Chapter Text
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Achilles groaned.
5 a.m.
The heavy arm curled around his chest squeezed him tight before lifting to reach across to the nightstand to turn off the infernal noise. Then a pair of lips placed kisses along the nape of his neck. “Good morning, my love” a voice whispered in his ear, husky with sleep.
Patroclus. Images from the night before flooded his head. Heat began to pool in his belly, his body eager for another round. Then he remembered the alarm. It was Monday.
He groaned again. He was tired, and he felt a bit irritable because of the alarm clock and also a bit needy. Ugh. He hoped his groaned conveyed all this because he wasn’t quite ready for words yet.
Patroclus chuckled softly before rolling away. Cool air hit Achilles’ now exposed back. He felt the bed dip slightly and then raise as his husband left the bed. This was followed by the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing, the shuffling of footsteps, and a blast of bright light as the bathroom door was opened.
Achilles turned on his stomach and buried his head in Patroclus’ pillow. He’d scream if he wasn’t still half asleep. He hated Monday’s. He’d get two blissful days of Patroclus all to himself and then Monday would show up. It was all so very unfair.
He should probably get up and make coffee. After all, Mondays were just as hard (well probably harder) for Patroclus and he would really need the caffeine. And the coffeemaker was one of the very limited number of kitchen appliances he was allowed to use. But their bed was comfy and warm and smelled of them and he was tired…
He drifted in and out of sleep to the familiar sounds of Patroclus’ morning rituals. Before he knew it, fingers were brushing through his long blond hair and the soft voice was now saying “goodbye, my love. I will try to call you at lunch.”
***
By the time Achilles actually woke up the clock read 8 a.m.. Perfect. He got up and stretched.
Patroclus would be taking a mid-morning coffee break with Mark right about now. This would be his best opportunity to try to catch him. As he padded to the bathroom, he thought about what kind of text he should send. Something flirty, obviously. But what? Some suggestive emojis? Nah, Patroclus didn’t understand them. A quick love note? His brain wasn’t quite on yet. A cute pic? Hm, maybe.
He checked his reflection in the mirror. He had a bit of bedhead, so he ran his hand through his hair a few times. Not bad. He tried a few poses with pouty lips and flexes in the mirror for fun, but wasn’t really feeling it. He turned around, perhaps a sexy over-the-shoulder look would work, when he caught sight of a nice surprise in the mirror. He grinned.
On Saturday they had messed around with a new paddle. He felt his cock stir at the memories. As of yesterday, his ass still held a slightly pink flush. Patroclus had thought it cute and enticing last night. But now his cheeks that once resembled those of a blushing virgin, had now deepened to dark purple splotches. Perfect.
Back in their bedroom Achilles grabbed Patroclus’ white undershirt off the floor from where it landed the night before. Patroclus was larger than him, so it would drape just right. He pulled it over his head and re-tousled his hair for a sexy just-woke-up-like-this look.
He decided a mirror selfie would yield the strongest reaction from his husband (of which he was split, what was he looking for: reply sexts or a spanking, such a hard decision to make). Turning his back to the mirror once again, he arched his back and angled his hips so that his ass was just peaking out from under the t-shirt and the bruising was clearly visible. He grinned.
<Messages Husband ❤️ Details
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Missing u...
Less than a minute later his phone started ringing. Patroclus. His heart started beating faster. Was he in the mood for phone sex? The thought alone made his body thrum and his cock start to thicken.
He picked up the phone, but before he could even answer it properly Patroclus’ strained voice was making demands. “Achilles, what is going on? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
He giggled. “Your biceps and the paddle happened.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned in a not-so-sexy way to express irritation. “I’m so sorry baby. I knew you had to still be sore. I-”
He couldn’t help the small moan escape, “I like being sore for you. Daddy.” He added that honorific almost as an afterthought. If anything was going to get his husband going, it would be calling him daddy.
He got a deep chuckle as a reply. “Be a good boy and put on some arnica cream. You’re in the bathroom I take it. There’s a tube in the cabinet next to the sink. If you’re still sore by the afternoon, I want you to apply a warm towel for 15 minutes. You got that, baby?”
His voice had turned firm yet soothing. Achilles could get lost in it. He was almost, almost inclined to do as told. Like hell was he going to quicken the healing of bruises. They were sweet reminders of his husband and of their lovemaking. So he simply replied with a sweet, “yes, daddy,” to get him to move onto more important things, things involving dirty talk, moans, and illicit touches, while he still had him on the phone.
“Are you yes-ing me, baby?”
“Oh, no daddy.” He tried for an incredulous tone. “I would never just yes you,” he blatantly lied. Well maybe not blatantly. He didn’t like to lie. When the occasion called for it, he’d ‘yes’ him, but then do increasingly insubordinate things against Patroclus’ wishes. So it was never just a matter of yes-ing. Maybe today counted as one of those occasions.
There was some noise in the background. “I’m sorry, baby. I gotta go. I’m booked solid with emergency surgeries this morning. Promise you’ll take care of those bruises? And let me know how you’re feeling?”
A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “I promise.”
***
A morning trip to the gym marked the official start to Achilles’ Monday. While he of course liked to keep fit, he liked the activity aspect more. Sure it was fun to indulge in lazy days full of sex and cuddling and shitty reality television, but a guy needed a variety of outlets to burn energy. And since he didn’t currently have anything remotely close to a career, the gym was it for him. It was the perfect setting for the start of his grand seduction plan.
He was meeting a friend later for their weekly yoga class, so he figured he should probably start with some light cardio. After dropping off his gym bag in his locker, he picked a treadmill closest to a window. He liked to look outside when he worked a treadmill. Nothing beat a good run outside, warm sun on your back and a cool breeze whipping your hair, so he tried to play pretend when he was indoors. He popped his earbuds in before firing up the machine. His friend Chrissy had gotten him into podcasts. He was currently listening to a series on chakras. She was into all things spiritual and new age. She said his chakras were out of alignment and that this podcast, Your Chakras and You, would help him. He didn’t really understand anything the narrator was talking about, but Chrissy was always encouraging him not to give up on achieving spiritual enlightenment.
30 minutes and one lecture about manipura, which went right over his head, later he hopped off the treadmill and hit the free weights. The treadmill maybe wasn’t the best idea as his ass was burning now, so it would be best to skip the rest of leg day and switch to upper body. It was late morning by now, so the area was mostly empty. No sign of Grunter (the guy who was excessively vocal when lifting), Peeper (the guy who liked to make direct eye contact with you when you were both lifting), or Thor (the Chris Hemsworth look-alike who his yoga partner liked to hit on). He chose a spot right in the center with the best mirror views. He had a couple ideas for some workout selfies. He pulled out his phone and opened his Spotify gym playlist. He adjusted his earbuds and got to work on his upper body regimen.
“Achilles, honey, what are you doing?” drawled a high-pitched feminine voice much later when he was in the middle of a set of triceps kickbacks. He looked over his shoulder to see Janet with her hands on her hips and a yoga mat tucked under one arm. He and Janet both went to the same salon. She was a self-professed relationship guru and freelance writer. They first met when their appointments got mixed up (both were there for a blonde rinse), and Janet immediately took to him. Recognizing a soul in desperate need of social guidance, she immediately took him under her wing.
“Um, my upper body circuit?” He straightened. He was tempted to swipe the sweat from his brow but needed the maximum amount of body sweat for the selfie.
“You are completely drenched in sweat. I can smell you from here. We have class in 10 minutes!” she scolded.
“Oh, fuck. It’s that late!?” He fumbled for his phone. He would barely have enough time to snap some pics now. Fuck it. He’d skip the cool down. Yoga was basically cool down, right?
“Are you seriously taking selfies right now? You need to go change.” She sounded a bit irritated, but moreso in that exasperated way parents are with children.
He looked up from the quick message he was typing to Patroclus. The selfie was decent. His hair was a bit of a mess and slick with sweat. His face was clearly flushed from exertion. He was going for that kind of smug look of satisfaction which only comes from exercise with deep muscle activation. In other words, he looked well fucked. “Practically everyone in that class wants to fuck me. They won’t mind.” He attached the image and hit send.
Janet rolled her eyes. “Okay, Brad Pitt. Do you need help carrying your ego?”
Yoga class wasn’t very eventful. It being Monday, the class was on the small side. He accepted the usual fawning from the instructor with a tight smile. She clearly had the hots for him, but he could tell by the slight scrunch to her features that she was trying not to smell him. He and Janet took their usual spots at the back of the class so they could talk between instructions. Janet was still a little miffed at his dress code violation, but it didn’t last long as she had a lot of updates on Juan. Or “Juan” as Patroclus referred to him.
Patroclus didn’t much care for any of his friends, but he especially didn’t like “Juan” (not that he was a friend as he never met him). He didn’t believe “Juan” actually existed. He thought Janet was involved in some bizarre catfishing scheme. It didn’t make much sense to him. Janet was currently looking for a Mr. Janet #4. At least one of the previous Mr. Janets died under mysterious circumstances, so wouldn’t make more sense for Juan to be the victim?
“So I told you about Juan, now are you going to tell me about what you were doing with the free weights earlier?” asked Janet during a seated forward fold pose.
Oops he spaced out and didn’t catch any of the Juan story. “I told you, I was lifting!”
They were switching to the boat pose now. He tightened his core and ignored Janet to maintain balance. The position sucked anyways, but right now it was putting all the pressure on the main area of bruising. If he didn’t get it together, he was either going to scream or pop a boner. Not that anyone in class would actually be offended by that. But sometimes he would get these looks that just made him fell… icky.
“Oh please. You were clearly sexting.” They were now in the reclined butterfly pose. Thank gods.
“Fine. You got me.”
“Details!”
Achilles huffed. “My husband asked me to check in with him, so I’m sending him pics.”
“Liar. I know for a fact he’s not off at a conference. I’m better at this than you. What’s your strategy? Spill,” she demanded awkwardly from a bridge pose.
“Fine. I’m sending him sexy pics under the pretense of updating how I’m feeling.”
“Thank god I caught you before you sent anymore. You need to go for maximum suggestivivity, not coy and subtle.”
“WHAT?” he shouted, incredulous. The entire class turned to look at him. Oops, he forgot about the rest of the class.
“Sorry, we didn’t hear the last directive,” Janet swooped in to save the moment.
The instructor repeated, “plank, maybe try to pay closer attention?”
When she turned back to the rest of the class Achilles stuck his tongue out at her. Then he turned to Janet, “You’ve spent the last, I don’t know, three years lecturing me on the fine art of subtly and Cosmo. And now I’m not supposed to follow any of that advice?”
Janet just shook her head, “I will never understand how you’ve gotten this far being gay. Listen, I have a few ideas for your next pics. Trust me on this. How many times have you been married?”
“Once,” Achilles grumbled.
“Exactly,” said Janet with supreme smugness.
They hung back after class. He got a few weird looks from the others for the outburst earlier. Even the instructor, whom he was normally on good terms with, looked irritated. Whatever.
Janet had pulled out her phone and was scrolling through some app. He pulled out his to check his messages. Nothing from Patroclus. He was more than a little bummed he didn’t even have a read receipt. He knew he was busy, but still. Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed a different strategy.
“I got it,” she declared, shoving her phone in his face. On it she had opened a yoga app displaying the extended puppy pose. It was a super easy beginner pose.
“And?” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this information.
She rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone.” She snatched it right out of his hand. “Roll out your mat and get in position.”
He raised an eyebrow in response.
“For a pic! It’s one of our hottest poses. It’s basically doggy.”
He huffed and got into position. Like he said, it was easy and not much of a strain. Janet took a bunch of pics from different angles. She was split between a ‘behind’ shot that would invoke memories of ‘mounting’ (her words) and a side shot that emphasized angles, curves, and flexibility (also her words). In the end they went with the side shot with his outfit as the deciding factor. Thinking it was leg day, he had paired compression tights with gym shorts. It was a far cry from his most sensual outfit. Probably not the best look for the pic.
She advised against captions or messages, so he just popped the pic into the chat and hit send.
“What are your dinner plans?,” she asked as she collected her things.
“Um, dunno. We use Blue Apron, so whatever we have down for Monday.” He wasn’t really ready to talk about dinner. It was only mid-morning and his mind was occupied with how his planned seduction was not at all going to plan.
“Good. Your next stop is going to be Whole Foods.”
He snapped his head to face her. “Why would I go grocery shopping? All the food’s in the kit.”
Janet sighed. “Honey, how big is Patroclus?”
It was taking all his cognitive strength to follow this bizarre conversation. “Um, well he can bench 350, but we’re not competitive so he’s not in like an official weight class or anything.”
“Lord give me strength,” she glanced to the ceiling in mock exasperation. “No. How big is his cock?”
For once in his life, he had the decency to blush. “What?” he stammered.
“Okay, so your next step is to go to Whole Foods and ‘shop.’ Put it up on your Instagram stories,” she explained without really explaining.
“Why Instagram? Patroclus doesn’t have Instagram-” he started to say before being interrupted.
“Just do it. When you get to the produce, find a vegetable that is the approximate size of his cock. Grasp it like you would his cock and take a pic,” her tone was borderline condescending like she was explaining something simple to a toddler.
A lightbulb went off in his head. “Ohhh.”
“There you go. Now you’re getting it.” She paused in thought. “The ladies and I are having lunch at the rowing club. You’re coming with us. I’ll pick you up at 12:30. Nice pants and a button down. We’ll work on picture number four.”
After the gym he went home. He took a quick shower to rinse off the sweat and changed into jeans and an old college t-shirt. If he was going to make it to lunch at 12:30 he had to get to the grocery store ASAP. On his way out the door he gave the keys to Patroclus’ Jeep a sidelong glance. His driver’s license was suspended (again). It’d be a lot easier to just take a car rather than having to Uber everywhere, but he couldn’t risk it. He pulled out his phone (still no messages) and pulled up the Uber app.
30 minutes of traffic later he found himself outside his destination. He snapped a pic for his story. As the automatic door opened and he entered the infamous domain that was Whole Foods, his immediate reaction was ‘I don’t like this.’ He wasn’t much of a shopper except maybe when it came to buying presents for his husband. And he didn’t mind going shopping with Patroclus. He always made a list and liked to stick to it. When they went shopping Achilles would entertain himself by trying to get him to buy more and more outrageous things not on the list. It was fun to tease him like that.
Speaking of his husband, he checked his phone again. No messages or any indication whatsoever that he had received two very sexy pics this morning. It was obvious, he needed to go with Janet’s strategy.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. It was basically just another one of his shopping games he played with his husband, right? He grabbed a shopping cart and headed for the dairy section, snapping another pic.
He needed to get to the produce section for the pic Janet wanted him to take, but since he was here, he might as well shop. Patroclus would appreciate that. He smiled. Some work weeks were so tiring for him that he’d need the entire weekend to recover. Not that he wouldn’t have energy to give him attention. He always made time for his Achilles. Now he could show his appreciation. Except he didn’t really know what to buy. He tried to picture in his head the insides of the kitchen cabinets and the fridge. It was hard. So he decided his best strategy was to go aisle by aisle and grabbed whatever looked reasonably familiar. At the very least it would be good for his story.
By the time he reached the produce section his cart was close to full, so his strategy must be working. And he only got sidetracked once. About halfway through the store he came across the personal hygiene section. He was going to skip it since he was here for food when he got curious about the store’s selection of lube. Some specialty lube would be a nice way to spice it up tonight. But the selection ended up being extremely dismal. He spent a good 10 minutes contemplating the commercial brands, making several shoppers visibly uncomfortable as they navigated their carts around him, but ultimately opted to skip it.
Now to business. There were too many people around for him to take out his phone and look at his nudes of Patroclus, so he tried to visualize his cock in his mind. A firm grip and downward tug would pull back a modest amount of foreskin to reveal a juicy, plump purple head. Kinda like those plums over there. His mouth watered. He could never get enough of the curve and the flare of the head. When it eased into him it stretched him just right. When he had it in his mouth, he’d love to lavish attention on that slight slit at the very tips. Patroclus wasn’t a leaker like him. Instead, precum would just bead and sit there at the tip. Tempting him. Waiting to be licked off. He licked his lips at the memory of the taste. And right under the head Patroclus has this bumpy v. He was super sensitive there. Sometimes he would nibble there and the noises he would get in response…
He pushed his cart down an aisle at random and tried to discreetly adjust himself behind a large bin of potatoes. It would not be good to walk around with an erection in a grocery store.
He blinked a few times to help refocus. He scanned the area. Which ones had a general cock shape? He should’ve done a poll for this. Bananas were too uniform and curved. Eggplants? Too cliché. Besides, only his head was purple. Carrots didn’t have the girth and were too pointy. Butternut squash? The coloring wasn’t right. Leeks? Not enough girth.
That left cucumbers and zucchinis. He walked over to the cucumber bin. He looked around to check for bystanders before reaching out and stroking one. It was smooth and somewhat waxy to the touch. There was a good variety of sizes. They felt firm, stiff, though not the silken iron firmness of a cock, in his grip. Then he turned towards the zucchinis on the next aisle over. They felt more velvety. As with the cucumber there was variety, but this vegetable came with just a little extra. Most had these ridges running the length. Though these ridges were straight and uniform, he couldn’t help but think of those two particular veins that twisted around the length of his husband’s cock. He blinked rapidly. Now was not the time and place to go into another sex haze. Okay, so which one should he pick? He held out his hand to try to mimic grabbing the base of his cock.
A throat cleared behind him. He turned to find an old lady glaring at him. Bitch. He glared right back.
“Excuse me, but I need to get at the squash,” she pointed at the bin of summer squash sitting next to the zucchini. His cart was very clearly blocking access to the bin. He shifted it to his other side all while maintaining a cool glare.
Once she was gone he turned back to the zucchini. It couldn’t be helped. His only course of action was the feel up the contents of the zucchini bin until one felt close in size. He paused to look around again for other mean old ladies. No one else was in the aisle, so he went for it.
He felt up a good 20 vegetables until he settled on one close to 10 inches long with a girth slightly smaller than a can of Coke. Okay, so it wasn’t an exact replica, but it was definitely flattering. He gripped its ‘base’ and held it at an angle to mimic his favorite view of his favorite cock. Not giving himself the chance to second-guess his latest pic, he immediately sent it to Patroclus with a flurry of suggestive emojis. Done.
But getting out the store was another matter altogether. Instead of Instagram stories, he should’ve went with Instagram live. There were hardly any registers open and the lines were long. The cashier in his line was one of those irritating ‘granola people’ as Janet would say. You know, the ones with strange tattoos, undercuts, and beards, and were casually vegan, only drank artisanal beer, eschewed carbon footprints, claimed to be ‘spiritual,’ and talked endlessly about Greenpeace but weren’t actually members.
The cashier eyed his topknot and said with a cheeky grin “Greetings sir or miss, how are you today?”
He may have rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled.
“Did you bring your reusable bags?”
He turned to find a near twin of the cashier standing by the bagging area. The bagger was equally if not moreso perky than the cashier but lacked a beard. He briefly thought about the small pile of reusable bags that were stuffed in the backseat of the Jeep. “Nope. Forgot.”
A flicker of condescending disappointment flickered across the bagger’s face. “That’s okay. I’ll get you hooked up with some new ones. Have you heard how our reusable bags are helping our customers reduce their carbon footprint?”
Five miserable minutes later and he was rushing for the door. “May you have a beautiful day and find peace in your soul,” called out granola guy. He may have flipped him off.
Grocery shopping took a lot longer than he expected. By the time the Uber got through the lunch time traffic, he hardly had any time left before he had to meet with Janet. He rushed to put away the groceries and change into “respectable” clothes. He paired brown dress pants with a green button-up, no tie to keep it casual, and boat shoes. He felt like a pompous douche.
But the rush was not worth it.
Janet and her driver picked him up around 12:30. They arrived at the club within the appropriate time frame between on-time and fashionably late.
Lunch could only be described as intolerable. He loathed Janet’s other friends, the ‘ladies.’ They were the most miserable people he had known. They spent their days eating at clubs, nights at “charity” events, and the time in-between spending their rich husbands’ money. It was hard to tell with the Botox, but they were all around the age of 50. And they were the worst conversationalist, they preferred to chat about nothing of importance. He usually only ever interacted with them at Janet’s biannual parties (which she called galas). Thanks gods because they were just awful. He could not stand them.
Lunch was in the dining room of the old rowing club. They were served pathetically small salads and sipped on socially acceptable alcoholic drinks. As they ate, the ‘ladies’ started with the usual comments on his house husband status. Then they moved onto their favorite topic whenever he was around, extremely uncomfortable questions about his sex life.
He wasn’t a prude. Not by any definition. Back in the day with the boys or when they went to their clubs, he’d freely brag about taking cock down his throat without gagging or how quickly he could get Patroclus off or the size of his load or being able to come hands free. But it was not the same with these women. He did not feel comfortable talking about sex with them. They had this hungry, voyeuristic look about them.
After about hour and too many personal questions to count, the situation was becoming tenuous. His sharp retorts were becoming less superficially sarcastic and more outright rude. It was getting extremely difficult to keep his anger in check. But thankfully they were getting drunker and didn’t seem to notice.
When the waiter returned with the fourth round of drinks, Janet leaned over, “I ordered you a scorpion bowl.” She switched his retsina with the scorpion bowl.
He looked at it. “Janet, as much as I would love to get shitfaced with you at 2 p.m. on a Monday, I’ve got a big night planned.” He pushed the drink away. “Can’t risk being tipsy.”
The table burst with laughter and suggestive looks.
She pushed it back, “Honey, all you need to do is take is a few sips for the pic.” She was grinning.
He wanted to punch her. He liked Janet, he really did. It wasn’t her fault her best social buddies were complete bitches. But the last thing he wanted to talk about right now in front of the ladies was his big planned seduction. Besides being embarrassing because it wasn’t going so well, it was extremely personal. AKA private.
“Fine, but make it quick,” he grumbled as he grabbed a straw.
She grabbed his phone and proceeded to take what felt like 100 shots of him “seductively” sucking on a straw while gazing up at the camera through his lashes. The Peanut gallery was then used to poll which pic was the best. And to his irritation the one they chose was actually quite good. Like top tier. The bitches had an eye for aesthetics.
He was really hoping that the pain that was lunch would be worth it.
By the time he got back to the apartment after lunch, he was feeling rather blue. Practically dragging his feet, he walked directly to the bedroom and flopped down on the unmade bed. No not blue, drained. He was feeling drained (okay, maybe a little blue). He was able to escape the lunch physically unmolested, but those bitches had the uncanny effect of sucking the life out of you in between alcoholic drinks. Was that their strategy to staying young? Botox and the lifeblood of young adults?
And on top of their prying questions and high-pitched cackles, his husband had yet to end the silent treatment. Though busy, Patroclus usually managed to call on his lunch break. He didn’t text a lot, but he would never let a message go unanswered more than three hours max. For sure nothing was physically wrong. He worked at a hospital! And even if something were to happen, someone from the staff would be sure to call him ASAP. Again, they were a hospital.
So he was forced to explore other possibilities. Was he angry? Did he finally cross a line with his little game? But they were pictures! Suggestive pictures meant to tease through the act of virtual foreplay, but still just pictures. Okay, so he’s sent many a sexy pic before, but he only ever got stern talking-tos when they were explicit. These pics were not explicit. Suggestive, but not explicit. Could Patroclus be playing his own game too? Achilles immediately tossed that thought away. Most likely it was because it was a busy Monday. His husband had all but implied this this morning when he rushed to end their call. He signed. If there was one thing he hated above all else in the world it was being denied attention.
He tried to bury himself deeper into the bedding. Why did they ever have to leave their bed? The outside world was so ugly and transactionary and boring. Here within the confines of their king-sized bed, life was beautiful and warm and safe and perfection and enough. Hell, they didn’t even need that large of a bed to be comfortable and happy. It wasn’t the space or the things that gave value, but the person. Patroclus. Oh, he was missing his husband so bad now. This validation denial or whatever it was his old therapist (the second one, the one he was court-ordered to see after his driver’s license was first revoked, not the first one from way back who was a total pervert) used to call it.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Though it’d been a few hours since they were both abed, their scent still lingered, though faintly, on the bed linens. The smelled calmed him. Patroclus would often comment on his hygiene or rather his predilection for wallowing in bodily fluids. He hated the concept of post-sex showers. If he had to shower, it was always before sex so he could start with a clean canvas so-to-speak. He had no qualms about cuddling or falling asleep while covered in come, sweat, and lube. The tacky, flakey feeling those fluids left behind as they dried never bothered him. Ditto with any wet spots on the bed. Why would physical signs of their love bother him?
He groped around for the remote. This tantrum or fit or whatever he was having needed some sort of background noise or soundtrack. After some rummaging, he found it tucked inside one of the pillows. He turned on his side facing the flat screen on the wall opposite the bed and started flicking through channels. He eventually settled on his favorite trash reality TV channel, Bravo. Most unfortunately it was a commercial break and the commercial in question was the one with the gay dads and the baby. Oh gods, he didn’t need to add a panic attack to whatever mood he was in. He changed channels quickly. Another commercial. But it was a safe one with a lady doing laundry while the creepy teddy bear watched her.
Who the hell took joy out of doing fucking laundry? It was a household chore. In his father’s house they had servants for those kinds of thing. And it wasn’t like it was super hard and you needed a special talent to do it. In fact, he picked it up quite quickly when he was on his own. Well not quite on his own. Patroclus was with him. And not that domesticity was his thing, but he could do it. You didn’t need a vagina to do it. It wasn’t a requirement. He could be domestic no problem.
Oh, he had certainly worked himself into a fine irritable mood now.
First, his husband was ignoring him and not playing his games. Then there was the irritation that was Whole Foods. And who could forget the nightmare that was lunch with the bitches. And now gender discrimination and homophobia from the TV. Would it never end? He was a proud independent woman man. And an absolutely fantastic husband wife husband. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted.
He jumped out of bed, depression now replaced with anger, and stormed to their small laundry room. They were lucky this apartment came with a washer/dryer combo. Their last place didn’t and he hated having to make weekly trips to a laundromat.
Tucked in the corner was a large basked piled high with laundry. He felt smug. See, he could be a household contributor. He opened the small storage cabinet to pull out the detergent. There was a couple of different bottles. He frowned. They usually did laundry together and he never really paid attention to what was used. No, this would not be a problem. Google. Deedee, his other friend from the salon, was always advocating for Google.
It took about 15 minutes worth of YouTube videos, but he finally had a strategy for doing laundry. He washed their bath towels with Tide and used a heavy-duty detergent with the gym clothes. And of course he washed his delicates separate with a special French detergent. Washing his intimates was the best part of laundry day. All required air drying, so he would leave them all over their space just to tease. And for extra credit he even washed their bedsheets (with Tide for heavy stains, of course).
It was while making their bed that he got the idea for another picture. What could be more enticing to a husband, especially one that was particular about stains, than a freshly made bed? He snapped a few pics of his work, but the images of an empty bed just felt silly. A better picture would be of him rolling around in the clean sheets in nothing but lacy panties or a cute jockstrap. But that felt too staged.
There had to be a balance between casual domesticity and seduction. So he collected the piles of folded clothes and sorted them on the bed. He tried a few pics while posing next to his work. Not sexy enough. He needed something discreet, but still sexy, and yet obvious, but only to his husband.
And then he had it.
He kicked off his sneakers and socks and climbed on the bed. He wiggled down towards the end of the bed with the clothes. He spread his legs along the piles and crossed his feet at the ankle. With the corner of the TV in the shot, to invoke casualness, he snapped a pic of his feet next to the laundry.
It was perfect. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? Patroclus was crazy about his feet. This pic would be an instant turn on.
His mind wandered as he imagined Patroclus coming home from work, all hot and bothered and on edge. He’d most likely get thrown over the closest piece of furniture and fucked brutally. He bit his lip at the thought. No prep. Just some spit and that giant cock splitting him in two. The fantasy was making him hard. He bet he wouldn’t last more than a handful of thrust before spilling. Maybe when they were done he’d get spanked for ruining more furniture. He squeezed his growing bulge to try the relieve the pressure.
On any other day, he’d jerk off (maybe even send a few pics or a video of it to a certain ungrateful husband). But that wasn’t today’s strategy. Today was about a day-long seduction to tease and build anticipation to the boiling point. Coming now would defeat the purpose. He had to keep his head in the game and wait this out. Only a few more hours to go.
***
Dinner. He wasn’t a fan of modern cooking. Hunting and then roasting the catch over a fire pit? No problem. Stoves and microwaves? Not so much. He grabbed the day’s Blue Apron kit from the fridge, grilled salmon and salad. It didn’t sound hard.
To make cooking feel less of a chore he turned on last week’s episode of The Bachelor. If he stood in a certain spot at the kitchen island, he could see the TV in the living room. But he had to turn the volume way up to hear from the kitchen. He already saw the episode once. It was mid-season so the drama was just starting to heat up. Tomorrow would be the official episode debrief at the salon. This episode had an excellent fight scene between the red-head and the one with the horse laugh. Girl fights were crazy! Girls really didn’t have any semblance of strategy or technique, but they had a lot of enthusiasm for blood. A good attitude was an important quality in a soldier. He wouldn’t be opposed to fighting alongside them.
As the episode started and the pre-fight tension built, Achilles prepped the salmon (aka opened the packaging, accidentally thew away the seasoning in the bin, then dug the seasoning out of the bin after he realized he needed that stupid little packet, fumbled to rip open said packet, got angry, threw the seasoning away again, made a mess of the spice rack in an attempt to do his own seasoning, then decided to skip seasoning all together -Patroclus had super low food standards anyways). Then he switched to chopping the salad veggies. He setup his cutting board in perfect view of the screen.
“YOU ARE A SKANK HO AND WEAR THE UGLIEST FUCKING EARRINGS I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!”
“YOU BITCH”
With a scream the red-head threw herself at horse girl. Achilles was riveted. Red-head’s hair was the same shade as Ajax. Now there was a fine soldier. Ajax was solid at hand-to-hand. He’d put money on Ajax, so he would with this red-head too. Too bad the fight would ultimately get broken up by producers.
“YOU’RE DEAD YOU STUPID CUNT!”
Red-head screamed as she pulled horse girl’s hair in a brutal grip. Horse girl screamed in response and wrapped her hands around red’s throat. Then-
The screen went blank.
Achilles blinked. The next part was the best! Red-head flung horse girl into a wall by the hair. What…
“Busy day?”
Achilles turned to see Patroclus leaning against the door frame to the kitchen. His arms were folded across his chest with the TV remote in one hand. His stomach did an almost sickening flip-flop, and a hot shiver ran down his spine as he became pierced by his gaze.
Thrown off balance by Patroclus’ sudden entrance he resorted to his usual bag of tricks. He pouted.
Patroclus raised an eyebrow but remained silent, patiently waiting for a response to his question. His curls were loose in an artful disheveled look. His beard was neatly trimmed. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with a green tie. He always dressed well for work, switching to scrubs only when scheduled to operate. With his arms folded like that, Achilles could see the bulge of his muscles pressing tight against the fabric. His cock perked up. Forget The Bachelor, he had been waiting for this all day.
“Hi, daddy.” His heart sped up just saying the words.
The other eyebrow rose before a grin spread across Patroclus’ lips. He sauntered over to where Achilles stood by the kitchen island and crowded him from behind. Two large hands were placed on either side of the cutting board, boxing him in.
Did he see the pictures? His heart was beating hard now. His body began to thrum in anticipation. They weren’t yet touching, but he could feel the body heat on his back. He was definitely hard now.
A pair of lips grazed up his neck before a chin settled on his shoulder. He was looking down at the cutting board. “Looks to me like a busy day. Gym, yoga class, lunch date, grocery shopping, laundry, and now dinner.”
He definitely saw the pictures. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. The lips were back to his neck placing light kisses. Achilles gasped as teeth nipped his earlobe. The hands that had been boxing him in now firmly grasped his hips. The simple touch made even more blood rush south. He moaned.
“And you did all of this while sore,” whispered the lips against his ear.
The lips grazed his ear slightly and he shivered. He tried to grind into Patroclus, desperate for more contact, but the hands held him steady. So he groaned in frustration instead.
Patroclus tsked. “Of course, you were not too busy to follow…” he paused, thumbs on the hips now tracing circles, “…daddy’s orders this morning.” There was a slight emphasis on daddy that made Achilles knees weak. “Because my boy is always so good for me. He knows to take good care of what belongs to his daddy.”
He whined. Those words spoken with such erotic authority were melting his brain. He’d drop to his knees if he wasn’t practically pinned to the counter. His cock was throbbing, ready to burst. He needed friction. He struggled again to try to grind. He was done with the foreplay. He wanted Patroclus’ hands on his cock or his fingers stretching him or being filled by him or all of it. Now.
“So impatient,” Patroclus teased. “First I gotta check on my boy.”
The thumbs stopped their sensual massage and dipped into the waistband of his joggers. He had thought about surprising him tonight with something lacy, but had opted to go bare instead. He was regretting his choice. He hadn’t expected to be stripped like this, otherwise he would’ve been ready for a show. Now he wasn’t sure what to expect at all. They were playing, but who’s game?
“Daddy, please,” he whined. Why weren’t they touching and kissing and rubbing and fucking already.
He felt the elastic waistband slip over his hips, sensually dragging against his stiff cock, and tucked below his ass. He wanted more friction. He whimpered. Then fingertips lightly brushed against his cheeks, each slight contact sending bolts of electricity through his veins. What was he doing? Tracing his bruises??? Ugh, who cares about the bruising. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been bruised before. Fuck. Those fingers weren’t anywhere close to where he needed them to be. He arched his back into the touch, trying to encourage the fingers. Then two warm hands cupped his cheeks. He was about to start begging again to encourage the hands, but a groan came out instead as the hands gently squeezed his cheeks. He was still store, but it was manageable like this when mixed with the pleasure of Patroclus’ touch. It created an intoxicating effect for his cock.
The sound of shifting fabric caught his attention. And then those lips, those devilishly teasing lips, were placing the lightest of kisses along the bruising. “Daddy,” he begged. He was shameless. He didn’t care.
Patroclus shifted again and stood against his back. The hands were back on his hips, cementing him in place. “Looks like I got a naughty boy on my hands,” he whispered in his ear. The voice was firm with an undertone of disappointment. “Too busy to listen to daddy; to take care of what is daddy’s.”
Achilles heart raced, excited with the prospect of punishment. He licked his lips. This was going even better than planned. He had hoped to drive him mad with lust resulting in an absolute earth-shattering pounding when he got home, but daddy punishment was even sweeter.
“Yes, daddy,” he whined. “I’ve been bad, so very bad.”
Patroclus hummed, “Is that right, baby? You don’t sound very regretful over it.”
“No, daddy, I am,” he leaned back against his chest. It was warm and broad and solid. And, oh he just wanted to melt in his arms. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. Will never do it again, promise. Never. I’ll be good for you daddy.” He was babbling now. He tried to bury his face in his neck but was stopped.
Patroclus tsked again and pinned his arms to his side. He was promptly frog marched into the bathroom. There he found himself pinned between the sink and his husband. Achilles watched him in the mirror as his husband reached around him to open the medicine cabinet. His face bore his typical stoic expression, but there was a slight crease between his brows. He must really be concerned. His heart fluttered and his chest grew warm. Patroclus was so good to him. He was always taking care of him, providing for him, pleasuring him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. His philatatos was perfect.
He was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to put a smile upon those lips. He knew exactly how to do it. His mouth watered at the thought. He needed to suck his cock.
To turn the tables on this side trip to the bathroom, he started squirming. If he had just a little more space, he could easily drop to his knees. The skin of his bare cheeks grazed the smooth material covering a very noticeable bulge. It was a heady feeling: soft fabric, firm cock, stinging soreness. He hissed in pleasure. He was going to make his husband feel so good.
A hand came to rest on his waist to stop the movement. He pouted, trying to catch Patroclus’ gaze in the mirror. He had an eyebrow raised again, but at least the crease was gone. He felt his intense gaze boring into his own. With his other hand he popped the cap off the aspirin bottle.
Suddenly he wasn’t sure if they were even playing anymore. He forgot about his goal, the teasing, the rules. Now he just needed his husband. Achilles swallowed. Patroclus’ gaze shifted to follow the bob of his neck. His eyes darkened.
One hand still on Achilles, with the other he took a single pill from the bottle and brought it to his lips. Patroclus slowly rubbed the smooth round end of the pill against his bottom lip. “Open,” he prompted. His tone was firm, not demanding but yet leaving no room for questions.
He parted his lips, keeping his gaze locked on Patroclus’. When his fingers touched his tongue he wrapped his lips around them, sucking in the pill. And he kept on sucking, enveloping his fingers into the slick heat of his mouth. It earned him a light slap on his ass. Though light, it still stung. He groaned around the fingers. He wished more than anything that those fingers were cock. Maybe if he teased a bit more, reminded him of how nice it was to be in his mouth, he could turn things around. He barely got to rub his tongue against the underside of the thumb when the fingers were abruptly removed with a pop.
“I don’t think so. Naughty boys don’t get to suck.” Then Patroclus busied his hands with filling a glass of water in the sink. This was promptly brought to his lips. Patroclus was clearly done with the moment they just shared. “Swallow,” commanded a firm voice.
Achilles nearly choked as the glass tipped and water filled his mouth. But he was experienced at breathing through his nose and easily swallowed the pill. He felt the brush of a thumb against his neck as if to sooth. Then he felt it on his cheek. He opened his eyes (when did he close them?) and caught that deep brown gaze in the mirror again.
“Good boy.” He couldn’t help but sink back into the warm, broad chest. He could feel himself starting to get fuzzy. The edges of his vision started to blur. He should blink to stay focused, but he didn’t want to.
Next, Patroclus pulled a tube of arnica cream from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. He stepped back leaving Achilles feeling bereft. It didn’t last long as soon his t-shirt was being tugged off. Then he hunched down to pull off his joggers and socks. He was back to being stoic and meticulous again. There was no sensual revealing, no stolen caresses in the movements. This would not do.
He reached down and gave himself a few light strokes. With his most coy look he whined, “Daddy please, need you.”
Patroclus smirked. He seized his wrist to stop the movement. “I believe we established that that’s my cock,” he said huskily.
It was as if those words wrapped around his hardness and gave a firm tug. Gods, he need to be touched. He needed Patroclus. His own was no where near as good. “Oh, yes daddy. Only yours.” He felt breathless.
Patroclus stood close, invading his space. He could feel his body heat, his soft breath fanning across his face, the smell of his cologne and that distinct masculine musk that was his husband. One large hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He moaned. When he tried to thrust into the fist, it squeezed making him groan in pleasure. “And did I give you permission to touch?”
The words barely registered. His mind was focused entirely on the surface area of his cock that was in contact with the warm, calloused hand. Why wasn’t the hand moving? He tried thrusting again, earning another warning squeeze in response. “Daddy, please,” he begged.
Patroclus moved even closer, their chests practically touching. His eyes, nearly black with desire, burned into his. Achilles was hypnotized. “Oh baby, I love it when you beg. I love how needy you get. That pleading voice of yours, Gods I’d do almost anything for that voice.”
The hand started moving in long, smooth strokes. He was freely leaking precum now, so the touch was all pleasure. When the pace increased, he clutched Patroclus’ shoulders to steady himself, moaning loudly. He could feel pressure starting to build at the base of his spine. “Patroclus,” he gasped as the palm enveloped his head, fingers grazing along the v. He was so close. So close.
Then the touch stopped, and the hand disappeared. He was still clutching his shoulders in a fierce grip. He let out a few shaky breaths. He could barely think straight.
“Bed. Now”
Two words from a firm voice cut through his haze. Two of his favorite words when put together. He could easily comprehend those. He stumbled at first, mind still foggy with denied pleasure, but was soon practically running to their bed.
“Lie down on your stomach,” came a command from behind.
A jolt of electricity ran from his toes to the roots of his hair at the stern command. Every nerve ending in his body was now alight. He complied quickly as if it were a reflex.
“Now lift your hips,” Patroclus was suddenly next to the bed, tapping his side as if to prompt.
He obediently lifted his hips enough for Patroclus to tuck a pillow under him, propping up his ass. He felt exposed, on display. He loved it. He wanted nothing more than to be the absolute center of his husband’s attention.
The beg sagged behind him. He arched his back more, offering up his ass. Gods, he was being shameless again. The hands returned to his hips in a firm grip and his cock throbbed in anticipation.
Patroclus was kissing him again, trailing featherlight kisses across his upper thighs and over the arc of his cheeks. With each press of those lips, he felt an accompanying scratch of facial hair. He hoped his ass would be cherry red with scratches tomorrow. It was almost heaven. If only those lips would move closer to his source of need. He squirmed to relieve some of the ache in his cock.
“So eager,” a deep chuckle rumbled against his skin.
Then he heard the distinct popping of a cap. He couldn’t help but moan. That sound was burned to his memory at this point. His reactions were nothing but Pavlovian.
“You ready, baby?” He could hear hands being slicked up.
“Yes, yes, yes. PLEASE, daddy. I need.” He groaned, bucking his hips as if in emphasis.
Patroclus placed his hands upon his upper thighs as if to steady him, but instead began massaging. At first, he felt a slight burning as if the touch made his bruises flame, but it was soon replaced by a cool tingle. He began to relax into the touch. His husband always took great pleasure in making him boneless with his hands, preparing him for his thick cock, almost as much as taking him apart with said cock. He shifted again, he was leaking all over the pillow. He couldn’t wait much longer. He craved the stretch as the plump head opened him, that feeling of fullness when he was buried to the hilt, the sparks when he grazed that secret spot inside with each powerful thrust. His mind immediately populated with filthy images of his bare dick plunging inside him. The blazing heat, the unrestrained surge of his seed filling him, dripping from his hole.
Abruptly the hands were gone, and he felt Patroclus leave the bed. He turned his head to catch him wiping his hands on a small towel. The tube of arnica cream was on the beside table.
He had been tricked!
“Daddy!” He meant it to sound indignant, but it probably sounded whiny and petulant.
“I told you, first I take care of my boy.” He leveled a stern look.
Achilles groaned again, but this time with irritation. This was not going to plan at all! And to make things worse he was all worked up. It was supposed to be the other way around! He desperately needed to relieve the ache in his balls. He needed to come so bad. So he stuck a hand under him, fully intended to jerk off to completion this time, but was stilled by his husband’s tight grip on his bicep.
“I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself.” There it was, that stern voice again.
He whined in frustration, “Not fair!”
“Oh, is that right?” His eyes were sparkling, the condescension could not be missed. “Grip the headboard.” The commanding tone was back.
His cock throbbed even harder. He waited for a beat, “Make me.”
Patroclus rubbed his chin in thought and frowned. Without a word he undid his tie. Achilles’ heart rate picked up. What would he do? Distracted with a mental photo library of erotic of possibilities, he didn’t catch on to being straddled until it was too late. He made a few lame attempts to buck him off, moreso as a guise to get his cock some much needed friction than anything.
His wrists were gripped tightly in one hand and then pinned to the headboard. They were then secured in place with the tie. He attempted to tug a few times. The tie was tight and the knots were strong.
“Color,” demanded Patroclus.
“Green,” he barked back, bucking again.
“I should have thought of doing this in the first place. Now,” he eased off his back and stood by the bed, “I’m going to go make dinner. You’re going to lie here and let that cream soak into your skin. Under no circumstances are you to give yourself pleasure. No humping or rubbing or whatever else you can come up with. And absolutely no coming.”
His tone was almost cold. It went straight to his cock and he moaned.
“Understood?”
He moaned again burying his face in the mattress. This was absolute torture.
Fingers laced through his hair at the base of his skull and gripped. His head was pulled back. The pleasure/pain from the tug was lacing through his veins from head to toe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that last ‘yes, daddy’.”
He remained silent for about a minute, pushing Patroclus patience as far as he could. He spit out the most childish ‘yes, daddy’ he could muster. It was probably more desperate than resentful.
Patroclus released his grip and smoothed his hair before walking away. A quick peek over his shoulder at the figure hovering over him revealed a small grin and sparkling eyes. He turned and left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.
***
Torture. It was pure torture.
The position wasn’t really awkward, he was on a bed after all, and the restraint wasn’t tied too tightly. But he was horny and desperate. He’d waited over 10 hours for his husband to come home. And of course, the very first thing said husband did when he got home was get him all worked up. It was supposed to be the other way around. Gods, he needed to come so bad.
A very big part of him wanted to hump the pillow holding up his hips and spill all over it as many times as possible. Just on principle. It was like a reflex, being defiant. It was all but encouraged by that stern, bossy voice of his husband. Being bossed around, manhandled, and spoken to were like aphrodisiacs to him. It all went straight to his cock.
But he was also a shameless slut for whispers of “good boy,” being called pretty, and getting rewards. All of that was definitely on the table if he complied.
It was a win/win situation for him. But how do you pick between two winning scenarios? So he shifted and groaned and thought about his next move. What was the quickest path to getting a cock inside him? This was the key question to determine the right choice. But he didn’t get far. After 20 minutes of the internal debate, though it felt like an hour, the door creaked open.
“What a pleasant surprise. You’re still tied up.” Patroclus’ deep voice pulled his attention back to the present.
He was notorious for breaking his restraints. In his opinion, where was the challenge and the fun if he was always just lying there complacently. But this time he hadn’t gotten far plotting his next move and so never gotten around to trying to undo the tie wrapped around his wrists. He gave a few quick tugs to emphasize the restraint was still intact.
Patroclus came up next to him. He thought he was going to be untied, but instead a hand came down to gently caress his bruises. “Mmm, nice and smooth. Is the pain better?”
His voice was soft and caring. He felt himself being lulled, but could do nothing to resist. He responded with a few vigorous shakes of his head, not trusting his voice to do anything but beg and whine.
“Now let’s check to see how well you’ve followed daddy’s orders.” Patroclus turned him on his side to check if the pillow was clean. Except for a wet spot from where he had been leaking precum, there was no evidence of any stolen pleasure. Satisfied, he was turned back on his stomach. A hand caressed his bruises again. “Good boy.”
His heart fluttered and he all but melted into the bed as the sweet warmth of praise spread through his body. The words washed away all the stress he’d gone through trying to mastermind a seduction. His mind went blank except for thoughts of doing anything his husband wanted.
“I think my boy deserves a little something for being so good at listening to his daddy.”
He moaned, “thank you daddy.”
He heard Patroclus rummage around in a drawer. His heart picked up as his cock hardened further. It was practically steel. And the ache in his balls was returning in full force.
Then Patroclus was by his side again. A modest sized butt plug was held in front of his face like an offering. It was the one with the green jewel at the base, his favorite one.
“Lick baby. Show daddy how much you like the reward he picked for you,” he commanded in a soothing voice.
He looked up through his lashes and caught his eyes. They were intense, pupils blown wide. Keeping their gaze locked, he slowly stuck out his tongue and licked up the length of the plug. Then he repeated the action again and again. He added in nips and kisses just as he would if it were Patroclu’s cock. Gods, if only it was his cock.
Suddenly the plug was shoved into his mouth with such force he almost gagged. “Suck,” he commanded.
Achilles quickly complied, emitting a soft moan.
Patroclus’ eyes hooded, watching him. Then he straightened. “Keep sucking.”
A moment later he once more felt him climb onto the bed behind him. Then two large, warm hands were on his thighs. “Spread those legs for me, baby. Make room for daddy. That’s it.”
The hands slide up his thighs before firmly grasping his cheeks to spread them. The grip was close to the bruising and caused a sharp pain. He groaned around the plug.
Then he felt hot breath along his entrance. “Daddy needs a taste.” His voice was thick and raspy.
He sucked on the plug hard as Patroclus flicked his hole. Another lick, then a teasing flutter. He shivered and twitched, gasping around the plug. Then the tongue was stroking, lapping, and circling his hole. He rocked his hips to meet him, wanting more.
Then Patroclus pushed his tongue inside, becoming speared by smooth muscle. He screamed in shock, his voice muffled by the plug. His cock was weeping and throbbing as he was worked over by that sinful tongue. It thrust relentlessly in him, a teasing glimpse of what was to come.
And just as suddenly as the tongue entered him, it was gone. There was a pause and some rustling before he heard the telltale sound of a cap flipping open. “You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Your back arched, your perfect ass pushing against me.”
A thumb began a soothing massage circling his rim. His eyes fluttered closed, whimpering at the soft touch. Patroclus planted a few soft, wet kisses along his cheeks, dragging his teeth across the smooth flesh. A lube slick finger edged back and forth along his taint, then rubbed persistently at the tight ring of muscle. He tipped his hips, eager for more contact, more pressure.
“Daddy-“ he tried to say around the plug, but that was the moment the tip slipped inside. He moaned and clenched, wanting more. The finger retreated and then plunged inside. A burn flared hot for a second and then dulled as his muscles relaxed. A few strokes later and the stretch began to feel really good. He wanted more, wanted faster and deeper. He pressed back against the strokes in a silent plea for more. As if reading his mind, a second finger nudged his hole. Patroclus slid the first one out, lined them both up, and worked the pair in together. The burn was delicious.
“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you,” Patroclus panted as he thrust his fingers steadily. Achilles met each thrust with his own. “Oh, baby. You’re so tight and hot inside. It’s gonna feel so good.”
Patroclus pumped leisurely for a while, a teasing in-out, ever so slightly brushing his prostate, but not hard enough to push him over the edge. It was driving him crazy. If it weren’t for the plug he’d be begging shamelessly by now. All he could do was moan and thrust.
Minutes passed before Patroclus seemed to deem the torture enough. But instead of increasing the pace he removed his fingers altogether. Achilles reflexively clenched and moaned at the loss. Then Patroclus abruptly reached over and yanked the plug from his mouth. He grunt from the force. Built up saliva that had been previously oozing from the corners of his mouth was now dripping all over the bedsheets.
He felt then at his entrance, warm and slippery with his saliva. “You gonna let me in, baby?”
He felt pressure, and he instinctively pushed back. The plug was slowly sinking into him, stretching him. He groaned and shifted as he adjusted to the size. He tried to focus on the sensation of being filled as the stretch neared it’s peak. He moaned at the feeling, but also at the thought. Of his husband fucking him, sinking to the hilt again and again. Bodies so close, linked as one by Patroclus’ thick, hard cock.
He was briefly brought back to the present when Patroclus withdrew the toy a little then thrust forward, the plug slipping into place. It had him panting and gripping at the sheets.
Then hands were on his lower back rubbing soothingly, “So good for me.”
Patroclus reached for his wrists, practically draping himself across his back, to untie the restraint. Once loose, he took his wrists and rubbed soothing circles along the red lines. He whimpered at the touch.
Then he stood, “Dinnertime. You had such a busy day. Gotta keep your energy up.”
Taking his hand, he helped him off the bed. He was grateful for the help. His muscles were somewhat stiff and his ass was a conflicting mess of sensation. They walked to the dining room hand-in-hand. Achilles laced their fingers together. He loved holding hands with his husband. He had these big warm hands that his fit in just perfectly. Everything about them fit perfectly together. They were meant for each other.
The dining room table was set for two. One chair had a soft, fluffy pillow on it. A few candles were lit, making the plain space feel incredibly romantic. He wished he thought of lighting a few candles. Perhaps next time.
Patroclus let go of his hand and pulled out the chair will the pillow. Achilles bit his lip to hide a grin as he sat down. His husband always took such good care of him. He eased himself down. The burn from the bruises wasn’t really there anymore. Or maybe it was and the pleasurable pressure the plug had on his prostate was just the perfect distraction. He squirmed.
A hand came to rest on the back of his neck. He stilled instantly. “You comfortable, baby?”
“Oh yes, daddy.”
The hand moved to tuck some of his hair behind his ear. “Be right back with the food.”
He took the time to take in his surroundings. He was still nude. It felt like Patroclus had turned up the thermostat because he didn’t feel the least bit cold. The pillow felt nice and soft under his bruises and so did the rug under his feet. While there were two place settings, his had no silverware. Only a single glass of wine stood on the table. He bit his lip again. He was seeing signs that he was in for a real treat. He was about to be spoiled rotten.
Patroclus returned with a single plate piled high with food. No sign of the salad he had been trying to make. Instead the plate contained perfectly grilled salmon and vegetables. He placed the plate on his own place setting and sat down. “I don’t like it when Blue Apron includes salads. Sure it’s quick and easy, but it also feels lazy.”
He took a closer look at the plate. The salmon was perfectly spiced and grilled. Even though he spent part of his day in the produce aisle, he hadn’t thought of doing something else with the vegetables in the kit. Modern cooking was so complicated. He sighed.
Patroclus took his chin in his hand turned it to look in his eyes. “Thank you for getting dinner started, baby.”
He smiled at the praise. The words tucked themselves in the center of his chest warming him.
A thumb rubbed against his bottom lip. The contrast of rough pad against his soft lip sent a thrill down his spine. He parted his lips ever so slightly to try to sneak a taste with his tongue.
He chuckled. “I know you’re hungry, baby.” The thumb was then replaced with a forkful of salmon. “Cooked just the way you like it.”
He looked down at the fork and then up at his husband. Eyes on him he took the fork in his mouth and wrapped his lips around the tines. He hummed to show his approval. Patroclus slowly removed the fork and used it to take his own bite of the fish.
Then a grilled baby carrot was brought to his lips. He parted them without further prompting. “The nutritionists at the hospital are always going on about having a colorful plate. I noticed we have an abundance of vegetables in the fridge. Have you been conspiring with them?”
“Maybe,” he suggested coyly.
“Let’s see we have carrots, summer squash, string beans,” he paused to take a bite. His face turned thoughtful, “I think I even saw zucchini in the back of the fridge.” When Achilles caught his eye there was a slight twinkle in the corner.
He knew. He had no doubt now. Patroclus saw the pictures. He hadn’t been given the silent treatment. He not only saw each and every picture, but also enjoyed them. Did they get him hard? Did he have to take a break and hide in his office to touch himself? He squirmed, thrilled. “Well I happened to be in the store today and thought to pick up a few things. One less weekend chore.”
“My boy is so thoughtful.”
He preened at the complement. His plan wasn’t going to shit. The big seduction was playing out just fine.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, Patroclus feeding him off his plate in between his own bites. When he reached for the glass of wine, a glass of water was brought to his lips instead. “Gotta keep you hydrated,” he said with a slight smirk and heat in his gaze.
Excitement and anticipation shot through the roof at those words. He swallowed a groan as he sipped the water. His husband clearly had plans to fuck him senseless. It was time to put those plans in motion. He tucked his toes into the legs of his pants, slowly inching up until he felt warm skin and coarse leg hair under his big toe. He stroked the skin ever so slightly.
“Your feet cold, baby?” He looked over with easy nonchalance, blatantly ignoring Achilles’ flirtation.
But before he could answer, Patroclus bent down and brought his feet to his lap. The angle was a bit awkward as the table legs were in the way, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He bit his lip as Patroclus’ fingers curved around his heels. He stroked the arch of his feet. His ankles. The underside of his sensitive toes. He inhaled sharply. Then taking a foot in each hand, he began a rhythmic rub. He squeezed them from heel to toe, rolling the plantar tendon and rubbing the heel.
"Fuck, that feels good." He was really squirming now. The tenderness of the massage was mixing with the pressure from the plug and it felt absolutely divine. He was getting desperate. “Is it time for dessert yet?” He asked, but it came out as a moan instead.
Patroclus frowned and paused in his ministrations. “I didn’t see a dessert anywhere in the kitchen. The kits don’t usually come with dessert. Did I miss something in the fridge?”
He glanced up through heavily lidded eyes. He shifted his foot until it was pressed up against a very obvious bulge. He could feel the heat and the strain under the ball of his foot. He applied a little bit of pressure. Patroclus’ eyes darkened with searing lust.
Their gaze remained locked for several heartbeats before he slipped his legs from his lap with no resistance and dropped to the floor. It was a little awkward due to the plug. He crawled under the table and eased himself onto his knees at Patroclus’ feet.
He slid his hands up Patroclus’ legs and thighs as he gazed up at him through his lashes to level him with his most sultry look. Without even the need to watch what he was doing, his practiced hands undid the belt and fly. When he finally looked down, he found that he was gratifyingly hard and straining against his boxers. Achilles leaned in to press his face against the bulge for a moment, inhaling the heady masculine scent of him. Then he eased the boxers down so that his cock sprang free, thick and flushed. The scent of musk was even stronger, and it made his mouth water.
Achilles used his hand to lightly stroke up the shaft, pushing the foreskin to swallow the head up before revealing it again. He sucked lightly at the tip causing him to shudder. Deciding to just go for it, all this teasing has been going on for long enough, he opened his mouth and filled it with Patroclus’s cock. He was big and thick, stretching his lips. He bobbed up and down, spit dripping down his chin, taking a little more into his mouth each time. When he finally hit the back of his throat, making him gag slightly as his throat clutched around his tip, he forced his throat to relax and sunk down to the base. It was then that he looked up at Patroclus through teary eyes.
“You look so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth.” Patroclus’ fingers slipped through his hair, scratching his scalp slightly and then tugging. Pleasurable sparks stung his scalp. “So damn eager for it. Are you wet from sucking me, baby? I bet you’re making a complete mess of the carpet”
At the sound of those words, he moaned around the cock in his throat. The vibrations must have been too much because Patroclus abruptly pulled him off. He panted for breath for a beat before wrapping his lips around the tip again and sucking hard. This earned him a series of strained moans that went straight to his own cock. Patroclus was right. He was leaking freely, and he probably was making a mess.
He pulled back slightly to swirl his tongue over the silken tip, lapping up the drop of fluid beading there. He then re-wrapped his hand around the base. Keeping his grip firm and his eyes locked on his husband’s, he stroked the split-slicked skin as he continued sucking on the crown. Short strokes of his mouth coupled with the long pumps of his fist had Patroclus’ hips thrusting up in no time, demanding more. Sucking hard, he released his hold on his length to let him take everything he needed from him.
It wasn’t long before Patroclus started breathing harder, rocking his hips as he thrust in and out of his mouth faster. “Your mouth was made for this. For me.” He grunted out between thrusts. “You want my come, baby? You gonna be a good boy for daddy and drink it all down?”
He moaned as he continued to suck. He wanted it. He wanted it so bad. Then Achilles heard the shout and tasted salt and musk as Patroclus’ release filled his mouth. He swallowed it with a deep groan, greedy for every drop, for every second that it lasted.
He pulled back, continuing to gaze up as his husband. Patroclus’ head was leaning back against the chair. He was panting hard. Achilles rubbed his hands up and down his thighs as a gesture of comfort.
When his breathing finally evened out, he said “you made Daddy feel so good, baby.”
The praise sent warm shivers down his back. Wanting more, he crawled up into his lap. Running his hands up his chest he leaned in for a kiss. Patroclus’ warm lips played against his own, and he instantly opened, welcoming his tongue into his mouth as he had done moments ago with his cock. It curled around his own, stroking deeply and circling slowly. He couldn’t help but let his eyes drift close, becoming completely lost in the kiss, in his husband.
Eventually Patroclus broke the kiss to get some air. “I think you should be in charge of dessert more often.” He placed lazy kisses up his neck and behind his ear. “So good for me. So perfect.” He whispered softly in his ear.
Then Patroclus backed the chair away from the table and rose, wrapping Achilles’ legs around his waist. He held one hand on his thigh and another wrapped around his back. Achilles clung to him as he walked back to the bedroom where he was laid gently on the bed.
In a few quick movements Patroclus divested himself of his shirt, pants, and boxers. Achilles could not help but admire the reveal of rippling muscles. “You ready for me, baby.” He whispered as he joined him on the bed, crawling on top of his body.
Achilles slide his hands up his chest, enjoying the soft chest hair as it slid through his fingers. He wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
For a moment, it was just their lips smashed together. Then Patroclus responded like a man possessed, all teeth and tongue invading and taking. Achilles groaned in desperation.
Patroclus shifted his weight to straddle him. Roving hands felt up his abs and pecs. It felt like the tips of his hot fingers were leaving a trail of scorch marks in their path. He felt his nipples tingle and tighten in anticipation of the destination.
A straying index finger brushed against his nipple. It sent a jolt of pleasure directly to his cock. It twitched in response, and he felt precum slide down his length to pool in the sheets below. Then Patroclus began rubbing the nub more purposeful, harder. Pleasure built and built. Suddenly a thumb joined in, pinching hard and pulling. The strong sting was quickly soothed by a warm, wet tongue.
He gasped and arched his back as pleasure and pain twisted together.
Patroclus other hand joined in and attacked the other nipple. He began an intoxicating rhythm if pinching, sucking, pulling, and licking. Before long both Achilles’ nipples were reddened and sensitive. He squirmed and moaned under the assault. Coherent thought all but left his body. An ache was backing up in his balls making them throb and he was leaking everywhere.
“I love it when you fall apart for me, baby.”
All he could was whimper.
Then Patroclus wrapped a hand around his cock. Relief swept his body at the much-needed friction. But it didn’t last long as he received a few rough strokes that ignited him so fast he choaked on a sob. He was dangerously close to the edge.
Just as he was about to be pushed over, Patroclus released his length. Achilles groaned at being denied release. He wanted to grab his hands and direct them back to his cock, but he leaned away before he could. Seconds later he heard the pop of a cap and the slick sounds of lube.
Then Patroclus was back, pumping relentlessly. The easy friction from the lube had him thrusting up to meet the pumps. He arched into the touch seeking even more friction, more pressure. He tossed his head back and forth in frustration. He was so close. So close.
Patroclus eased up on his ministrations before stopping altogether. He kept a grip tight at the base, keeping the pressure in check. “I know you want to come, baby. But don’t. Not yet.”
His bucked his hips forward, then ground upwards into his fist. “I need,” he strained. “Fuck, more.”
“More what?” Patroclus pressed, his voice demanding.
Achilles shook his head, unable to verbalize.
Patroclus gave his length a couple quick pumps. “More of this?”
He whimpered and shook his head, his fingers digging into his shoulders. “No,” he panted. “Not, not there.” He hooked his legs around Patroclus’ hips and tried to press closer.
Patroclus huffed. He released his length and fumbled between his cheeks. “This?” He pulled slightly on the plus causing him to moan. “Is this what you need?” In seconds the plug eased out, tossed carelessly to the side, and replaced by two warm, thick fingers. They delved to the hilt then stayed firmly put.
He moaned in relief, clenching around them tight. “Yes, yes. Oh, fuck.” Immediately his hips began to rock, restlessly impaling himself. Faster and faster, again and again.
A raw, groan rolled past his ears. “Gods, baby. So needy. You’re gonna make daddy come just watching you.”
Please,” he panted. “Please, daddy. Please please please—” he grit out, still fucking himself his fingers.
“Easy, I’ll take care of you.” Warm lips descended on his neck.
Achilles shook his head again. "Inside. I need you inside of me," he murmured desperately as he continued to thrust.
“Is that right?” He slipped his fingers out and Achilles cried out at the loss. The hand slid up his thigh and came to rest on his hip where it began to knead rhythmically. “Tell me how bad you want my cock. Tell me, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”
Achilles groaned and squirmed, pressing his aching cock into his abs. His hands were desperately clutching at his back. “Fuck.” He whined. “I’ll die if I can’t have your cock. Please! Fuck me.” He was close to sobbing now.
Patroclus grinned. Clutching him tight, he turned over onto his back. It was all Achilles could do to moan and hang on.
He reached for the lube they used earlier and coated his shaft. Gipping the based he said, “mount me, baby.”
Patroclus used his other hand to hold his hip steady as he eased closer. He felt the slick tip rubbing against his entrance. He clenched in anticipation and gripped his shoulders tightly. Biting his lip, he bore down. Patroclus’ intense gaze had him entranced as his cock breached his tight ring. He felt he could burn alive from the heat of it.
Achilles groaned as he stretched him, filling him completely. The sharp, initial burn faded quickly as he sunk down to the hilt.
“Fuck.” Patroclus gipped his hips tight, and he held him there as if to relish the sensation of becoming one. “You feel like paradise,” he groaned. “Every time I sink myself deep inside you, it is all I can do to control myself.”
Patroclus leaned up and grasped his nape for more leverage to grind. Achilles’ hips started to move in response. Shallow thrusts at first to relish the sensations swirling in his channel. When his cock brushed against his prostate, he tipped his head back and moaned deeply in pleasure. He rocked his hips forward and up to rub his cock against Patroclus’ abs.
Patroclus responded by crushing their lips together, fumbling his tongue inside his mouth. He kissed him deeply as he began to roll his hips up to meet his thrusts. Pleasure thrummed in every cell of his body making his head spin.
Soon Patroclus’ thrusts became deeper and stronger. The tip of his cock perfectly grazed his sweet spot each time. It was all he could do to meet his thrusts, slowly becoming a writhing mess of moans.
“Such a good boy. Tell daddy how much you love his cock,” Patroclus grunted between kisses.
“I love having you inside me, daddy,” he groaned, earning a growl from Patroclus in response.
He arched his back to adjust the angle. The thrusts were now relentlessly pounding that spot. For a few heartbeats their moans began to sync with each thrust inside. But Patroclus pulled him back and leaned in close, their cheeks brushing. He could hear loud, panting breaths.
Then Patroclus ran his hands down his back to his hips, stilling his movement. Suddenly he sped up, fucking harder, faster, deeper. Loud grunts left his lips from the effort.
“So good for me, baby.” He was slamming up into him now. Their pelvises were slapping together making obscene noises. That sound of their slick skin was nearly drowned out by the incomprehensible noise falling from Achilles’ lips.
It wasn’t long before white hot pleasure swiftly mounted. All his senses felt electrified. From the thrum of his cock grinding against abs to sensations coursing through his channel as each thrust targeted his prostate. His thighs trembled and his hips started to buck. He was close.
And it did not go unnoticed by Patroclus. “That’s it, baby. Do it. Come for me. Be a good boy for daddy.”
A second later Patroclus pulled out completely and thrust forward will full force while tugging on his hips roughly to grind their hips together, ramming directly into his prostrate. He wailed in agony, trying to hold on. But it was too late. Heat vibrated through his pelvis, deep and intense. His balls tightened and released, spilling a hot mess of seed all over their abdomens.
His climax kept going, shudders and tremors of intense pleasure racing through his limbs. His hips bucked wildly, seed continuing to pulse from his tip as his cock kept twitching. His ass spasmed and clenched around the cock still buried deeply.
A deep groan came from Patroclus. The sound brought him down slightly from where he began to float. He resumed the steady pace from before, pounding into him over and over, harder and harder. He was oversensitive now and it was taking his breath away.
An electric hum began to spread through his body, his vision becoming blurry. Every cell in his body was now honed on the relentless thrusting into his body. Through the haze he heard Patroclus command him to clench. He did. Patroclus sank his teeth into his shoulder and roared to climax. He could feel his cock stiffen impossibly further before it expanded and unloaded his release. He continued to thrust, riding his orgasm to completion, emptying every last drop of his seed.
Rumbling softly, Patroclus leaned up to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Slow, yet unyielding, tender yet firm. Arms wrapped around him. Warm lips. Hot tongue. His softening cock was still buried deep inside. He could feel seed starting to trickle down his thighs. He never wanted this to end.
Breathless, Achilles slumped forward onto Patroclus’ broad chest. He felt dazed, floaty. His fingers and toes were tingly and the edges of his vision blurred.
Those strong arms around him tightened. Little pulses of aftershocks were still wracking his limbs. “I’ve got you. You came hard, so perfectly for me. I’ve got you.”
Patroclus was everywhere. He could still taste him on his lips, smell his sweet skin slick with sweat, feel his seed deep inside, and hear his deep voice. “Oh, my Achilles. You were perfect sweetheart. Just perfect. I love you so much. My heart. My everything.”
His senses felt so overwhelmed. It was not enough and too much at the same time. He closed his eyes.
***
He was still curled on Patroclus’ chest when he next awoke. A strong arm still held him, but the other was stroking his hair in a soothing rhythm. The heat of his body was warming his own. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out of it. It could’ve been 5 minutes or 50.
“You awake, my love?” Patroclus gently asked in his ear.
Was it morning? His limbs now felt heavy. He didn’t want to get up. “Barely,” he croaked as he tried to nestle closer. His throat felt a bit dry and sore. Probably from all the noise he had made.
Patroclus reached across to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle of water. “Can you drink this for me?”
Achilles raised slightly and took the bottle. He sipped slowly, still feeling drained. He was surprisingly thirsty.
Soft fingertips trailed up and down his side. “I hate to ruin your beauty sleep, but we need to clean up.”
He grumbled and clung to his chest in response.
Chuckling, he kissed his forehead as he carefully eased himself out of the grip and then slipped out of the bed. In silent protest he relaxed back into the pillow and closed his eyes. After a moment he could hear water running in the bathroom. A few minutes later and Patroclus was back with a wet washcloth and towel. With utmost love and care for his still sensitive parts, he tenderly wiped away all evidence of their lovemaking. The thought of protesting briefly crossed his mind, but was quickly wiped away by the sweet caresses across his abdomen and entrance. That tender, caring side of his husband always made him melt.
Then Patroclus slipped beneath the covers again and Achilles reflexively curled into his side, tucking his head under his chin. A hand came to rest on his lower back, rubbing lightly in a soothing manner.
“Feeling okay, my love?”
“Mmm,” was the only reply he could muster. He was just so comfy and sleepy.
“Just worn out?” He could feel the vibrations of his words moreso than hear them.
“Yeah,” he managed with effort.
“Was it what you wanted?”
“Mmm. Better.” He stroked his chest lightly in reassurance, fingers tangling in soft chest hair.
He chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve reduced you to single syllables.” He paused. “Let’s watch some TV while we relax. It’s not yet 8:30.”
A response was not required. Patroclus was already flipping through channels, already aware of Achilles’ favorite shows. “Love it when you take care of me,” he managed with a small yawn.
“My heart, I love you so much.”