aaaaaand-” With one shot, it’s on! Both men hurtle forward, their eyes locked on the tree.
As the trail of dust behind them marks their places, heart pounding with excitement, Patroclus leads. He even passes the tree first, spinning Stardust around in a wide arc. Patroclus is concerned that people might be exaggerating Achilles’ swiftness. That, or something’s wrong with Big Blonde. Maybe the weight of two men had been too much?
So when Achilles suddenly slips past him, pausing in a picture-perfect moment to grin with a toss of his hair before blazing on, Patroclus cannot fathom what in the hell just happened. The gang cheer as Achilles crosses the finish line first, hopping down into their excited grasp. Patroclus jumps down, bemused as Automedon claps him on the back.
“They’ve just got something, I think,” Automedon consoles.
“Yeah, blonde hair with a horse’s ass!” Patroclus calls, leading Achilles to stick his finger out. “He knew he’d beat me.” Of course he can’t help but respect such teamwork between the two.
Achilles sidles up, half curling into Patroclus’ side. “You got very close, though! Most people panic at the thought of facing me.” His voice lowers as it slips in a genuinely sweet tone. “You looked wonderful out there, Patroclus. Honestly.”
Patroclus flushes, before sighing with defeat. “Well. You and Big Blonde do have something, I’ll tell you that. I can respect a man with a strong connection to his horse. Very well, so what do you win, then?”
Unable to hide the flush on his cheeks, Achilles raises his hand to thumb at Patroclus’ cheek, sending electricity through his body. “I’ll think about it a little more.”
The rest of the day is spent watching races between the other men, followed by tricks on their horses, then a shooting competition to give Achilles the chance to show off his new guns. The man’s deadly accuracy and speed were only increased by these shiny, silver revolvers, and he wasted plenty of bullets on impressing Patroclus with blown up bottles.
As the twilight starts to fall over the hills, Achilles whistles- it’s an imperative sound, one his gang is used to hearing before a command. The group goes quiet.
“All right, I’ve seen enough of your ugly mugs today. Head back to camp, clean up a little bit and don’t drink too much at the saloon, otherwise you’ll scare the ladies of the night. I heard they’ve got new outfits for you to peel off.”
Excitement travels around the gang as they hop on their horses and take back off into the distance. Only Automedon remains, brow raised. “Make sure they don’t embarrass my name,” Achilles whispers, trying to hide his expression.
Automedon grins. “Mhm. Figured we wouldn’t see you at camp.”
When they’re all finally gone, Achilles turns back to Patroclus, now feeding Stardust. “I figured we could at least ride around and talk in the peace and quiet. It’s always lovely out here in the sunset.”
Patroclus thoughtfully nods. “I agree.”
The twilight over the mountains and desert make a beautiful picture, the orange, yellow and purple light of the sky blending softly into everything it touches. Their shadows grow long as they talk about nothing and everything, sharing what feels like the entire world together.
After a time, Patroclus glances over at Achilles. “I want to show you something,” he blurts, looking from underneath his lashes.
“Lead the way.”
After about fifteen minutes of riding, Patroclus leads them up to one of the smaller, more distinct mountains. The rock is split, two marbled spires rising high to the sky, with a flat section of space in between. As soon as the height is too steep, they tie their horses to the trees and start the quiet trek up. Luckily the sun was lower, the heat falling into something bearable enough to trek in. Finally they come to the top of the large rock. Achilles gasps at the view.
On one side, one can see the town in the distance. It really is a lovely green paradise in the middle of nowhere, now exposed to the rest of the world by the railroad that literally carved its way through the mountains to do so. The town is beautifully lit, the excitement of the patrons clear as they all strut past one another on the large main road. They see some of the drunken gang waltzing their way into the brothel. The river winds through the space where the most fertile, expensive land lays, the deceptively calm river full of rapid currents underneath. One can even see Patroclus’ store up towards the edge of the green, and as the scape turns back into bushland, the tents of the gang.
On the other side of the rock dropping off into a steep cliff is untouched land, covered with the warm colors of the sunset like a painting. In a way it’s just as beautiful as the town, if not more so, the gorgeous horizon endless. They were just out in that. Staring out into it reminds Achilles that he is a small part of a vaster world, that there is so much more out there than what he has ever seen.
“On first glance it seems like a wasteland, right?” Patroclus muses. “But even in that, there’s plenty of life making a way. This is where Mr. Chiron liked to come to meditate; he found peace up here. I was spoiled; I was too focused on how much I hated that he expected me to help him walk this madness on foot. He was getting too old for that, and it’s hot. But I made it for him one last time on my own. Hard as hell, but I did it. He deserved it.”
Enthralled by the beauty of the scenery, Achilles finally focuses on the small wooden plank in the dirt, a stone leaning against it. It faces the vast, untouched brush. Patroclus sits next to the grave, his eyes and brown skin warmed by the low light, his locs lightly floating in the breeze as he gazes into the beyond.
“I wasn’t sure what to do with him when he passed,” Patroclus quietly admits. “I don’t think either of us thought his time would be that soon, he barely had gray hairs. He was like another father to me, and I wanted to honor him somehow. So I cremated him, collected his ashes, and brought them out here. He didn’t talk too much about his own past, and I felt it wasn’t my place to ask, but… he mentioned how his mother would talk about the buffalo, and how he always wanted to go see them with her. I couldn’t give him that, but I thought maybe he’d like the view out here. I wish I could have done more.”
Patroclus stares out into the openness, expression soft and regretful. When the silence becomes too much, Achilles removes his hat.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” Achilles starts, bowing in front of the grave. “I don’t think your elder would want you staying in this place.” When Patroclus says nothing, Achilles goes for it. “I think you should come with us.” With me.
“There it is,” Patroclus mutters. “That’s not an acceptable win for the bet.”
“That- fuck the bet, this is something else!”
“You’re not my savior, Achilles. I have some pride; I’m a grown man capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions.”
“I know that! But… look at you!” Achilles argues. “If you saw how you look right now- you aren’t happy, Patroclus. You can’t be happy here. You hate this place; I saw how you had to swallow your anger yesterday. I know you want to out there living free, not held down.”
“As if the rest of the world has proven or will prove any kinder to me,” Patroclus snorts resentfully. “Listen to yourself. I can hear the vitriol now if I were to ride into any town by your side.”
“Let them choke on their jealousy and hate the same way they’ll choke on their own blood, because I won’t let them lay a hand on you without returning violence tenfold! I- I don’t know!” Achilles chokes on a sob, finally holding his head down in defeat. “I know my love isn’t going to fix everything, but I just… I want to be there with you. Whatever it is you want to do, I’d like the honor of standing by your side for our entire lives while you do it. And I’d like to try to make you happy, during.”
It practically sounds like a proposal. Patroclus looks at Achilles and sighs. If only this weren’t the world they were born into. On the other hand, Antilochus gleefully told him the story upon their bloody entrance to town. So if Patroclus were to accept this offer- and he’s only thinking about it- he knows Achilles stands on his word.
“I can’t believe this,” he chuckles, flattered despite himself. “I never thought this would happen when I met you. ‘Fastest Sidewinder in the West’, flashing puppy eyes at my counter. Now he’s telling me he loves me.”
Patroclus wasn’t warned when the Myrmidons first showed up in town. Achilles had already made a name for himself in the west, known for the speed of his draw, of his movement and his strong offense when taking down targets. One hell of a criminal, and only getting stronger. None of this was known to him at the time.
The only thing Patroclus saw when Achilles entered his store was a pretty, arrogant white man with two too many newfangled guns on his waist, and he didn’t like one inch of it.
As for Achilles, he would later swear that cupid hit him the moment he walked in. But at the time, he was just feeling in a good mood after a hit. He removed his hat, put on his best smile, and walked to the counter. It’s hard not to notice the way the grocer’s eyes keep twitching back to his gang making all that noise in the storefront.
“Hello sir,” Patroclus spoke, wiping his face and voice clean of any opinions.
“No need for the sir,” Achilles shudders. ‘Sir’. Too stuffy. “Just Achilles is fine.”
“Achilles, sir.”
Achilles frowns, before he realizes what this must look like. “Right. Okay.” Patroclus flinches as Achilles removes his guns from their holsters and places them on the counter, covering them with his hat. “Look, here’s my hat, and my guns- right here. You are safe, and I swear on my life that you won’t be harmed. I’m not like your hick neighbors up the road.”
I’ll be the judge of that is clear in Patroclus’ eyes as they blink towards the ground, but his body relaxes. They go through the entire purchasing process as politely as anyone had ever been to Achilles. One might think the store’s sole purpose was refuge from the heat, as frosty as it was feeling.
“Look, sir,” Achilles retorts, making Patroclus jump at the title. “I recognize that my reputation may have preceded me, but-”
“I don’t know your reputation, sir.”
Patroclus looks just as surprised at his own interruption as Achilles, and he’s about to apologize when Achilles grins.
“Well, that makes things a little different then! I have an idea. I like your nerve- the rest of this town cowers, but you stand tall. I also like your wares. If you’re interested, I have a challenge for you.”
Patroclus’ eyes dart to the hat-covered guns. “I’d never challenge someone to a duel, sir.”
“You wouldn’t win this one either,” Achilles dismisses, ignoring Patroclus’ barely controlled eyeroll. “No, I don’t mean a duel. If I win, you start keeping some of your stock to the side for me when I’m in town. And you stop calling me ‘sir’.”
“And if I win, sir?”
“We don’t have to worry about that.”
As Patroclus chokes on his anger at yet another insufferable guest, Achilles grabs a nearby tchotchke and stands it on the counter. “When I say go, I want you to grab that little statue.”
He takes a step back for good measure. Patroclus glances down at the statue, glancing back up in open disbelief. “I’m right next to it. Sir.”
“Just do it.”
Whatever. Patroclus can only hope he’s not supposed to beg forgiveness when he inevitably wins this stupid bet. He raises his hands on both sides of the statue.
“Ready- set- go.”
Patroclus claps his hands, triumphant. The arrogant S.O.B. hadn’t even moved. Easiest bet he’d ever made; ‘we don’t have to worry about that’, his ass.
He opens his palms to nothing.
After checking beneath him, on the floor and everything, Patroclus finally swallows his pride and looks up. Smirking, Achilles waggles the statue in his hand. He gently places it on the counter in front of Patroclus’ bewildered expression. “Now, to start over. My name is Achilles. And yours?”
“Patroclus, s-” Patroclus whispers, biting off the title.
“I look forward to seeing you next time I’m in town, Patroclus. You like horses?”
For the first time in their entire interaction, Patroclus lifts his full gaze to look Achilles in the eye. “Yes? Your horse is gorgeous, s- mm.”
“Big Blonde is my pride and joy.” Patroclus blinks at the silly name, not that a puffed-up Achilles can see it. “I love to hear it, because we’ll be bringing a bunch more next time. Stock up on some oats so I can buy all of them from you.”
It’s then that cupid truly strikes Achilles in the form of a confused, yet hopeful smile- he’s not sure Patroclus even knows he’s making such an expression.
“Do I have your word, s- your word?”
Achilles quickly puts his hat back on to hide his flush, re-holstering his guns. “Naturally.”
“Well then, I look forward to it… Achilles, si- Achilles.”
Nah, no hat would hide the bright red flush on his face. Achilles swiftly leaves the store.
Achilles laughs at the memory as they ride slowly back to the store, the clouds quickly blocking out the vast stars with a melancholy gray. The process of getting Patroclus to warm up to him had truly been a combination of supporting his business and entertaining him with silly pranks and jokes. He hasn’t even visited the brothels in some time, completely uninterested. He’d never try this hard for anyone else, but for Patroclus, he supposes he can play the jester. Anything for that smile.
Patroclus still hasn’t answered his confession, though. He knows that Patroclus takes time to think, which is good but… his feelings are on edge!
“So what drove a soft boy like you into gang life?” Patroclus suddenly.
“How can you tell?”
“Now, Achilles. You look far too rich for this life’s blood.” Your chosen steed is a golden blonde horse, for fuck’s sake.
“It’s because I can’t grow a rugged beard, hard as I try,” Achilles jokes. “It’s nothing as heartbreaking as your background. Wasn’t built for being a good boy, I suppose.” He shrugs. “Mama was old world money in nothing but name, forcibly married off to my new money Yankee of a Daddy. I was supposed to be a good businessman one day too, to tighten my tie and slick my hair and laugh at piss poor jokes meant to entertain the rich.” He sneers at a particular memory. “Unfortunately when I was fifteen I got caught in- how you say, a provocative position in a closet with another boy at private school. Wasn’t looked upon too kindly. After ‘high society’ worried I would ‘infect their children with evil’, I ended up sentenced and I had two options: an asylum or remedial school. I chose the latter.” Achilles glances down with a sickened smile, the pit of his gut still filled with longstanding spite and rage at their treatment.
“It turned out to be more like a work camp. I remember my Mama’s sobbing to this day- she didn’t want to send me, but money talks more than anything else in that life. I can barely do any arithmetic to this day, but they sure made us geniuses at moving rocks and digging dirt for railroads. That’s where I met Automedon. He fainted from the heat one day, and I had to carry him back to camp. They docked him a day’s pay for it, too, the bastards. We weren’t getting paid pennies, and they still took it from him. They already treated him far worse because of how he looked, and when that happened, he looked like he wanted to crack a spittoon across everybody’s head. I saw that fire in his eyes. Later on I snuck into the infirmary, and I asked him: Do you wanna do something different than this? He said, what would a pasty white boy like you do about it? And I said, well I’m not pasty anymore working out in this damn heat. And then I showed him the guns I stole and offered him one.”
“Well damn,” whistles Patroclus. “That’s certainly something different.”
“Indeed. Long story short, we started a riot at the camp. When you burn a place down, you can’t exactly avoid wanted signs anymore. Prison is practically an education on its own; learned how to talk, fight, steal. Between camp and prison, I perfected my speed and techniques. Managed to maintain my pretty face. And now, years later- a full-fledged gang. Who needed my parents’ money, right?”
Achilles’ broad-chested confidence is enough to make Patroclus cackle. “You’re a bad influence. Did your parents disown you?”
“Yet to be determined! My Father… I don’t know he knows if I’m alive or dead, to be honest. Maybe he’s still waiting for his boy to come home, or maybe not. As for my Mama, I send her letters every now and then. They’re living separate, now. She still loves me, even if she doesn’t understand why living my life free and away from that stiff-necked, antiquated society of hers was my choice.”
“I don’t get it either,” Patroclus admits. “Look at you. You’d have had it all.”
“Eh, well.” Achilles blushes as he rides closer to Patroclus, thumbing at his hand. “I wouldn’t have been able to be with you. Not a life worth anything, I think, even if I wish it didn’t have to be the way it was.”
The soft admission is enough for Patroclus’ hand to fully open, grasping Achilles’ tightly as they slowly make their way back to the store. Two lost boys, one trying to hold a hand out to another. Even when they arrive, it tears at him to let him go, tying the horses under the small stable.
“Would you-”
“Could I-”
They’re both interrupted by a flash of lightning, followed by an immediate downpour of warm rain. It’s the summertime, and it rarely ever rains during this season, so the sudden onslaught is both a concern and a relief. Achilles turns his face up, washing away any dirt, his hair sticking to his cheeks. Suddenly, there’s low, deep laughter, followed by cackling as Patroclus laughs up at the fierce sky. His locs hang heavy, weighed down by the water, his clothes sticking to him as he just… laughs. So much emotion, deeply repressed, bubbling away to the sky. It’s heartbreaking, terrifying, and cathartic all at once.
When he finally finishes, breathing heavily, he finds Achilles standing in front of him, eyes full of lust.
“I’d like to cash in that bet now,” he whispers.
“Finally,” Patroclus breathes, as they rush into each other’s arms, lips fervently pressing together. The world crashes around them as they take the other in, gripping at wet clothes, skin, anything to be as tight as possible. Achilles’ legs give out underneath him when he feels the whisper of I love you against his lips, forcing Patroclus to hold him up. It’s not enough. Patroclus barely pulls away, still feeling breath hot against his cheek.
“Inside.”
Achilles has never been in the upstairs portion of the building, and he barely has any time to take in his surroundings as their soaking wet clothes are kicked to the ground, their bodies scrambling to reach for one another. He glimpses a rug, a dresser drawer, and a standing mirror. Most importantly is the small bed that he’s ready to be laid in. Patroclus pauses, wringing the water out of his locs onto the wet clothes.
“There’s oil on top of the dresser,” he notes with a nod of his chin. Achilles rushes over, gripping the half empty jar.
“How often do you use this,” he muses.
“It’s multipurpose,” Patroclus retorts, finally shaking out his hair. “But a man has needs that he can’t satisfy in this town.”
Achilles is going to lose his mind. Tossing it on the bed, he hops into Patroclus’ arms, grinding against him. His thick, coarse chest hair is softened by the rain, and Achilles wants to lap at every part of it.
“Calm down,” Patroclus teases as Achilles fondles him, shivering with excitement. “You can’t have all of me at once.” He lays Achilles down on the bed, trying to focus on oiling his fingers while still trapped in a messy, wet kiss. When he finally pushes one inside, Achilles writhes, reaching down to stroke himself.
“Can I be honest with you,” he breathes, rocking against the pressure.
“Please.”
“If I ask you to fuck me stupid, could you do that?”
Patroclus startles, his dick bouncing at his jump. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s just that, I’ve imagined this for a long time,” Achilles grunts, whining at the burn when Patroclus adds a second and third finger, scissoring. “And I haven’t slept with anyone in a long while; the ladies weren’t doing it for me anymore. Couldn’t even get it up without thinking ‘bout you. I know these first times are supposed to be heartfelt and all, but I just- I want you now. I want you to put every inch of love in me til I can’t walk. A shame you took off the chaps.”
Now, Patroclus is a gentleman. Even in his fantasies, he imagined the first time gentle and sweet like what he heard was supposed to happen between lovers. But something about the way Achilles pleads, about hearing that he’s been staring at his ass, about hearing that he’s been waiting for him, that there was no one else-
“Far be it from me to refuse you,” he acquiesces, flipping Achilles onto his stomach and knees. “Let me know if you change your mind.” And with that, he stretches him apart and thrusts in. Both of them cry upon impact, Achilles from the fill, and Patroclus from the tightness. From the small spots of liquid soaking into his comforter, it’s clear Achilles is already halfway there.
“Oh, Christ, right there-” The storm masks the wet, persistent clap of skin to skin as Patroclus mercilessly drives into him, Achilles’ ecstasy loud and unashamed. Anyone passing would flush to their roots if they heard the constant cries of fuck, fuck me, harder, faster, oh take me, yes Patroclus yes rising like a praise choir in church. Achilles can feel the sway of locs against his back, and soon, soft lips kissing his shoulder before a sharp bite. His knees give out at the pleasure that ripples through him, leaving Achilles limp and sobbing against the friction of the bed. When Achilles’ back finally arches, his spend covering the comforter with a sharp keen, Patroclus relents.
“You okay?” He lets Achilles go, mildly concerned. “You said- well, I mean-”
“Scoot back for a second.” Frowning, Patroclus moves back, giving Achilles the chance to stand and stretch. Then he leaps back into his arms, somehow ready for round two. “Are you strong enough?”
“You get on my nerves,” Patroclus replies, shifting just enough for Achilles to land right back on his dick.
“You said a man ‘has needs’,” Achilles purrs. “Let me fulfill them.”
Patroclus’ eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as he tries his best to stay stable, Achilles’ neck arched back and arms tight around his neck as he bounces. Pleasure hits him in waves when he grips him, pulling Achilles down hard onto himself. As much as he wanted to tease, he’s not sure his strength can stand the power of his incoming orgasm and the weight of Achilles’ muscular body. He barely collapses onto the bed in time, his feet curling as he comes, Achilles still rocking against him. The springs wheeze with the speed and effort of the onslaught. This time, Achilles’ come ends up hot on Patroclus’ stomach, squished as Achilles falls.
Once their breathing calms, Achilles tilts up mischievously. “How attached are you to this bed,” he murmurs. He slowly slides down to the floor, lips kissing down Patroclus’ chest until he reaches coarse, black pubic hair covered in oil and mess.
“It’s the only one I have, so… very.”
“Mm. I’ll replace it.”
“That’s that rich kid thinking. Everything is replaceable.”
“If you come with me, you won’t need this one anymore.”
Patroclus wants to be reasonable and argue, but when Achilles tongues up his entire shaft, licking at the slit before swallowing him whole, his train of thought leaves the station. He grips blonde hair, succumbing to the power of the skills that got Achilles shipped out west.
Patroclus stares up at the dark ceiling- now two feet higher thanks to his shattered bedframe- his soul now like his balls: sucked dry. Achilles purrs in his arms like a content fat cat. They went at it for hours, finally stopping when the storm passed. The sun is only a few hours from rising.
“You know this wouldn’t be possible in a tent,” he sleepily states. Achilles huffs a laugh against his chest.
“It is if you don’t care about who hears.”
“Terrible. I’d rather not have the guys hear my private business.”
It takes a moment for Achilles to realize that Patroclus is truly considering his idea. He sits up, far more alert. Patroclus stays laying down on the mattress, hands folded against his chest.
“If I do this, if I trust you, you need to stand by me, Achilles. I don’t have time for games. This is my life we’re talking about.”
Achilles bows his head low. “I swear on it.”
“And I’d like to find my parents first. It’s been far too long. I want them safe.”
“I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Patroclus holds his gaze for a moment, before acquiescing with a nod. “You know, I don’t know what I expected from this place anyway, once Mr. Chiron was gone. Maybe I was just scared. Maybe I thought the townsfolk would eventually warm up to me.”
“Well. You’re far too good for those peons anyway.” Achilles crawls over top of him, nose to nose. “You know you can’t expect sense from these folk. These people are commoners. These are people of the land, the common clay of the new West. You know-” he smiles, leaning into his ear. “Morons.”
The cabin fills with Patroclus’ laughter, joy and relief.
Finding Menoetius and Philomela had been excruciatingly difficult, but after some time and effort, they finally made contact. Convincing them to move out west to run the store had been far easier, especially when Patroclus sent the money for the tickets. The shop was clean, the bedroom had been nicely re-done- it was all prepared. Achilles quietly wept as the three held each other at the train station, not having seen each other for nearly a decade. Philomela could barely believe it- her little boy, now a tall, strong young man. They were overwhelmingly proud of Patroclus, both of his survival, and of the fine man he’d grown into.
So convincing them to accept that their son was already leaving, choosing a life on the lam with a known criminal instead of a stable job… Philomela’s rivers of tears were the only thing that overshadowed Menoetius’ worried outrage when their son dropped this news. Suffice it to say, they were not supporters of Achilles, and that was without revealing that the two were in love.
Nonetheless, Patroclus stood firm on his decision that he would do for himself for once, and there was no turning back. He’d always been stubborn, and this was no different. So in the early morning light that Patroclus was set out to leave, there was still some remaining tension. He hugged his parents goodbye with a promise that he would visit whenever he could. They held him tight, and then once again… they let him go. He hopped up on Stardust and rode to where Achilles waited.
“They’ll be okay,” Patroclus murmurs, half to himself.
“We’ll make sure of it,” Achilles offers. “Are you ready to go?”
Patroclus turns and waves, hoping they’ll wave back. Philomela’s cheeks are still wet with tears, but she waves. She’d packed him an entire basket full of food and supplies. Menoetius begrudgingly waves, arms folded petulantly. The store will be well cared for. The small gesture reassures him- he has a reason to come home. As for Mr. Chiron, he has already said his thank you’s and goodbyes at his grave, his picture packed amongst his things. He spurs Stardust to attention, and smiles.
“Let’s ride!”
The sun rises behind them as they ride into the west, ready to face whatever lies ahead together.
