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I began to go off by myself, early in the mornings, when Achilles still slept, or in the afternoons, when he would practice his spear thrusts. I brought a flute with me, but rarely played it. Instead I would find a tree to lean against and breathe the sharp drift of cypress-scent, blown from the highest part of the mountain.
Slowly, as if to escape my own notice, my hand would move to rest between my thighs. There was shame in this thing that I did, and a greater shame still in the thoughts that came with it. But it would be worse to think them inside the rose-quartz cave, with him beside me.
The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller - Chapter 10
“... although Odysseus’ plan makes sense, I suppose. What I’m not convinced about is his suggestion about the Slingers...” Patroclus was muttering, still looking at the model they had placed on the table in the centre of their tent. “If they’re going on foot, I mean. The distance they cover is small, they have to be at the front, and I think they might get in the way of the chariots. Besides, they have to retreat quickly... I’m not sure about it.”
Once Odysseus, Ajax, Diomedes and Idomeneus had gone to their own tents, he leaned less gracefully on the table, crossing his arms over its surface and resting his weight on them. He was tired of standing, but could not see the model or troop arrangements well from a seated position.
The meeting to plan the battle strategy for the following day against the Trojans had been interminable. It was already past midnight. There were two oil lamps lit in the tent, both placed on the table. They had been arranged this way so that the model could be seen clearly during the meeting. Outside Achilles’ tent, through the still-open cloth door, the darkness was absolute. Patroclus was almost hungry enough to eat dinner again. The slaves had already cleared away the wine and meat they had shared with their comrades, and had also retired to their tent.
Patroclus moved a small white stone, which represented a battalion of Slingers from Phthia. He placed it in another spot, closer to the black stones. Spearmen from Salamis.
“Placed here, they would be further away from the bulk of the Trojans. They could retreat more easily... Don’t you think?”
The son of Menoetius fell silent, waiting, while he moved another white pebble. And he waited a little longer. And a little longer. A response that did not come. He was right next to him, and they were alone, he had to have heard the question.
Unless he wasn’t paying any attention, of course.
Patroclus turned his face, full of suspicion.
Achilles was slumped in his seat, staring straight ahead. Not at the model, but blankly into space. At the back of the empty tent, except for the two of them. His fingers, resting on his own chest, drummed distractedly. They curled and stretched. They caressed the air. The fabric of his chiton. Paying no attention to Patroclus.
Patroclus knew he should be angry, but he couldn’t. In fact, a smile broke out on his face.
“Achilles...?”
“Hum?” was Achilles’ only response, barely a sound in his throat, his gaze fixed ahead, unblinking. Deeply focused on something.
“A song?”
Achilles smiled then, still looking ahead. He turned his face towards Patroclus, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
“Theseus and Pirithous fought against a thousand and one centaurs... And Theseus would have defeated a thousand and one minotaurs... Ariadne helped him out of the labyrinth... To return to his home, which stretched as far as Corinth,” Achilles then sang enthusiastically. In his best voice.
Patroclus raised both eyebrows, still smiling. He sat down in his seat.
“Have you started composing a song about Theseus because Idomeneus said ‘the troops will get tangled up like a ball of thread if we do that’?”
Achilles smiled mischievously. Patroclus knew him well.
“It’s very good, don’t deny it.” He jumped to his feet. “I need to play it on the lyre. I’ve thought of a melody that might suit it...”
“Just out of curiosity, have you heard anything about tomorrow’s strategy?”
“What for? I have you.” He winked playfully as he walked over to their pallet. He picked up the lyre that lay nearby, the lyre that had belonged to Patroclus’ mother. It was the only lyre he had played since it had come into his possession. He sat down on the cot they shared and grinned boyishly.
“I hope you realise that you are Aristos Achaion because you have the best therapon by your side,” Patroclus teased, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.
“Oh, I am well aware... I have never doubted it,” Achilles assured him, delighted, adjusting the tension of the strings. Aware also of Patroclus’ reproachful gaze, he added, almost laughing, “Don’t look at me like that...”
“I remind you that it is you who has to explain the strategy to the Myrmidons tomorrow...”
“You can explain it to me at breakfast tomorrow morning, and that’s that,” Achilles decided, running his fingers over the strings of his instrument. Music flowed from them instantly. It was a truly beautiful sound. “Theseus and Pirithous fought against a thousand—”
Patroclus shook his head and turned back to the model. Achilles cared so little for strategy... Not that he needed it. He was a miracle of a warrior. Wherever he went, people simply fell dead at his feet. But his soldiers were not demigods. They needed some organisation, just like any mortal...
But Patroclus didn’t worry about that as he listened to Achilles singing in the silence of their tent, his beautiful voice and nimble fingers caressing the strings of the lyre. Patroclus even closed his eyes to enjoy it. Achilles had been right. His newly composed song sounded great... And he had got the music right...
Suddenly, a strange sound filled the air. A kind of snapping. The music stopped instantly.
“Shit.”
Patroclus opened his eyes and looked at Achilles. He was staring at his lyre with irritation. Even from where Patroclus was standing, a couple of metres away, he could see the problem.
“The string?”
“Yes...” Achilles muttered, standing up with resignation. “I think the humidity isn’t good for them. It’s the third one to break since the rainy season started... Where were the spare ones?”
“In the trunk...”
Patroclus heard Achilles moving around the tent, but he returned his attention to the model. He stood up again and looked at it, with the strategy to be followed illustrated with stones of different sizes and shapes. The other leaders had approved it, but he was not convinced. He could not do anything about the strategies of the other kings’ armies, which had already been approved by everyone, but he could propose minor changes to that of the Myrmidons. Unlike Achilles, he had memorised the strategy they would follow tomorrow. He decided to try a few combinations, in case they convinced him more. He picked up two stones and changed their position... The Spearmen should go first...
“Hey, they’re not here.”
Patroclus, distracted, focused on the formation of troops in front of him, took a moment to respond to Achilles’ protest.
“Huh?”
“They’re not here.”
“They’re not?” Patroclus repeated, now taking in his words. He turned to look at him. Achilles was standing next to one of their many trunks, which had its lid open. He had his hands on his hips and was looking at Patroclus with a comically frustrated expression. “Did you look properly?”
“They’re easy to see,” Achilles protested, but he agreed to bend over the trunk again, rummaging through it listlessly. “They were in that little box. The one with the snake engravings.”
“The pine one. I remember it. The one we got in Assos...” Patroclus commented, turning back to the table. He picked up another stone from the front row and placed it a few rows back. The Heavy-javelin Throwers, in the third row...
“It was in Antandrus,” Achilles corrected, without giving it much thought. He stopped rummaging through the trunk and put his hands back on his hips. He looked thoughtful.
“It was in Assos,” Patroclus insisted, in the same calm tone. How would two rows of Swordsmen look instead of one...?
Achilles looked at him. Patroclus looked back. They stood in silence for a few seconds.
“It was in Assos,” Achilles admitted, in a lower voice. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. Patroclus smiled without malice. Achilles had a terrible memory.
“Look in the other one, they must be there...”
“They were in this one before, why would they be in another?” Achilles muttered, but he obeyed and went over to another of their trunks. Patroclus heard him rummaging around as he moved another couple of stones. Archers, on both sides of the centre... In the rear, of course...
“They’re not there either,” Achilles almost groaned. Patroclus did not turn his face or let go of the stone in his hand. He bit his lip to suppress a smile.
“They must be in the other one, then,” he couldn’t help replying, barely managing to stifle a laugh. There was complete silence behind him. A dangerous silence. His mind abandoned military strategies for a moment. He concentrated on listening intently, hoping to be able to get out of the way in time.
Of course, he didn’t succeed. Not against Aristos Achaion. He never heard him.
Patroclus didn’t hear it flying through the air, but he felt the cushion-projectile land on the back of his head. The sudden contact caused him to close his eyes. He instantly let out a laugh. Of course Achilles would have divine aim even with a cushion. He picked it up from the floor and turned around.
Achilles was grinning like a cat, his hands on his hips.
“Which one is the other one, you say?”
“It’s obvious...” Patroclus could no longer contain his laughter. He threw the cushion at him, but, looking over his shoulder as he was, he had neither the angle nor the strength to throw it threateningly. Achilles caught it in mid-air without any difficulty. He also burst out laughing.
“Idiot...”
“The one we brought from Phthia. The old one,” Patroclus agreed to specify, not wanting to tease him any more. Achilles, clicking his tongue with feigned impatience, knelt down next to another of their trunks. “Can I help you?” Patroclus offered, now kindly, looking at Achilles and seeing him with his body almost inside the huge trunk, rummaging around at the bottom.
He heard a soft grunt of refusal. Still smiling, Patroclus headed for the entrance to the tent, intending to close the cloth to end the day. He poked his head out, scanning the darkness one last time. Enjoying the gentle night breeze. Polyctor and Epigeus stood guard that night at the entrance to the high palisade surrounding Achilles’ tent. He could see them in the distance, standing next to a torch. Their prince had to be protected day and night.
“I found it!”
Patroclus, who had just closed the cloth doorway, turned around. Achilles held the pine box in his hands, above his head. Like a laurel wreath. Victorious.
“I told you it would be there,” Patroclus joked, approaching the table again. Achilles pretended to grab the cushion again, menacingly.
“Shush!” he admonished, laughing. He dropped the cushion peacefully into the trunk, though, and looked at its contents, somewhat confused. “I have no idea how this got here...” He paused for a moment, frowning. Then he leaned over and rummaged inside again. He let out an excited laugh. “Hey! Do you remember this...?”
As he stood up, he had something in his hand. A wooden object almost two spans long. A double tube, visually two tubes, connected at one end. Each with a row of neat holes. A flute.
Patroclus also let out a sound of amazement. “Oh, of course...”
“It was yours,” Achilles continued, looking very pleased. He had set the box containing the lyre strings aside and was examining the flute almost reverently. “You played it a lot on Mount Pelion... I don’t think I’ve seen you with it since then. Do you still play it?”
Patroclus felt an unexpected warmth spread across his face. And he had to summon all his willpower to keep from laughing.
That flute... On Mount Pelion, he and Achilles, still friends, and friends only, were always together, day and night. And it wasn’t always easy for a deeply enamoured Patroclus. While Achilles trained with his spear in the afternoons or slept in the mornings, Patroclus would wander off into the woods. Alone. Taking that flute with him to entertain himself. But he never needed it... He usually had other things to do...
Gods, such memories...
And, almost certainly, it was the only thing about himself that he had never told Achilles...
“Not really,” he admitted. And he himself was aware of the nervous tremor in his voice. He could barely contain his laughter. “Not for a long time.”
He turned his back on him instantly, returning his gaze to the table. He moved a stone at random, changing its position. He knew that the smile on his lips would give him away. Indeed, Achilles’ silence was very long.
Shit.
“Well, what’s going on?” Achilles finally asked behind him. And his voice sounded full of amusement. Patroclus was forced to clear his throat and swallow. This, of course, gave him away even more.
“Nothing, what do you mean?” he asked, in the most natural tone he could muster. Which was not enough, of course.
“Come on... Something is really funny to you. What is it?”
Patroclus now heard him approaching. He also saw his silhouette beside him after a moment, leaning in to try to see his face. Patroclus, somewhat desperate at this point, tried to turn his head away, hiding from him. And he made a move to move away from the table. He had to run away from him, no matter what.
“It’s nothing, why do you—?”
But then he felt Achilles’ hands on his waist, pulling him back towards the table. He turned him around, manoeuvring him with ease, so that his lower back rested on the edge of the table. Achilles stood in front of him, without letting go of his hips. He had him cornered. He pressed himself against his body. Demanding his gaze. He had left the flute on the table.
Patroclus bit his lower lip as if his life depended on it, trying not to smile. He failed, and turned his face away.
“Since when do you lie to me?” Achilles asked incredulously, in a whisper. Full of amusement, not resentment. Patroclus moistened his lips.
“I’m not lying.” Of course he was. They both knew it. And he didn’t know how to do it.
“Look at you, you can’t even look at me. What’s this about?” Achilles insisted, growing more curious by the second. With his index finger and thumb, he held Patroclus’ chin and gently turned his face towards him. Patroclus allowed him to do so, but his eyes looked away. He bit his lip again, but this time he didn’t hide his smile. He also relaxed completely against Achilles.
“It’s nothing,” he assured him in a more normal tone. He laughed softly, now sincerely, giving in. “I’m just embarrassed, that’s all...”
“Embarrassed. You can’t be serious.”
Patroclus smiled and agreed to meet his gaze when he felt Achilles’ hand caress his cheek with the back of his fingers. Those green eyes, as familiar as the sun that lit up his everyday life. Without removing his hand from his cheek, Achilles asked his mouth for permission to melt them both together in a slow kiss. Intimate. Languid. Patroclus kissed him back, of course he did. Breathing didn’t feel as natural as kissing Achilles...
When they broke the kiss, Patroclus sighed slowly. His gaze was fixed on Achilles’ chest, but Achilles knew he wasn’t avoiding his gaze now. He just looked thoughtful.
“I used to wander around with the flute while you were training with your spear... In the afternoons,” he agreed to tell him, softly. He caressed Achilles’ sides with his hands as he spoke.
“I remember that. Some mornings too.”
“But I hardly ever played it.”
A pause. Achilles waited, but Patroclus didn’t seem to know quite how to finish his explanation.
“What were you doing, then?” he tried to encourage him to speak, with keen curiosity. Patroclus sighed again. He stopped caressing one of his sides and ran his hand over his chest. He felt the tautness of his muscles under the crumpled fabric of the chiton. He couldn’t feel Achilles’ heartbeat, but he could feel him breathing.
“I was thinking about you, actually,” he finally confessed. And it wasn’t so hard to do once he got over his initial embarrassment. It was Achilles. His Achilles. Of course he could tell him. They had always told each other everything. He had become a man by his side. He had been his first kiss, his first time, his umpteenth time, his first love. His one and only love. It was as easy to share things with him as it was to share them with himself. Both felt equally natural.
Achilles smiled broadly, looking touched.
“And what were you thinking about?”
“I was fifteen and head over heels for you, what do you think?”
Achilles chuckled softly. But his smile faded slightly, becoming somewhat sad.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He tenderly stroked the hair around his ear. “You know I felt the same way. It took me a long time to—”
“Don’t worry,” Patroclus interrupted, dismissing it. It had been a long time, and they had talked about it many times. Three years passed since his rejected kiss on the beach until they finally... “You know I understood the reason.” He pulled his chiton a little, bringing his beloved closer to him. “The wait was worth it.”
Achilles laughed softly.
“Really?”
“Really...”
Their mouths met for the second time, amid laughter, this time with more enthusiasm. Soft lip touches, slightly faster breathing. Soft sounds of pleasure from their throats.
As they separated, Achilles brushed his nose against his.
“Why were you embarrassed to tell me?”
Patroclus laughed against his lips. He was no longer ashamed.
“I don’t think you understood what I meant when I said I was thinking about you.”
Achilles stared at him. Now, with attention. With concentration. A very slight frown appeared between his eyebrows. And Patroclus almost laughed again. Indeed, he hadn’t understood...
Achilles’ eyes sparkled as he understood. He seemed to be lost for words for a moment.
“You mean...?” he stammered, frowning even more intensely. Patroclus shrugged resignedly. Why be embarrassed at this point? But Achilles did not laugh at him. On the contrary, he seemed inexplicably surprised. “You’re joking...” he accused, now seeming to think that Patroclus was actually lying to him.
The son of Menoetius shrugged again. Now it was his turn to look puzzled by Achilles’ reaction.
“Oh, come on, what did you expect? It was the only time we were apart... I had to seize the moment.”
“No, I mean... You must be joking,” Achilles insisted. A new smile was forming on his lips. “Me too.”
Patroclus looked at him. Achilles looked amazed. And very happy.
“You too, what?”
“That I was thinking about you at those moments too,” he confessed, without any shame. Almost excited.
Patroclus opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again.
“You were at your spear practice,” he corrected. As if Achilles had forgotten.
“Spear practice?” Achilles repeated. And he burst out laughing. In disbelief. “Are you listening to yourself? Do you think I needed to practise with the spear? You heard Chiron, there was nothing more I could learn; I was born to fight. I needed to be away from you for a while to—” He laughed again, breathless. “For the same reason as you...”
It took Patroclus a long moment to understand. And it took him another long moment to be able to speak.
“Are you telling me that... you too...?”
“Did I touch myself thinking of you?” Achilles whispered. Pressing his body against his, almost leaning him against the table. “Whenever I could.” His lips sought the curve of his neck, tracing it with kisses and soft sucks. “You drove me crazy,” he murmured against his skin. “Completely crazy. It was torture to have you next to me all day long and not be able to do this...”
Patroclus laughed now. Breathless. He couldn’t believe it.
“Were we really—at the same time...?”
“Oh, fuck...”
Achilles growled against his cheek. Patroclus could feel hot breath reaching his ear. Strong fingers dug into his hips. He shuddered with anticipation. Oh, fuck...
Two pairs of hands grabbed each other’s bodies, all over. Mouths met, now eager. Frenetic. Teeth clashing and biting lips.
They moved together, away from the table. Where to, they weren’t sure. They just needed to move. Perhaps their instincts were trying to lead them to their comfortable bed. But, along the way, Patroclus, who was moving backwards, pushed by Achilles, felt one of the wooden posts holding the tent fabric above their heads bump against his back. Perhaps he could have gone around it, but Achilles pressed himself against him, pinning him against the wood, and gave him no choice. Not that Patroclus complained. Achilles seemed determined to get Patroclus inside his being, and he seemed to be trying to do so by biting first.
Patroclus felt him pull away then, just a little. Achilles’ only separated their mouths; his body was still pressed against his. His hips were rocking against Patroclus’ in time with the intensity of their kisses.
“I want to see it,” Achilles gasped, his voice hoarse. His breath tickled his lips.
Patroclus, his lips hot and moist, could barely swallow enough to speak. He couldn’t think. He felt like an animal. All he could think about was rubbing himself against Achilles.
“What?” he managed to say, lost in the moment.
“I want to see you. I want to see you touch yourself.” Achilles returned to his mouth, giving him a kiss that did nothing to clear Patroclus’ mind. “I want to see how you used to do it.”
When he understood, Patroclus laughed breathlessly. He ran his hands over Achilles’ strong back, gently pulling at the chiton he wore.
“Now that I have you, I’d rather you do it,” he murmured playfully.
Achilles laughed and kissed him again. His mouth burned. So did his hand when he caressed Patroclus’ cheek.
“Please... I want to see it. Please.”
Patroclus trembled, feeling his insides lurch. He couldn’t remember if they had ever done anything like this before. Bah, fuck it... Why not?
He smiled against Achilles’ mouth, panting into it. Then he pushed him away, breaking their embrace. Just a little. Just enough to have room to drop to the floor, his back still leaning against the post. He sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him. Achilles dropped down with him, instantly kneeling in front of him. He was as close as he could get without being in his lap. His eyes were wide open, as if he also deserved the nickname ‘Skops’.
“I used to lean against a tree,” Patroclus clarified, with a half-smile. Still breathless. Achilles smiled at him, ear to ear. If Patroclus had needed anything else to lose any remaining sense of shame, that smile would have been enough.
Patroclus lifted his chiton, just a little, crumpling it at his waist. And he slid his hand between his thighs. Achilles laughed in a gasp.
“Didn’t you take it off?”
“No. I didn’t usually stray far from the cave. I thought one of you would find me,” Patroclus admitted, raising both eyebrows. He wrapped his fingers around himself, caressing slowly. A sigh of relief, followed by another from the excess of sensations caused by the sudden skin-to-skin contact, escaped his lips. Shit, it had been a long time since he’d done this... “I’ll stain the carpet,” he said with the last shred of rational thought left in his love-struck brain.
Achilles was devouring him with his eyes. He did nothing about his own obvious arousal. He just looked at him, almost without blinking. Without moving.
But he did laugh at his comment. He was still panting, too.
“I don’t care,” he said, distracted. His eyes were following the slow movements of Patroclus’ hand. “What was on your mind?”
Patroclus laughed shakily.
“You...”
Achilles looked him in the eyes. With unexpected ardour.
“What did you used to imagine?”
Patroclus’ hips thrust towards his hand. A groan caught in his chest. Still, he laughed again.
“I was a mere boy... All I could think about was your hands touching me.”
Achilles smiled. His cat’s smile.
“Where did I touch you?”
Patroclus would have laughed, but he was out of breath. He tried to move his hand slowly, as lightly as possible, but his legs had begun to tense up on their own to overcome the intensifying sensations. All because of those damn green eyes. He threw his head back, resting the nape of his neck against the post. He couldn’t do this with Achilles looking at him like that.
“Everywhere,” he agreed to answer. His breath was ragged.
“Where did I start? Tell me.”
“The... thighs. The chest. The face.” He paused to gasp. He felt new moisture on his hand, which made his movements easier. “You... kissed me. You always kissed me.”
“Close your eyes.”
Patroclus moaned. His legs shook. He stopped touching himself for a moment, trembling with pure desire.
But he obeyed. He closed his eyes.
First, he felt his mouth. On his lips. A slow kiss, almost too slow. But firm. Decisive assaults against his mouth that left him almost unable to breathe.
And then he felt his hands. On his thighs. On his chest. On his face.
Patroclus moaned against his lips. He felt the palms of his hands, more than familiar, calloused after so many years of wielding swords and spears with rough handles, running up his legs. His hips in circles. Avoiding the area where Patroclus needed him most. He moved up his chest, without stopping, drawing the outline of his collarbone down with his fingertips. And then he stroked the side of his neck, his face, his cheek. And he stopped. He even pulled away from his lips.
“Achilles...” Patroclus stammered. Pleadingly. He had to make an effort not to speed up his hand. He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t.
“What else?” Achilles voice sounded hoarse. Patroclus shuddered.
“In my fantasy, you didn’t stop,” he protested, unable to contain a smile. Even his voice trembled. He heard Achilles laugh.
“Go on, then. What else did you imagine?”
“You touching me. Please...”
“I am touching you...”
“Not like that... I mean, yes, but... I need you...”
“Where?”
He had returned his mouth to his ear. He was brushing it with his lips. Patroclus could smell him. He could smell his hair. His skin. The scent of that man was a big part of the air Patroclus breathed every day.
Patroclus shuddered and squeezed the base of his length. He stifled a moan.
“Achilles, p-please...”
“Did I touch you here?”
His fingers caressed his cheek, his short beard, and moved down his throat. Patroclus swallowed. But he also felt a surge of hope. And another of pleasure.
“Lower,” he managed to articulate, breathless, with a smile.
“Here?”
Achilles unfastened the thick strap of the chiton tied around Patroclus’ shoulder, letting the fabric fall freely. He caressed his collarbone again. His chest, now exposed. He stroked his nipple almost absent-mindedly with the palm of his hand, without paying any particular attention to it. A fucking torture. Patroclus threw his head back, the back of his neck making a dull thud as it hit the wooden post.
“L-lower...”
“Here?”
Now he caressed his belly, stroking the cute folds created in his skin by being seated. Tenderly. He avoided the chiton tangled around his waist, reaching the dark hair of his groin. Not going any lower. Patroclus whimpered helplessly. His hand moved faster over himself. His skin was too dry, and there was too much friction, but he couldn’t stop.
“Achilles...”
“Here?”
He moved his other hand down Patroclus’ arm, squeezing his flesh, his muscles, here and there. His biceps. His forearm. His wrist. And he stopped. Patroclus shuddered. He groaned in frustration. He continued to caress himself, Achilles’ fingers around his wrist. So damn close to where he needed him most…
“Achilles, please...”
“Here...?”
Patroclus groaned louder than he had intended. Achilles’ hand closed around his, squeezing his eager member along with him. Patroclus sobbed with relief.
“A-Achilles...” he stammered, swallowing and trying to breathe at the same time. But his breathing turned into one moan after another, allowing Achilles to set the pace. To move his hand. He had deliberately slowed down the pace Patroclus was using. He was deliberately prolonging it.
“Was that how I did it?”
“Faster,” Patroclus begged. He arched his back as far as he could against the post. Achilles, blessed be, obeyed. He guided Patroclus’ hand masterfully, with the skill that comes from practice. If he wanted to, he could make him come with just a few strokes. He had done it more than once, the bastard.
And now he wasn’t even touching him.
Patroclus felt Achilles mouth meet his, kissing him again. He felt his wet tongue in his mouth and he writhed. He felt his other hand, true to his fantasies, caressing his body. His thighs. His chest. His face.
Patroclus cradled his lover’s face in his free hand to deepen their kisses. Pulling him close. But Achilles, to his surprise, leaned back slightly.
Patroclus opened his eyes then. It took him a moment to focus after having them closed for so long. His Achilles was just a golden, smiling blur.
“Did you caress me in your fantasies?”
Patroclus laughed. He was almost breathless. Achilles’ incessant hand guiding his did not help his breathing rhythm.
“Are you kidding? Sometimes you didn’t even caress me...” He ran his fingers through his lover’s hair, combing it. “Caressing you, having you... like this, was enough.”
Achilles smiled more broadly. He pressed his forehead against his.
“Really?”
“Of course...”
“Go on, then.”
And he pressed his lips to his again. Patroclus cradled the back of his neck with his hand, pulling him closer. Achilles’ hand focused on the tip of his member, with skilful twists. And Patroclus began to tremble uncontrollably. He had closed his eyes again, lost in his mouth. Surrounded as he was by his Achilles.
Then, he felt Achilles stop kissing him again. He also stopped caressing him and pushed his hand away. In fact, he tapped Patroclus’ hand so that he would pull it away too. Patroclus obeyed, but he was about to protest in frustration. A second later, however, he felt Achilles’ palm return and take the place of Patroclus’. Wet with saliva and clenched into a firm fist. Praise be to the gods...
As Achilles’ mouth approached his again, Patroclus felt his lips brush against his. However, Achilles did not kiss him.
“Did I use my mouth?” he asked instead, in a low voice. His breathing was barely audible compared to Patroclus’. “In your fantasy?”
“Yes,” Patroclus replied instantly. Without thinking. Without hesitating for a single moment. He forgot that he didn’t know how to lie to him.
Achilles laughed against his mouth. And he bit Patroclus’ lower lip as punishment.
“Liar...”
Then, his hand quickened. He adopted a rapid rhythm. He didn’t allow him to breathe. Patroclus stopped trying. At first, he moaned sharply with every movement; then, only when he had enough air. His hips rose towards him. His legs moved, coping with the overwhelming sensation, colliding with Achilles’ body on their way. He had climbed onto his lap to be closer, but without sitting on him. Achilles’ mouth made him dizzy as it crashed into his.
Patroclus’ hands desperately clung to his shoulders. To the back of his neck. His field of vision narrowed, and he closed his eyes again. Fuck... f-fuck...
The release rushed through his body almost unexpectedly. He felt it in his thighs, and between them, and in his toes and fingers. In his chest, where his heart was beating wildly. He tried not to scream, but his throat made the final decision for him. He held on to Achilles with his mouth and hands.
Achilles caressed him, slower and slower, until he felt his lover’s hips shake from overstimulation. He stopped his movements, but did not let go. His hand burned against his sensitive, sticky skin. Patroclus was trembling, and he was not sure where he was; but he had Achilles’ body firmly under his hands, that was the only thing he was sure of. He felt his beloved stop kissing him to let him breathe.
He then felt Achilles lean gently towards him. Taking him with him, pushing him backwards until Patroclus was leaning against the wooden post again. He had leaned forward in his ecstasy and hadn’t even realised.
When he managed to take two or three deep breaths, he opened his eyes. Achilles was smiling at him, his face close to his. His cheeks were glowing. His lips were bright red, almost bruised. He moved his hand lazily up and down his member, which had not yet softened, and Patroclus shuddered. And chuckled. Bastard.
He then realised that he was holding Achilles close to him with both hands. One hand was on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder. Both were squeezing tightly.
Releasing his grip, he caressed both areas. His hands were shaking. He noticed the nail marks he had left behind.
“Sorry...” he whispered. His voice was hoarse. His mouth was very dry. He felt his face burning.
Achilles laughed, with disinterest. Shaking his head as if Patroclus had said something funny, he kissed him tenderly. It was a mere brush of lips, barely a caress. Allowing him to breathe. Finally, he pulled his hand away.
By the time they broke the kiss, Patroclus had caught his breath. He felt overheated and sweaty, though. He pulled the edge of his own chiton and used it to clean Achilles’ hand, which he had left resting on his damp belly.
He hadn’t forgotten that he had his Achilles, hard and flushed, in front of him.
“What about you?” he murmured, caressing his cheek. Achilles smiled and kissed his palm.
“I’m fine. Rest.”
“No way. I want to see you too,” he insisted. His voice was steadier. He smiled eagerly and raised an arm to touch the post behind him with his hand. “Were you leaning on something?”
Achilles shook his head, then bit his lip. In anticipation. He pulled the chiton over his head, rising from his seated position on his heels to do so, and threw it aside. Then he lay down on his back on the carpet. With one arm behind his head, as if it were a pillow. Flaunting himself with total brazenness. His erect penis bounced against his belly. Achilles took it in his hand and began to caress himself languidly.
“I did it like this.”
Patroclus laughed. Still leaning against the post. Admiring from a distance the beautiful being in front of him. His. All his. That man had decided he wanted to be his.
“Shameless... You lay down in the middle of the glade where you were training? What if Chiron had seen you?”
“He never came to watch me train with the spear... I think,” he admitted, frowning for a moment. But his half-smile gave him away. He wasn’t ashamed. He never had been.
Patroclus chuckled and moved closer. He lay down beside him, almost on top of him. Leaning on his elbows. Resisting the urge to kiss that golden skin, having it so close. Achilles continued to caress himself. His member was already glistening with dew. He raised his head, seeking Patroclus’ lips, but Patroclus pulled away before he could reach them. Still smiling.
“What did you fantasise about?”
Achilles laughed and let his head fall back onto the carpet. His hips undulated. His hand paused for a moment as his breathing became ragged.
“I’m not going to last…”
“Then speak quickly,” Patroclus teased, refusing to budge. Achilles had started this game, now it was his turn to play. “What did I do to you?”
“Kiss me. A lot. I remembered... I always remembered the kiss on the beach.”
Something changed in Patroclus’ eyes. He swallowed hard, Achilles saw it.
“Did you?” he asked. Now without joking. Honestly curious.
“Yes. Many, many times. I wanted you to kiss me again more than anything else.”
The corners of Patroclus’ mouth trembled in a moved, almost sad smile. He leaned toward him and kissed him slowly. It wasn’t a provocative kiss. He didn’t kiss him as part of the game. He kissed him as a soul kisses the body to which it belongs.
Achilles used both arms to wrap them around him, to hold him close. He stopped caressing himself. That could wait...
Patroclus then pulled away, although Achilles’ hand remained on the back of his neck. And they both smiled at each other in unison.
“What else did I do to you?”
Achilles laughed. His hand resumed stroking his eager member.
“You touched me…”
“Where?”
Achilles’ breathing faltered. His hips twitched again. His legs bent, jerking.
“Patroclus, I can’t...”
“I’m not going to guess. You have to tell me.”
“You started at my neck. My chest, I think. You... caressed my face.”
Patroclus smiled, touched. He ran a hand over the soft skin of his cheek.
“Like this?”
Achilles nodded, unable to speak now, it seemed. Patroclus cupped his jaw with his hand, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. He ran his fingers across his forehead. The back of his fingers traced his cheek. He brushed his hair aside to caress his ear, pinching it with his index finger and thumb. Achilles had closed his eyes. And Patroclus could hear him breathing heavily.
He then moved down his throat, pausing to find his racing pulse. A fight to the death did not alter Achilles’ pulse at all. But Patroclus’ caresses did.
Patroclus smiled to himself and kissed him again. At the same time, he moved his hand further down, running his palm across his chest. Over his abdomen. Over his ribs. Achilles responded to the kiss with longing. He writhed beneath Patroclus. His hips rose towards the tent ceiling. With his ceaseless hand, he caressed himself more quickly.
“What else?” whispered Patroclus, leaving his lips for the moment. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him pleasure. Every day of his life. Knowing that it was in his power to achieve such a thing made him tremble with pure excitement. He loved that man more than he could put into words.
Achilles laughed. “You kissed me... everywhere. While you stroked me. I wanted your damn lips everywhere.”
Patroclus smiled, amused, and of course he complied. He lingered for a moment on Achilles’ prominent hip bones —an area that Patroclus loved to feel beneath his hands— and then gently scratched his belly before wrapping his firm fist around his erection. Achilles instantly pulled his own hand away.
“Shit... fuck...”
His member was hot. Swollen. Almost ready. Delightful.
Achilles arched his back and exhaled with satisfaction. Patroclus saw that he was trying to grip the carpet with his now free hand, without success. It was too rough and dense.
“Where did you say I used to kiss you?” Patroclus murmured. He smiled mischievously. He quickly licked his hand and returned to his task.
Achilles groaned. And laughed with resignation, his eyes closed.
“Are you taking revenge?”
“Of course.”
His divine laughter again. Patroclus could almost hear the insult that wanted to escape his throat. But instead, he raised a hand and brushed his own neck with his index finger.
“Here...” he managed to articulate, his voice unsteady.
Much to his regret, Patroclus stopped gazing at his face, contorted with pleasure, and began to descend his skin with kisses. He paused again at his pulse, feeling it beneath his tongue.
“Here...” Achilles continued, his voice already becoming a moan. He pointed to his collarbone, without Patroclus having to ask him. Good boy.
Patroclus kissed his collarbone and the hollow between his pectorals, following the path his lover’s finger had indicated. He moved down his smooth, firm abdomen, relishing its defined contours. He descended his belly, kissing the bones of his pelvis, which protruded majestically on both sides. His hand never stopped moving. He maintained long, constant, repetitive caresses, needing much of his concentration on his mouth. He felt Achilles’ trembling hips rise to meet his moving hand.
When Achilles’ finger reached his lower abdomen, it stopped. It went no further. Patroclus smiled to himself. This fool...
He kissed and bit his finger, his guide along his body, playfully, and then raised his head. He did not expect to find Achilles’ eyes fixed on his. His eyelids, heavy with pleasure. His mouth, half open to take in more air. He had put one arm back under his head, so he could lift it and see him better.
“Did I use my mouth in your fantasies?” Patroclus wanted to know, resting his cheek on Achilles’ bare thigh.
Achilles looked at him for a few seconds. It was almost as if he were evaluating him. As if he were suddenly in no hurry. Then he brought his free hand to Patroclus’ flushed cheek. He touched his still sweaty forehead. He ran his fingers through his dark hair.
“No.”
Patroclus growled under his breath. He bit his own lip before kissing Achilles’ thigh.
“Liar.”
Achilles took a deep breath. His legs trembled beneath Patroclus’ body. With anticipation, despite the doubt in his eyes.
“You don’t have to—”
He thought Patroclus was tired from his intense orgasm, which was why he was lying. Patroclus guessed this without difficulty. Achilles should have realised by now that he wasn’t very good at lying either...
“Shut up. And don’t spoil the game.”
This made Achilles smile. Sincerely.
Patroclus then sat up, kneeling beside his hips. He changed the rhythm of his caresses, tightening his grip on the tip and moving faster. Achilles moaned audibly and arched his back. He threw his head back and closed his eyes.
“Patroclus, fuck...”
And, with his eyes closed as they were, Achilles did not see his beloved’s mouth coming. It devoured him as it had done so many times before. Making him cry out.
He contented himself with arching his back again, trying not to move his hips. Patroclus’ throat drew sobs from him when he swallowed. His tongue, moans when he played with him. His lips, sighs and smiles when they calmed him and teased him.
Patroclus used his hand to give him more pleasure. Achilles was about to hit him with his knee when he writhed. He reached out and buried his fingers in his dark hair, massaging his scalp. Patroclus stood still then, keeping him inside his mouth. He raised his eyelids, seeking his gaze. Achilles moaned as he looked back at him. They had been lovers for too many years not to know how to interpret every last one of each other’s gestures. And there was no point in lying to him, saying that this wasn’t part of his fantasies...
Achilles threw his head back again. He closed his eyes tightly. He grabbed his lover’s hair between his fingers and began to guide his head. Carefully. Kindly. Making sure, despite the desire and need in his gut, not to be rough at all. For Patroclus, there was no sound more beautiful in the world than those moans.
Patroclus let himself be guided docilely, needing only to tap his beloved’s belly a couple of times in order to catch his breath and compose himself. His lover instantly allowed him to do so every time. And when Patroclus deliberately tried to push him to the limit, Achilles sobbed and tugged urgently at his hair. Painfully, without meaning to.
Patroclus chose to blatantly ignore his obvious warning. He did not move away from him. He did not stop playing with his hard flesh on his tongue. Panting, Achilles pulled his hair again in a second, even more urgent warning. His hand was shaking.
“Patroclus,” Achilles pleaded. He was trembling from head to toe. “Please... No... I didn’t come in your... P-Patroclus...”
Patroclus’ eyes rose to meet his. Achilles was staring at him. His face contorted with pleasure, almost as if he were in pain. With a wet, definitely obscene sound, he released Achilles’ member from his mouth. He held it in his hand.
A broad smile spread across his face.
“Liar,” Patroclus accused again, gasping for breath. His voice was hoarse. Achilles bit his lip hard. He was unable to defend himself. He couldn’t lie to him. Not while looking him in the eyes.
Patroclus swallowed and, still smiling, returned.
It didn’t take much more than that. Achilles twisted his legs, arched his back and moaned until he was hoarse. Reaching out a hand, he begged for Patroclus’. His lover gave him his free hand. Their fingers intertwined tightly. Their knuckles turned white. Half-moon marks appeared on the backs of both hands.
Achilles reached his peak amid shivers, holding on to his beloved’s hand. With his other hand on the back of his neck, buried in his dark hair. He simply grasped it, now without interfering in anything Patroclus was doing to him.
Patroclus knew when Achilles would no longer derive pleasure from his attentions. He always knew. That was when he pulled away from him, panting, breathless. So that he could look him in the eyes.
Achilles was making an effort to keep his eyelids raised and return his gaze. He was breathing heavily with his mouth open. His strong chest, chiselled by the gods themselves, was still rising and falling rapidly. That was the only time his alabaster skin looked flushed. Patroclus would never tire of that very human effect in such an absolutely divine being. And he did not mean the real divine blood that ran through his veins.
To Patroclus, he was divine for many other reasons. His human side was divine too.
Patroclus smiled faintly. Achilles smiled back as best he could and pulled his hand, which he was still clutching, towards him. The son of Menoetius lay down beside him, with him. Achilles instantly turned his body to face him. He slipped an arm under Patroclus’ head so he could rest it there and wrapped his other arm around him. He held him close. They were now face to face.
Patroclus leaned on his lover’s shoulder and returned the kiss he offered him. He then remained close to his face, breathing in the air between them. With his eyes closed. Achilles’ forehead burned against his. For a while, they just breathed each other in.
“Did you used to fantasise about this, too?” Achilles whispered at one point. When he had regained his breath a little. Patroclus, feeling languid, did not open his eyes. Their legs were intertwined. He could feel his beloved’s member, softened and sated, against his hip.
“This?”
“This,” he clarified, pressing Patroclus a little closer to him. Simply lying together, he wanted to make him understand.
“Of course,” whispered Patroclus. He moved his face slightly until he found his lips. Achilles returned the kiss. “Every day.”
“Me too. Every night,” he admitted. And Patroclus felt his chest rise as he sighed. “It was torture to have you next to me on the pallet and think that I couldn’t... hold you.” He snorted softly. “But I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t want you to—my mother—”
“I know,” Patroclus interrupted softly. He kissed his lips again. “I know.”
They remained silent. Achilles held him close as if afraid someone would take him away. Without loosening his grip on his skin. Patroclus managed to free one arm, both of them trapped in his beloved’s embrace, and put it around his side. To caress his back. Patroclus was still wearing his chiton, albeit in a sorry state, now crumpled around his waist. Achilles was completely naked, but his skin remained warm. It was always warm.
“So you were lying to me,” Achilles accused, his voice louder. He didn’t sound angry at all. He sounded amused. “You didn’t play the flute.”
Patroclus laughed. Feeling himself wake up a little from his drowsiness.
“I wasn’t really lying to you. I did play it sometimes... Really,” he insisted, laughing, when he felt Achilles move away from his face a little to look at him sceptically.
“Prove it. Play it. I want to hear you.”
“If you want the Myrmidons to mutiny...” Achilles, unable to maintain his façade of suspicion any longer, joined in the laughter. “I think they would much rather hear you play the lyre. You should fix it up and play the verses of Theseus. You’ll forget the tune you were going to compose.”
Achilles smiled from ear to ear. And he combed his beloved’s hair with his fingers.
“With all due respect to your mother’s lyre, I prefer to play my favourite instrument. You.”
Patroclus burst out laughing; he hadn’t expected such a compliment. Biting his lip to stop himself from biting his lover’s, he pressed himself closer to him. He buried himself in the warmth of the hollow of his neck.
“You are mine, too.”
“Above the flute?”
“It has given me good moments...” He couldn’t help laughing when he heard Achilles laugh. But he added sincerely, “But you have given me the best moments of my life. No flute can do that.”
Achilles fell silent for a moment, seemingly lost for words. He even left his hand still on his hair, stopping his caresses. He looked thoughtful.
“Sometimes I regret how long it took me,” he whispered. Now without joy. “If I had been sincere before... When you kissed me on the beach.” Achilles fell silent for a moment. As if he didn’t know how to continue. “We would have... had more time. I didn’t think that one day I would run out of time. I wasn’t afraid of time.”
“You were thirteen, how could you have known?” whispered Patroclus. He felt a familiar lump forming in his throat. The prophecy... Losing Achilles... Forever...
“Still, if I had been honest about how I felt, we might have had a few more years together. Years, Patroclus.”
Patroclus felt his eyes welling up, but he squeezed them shut.
“Don’t think like that. I wouldn’t change a thing, Achilles. Nothing at all. Everything happened when it was meant to happen.”
“Do you really mean that?” The doubt in his voice was genuine.
“When did I lie to you...?”
“Ten years ago, something about you playing a flute...”
Patroclus laughed without being able to help it. The sound that left his throat was almost like a sob. But the knot inside him loosened.
“And you knew deep down that I was lying, don’t deny it. Even then.”
Achilles chuckled now, too, through his teeth. He stroked Patroclus’ hair again.
“I thought something was going on, yes. It was strange that you were so vague about your outings. You told me everything in detail, except that. I assumed you were hiding something from me.”
“Do you feel like I’m lying to you now?”
“No.” Achilles didn’t hesitate. Not for a moment. His voice was soft. Warm with relief.
“Good.” Patroclus kissed his collarbone, the skin closest to his mouth. “Well, there’s your answer.” He felt Achilles relax completely under his hands. And he felt him rest his cheek on top of his head. Thankful for his words, and reassured by them. Patroclus swelled his aching lungs and forced his own lips into a smile. And he added, in the lightest tone he could muster, “Well, now... what would you say if I suggested practising Theseus’ song on your favourite instrument...?”
Achilles burst into laughter. So genuinely, in fact, that he made Patroclus laugh too. As they laughed, Achilles rolled them both over until his lover was lying on the carpet beneath him. He was ready to fulfil his request with pleasure.
Patroclus promised that he would make him the first hero to be happy. And, no matter what happened, he would never break that promise.