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There is peace, for once, between Achilles and I. Moments where we do not argue or bicker are rare indeed, and it seems that my Achilles has changed. We have always been different from each other, it is not a new observation, but Achilles and I do not reach common ground anymore. He thirsts for more; more power, more control, more of what he cannot have. I am content in the simplicity of our life, but Achilles is greedy and he is flawed as the rest of us are fated to be. He does not share my mortal ideals, so he calls them, and I have warned him. His love for me does not interrupt his long growing hunger for superiority, and it is selfish. He is selfish, as men are and how they have been. He has grown cold to me and I cannot deny that I feel it. Achilles’ selfishness has caused our love damage, many times, and I do not know why I can find it in me to forgive him. He is a killer. He is a killer who holds a spear menacingly and is feared by anyone who lays eyes upon him, so why do I love him?
Truthfully, I am unsure. Love is an awful thing. The gods have it worse than we, but our love is anything but tame. There are moments where Achilles, in all his glory, will touch me somewhere with his hands that have killed, that have held the blood of others. That have shed the blood of others. Achilles is different from childhood; we no longer have time to spend all day talking or laughing as we once did. But now, with his hands upon my body, he feels me blindly. I know the ways in which he touches me well, almost as if his hands merge with my own. I can feel him, too. He is pressed against me as though neither of us will ever feel again. He is a sinner and I am the ultimatum, something he longs for that will keep him sane. I am what wine is to a drunkard king, but Achilles is only a prince. He is only a man, he will drink from me until the greed overpowers and he no longer thirsts. It is as if my body is his river and he will breathe me in; bask in my mystery as long as he pleases.
I have grown particularly distant to Achilles as of late. He has always given me space if I ask, but we have fallen in love and fallen apart. It truly seems something poetic, our young love. It almost.. isn’t. Achilles’ words jab harder than his spear when he is training me, and I often forget how harshly his criticism extends. He does not treat me badly, no, it is just easy to feel so very unworthy of a man like Achilles. You would need to know him just to understand how highly he was regarded.
Today, we are training very late into the evening and I have lost my focus too many times for Achilles’ liking. He reprimands me as usual. “Patroclus, you haven’t been listening to me at all . Is there something more important you’d rather do than this? If there is, please, inform me.” He and I have been nipping at each other’s heels almost all day, which does not surprise me and I am sure it does not surprise him either. All I do is cast my gaze away from him and he takes the hint; dropping the spear, his voice crackling like the pavement that lay beneath us. “What have I done, Pat?” It is like he knows what will break me, what will make me look. I am the ultimatum. He is the sinner. I am his sin. I know better than to give in if I know what is good for me, but Achilles cannot win. Not this time, no. He knows that he can wrap his arms around me and fix all of this. Or so he thinks, but he knows, too, that I am no fool. Love has blinded before, but Achilles is blind-sided. He mistakes his pride for his love, and one day, it will tear his heart out. He will no longer feel any pride, or any love, and he will be left as he came into this world. Confused. But he will not be as helpless as an infant; rather, he will wish he was never brought by his mother, who oh so loathes the fact that she could never stop him from one thing. Pride.
“I have upset you, gallant son of Menoetius.” Achilles’ hand is on my shoulder, turned away from him. His voice is dulcet; like the rain hits our skin in the summer. The sun falls behind him like it is at his mercy. If he is looking to sincerely apologize he will not find reconciliation with me, and I will make this clear. Achilles seems to breathe me in from behind, hands on my waist and not a single movement from either one of us. “So you like this, then?” His mischievous tone breaks the silence and I am caught, enjoying this calm after our very long argument. I shake my head, but his hands move to my thighs and I am overwhelmed with many feelings. I am still evidently angry, but he seems to find delight in pushing me over the edge. “If it was not obvious to you, Pelides, I am not done hating you.”
His eyes seem to consider this as a joke. He is playing with my neck, teasing it with his tongue, as I stand helplessly melting into his touch. “You think I put up with you because I have to? You are on my nerves more than you think.” His hands are toying dangerously low, and I grow exhausted thinking about trying to argue with him again. He mumbles on and on into my neck, more to himself than me, and I no longer feel like I can stand. “Patroclus, come to bed with me.. or somewhere more suitable for..” he pauses, his breath tickling me. “.. Things that are not very acceptable to show other people .” My heart is racing, but Achilles yanks my arm and we find ourselves up against the walls of his father’s inner palace, with his hand over my mouth to stop me from making any sound. His hips are pressed on mine, now, as we hold each other and he makes sloppy kisses on my neck and chest. “It isn’t any fun if you won’t make noises for me, hm, Pat?” My eyes are shut, head turned away from Achilles as he practically slaughters me with his graceful kisses. “Maybe you should take your hand off so I can make some noises, then.” I think this comes out more violent than I intended it to be. One hand is hugged around my waist and the other has me pressed against the wall, and Achilles does not seem to have any intention of moving them. “You can talk back all you like, but is it the wisest idea to provoke the rage of mighty Achilles?”
“Not if he has provoked me first.”
His kiss feels a little rougher now. His tongue is down my throat as I cling to him, head lolling and thighs shoved up against his own. “Don’t you just love when we’re on each other like this? If only you knew how to be on my good side.” I can barely hold myself up without his support, but I cannot help but laugh at him. “You have a good side? I was completely unaware, aristos achaion. ” His face is now up against mine, his eyes brimmed with something that isn’t quite hatred but isn’t quite love. Our lips barely touch, as much as I want them to, I know he is withholding it from me for a reason. “You think you can beat me? Go ahead and try. Turn around; I don’t want to hear the rest of your remarks right now.” There are no objections on my end, and he has me positioned how he wants. He enters me with alarming speed as I groan, feeling his hand clamped against my mouth once more. “I.. h..ha..te you.. so mu-uu..huuucchhh..!” He is whining in my ear as he slips in and out, in and out, in and out. I want to moan, or cry, or shout something out loud about how he is the worst person I have ever known, but I will spare him. All I need is for him to spare me, as he plunges his length closer to my soft spots. “I hate you.. for making me feel.. like this,” he grunts, feeling me up as he reaches the spot. I feel as if my mouth has been sewn shut, for I cannot find the words to say as Achilles continuously chats as he falls deeper into a plush state of euphoric muddle. “I cannot hate you when you m..m-aaakeee.. me feel.. like thi-i..s..” I respond after a few minutes of Achilles slapping against me, the wetness of our bodies mixing together and producing all sorts of noises. The two of us struggle for a little longer, Achilles accidentally talking me through an entire orgasm and I nearly waking up half of the palace.
We do not bother to clean up, nor bother to move. He and I just fall upon the soft grass, unaware that the night had progressed and we would be exhausted the next morning. Achilles seems regretful as I lay my head upon his chest, stroking my cheek with his fingers and kissing me lightly. “You know I could never hate you, right, Pat?”
“But I could hate you .”
“ Pat .”