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Suitors were rarely admitted to the royal table. In truth, most of the time the queen and the prince didn’t even dine with them, preferring the safety and privacy of their own chambers while their halls were infested by their unwelcome guests. Only on official occasions, when the presence of the entire court was required, would the royal family abandon their ivory towers and grace them with their company. And even then, the two would fill their table with ithacan nobles and ladies of the court, never with the suitors.
Luckily for Antinous, that night was an exception. The visit of a diplomat from his own kingdom had earned him a rare seat at the royal table. Penelope could despise the suitors as much as she pleased, but they were still noblemen, and demoting a fellow countryman of the diplomat to the lower tables would sound like an offense. And the queen, as wise as she was proud, knew she couldn’t afford to have a kingdom among her enemies.
So Antinous found himself seated at the royal table, his smile as triumphant as if he had beaten Ares himself in battle. The diplomat was given the place of honor, flanked by the queen to his left and the prince to his right, while Antinous was placed as far from Penelope as protocol would allow.
He didn’t mind in the slightest, he was on the other side of Telemachus, and that was exactly where he wanted to be.
Discreetly, Antinous nudged an olive from his own plate toward the prince’s. Telemachus didn’t react at first, but the corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. The prince bit into the fruit slowly, without looking at Antinous, but fully aware he was being watched. Then, subtly, he returned the untouched half to Antinous’ plate and watched from the corner of his eye as the man brought it to his lips.
An indirect kiss, a discreet way of sharing the same food.
They didn’t touch, save for the occasional brush of fingers when passing goblets, or when their hands met briefly on the table under the pretense of reaching for the same bread. They didn’t exchange any words beyond what etiquette demanded, careful under the sharp gaze of the court, but for Antinous, just being there, so close to Telemachus, was enough to set his mind ablaze.
He let himself dream that this was the norm, not a diplomatic exception. He imagined sitting there not as a guest reluctantly tolerated, but as the prince’s consort. Imagined the two of them drinking from the same cup of wine, trading glances above the glass. Antinous wouldn't allow him to lift a single cutlery, he’d serve him each bite by hand, touching his lips and kissing Telemachus after every bite left in his mouth.
Every meal would be an opportunity to show the entire court who that boy belonged to.
But of course, that sweet fantasy didn’t survive even to the end of the first course.
When the diplomat entered the hall, his striking beauty drew every gaze. His hair was as golden as his sun-kissed skin. His body was lean and sculpted like an olympic athlete’s, yet there was a refinement in him that contrasted with the strength he clearly possessed. His manners were polished, his speech eloquent and courteous, as if he’d been trained from birth to charm with words. He wore a broad smile that never left his lips, and that grew even broader when he saw the prince.
It was with that smile that he arrived at the royal table. His gaze landed first on Penelope, filled with respect, and, when he finally turned to Telemachus, his eyes slowly traveled down his entire body. As he sat, he pulled his chair just a little too close to the prince’s, pretending it wasn’t intentional.
It wasn't long before the compliments started flowing. The man showered the prince with sweet words, praising his intelligence, refinement and grace. But he wasn't content with just words. Antinous could see it and he understood: a hand resting too long on the prince’s forearm when asking for a dish to be passed, the way his fingers brushed against Telemachus’ while commenting on something trivial. Subtle gestures, filled with intent.
With every word and every touch, Antinous’ mood darkened, the air around him felt colder, heavier.
“I’m enchanted by the beauty of Ithaca,” The diplomat said in a melodic voice. “Songs don't do justice to the wonders found in this land. Especially you, Your Highness,” His gaze settled on Telemachus. “I’ve heard singers and poets proclaim your beauty, but none of them captured it with the accuracy I now see before me.”
Telemachus smiled but didn’t return the compliment with the same enthusiasm. “You honor me with your words, my lord,” He replied in a polite tone. “But surely your eyes are more generous than reality.”
Penelope stepped in before the moment could fade because of Telemachus’ dismissal. “My son is being modest,” The queen said, casting a knowing look toward the diplomat. “You must have noticed by now that he’s as humble as he is handsome. And you are very kind. Your words are as sweet as they are poetic.”
The man accepted the praise with a humble nod, clearly pleased. Penelope continued to lavish him with kind words, smiling in a way she rarely did during formal dinners, while he listened with reverence, though he never stopped glancing toward the prince.
When the diplomat rose for a moment to exchange a few words with a member of his delegation, Penelope subtly slid into his vacant seat, leaning toward her son, her eyes shining with the plans that were already forming in her mind.
“A handsome man... and so well-mannered,” She whispered. “He’s the second son of a powerful king, with whom an alliance would be valuable. It wouldn’t be a bad marriage, my love. And he seems genuinely interested. He’s enchanted by you.”
Telemachus offered another forced smile, but said nothing in return.
Antinous listened to everything in a silent rage. His hands were under the table, clenched into fists over his knees, in an attempt to contain himself from grabbing a knife and slashing the diplomat’s throat in front of the entire court.
He felt powerless. He heard every word, saw every gesture, and everything inside him screamed. But he knew he couldn't claim Telemachus as his own, at least not there, not now.
Even though he knew this, when the diplomat returned to the table and leaned over to say something to the prince, in a move that was too intimate, too close, he decided that even if he shouldn't do anything, he would.
Faking naturalness, Antinous moved the hand resting on his own knee and, with calculated slowness, let his fingers drift sideways until they reached the prince’s leg.
Telemachus froze. The touch began lightly, just tracing the outline of the prince's knee with his fingertips, a silent reminder to both of them that only Antinous could touch him like this. That, even if the queen was planning to give away what was his, he was right there, and he would make his presence known.
The once gentle touch began to move upward, sliding over Telemachus’ thigh with intimate intent.
Telemachus shuddered, but didn’t pull away.
The lack of resistance made him bolder. Antinous' hand slid along his skin, up his thigh and under his heavy garments. His hand squeezed the flesh tightly and, when he felt the prince tremble under his fingers, he dragged his nails along the most sensitive part of his inner thigh.
The pain, mixed with pleasure, made Telemachus’ legs open instinctively. He knew they shouldn’t, but his body reacted before his mind could object.
“Telemachus is also really intelligent,” Penelope continued, unwilling to let the moment pass without highlighting her son’s virtues. “He has a natural talent for diplomacy, just like you! He was recently sent on a mission to Crete, and we received praise from everyone: from our own delegation, from the cretan royal council, and even from the king himself. I couldn’t be prouder.”
Telemachus bit down lightly on his lower lip, trying to disguise the tension on his face as Antinous' hand squeezed his cock, moving his hand up and down in a practiced motion, an act he had performed countless times before, though never outside a private setting. The prince's body responded against his will, a discreet shiver ran through him, and he had to disguise a sigh by taking a long sip of wine.
What the prince was allowing Antinous to do was madness. Anyone could notice what was happening beneath the table, but when the suitor's hand quickened its pace on his member, he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The provocation was too dangerous, which only made the touch even more exciting. He felt himself burning from the inside, caught between desire and reason.
"It’s a shame you weren’t sent to my kingdom," The diplomat turned once again to Telemachus, his smile dazzling, full of charm. "I would have loved to show you my homeland. Who knows, perhaps you’d find something there that might make you think twice before returning home.”
He leaned in even closer, invading the prince’s personal space to whisper directly in his ear. "If given the chance, I know I could make you fall in love… with my land. And perhaps, with everything we could build together. An alliance between our kingdoms, between us, could be more than just strategy. We could build something real.”
The sudden closeness caught Telemachus off guard. His eyes widened and his body stiffened. For one frightening second, he was certain the diplomat would notice what Antinous was doing under the table. One wrong move, one glance from the wrong angle, and they would be exposed in front of everyone.
He cast a brief, cold look at Antinous. ‘Stop,’ His eyes sparked with a silent command. ‘Not now.’
Antinous withdrew his hand as if it had been burned. Rage and frustration boiled inside him, he could feel the impotence burning in his throat and he brought his glass to his lips, emptying the wine in one gulp in a desperate attempt to swallow the scream that wanted to escape.
In silence, he listened to every advance from the diplomat, every sweet compliment from Penelope, and every polite response from Telemachus. With no way to intervene, all he could do was endure.
***
The sharp sound of blows echoed through the training yard, cutting through the night’s silence. Antinous struck the punching bag with brutal force, his body tense, fists burning, as if each hit might expel the anger clouding his mind.
The leather tore with a loud snap after a particularly violent punch, scattering sand across the floor. But the relief he had hoped for never came, instead, the sudden quiet only allowed the memories to return, now more poisonous than before.
He saw Telemachus leaving the hall with his mother and the diplomat. The image of the man placing a hand on the prince’s back, guiding him out, was seared into his memory. A gentle gesture, yes, but one filled with an intimacy that man had no right to.
He clenched his aching fists, trying to push the image away, but it was too late. He imagined what kind of conversations were happening behind closed doors Trade alliances, surely, but what else might be on the table? Marriage arrangements to tighten political ties between two powerful kingdoms?
He could almost see that bastard leaning in closer, touching Telemachus with care, speaking sweetly in that melodic voice, right under Penelope’s approving gaze, delighted by the idea of a marriage between her dear son and such a refined man.
But it was the scene that followed, created by jealousy, that consumed him. He pictured the diplomat and Telemachus leaving the queen’s chambers together, veiled by the darkness of the corridors and the privacy that the night offered. He imagined the man offering to escort the prince back to his quarters, a gesture meant to be courteous, but what if he dared more?
What if he tested the limits, seeing how far the prince would let him go? What if he touched his face and stole a kiss under the pretense of a farewell? What if, once they reached the prince’s door, he invited himself in?
Antinous let out a rough sound, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as he ran his fingers through his dreads in a nervous gesture. He knew he was losing himself in an irrational fantasy. Knew Telemachus would never allow any of that to happen, but he couldn’t stop. The images replayed over and over, each time clearer, each more unbearable than the previous one.
He wanted to go after Telemachus. Wanted to drag him out of wherever he was, not caring who saw or what they thought.
But it wasn’t necessary. Footsteps echoed behind him in the quiet yard and, without needing to turn, he already knew who it was. The prince had come after him.
“Antinous?” The voice came from behind, far too calm in contrast to the storm inside the man. “What are you doing here, alone at this hour?”
The suitor turned, and there he was. His dark hair messy by the night breeze. His blue eyes shining under the moonlight. His delicate face and training-defined body accentuated by the formal clothes he wore, tailored to impress the visitor. The blue and gold of his robes only made him look more royal.
The thought of how beautiful he was wasn’t new, Antinous thought about it constantly, but now it came tainted with jealousy, because he knew he wasn’t the only one who saw it.
“What is it?” Perhaps the prince had noticed the flash of fury in his eyes, because a sharp smile spread across his face. “Something happened during training? Did you fight with one of the other suitors?”
“Or was it something that happened at dinner?” Telemachus stepped forward, his gaze full of malice. "Did something the diplomat did upset you?”
That line, spoken with such false innocence, was enough to snap the last thread of control he had left. Antinous closed the distance between them in one swift motion, grabbing the prince by the arm and pressing him against one of the courtyard columns. The shock of the impact drew no fear from Telemachus’ eyes, only amusement.
“Do you know what I imagined while that worm spent the whole evening smiling at you?” He growled, inches from the prince’s face.
Antinous’ entire body vibrated with restrained fury. “I imagined driving my sword through his chest. In front of everyone. In front of you, your mother, the entire court. So they'd all know what happens to anyone who tries to take what belongs to me.”
Telemachus let out a soft chuckle. “You’re overreacting. He was just being polite.”
“Polite?” Antinous’ voice rose. “He was already picturing what it’d be like to undress you on your wedding night.”
“You think so?” Telemachus feigned innocence, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. His hands slid slowly up the man’s chest, fingers curling around his neck. “My mother seemed to like the idea. What would you have done if he’d dropped to one knee and asked for my hand right there?”
Fury silenced Antinous for a moment. Just the thought made him sick, and he replied in an acid tone. “Don’t joke about that.”
But Telemachus didn’t stop, he wanted to provoke him. “I might even have said yes. Just to see your reaction.”
Antinous drew a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He knew the game that boy was playing. “I know what you’re doing,” He said through clenched teeth. “You're trying to drive me crazy. Is that what you want? That I go to him, drag his body here and leave his corpse at your feet as an offering?"
Telemachus shivered, but not with fear, with desire. “And he’s so handsome… so polite. He’d treat me so sweetly…”
“You think a man like that could give you what you need?” Antinous let out a humorless laugh. “He’d recite poems, touch you like you were made of glass… and bore you until you lose your mind.”
“A marriage to him would be so… pleasant.” Telemachus insisted, still provoking.
“You’ll never marry him. Or anyone else,” Antinous stepped closer, their faces almost touching, his gaze burning. “Wait for anyone else at the altar, and I’ll bring you his head as a wedding gift. I’d torture your groom and make you watch. Then I’d fuck you right there, so you’d never forget who you belong to.”
“I belong to myself.” Telemachus whispered, his chin raised as if he still wanted to resist, though the desire in his eyes betrayed him.
“Lie to me again,” Antinous raised a hand, gripping his chin tightly. “Lie one more time.”
The prince couldn’t. “I’m yours.” The confession came out like a plea, begging the other to prove it true.
And that was all Antinous needed. He grabbed Telemachus’ robes with both hands, pulling him into a desperate kiss, his lips crashing into the prince’s, his mouth claiming him completely. One hand rose to the back of the prince’s neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair, yanking his head back in a firm hold that deepened the kiss.
He kissed him like a man on the edge of a cliff, as if that mouth was the only thing that could save him from madness, or perhaps the final push that would send him over.
Telemachus responded at once, no longer needing to pretend resistance. His body arched against Antinous’, nails digging into his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto as his lips parted eagerly. Their tongues met, sliding against each other in a frantic rhythm, as if trying to steal each other’s breath.
Antinous pressed closer, pinning the prince between his body and the column. His free hand slid down Telemachus’ side until it grabbed his waist firmly, pulling his hips tightly against his own, demanding contact.
His kisses then trailed down the prince’s jaw, until Telemachus tilted his head back, panting, exposing his neck completely for Antinous’ mouth. But kisses were soon not enough. They turned into sucks, then into bites. Antinous was finally doing what he’d wanted to do since the beginning of that damned dinner: mark every inch of that immaculate skin, cover it in visible proof that he belonged to someone.
“You drive me crazy,” Antinous growled against his skin, his voice thick with frustration. “You come to me, full of smiles and false innocence, knowing that I've spent the whole night watching another man try to steal what’s mine.”
“Me? How could I know you’d react like this? I was only being a good host,” With parted lips and chest breathing fast, Telemachus answered, a mischievous smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s not my fault if he enjoyed the hospitality too much. Or that you prefer to claim what’s yours after dinner, instead of before.”
The provocation was clear, and Antinous recognized it immediately. It was always like this with Telemachus, he hid his intentions behind that pretty face and sweet words, but behind every smile lay a trap, every gesture was a challenge in disguise. Antinous always fell for his tricks, but if the boy wanted to play, he’d show him that he could win at his own game.
Without saying a word, Antinous slipped his leg between Telemachus', forcing them open. He kept his eyes on the prince's face as he moved his leg inwards, against the boy's pelvis, in a firm, deliberate thrust, making him gasp.
It seemed to work for a moment, Antinous could feel the sweet taste of victory as Telemachus’ body responded, surrendering to the touch with a visible shiver.
But then his eyes opened, blue and defiant. The boy arched his back slightly against the column, showing off his body in a way that drove Antinous insane. The prince then rubbed himself against the leg tucked between his, reversing the provocation, making him lose his mind over the prince, not the other way around.
“You wanted this, didn't you?” Antinous murmured, his voice deeper, fingers digging into the boy's waist. “You wanted to drive me to this.”
“I like it when you lose control,” Telemachus gasped, but he still had the breath to laugh. “When you show that you need me.”
“Damn you,” Antinous put his mouth against his. It wasn't a kiss, he just needed to be closer. “I do. I need you.”
“Then show me,” Telemachus ordered against his lips. "Prove that I'm yours. That we belong to each other.”
Their mouths met again and Antinous' hands began to slide over his body. His fingers undid ties, pushed layers aside, in a desperate search for skin.
Telemachus wrapped his arms around Antinous' neck, bringing him closer, seemingly unable to bear even an inch of space between them. Every part of Telemachus touched every part of Antinous, causing their erections to rub against each other. “Fuck, you're already so hard.” Antinous grunted, grabbing the prince's ass, taking advantage of his grip to push him against his hips even harder. The man knew there would be bruises on the boy's ass the next day, and he couldn't wait to see the mark of his fingers on his skin.
The prince began to let out moan after moan, unable to control himself. Antinous covered his mouth with one of his hands. "Have you forgotten that we're in public? Do you want an audience?" Telemachus shook his head in negative, but muffled sounds kept slipping out, so Antinous shoved his fingers into his mouth.
“Suck it.” Antinous ordered and watched with pleasure as the boy wrapped his tongue around him, sucking and letting the fingers touch his throat. When they were already wet and Telemachus had grown impatient, the prince bit down hard on his fingers, a silent command for him to hurry.
Antinous hissed at the pain and pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.
Feeling that it wasn't enough, Antinous added another one. The prince gasped softly as Antinous spread his legs apart with one hand, spreading his spit on the outside of his rim with the other, and inserting a finger right after.
When the second digit penetrated Telemachus, the boy started thrusting his hips towards it. Antinous would have preferred to open him up with one of the oils they left in the royal chambers, but the prince was already open and soft from their activities that morning, so that would be enough.
Antinous continued to fuck him with his fingers while kissing Telemachus' neck, until the boy started to complain. "I'm ready.”
"So greedy." With a lascivious grin on his face, Antinous reached for his own cock and pressed it against Telemachus' hole. No sound came from the boy's mouth as the man penetrated him, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
Antinous began to move inside him, lifting Telemachus’s right leg to wrap it around his hip, the shift in angle driving his thrusts deeper. He squeezed the prince’s thigh hard, the pressure of his grip a substitute for the bite he was aching to sink there.
It wouldn't last long, they both needed it desperately, but they didn't care. Antinous began to speed up his movements, burying himself in him with brutality. It was a shame that Antinous wouldn't hear his moans turning into screams as he fucked him, but watching him struggle to keep his voice down was also hot.
One of Telemachus' hands was covering his own mouth, trying to hold back his moans, so, when he started to beg, his voice came out muffled. "Please, please, Antinous. Can I touch myself? Please, I'm so close.”
"That's it," Antinous whispered, urging him. "Make yourself cum." Telemachus put his hand between them, grabbing his cock and stroking it in sync with Antinous' thrusts.
Telemachus' eyes rolled back, his whole body trembling as he finally came hard all over his hand, moaning Antinous' name until his voice gave out. After a few more thrusts, Antinous came too, biting the prince’s shoulder to silence the grunts that tried to escape his lips.
Pressed together in the shadow of the column, their bodies still entangled, their heavy breaths gradually began to slow, heartbeats settling. Antinous kept his arms wrapped around Telemachus, unwilling to let him go just yet. The prince, nestled against his chest, let out a low giggle. “Well… that was fun.”
“Maybe for you,” Antinous grunted. “Anyone looking at that pretty little face of yours wouldn’t imagine how devious you are, Telemachus. Putting me through all of that just so I’d fuck you hard.”
Telemachus laughed again, clearly satisfied, slowly caressing Antinous’ back, fingers gliding up and down his spine. “What can I say? I could just ask… but it’s so much more fun when your fury is genuine.”
“You’re a demon.” Antinous huffed, trying to hold back a smile.
“I’m the love of your life.” The prince replied, with that sparkle in his eyes that said he had no doubt he was right.
“You’re the curse the gods threw upon me,” Antinous replied. Like a cat asking for affection, Telemachus nuzzled his face against Antinous’s, a silent plea for him to keep talking. The man gave in, holding him tighter and placing a long kiss on his hair. He let out a deep sigh, defeated. “One I’d never trade for any blessing. Even if you drive me insane.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe the gods put me in your life to make you a better man?” Telemachus arched an eyebrow, mischievous. “Look how well you did today! I mean, you were completely indecent… but at least no blood was spilled!”
“Only because I was too busy planning to spill myself inside you, to mark my territory.” Antinous ignored the boy crying his name - after everything they’d just done, it was ridiculous for him to be shy over a few words - and went on. “But don’t push your luck, little prince. Next time you try that trick again, I’ll cut the throat of whoever dares flirt with you and leave you a diplomatic incident as a gift.”
"That won’t happen again." Telemachus replied, with an odd kind of calm.
Antinous frowned, confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“After our meeting with the diplomat ended, my mother asked if I’d be interested in marrying him.” Antinous’ eyes darkened instantly, but Telemachus paid no mind to the sudden return of his fury.
“When I said I didn’t want him, she said she could find another match for me. She mentioned that kings would pay immense dowries for the chance to see their daughters crowned as my queen. That generals would trade entire armies for my hand. She even suggested a demigod or two who’d be honored to be my consort.”
Antinous’ fingers dug into his waist, right where his touches had left marks earlier. “Hey, calm down,” Telemachus murmured, planting a small kiss on his lips to soften the scowl forming on his face. “I told her I don’t want any of that. That I don’t want anyone else. That my heart already belongs to you.”
Antinous froze. “You… you told her about us?”
"I did," Telemachus sing-songed, his eyes glowing with that lovesick light that always melted Antinous. “I’m tired of hiding. Of pretending you’re not everything. And after what happened tonight… I don’t want to be offered to anyone. Not when all I want is to marry you.”
His heart clenched, overwhelmed by the flood of emotion, but he masked it with a teasing comment. “Are you proposing, little prince?”
“Me? Never,” Telemachus laughed. “But I’ll say yes when you ask.”
Antinous rolled his eyes at the cocky reply, but before he could respond, a question rose in his mind. “And your mother…? Did she accept it?”
“At first? Not at all,” The prince replied with a short laugh. “But I told her how much I love you. How you make me feel like I can breathe when the world gets too heavy. I said I don’t want anyone else, that I never could. Not when you feel so right, when you make me this happy. And in the end… she came around."
“In fact,” He added, voice laced with mischief. “I came here to get you at her request, she wants to talk to you. But when I saw you like that… I couldn’t resist. I had to play with you a little first.”
Antinous let out a long sigh. That boy drove him mad. With his provocations and wicked smiles. His courage, his stubbornness, and that look in his eyes that makes Antinous want to burn down the world just to keep him near. His prince makes him lose his mind, makes him act in ways he never thought himself capable of.
In the end, Antinous pulled him in for a kiss. Softer this time, slower, savoring every second now that he knew it would be this way forever.
Because now, finally, there was no more doubt: this wouldn’t be taken from them. Telemachus would test him every day, would drive him to the edge a thousand times, would steal his peace, his sanity, his breath.
And still, it was exactly what Antinous would wish for until the end of his days.