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The falling sun shone down gently on the Greek camp outside Troy, casting long shadows over tents and armor as soldiers milled about, repairing weapons and preparing for the next day’s skirmishes. Normally, this time would’ve been one of quiet camaraderie, but there was a tension simmering in the air.
Agamemnon, in his latest display of pride and anger, had commanded the distribution of spoils from the recent raids unfairly, favoring soldiers from other kingdoms while the myrmidons received the bare minimum. Everyone knew the reason: Achilles had refused to bow to Agamemnon during the debriefing speech once they’d all returned from the field, refusing to submit to a man he saw as unworthy of such deference.
Achilles was on a stool with him near a fire, sharpening his blades and seemingly indifferent to the undercurrent of discontent rippling through their camp. His eyes were fixed on his work with an expression of serene detachment as he made long strokes with his sword across the whetstone between his knees. The situation with their spoils naturally stung him, but they meant nothing in the face of Agamemnon’s silent expectation that he bow; the principle behind those kinds of gestures burned the demigod, and he knew Agamemnon’s pettiness painfully well.
Despite it all, of course, the other king still had to give them a share from their raiding, and Achilles was soothed by knowing that the other kingdoms had accepted their own portions nervously, fully understanding what had happened.
Patroclus however, while sitting beside him, didn’t feel any such satisfaction. His grey eyes were as sharp as iron as he scanned the gathering groups of soldiers. The therapon’s focus was different from its usual calm demeanor—instead it was vigilant, as intense as it was when the exiled prince had expected a pack of wolves to emerge on Pelion.
Patroclus had warned him before, about the power of whispers and how a single voice could poison the morale of an entire army if left unchecked. Achilles had no doubt that the events of that afternoon were plaguing him now.
Just a few paces away, a cluster of soldiers gathered around an unlit fire pit, waiting for the serving girls and improvised kitchen hands to finish with that evening’s rations for the camp.
Achilles could hear their voices rising. The men were talking among themselves, and they weren’t being overly loud but their words still carried. “What does he think he is?” one of them grumbled, his voice rough with frustration. “Too good to bow. Too good to show a king respect like the rest of us do. And for what, now who suffers?”
Another soldier, leaning on his spear, spat into the dirt and sighed. “It’s always the same. Agamemnon’s pride versus Achilles’ arrogance, and we’re caught in the middle. I say he should’ve at least given a deeper nod. We’d be drinking decent wine now instead of this watered-down swill.”
A younger soldier laughed. “Ah, but he’s a demigod. He’d sooner let the camp burn down than lower his head.”
The scarred veteran who seemingly led the group scoffed. “Tch! Demigod. Achilles thinks he’s more god than anything else. No wonder Agamemnon’s had enough. I don’t know why we follow someone who’s more concerned with his so-called glory than his own men.”
The group rumbled with agreement, and Achilles caught the look of satisfaction on the veteran’s face.
‘They think they know me so well’ he thought, feeling a flicker of annoyance. But he let their words slide off of him, knowing that Patroclus was too attuned to things of this nature, and hearing such grievances would provoke him into action if the blond so much as showed a hint of annoyance. So instead, Achilles looked up from his work, to signal that it wasn’t worth it. He’d spit on all of these squanders tomorrow when he destroyed more Trojan property than the other kingdoms combined and brought back the spoils directly.
Patroclus, however, wasn’t beside him anymore.
The exile was already on his feet with a body so taut it looked like a bowstring before the arrow was loosed. Achilles was caught off guard by how quickly he’d stood up. Normally the exile had more patience, but that being said, the demigod watched from where he was, certain that despite his anger Patroclus would surely find a way to diffuse the men with jokes or banter.
However, from his seat Achilles could only see the brunet’s back as he walked further away from him, he had no way of knowing that those grey eyes were locked onto the veteran who had spoken. There was a fire there that rarely ever made an appearance, fierce and unyielding.
As Patroclus reached the group, the soldiers fell silent, seeing the storm gathered in his expression with perfect clarity. The younger members in the group had the sense to look apologetic, however the older veteran sneered instead, and raised his arms as if everything were a joke.
Speaking louder to draw attention, the older man taunted “Well, if it isn’t our demigod’s esteemed shadow . Come to defend your master’s pride for him?”
What happened next was so fast that even Achilles, in all his quickness, almost missed it.
Patroclus’ fist flew, and connected squarely with the man’s nose.
The sound of a breaking bone and the resulting cry rang out against the silence around the fires. Patroclus had struck out with so much force that the veteran was actually sent to the ground from the impact, clutching his face in reflex as blood poured through his fingers.
It felt as if the entire camp had gone deathly still in response.
Every soldier and servant girl alike turned to stare, eyes wide with disbelief.
Needless to say, Achilles felt a surprise shoot through him as well, leaving him stunned. He had seen Patroclus angry before, but never like this.
The light-handed healer who treated violence like it was life’s worst inconvenience… just broke a man’s nose over a mere set of words.
Patroclus stood over the veteran, just as unnaturally still as everyone else, and the intensity in his eyes as he looked down at the stricken man was enough to put anyone on edge.
His voice, when it came, possessed the same coldness as metal.
“Would you yield to someone else for a mere offer of coins ?” he demanded, his low words a lash across the quiet. “Is that all your honor is worth? You would follow any man’s order just to keep the peace, even if it disgraces you?”
The soldiers, struck dumb, exchanged glances, unsure if they should defend their comrade or listen to what their prince’s therapon had to say. Achilles watched, his breath shallow as Patroclus’ presence only seemed to grow in the tension, his authority undeniable.
“Where is your damned honor?” Patroclus continued, turning to address the other soldiers that were staring at him with varying degrees of shock. “Have you all forgotten why we’re here? This war isn’t ours. Helen’s betrayal means nothing to Phthia. We came for glory and conquests, to earn it through our own strength and victories.”
He paused, letting his words hang heavy in the air.
The veteran, still cradling his bleeding nose, glowered up at Patroclus like he wanted to run him through, but said nothing else. So Patroclus’ eyes scanned the rest of the soldiers, daring anyone else to respond.
“Agamemnon’s distributions are not the only way to earn spoils,” he said. “If you want prizes, then go and take them from the blasted Trojans. Go and claim your rewards as warriors, as men. Why do you need Agamemnon’s permission? If any of you yearn for his favor so badly, then go lick his heels!”
Things could get dangerous in this kind of quiet, and Achilles was ready to act if an uprising was sparked, but after what felt like an age, he saw nods of agreement.
Soldiers huffed, some smiled, and a few even murmured their support with soft chuckles:
“He speaks the truth, as always.”
“I still have today's spoils from one of the farmers’ I culled.”
“Seems our healer has more vigor than that old Nikos down there.”
Achilles felt relief run through him as he saw acceptance in their ranks, and it was immediately followed by a rush of heat that warmed him from the inside out as his eyes settled back onto his companion.
‘Patroclus.’
His usually calm, quiet, exiled prince now stood before the camp like a damned king, demanding respect, and defending him with a ferocity that made his blood sing with satisfaction.
Normally the blond had better control over these urges given how common they were, but his body reacted of its own accord. The demigod’s muscles woke up with the quickening of his pulse, his skin felt hot, and the giddy smugness that surged through him could’ve rivaled that of an emperor’s after conquering another territory.
No one else had ever done this for him.
Why would anyone bother to defend someone who’s mere name defended itself?
The sight of Patroclus standing there regardless, fierce and unrelenting, made his heart pound. And the best part was, that it wasn’t out of obligation.
His therapon calculated for his obligations, he thought carefully.
This reflexive act to avenge him by breaking another man’s bones?
That was nothing more than a heated act of aggression; it hadn’t been planned for the sake of sending a message. Achilles would stake a limb on it. Naturally, Patroclus had the obligation to address the action afterwards, and it was only the exile’s wit that turned this slip in his control into something beneficial.
Achilles’ eyes traced over him with the beginnings of hunger. The setting sun bringing out the copper in his partner’s hair, the tension in his shoulders doing nothing to take away from the posture that had been instilled in him from the moment he was born a prince.
The fool could deny his nobility all he wanted, but in moments like this, when he spoke to a crowd, it radiated from him like heat from a flame. The soldiers felt it, the other kings could feel it, and it stirred Achilles all the more knowing that Patroclus still chose to remain as his therapon when he just as well could have decided to reclaim Opus and his birthright.
Realizing the camp needed to relax more though, Achilles took a deep breath to calm himself, then walked over with a carefree grin to break the remaining tension. “Enough of this!” he called out, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t know about the rest of you men with this heel-licking talk, but personally I’d rather not envision Agamemnon's feet at all if it can be helped.”
One of the soldiers snorted in surprise, and others laughed quietly in response, so Achilles played into their energy.
“Agamemnon picks a new enemy every week. Today, he’s decided to target me. After breakfast, it could be Odysseus if he corrects the proposed strategy during our next assembly.”
A few more chuckles rose from the crowd, and Achilles knew his efforts were well received when a soldier called out. “Or perhaps Diomedes, if he dares to suggest a different formation again.” More of the energy spread, and Achilles chuckled, feeling the atmosphere of the camp lighten despite the veteran standing and walking away from them all.
“Agamemnon’s anger is a flame in the wind—who among us can say where it’ll burn next?”
The tension at last eased, and the soldiers began to murmur and joke among themselves again as they waited for the evening rations to be dispersed. Achilles appreciated the shift, the camp’s mood lifting as it should, but his focus remained solely on Patroclus. When he noticed that his therapon was excusing himself, the demigod had to fight off the deranged grin that threatened to expose his delight.
If his lover, soon to be known as a nose-breaker, was still too heated to enjoy a meal with their myrmidons, then how was Achilles supposed to make the men feel like things were genuinely alright?
So the blond crossed the opening of the camp with a few long strides, ignoring the curious side glances from the others. Barely containing the energy thrumming in his blood, he grabbed his companion by the arm, and finished pulling him away as if he wanted a word.
However, Patroclus could spot his intent from a world away, and was sure that “a word” was the last thing the demigod was after. As soon as they were out of earshot the exile gritted through his teeth that he wasn’t in the mood.
If only he had the strength to get out of the death grip Achilles disguised as a guiding hand at his elbow.
The blond didn’t stop until they were behind a large storage tent, hidden from view while the others congregated for their meals. Achilles’ hands were firm as he pushed Patroclus back against the wooden frame of the tent, his heart pounding in his chest with lover between his hands.
“What was that?” Achilles demanded, his voice a low growl, though his lips were turned up into something smug and predatory.
Patroclus’ eyes flashed, the fire still burning in them. “Don’t give me that look you overheated fool . You let them talk about you that way. They were doing it near you to disgrace you on purpose! How could you ju—”
But Achilles didn’t let him finish. He crashed his mouth against Patroclus’, silencing his words in a- as accused- heated, starving kiss. Patroclus tensed at first, his body rigid against Achilles, still very much caught in the rage he had barely reeled back moments ago. Regardless, Achilles didn’t relent; his hands slid up to Patroclus’ shoulders, holding him in place as he pushed himself closer, his lips practically an order as they moved against Patroclus’.
Ever obedient, his therapon tore his face away from him, his breath coming fast. “Achilles! Focus. You can’t—” he began, but Achilles was relentless and grabbed him by the jaw next since the shoulders obviously weren’t restraining him enough. “I can, and I will,” he murmured against Patroclus’ lips, his voice rough with want. He stole another kiss, only to grunt and pull back when his lover bit him.
In response, his grin became something sharper, and he batted his eyes at his companion before leaning back in and whispering “It doesn’t matter what they say. You—” he kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate in how he coaxed his partner into warming up, “—you defended my name for me against an army.”
Patroclus still pushed him away, his eyes remaining sharp with the remnants of his anger. “Don’t praise me for nearly turning them against you. You should have defended your own damn name!” - he hissed in reprimand - “By now you shouldn’t need me for anything!”
Achilles’ brows went up as his grin became coy, and he grabbed one of Patroclus’ wrists before bringing his companion’s hand onto his groin.
The exile froze, his anger giving away to surprise in an instant.
“You’re certain about that?” The blond breathlessly chuckled.
A pair of grey eyes flicked down to confirm what the therapon could feel pulsing against his hand. Achilles saw the way his pupils expanded by a hair, weak to the demigod just as much as he was to him, and Achilles seized his chance.
Both of his hands moved, caressing the back of Patroclus’ neck as they sank into his curls, and he kissed him again. To his pleasure, Patroclus didn’t immediately try to push him away this time, and his hand remained where it had been placed.
It seemed that his lover was between ideas on what to do, so the demigod took advantage of his stillness, and kissed him a little deeper, pulling at the tension in Patroclus until he felt it begin to melt. Satisfaction surged in him like the world's strongest drink as Patroclus’ resistance gradually weakened, his body reluctantly accepting him.
Achilles pulled back for a quick moment, just to whisper “You’re the only person alive, that would risk a bloody rebellion just to defend me from a disgruntled old man. And it—!”
Before he could finish, Patroclus’ hands, which up to this point had been motionless, suddenly settled on his hips instead, pulling him closer. Simultaneously the therapon leaned forward and captured his mouth for himself.
Their tongues met, and the blond felt the shift as Patroclus lost himself, his fingers tightening their hold.
Achilles’ heart began drumming faster against his chest as he finally felt Patroclus’ lips moving against his, most of the remaining tension in him draining away as their mouths tasted one another.
With Patroclus’ resistance beginning to crack, Achilles was met with a desperation he hadn’t expected. His lover became fierce, turning the exchange into something that sent fire coursing through Achilles’ veins. Patroclus pulled at him from everywhere, hands pulling at his tunic, hair, and arse as if trying to drag him forward with enough force to topple the thick frame they were leaning on.
Far be it from Achilles to abstain. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have famed impulse control.
The blond met the intensity with equal fervor, and groaned as he felt Patroclus’ length grinding on his own.
But then, as the welcome heat between them swelled, Patroclus pulled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes, despite being darkened and glazed with want, darted around their hidden spot behind the tent, as if suddenly remembering the risk. “Achilles,” he whispered, his voice barely coherent, “not here…someone could-”
The blond was still drunk on the taste of him. He could barely find it in himself to smirk while leaning in to nip at the brunet’s jawline. “So now you care about propriety?”
Patroclus’ eyes flashed, a spark of annoyance making it through his evident hunger. “Pelides,” he snarled, but the urgency in his voice wasn’t lost. “If someone sees us like this—after everything we just said—” He trailed off when Achilles kissed his shoulder, as if the thought was too much trouble to finish. Then, with a swift movement, he grabbed Achilles’ wrist and pulled him away from the tent.
The blond, still riding the rush of adrenaline and desire, let himself be dragged, a satisfied and toothy grin spreading on his face. “So we’re missing the evening meal?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “Should I be worried about what you intend to eat?”
Patroclus shot him a look, half-lust, half-irritation, as they weaved between the tents. “Just keep quiet,” he muttered, his grip tightening. Achilles basked in the thrill of it—the way Patroclus’ hand was commanding as it guided him through the camp. The two moved like shadows, slipping unnoticed past soldiers still talking and laughing as they made their way to the fires, their whispers blending with the sounds of the camp.
When the two princes reached their tent, and the flap fell shut behind them, Patroclus spun Achilles around, and pushed him up against a post with a vengeful force that made Achilles’ heart skip. “Do you have any idea how reckless you are?” Patroclus murmured, but there was no anger in his voice anymore, only a need that matched Achilles’ own.
Achilles laughed lowly, the heat between them charged and enthralling. “I’m reckless?” he echoed, his hands coming up to untie the belt of Patroclus’ tunic. “After you punched a soldier for voicing a few grievances about me?”
Patroclus’ response was immediate. He returned to Achilles’ mouth with a shamelessness that sent shockwaves through him, his mouth hot and claiming. Achilles groaned into it, feeling the way Patroclus pressed into him, the strength in his grip as he held onto him like a lifeline. Achilles’ hands roamed without guilt, feeling the shifting muscles in Patroclus’ back as he pulled him in tighter, chest to chest.
Patroclus broke away again for a moment, his breath coming in shuddering puffs. “I couldn’t stand it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Hearing our own speak like that. You—you let them say anything, and you just put off handling it.”
Achilles’ eyes softened, even as his body protested with the tension between them. “Because it doesn’t matter, Patroclus,” he murmured, leaning in to press his lips to Patroclus’ cheek, then down to the curve of his neck. “But—” he paused, grinning against his skin, “—I liked it a bit too much when you lost your temper.”
Patroclus shivered under the touch, his hands squeezing Achilles tighter. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, his voice faltering as Achilles’ mouth sucked a mark onto the sensitive skin of his throat. “I could’ve made it worse…” But despite the words, Achilles felt the way Patroclus’ body responded, the way he leaned into each touch on instinct.
His therapon was hanging onto his senses by a thread.
Achilles pulled back just enough to look into Patroclus’ eyes, his thumb brushing along his jawline. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he flirted, his voice filled with a heat that made Patroclus’ eyes dilate. “I’ve felt it the moment you stood up for me. Seeing you like that—furious, and unyielding—it made me feel…” He trailed off, the words struggling to form as the desire in him threatened to consume everything else.
Patroclus’ eyes arched for a moment “Like a maiden ?” he challenged, though he was audibly distracted, his lips a mere breath away from Achilles’.
The blond’s grin went lopsided with endearment, and he pulled Patroclus in to reunite their mouths slowly and deeply, savoring the way Patroclus mirrored him. “…blessed.” he whispered against his therapon’s lips, “that someone like you would choose to fight for me.” His hand slid up, cupping the back of Patroclus’ neck, and he kissed him again, letting the slowing heat of their desire build something more intense with every movement of their lips.
At last Patroclus’ last resistance crumbled, and he let out a quiet moan as he fully gave in, his hands tugging at the knots of Achilles’ chiton, pulling them free until the article fell. The kiss turned feverish, with nipping teeth and soothing tongues, as Patroclus finally focused purely on connecting with him. Achilles started losing himself in the face of it, in the way Patroclus’ body moved against his, hard and insistent.
Patroclus broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You’re mad.”
Achilles couldn’t even laugh anymore, he just reflexively mumbled “Makes both of us.” as he felt his lover up.
As the heat between them built, every nerve in his body was alight with sensation. He let Patroclus claim his mouth as if it were his to use as he pleased, reveling in the way his exile shivered, the way his breath shook with each touch. And when a fist roughly seized his hair to hold him in place, Achilles was reminded of how fast that hand could be, “For someone so… collected , you have quite the punch. Knocked that arsehole straight to the ground.” he offhandedly praised.
Patroclus’ lips quirked up in a grin as he whispered, “…when it’s worth it.” but there was a gleam in his half lidded eyes. One that the demigod had long learned meant that they were going to enjoy the evening.
“And was it?” Achilles whispered, his lips inseparable from Patroclus’ as he spoke, their breaths mingling. “Punching that soldier—getting that angry for me?”
Patroclus’ response was a kiss that left Achilles stumbling to keep his balance, deceivingly unhurried, but every bit as fierce and possessive. “Every second.”
The blond felt the pleasure coil in his stomach, as his lover forced him to walk backwards towards their pallet. He loved it when Patroclus was overcome with fever like this.
Those grey eyes were locked onto him with a lazy self satisfaction, knowing they had him where they wanted him.
“On your back.” Patroclus smiled.
And while there were plenty of days that the demigod would retort a challenge in return, today wasn't one of them. His arousal was damned painful after all their grinding and kissing, and Achilles had no tolerance for it.
Like a puppet, he let Patroclus’ words control him, and lied down.
“Legs apart. Don’t you dare hide anything from me.”
A pulse of something went through the blond, harder than he cared to admit, as he separated his knees enough that his thighs stopped touching.
“Good.” - Patroclus hummed from above him - “Now lower your arms. You’re not to move your hands from that pallet.”
“Patroclus-“
Grey eyes pinned him with a daring glance. Achilles could see the vial of oil his lover had grabbed, and he knew that the exile could drag this out much longer than the blond wanted to if he provoked him.
So with equal parts irritation and anticipation, Achilles quieted.
The demigod watched Patroclus as he finally stripped the rest of his tunic off and tossed it somewhere. Then his therapon knelt in the space between his legs, forcing them to spread wider. Achilles ached in response, his desire climbing to a new height.
The bastard made a show of oiling his fingers for him, making him burn with impatience, but instead of relieving his swollen cock, those digits left a streak inside of his thigh, as they easily meandered lower.
The blond clenched his jaw and a hard exhale passed his nose.
He hated this game.
Patroclus was scolding him, and as much as he wanted to crush the infuriating exile in place with his thighs and get himself off, the promise of what waited at the end of this kept him obedient.
Bastard had his body so well trained by now that he didn’t know which one of them was the fiercer prince sometimes.
One finger was teasingly rubbing up and down his entrance, and the game began.
He twitched at the contact.
Of course he did.
And Patroclus’ hand paused.
A harsher breath passed through the demigod's nose, but he stayed motionless, acting as if he were the definition of “patient.”
And Patroclus started rubbing again.
Soon the tip of his finger was pushing against the slick opening, encouraging it to stretch around him.
When it slipped past the ring of muscles, he steadily started fucking his way deeper into him, moving that finger in and out several times, and letting it reach a little farther with each motion.
Achilles thought about grabbing his wrist like he’d done before and moving his hand to where it should’ve been.
Better yet, he wanted to stand up, trap the ruthless bastard’s face between his hands, then shove his arousal down that tight throat of his until he had tears making those eyes shine like silver.
But he stayed as still as he could, because if he endured this, Patroclus would make him see stars. He did it every single time.
Even now, with nothing but a single finger, anticipation was mounting in his guts and making him tremble with the effort to stay still.
These slight tremors in Achilles’ body were allowed, he physically could do nothing to stop them, and the exile never punished it.
Soon his lover’s finger left him, but only to return with a second. They pushed at him, making him open a bit wider, and when they squeezed into him, Achilles had to bite his tongue not to clamp his legs around Patroclus. The friction of having his companion prepare him always made him restless. He didn’t know whether to spread his legs wider as an invitation, or to bring his thighs together and enjoy the sensation of Patroclus moving them out of his way.
‘Faster’ he mentally begged.
He didn’t know how Patroclus could stand being hard for so long. The other man’s heat was resting along his thigh, assuring him that his therapon was just as ready, but Achilles didn’t have time to dwell on it, because his lover started moving faster once his fingers were as deep as they could reach.
They were searching for a spot that would break him. A weakness that turned him into a puddle of wax in Patroclus’ hands.
The noise that came out of his throat as those fingers spread apart inside of him to make him stretch father was practically a whine.
“Good, Achilles.” - Patroclus soothed, molding his behaviors into this pathetic state - “You’ll have your pleasure. Just stay still for me.”
The blond’s mind was starting to slip.
He needed more. Patroclus knew it, but if he moved then they’d go back to a single slow finger.
Every time the exile dragged his spread fingers out, they opened Achilles more. Then they’d press together to sink back into his body, threatening to touch that spot that would make his hips buck involuntarily.
Soon, they slipped out of him, and he earned another digit.
When the three tried penetrating him, there was more resistance, but Patroclus knew how to make his body accept them. One of his hands came up and wrapped around his shaft. He didn’t stroke or hold him tightly, he just wrapped around him gently and let the heat of his hand burn into him with promise.
Achilles was a quivering mess as he was finally breached.
Patroclus repeated his damned process, fucking him slowly with his digits until they could reach no further, and demigod was so far gone that he actually moaned for it.
So his therapon innocently asked “A little faster?”
“Yes.” He hissed.
Tension had every muscle in his body shaking and tight. He wanted to throw his head back, push his hips up into Patroclus’ hands and beg him to end this.
But as his therapon made good on his promise, Achilles’ eyes fell shut to concentrate. He could feel the heat of Patroclus’s palm pressing against and away from his arse while he worked him into a lustful fit with his fingers.
Then he touched the innermost part of him.
The pads of those fingers started targeting that damned spot in him deliberately and Achilles started whispering with desperation.
“Patroclus. Patroclus please!-“
“Shhh. Cum like this. I know you can.”
“I need you. Just a bit- ngh. T-Touch me.”
Patroclus ignored him, and instead moved his hand with more force, shallowly thrusting his fingers into him more insistently. He moved them faster, and Achilles was groaning so much that he didn’t even register that all three fingers could fuck into him without resistance anymore, his arse open and ready for whatever Patroclus intended.
“Pa— Patroclus!”
“You’re squeezing down on my fingers like you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you close?”
“N-no! Stop teasing me you bastard and j-jughhh”
The pace and strength his therapon suddenly put into it was enough to push the demigod higher up the pallet. Patroclus struck him with every single thrust. Nailing him in place while his body started convulsing and writhing out of control.
His vision faded out as he choked out his lover’s name and came violently.
Then Patroclus chose that instant to slowly start stroking him, he was sensitive, over-stimulated, and his hands reflexively flew up to crush his mouth shut and muffle the loud groan that threatened to tear out.
The exile had the audacity to laugh, manipulating his body into an orgasm that lasted much longer than what it was supposed to, and it had the blond’s eyes rolling back as he painted his own stomach with spend.
Achilles collapsed back down onto the pallet, vaguely aware that Patroclus was shuffling forward on his knees. His pulse felt like it was rippling through his entire body as one force.
It probably wasn’t much time, but he felt like a night had passed by the time he managed to open his eyes and blearily glare at his smiling companion.
“Come now, why the face? You know we’re not done just yet.”
Patroclus rolled his hips a few times, enjoying the sensation of grinding on his lover’s twitching body.
“You’re maniacal. To do this to me.” Achilles growled.
“Just a moment ago you called me a blessing.”
“Lover’s folly.”
“Hmm. Well, if I have to earn your love back, then I’d best get to work. Right?”
Grey met green, smug but also questioning, making sure that he wasn’t pushing the demigod too far. Achilles turned his face away in a dismissive attempt to mask just how eager he was to be pushed over again, but just in case, he still locked his ankles behind his therapon’s back.
In return, Patroclus collected the spend on his stomach, and used it to easily stroke him. He did so as if he had all the time in the world, as if his own arousal wasn’t hot with need and promising to wreck the blond’s remaining mental functions. Achilles was starting to harden again, swelling under the gentle pumps. He could feel the pressure building in his abdomen faster than it had before, and he wanted Patroclus to give it a rest with his teasing and get on with it.
He rolled his hips once experimentally, making sure to push back onto his lover, and inspected his face to see if he’d take the bait or drag it out.
Blessing that he truly was, Patroclus pitched his weight forward and gave him another kiss.
Achilles felt him grinding down, and he smiled, knowing the exile was finally at the end of his rope. Patroclus groaned for him as he rolled his hips up in invitation, and the demigod devoured the sound as if it would sustain him for days.
Some part of his mind registered that his therapon was lining up with him again, and Achilles hummed gratefully, as he felt the blunt head of his arousal begin pushing against him.
While three fingers was good preparation, Patroclus would still force him to open himself farther, but once the head was in, the blond knew he’d be keeping him there by any means necessary.
As his therapon started entering him, Achilles felt him licking his way deeper into his mouth as a distraction while stroking him. It was still uncomfortable, feeling his muscles getting pulled open against the crown of Patroclus’ cock, the flesh quivering as it was made to stretch at its widest.
Even if the blond wanted to concentrate on it however, the slick hand pumping his shaft had him losing focus, body torn between processing ecstasy and stress. And once Patroclus felt ready, he gave it a bit more force, giving Achilles no choice but to take the length into himself.
Green eyes shot open, sightless, as the length entered him without mercy. Patroclus was clinging to him for dear life, carefully trying to press their hips flush together despite the size of his cock.
As he’d done with his fingers, he never drove all the way in, instead he pulled out, leaving Achilles’ walls clinging to the thick shaft trying to carve a space into him, then he’d push in a little farther.
Over and over.
Friction ran like flames through nerves that had already been rubbed raw, and within minutes, Achilles’ voice was fighting to escape his throat and release the pressure.
When Patroclus was finally fully buried inside of him, he pushed himself up carefully and looked down at his prince.
Whatever he saw, the demigod only knew it made him smile with smug tenderness.
“You… ngh…you really were excited earlier weren’t you? Seems you’re comfortable enough already.”
Hands found their way to his hips in a firm, restraining, grasp, and Achilles’ hazily realized that this was going to be one of those nights that he wouldn’t be walking away from until the sun rose.
Patroclus started thrusting into him for real, with a slow measured rocking motion from his hips. He looked perfectly controlled, as if he wasn’t pushing Achilles’ walls to open wider and deeper with every drive forward.
Despite the discomfort, the demigod felt heat mounting inside of his core with the pressure, and the tight friction was only feeding into it, its origin low in his insides. He started panting with a high pitched noise, feeling himself warming up around the length’s movement. Soon, his body wasn’t just accepting Patroclus anymore, it was being reminded that it craved this, that what always started with a moment's soreness would soon have him feeling as if his soul had landed in Elysium.
Patroclus saw the shift, he could see the deep flush that reached all the way down to the blond’s shoulders, and he played with him for it.
As if to emphasize what they could both feel, the therapon started pulling out, only to be gripped at Achilles’ hole when only the head was left.
He tugged himself against it anyway, slipping free, and when he had the demigod stretched at his widest once more, he stroked his streaming cock a little faster, praising him, before forcing his way back in.
The sting was a tease. Something to embarrass the gloating demigod with later. They both knew that this last remaining pain wouldn’t last.
And sure enough, despite covering his mouth with both hands, Achilles started groaning louder against his will.
Patroclus kept pushing in and out of him, teaching his muscles to accommodate his girth, and overtime Achilles loosened enough that each motion was resulting in a wet squelch.
Not that either of them could hear it over the increasing frequency of the blond’s moans.
And once the resistance was fully gone?
Patroclus sank as deep as he could and stayed.
Keeping him filled with his cock, he moved Achilles' legs onto his shoulders to get into a better position, then he started fucking him with ruthless shallow thrusts. The demigod was practically snarling with how hard he had his jaw clenched to hide his voice.
Patroclus didn’t give him the choice though, once he’d settled comfortably into a pace, he started driving himself forward harder too. And in the face of seeing Achilles’ shaking hands both trying to cover his mouth for his reputation’s sake, Patroclus breathlessly laughed “Touch yourself. I dare you.”
If the demigod had even half a sense left, he would’ve flipped them and ridden the smile off of the bastard’s face. But Patroclus had found that spot in him again, and his own body gave itself away by tightening with pleasure.
Patroclus slowed enough to feel the way he was gripping him with involuntary contractions, then smiled down at him.
Achilles shook his head.
‘Not tonight. Don’t do this to me tonight.’
There was no way some of the soldiers hadn’t come back to their tents by now.
…What did Patroclus do?
He took advantage that the demigod was crippled with pleasure, and quickly hauled his hands away from his face before leaning down to connect their mouths. Achilles' body was made to bend into a sharper angle, his arse framed by Patroclus’ thighs wedged under it.
He had no ground for leverage, his feet were up in the air, and the maniac he loved just used his tanned arms to keep his face in a vice and abuse his mouth.
Patroclus started moving viciously. Beating down on him like he wanted to drive him mad as he sparked havoc in their bodies. The kiss did next to nothing to muffle the demigod’s voice, and every time his lover struck him where it counted, a fresh cry sprang from his throat, breaking between the thrusts.
He'd been too stimulated before, but with this position, even his cock was getting caught in the motions of their fucking.
Too hot. Too full. Too much.
Patroclus was moving faster and he could’ve cried with how badly he wanted to be pushed over the edge just to escape this sweet torment.
He couldn feel something escaping his body, dripping out of him with his lover’s movements, and he wondered if Patroclus was going to release himself inside today.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he could think of nothing else.
Patroclus was getting thicker inside of him, his pulse growing more wild.
‘ Soon.’ Achilles thought hazily.
With the wet friction, his body reflexively clamped down harder in a rhythm, and all it did was send him closer to climax because it started a loop that made the sensations more intense.
His voice was getting louder and he couldn’t stop it.
Hell, he could barely think anymore.
Patroclus was the only thing that existed, turning his body into his own personal luxury.
Achilles’ pitch grew higher and higher, until he finally snapped and came again with a sharp cry.
Lights danced around the edges of his vision, and he convulsed helplessly against Patroclus’ grip while the other kept feeding him pleasure and chasing his own.
Wrecked with tremors, his entire body was tensed as streaks of cum painted the space between them in spurts that just wouldn’t stop.
It wasn’t until he felt Patroclus spilling into him, with a desperate call of his name, that his body started to lose tension. His therapon unsteadily moved his hips as the last waves of his orgasm rolled through him, and the blond could only groan softly at the overstimulation with a rolled back head.
When at last Patroclus stilled, they crumbled together on the pallet and lost consciousness.
Eventually morning would come; and when it did they’d be starving, and running around like hunted foxes to make themselves presentable before anyone else could see them…
…but it wouldn’t be the first or last time.