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A heartbeat or two—a footfall too many—and Telemachus had Antinous where he wanted him to, in a blur of hunger.
Outpouring, several nights—
Far more than he can count—
Tormented, dizzy, hot—
Maybe it was beyond hunger. Desire.
Maddening, it all was: it was a need that burrowed itself in Telemachus’ everything. Consumed his thoughts, his day, the night. Fiercely. Didn’t budge. Haunted his rest, made his skin hot and throbbing.
It all began innocently enough. With rage. The suitors, their touches, their voices. Antinous. The cruelty that made blood well in Telemachus’ tongue. The specks of humiliation, how they cleaved something inside him. Shattered.
Then a touch lingered, a gaze, a breath, and—it wasn’t soon that Antinous’ name was tumbling past his lips whenever he relieved himself.
Fuck. Telemachus had slipped a slave, that dawn, for the wine, for Antinous, a drug.
It made him bitter. It made him want to laugh. How low had the suitors dragged him, how had they broken him, for him to do something like that? Disgusting. Filthy. But it felt good. It made his blood thrum and thrill stretch taut.
He watched Antinous that evening.
Dug his nails against his thighs—past the pale fabric of the chiton—when the man dragged the jar too close to his lips.
Breath hitched as his throat bobbed, like a rapt dog just begging for a bone—.
Bit his lip with uneven breaths when Antinous set the drink down, fulfilled and eyes bright. Hid his face between his palms because fuck, Antinous had no idea. Was blind to what he just drank. Too proud and bolstering to even see the fretting of the young girl who served it. A fiery blush crept to his cheeks. Scorching.
Telemachus leashed a whine that threatened to escape him.
He had fallen low. But he wasn’t to blame.
When Antinous took his leave, Telemachus didn’t wait.
Not with the need curled inside him and pleading for more, more, more.
And, it was easy.
Luring Antinous into talking to him, at least. Having the prince cornered at night, Telemachus teetered on the edge of feeling like prey. Until Antinous’ tongue slurred, and his eyes became glossed with that blazing haze, and all whittled sharpness in his words faded.
All reason had fled Telemachus long ago. And if there was any left, it was all ransacked when his eyes trailed down and he found the pitched tent in Antinous’ chiton.
It wasn’t that easy to haul Antinous to his room, once his eyes fell close—although it was but a few steps away, he made sure of it, dragging a man with nerve-addling thrill was strenuous at best.
It wasn’t that easy to set him half-sitting against the headboard and tie his wrists behind his back, or spread his legs and bind the ankles against the edges of the bed. Taut silken ropes against the chest, carefully wrapped, with wary fingers. A shade of tyrian purple, pressed firmly against the skin.
But it was worth something. It had to be.
When Antinous’ lashes fluttered, Telemachus stifled a laugh.
Even the gods above must know that he deserves at least this.
Telemachus hid his face in the crook of Antinous’ neck—trembling, whimpering, biting at the skin. “Fuck, I hate you,” breathless, he lifted himself up. “How dare you prance about in the halls and think this is where you belong?”
When he dropped down, Antinous flinched with a faint groan. His cock jerked inside Telemachus, throbbing and hot.
Telemachus bit his bottom lip as he regained his breath. Momentum.
Antinous’ eyes were red, lips swollen; his glare was relentless, and a snarl stretched across his face. Still - the gag remained fixed, unchanged, the fabric muffling all words.
Sweat made hair cling to his forehead, and a string of morose-sounding grumbles spilled past the gag.
Telemachus laughed. Inclined against the man’s chest, lapped at his collarbones despite the growl and sound of tightening ropes.
“You don’t like it?” he asked, voice laced with both a tenderness and taunt thick as velvet. “How does it feel? How does it feel to be absolutely helpless?” Telemachus sprawled his arms around the man’s neck, and with a purr, sunk his nails into the skin. Pulled himself up slightly, enough to gnaw Antinous’ ear— “can’t answer?”
Antinous arched his back—lurched forward despite the binds, with a sound between a whimper and snarl.
A shallow breath slipped past Telemachus’ lips when he lifted himself up: thighs shaking, core ablaze. “Dog lost its bite?”
He moaned as he sank back down again; the pleasurable sting, the electrifying feel. The pace was steady, if not slow—where he could feel all the ridges of the man’s cock, where he could shiver and moan and bask.
Maybe he was too delirious, but gods. Telemachus was half-tempted to remove the gag; listen to Antinous’ hollow breath, the curses, the ache.
It felt—was—like a reward when Antinous threw his head back and shook. With restrained fury, or fierce ecstasy, Telemachus didn’t know; but it made him clench down all the same, bite into the man’s neck to stifle the cry that stirred against his throat.
“Oh, go on,” he breathed. “Tell me to stop.”
With a heaving laugh, he rode Antinous: even as his thighs twitched, or the long line of his neck bulged. Past when his eyes narrowed and arms jerked. In his gaze, there was blood-red anger. Glassy hate. A thrilled moan pushed against Telemachus' throat.
It was as if a fire was stroked inside him whenever Antinous scowled at him, tried to fight—half-hazy, half-awake.
His cock throbbed as the tied-up man shuddered. With a wince, and a muffled snarl: it was intoxicating, to see Antinous brought this low. Fuck, it was even deserved. Telemachus felt flushed. Drunk. The sound of skin against skin - the wetness - was lewd, only serving to heighten his arousal.
And, well. If Telemachus was being wholly truthful, he was unsure if the drug was safe. Steady. It was enough to fog the mind with lust, and have its victim waddle through perpetual dizziness:
Hurled back to the present, Telemachus trembled when Antinous' cock pressed against that bundle of nerves inside of him. His nerves were set alight. Wrecked. "Who knows," he breathed, a twitch in his lips. "Maybe you're loving this. Don't think I don't see how you look at me, when you think I'm unguarded—," grinding his teeth, his hips twitched as another wave of pleasure threatened to ransack him. "Alone. Vulnerable. Fuck. I was so afraid of you, until—until I realized this is all that it took."
With a bordering on hysterical laugh, he grind down hard. Enough to see Antinous' eyes glaze, his breath hitch.
Telemachus threw his head back with a moan — saliva dripped down his chin, mouth open. It was hard to think with the fullness. And gods, his skin was on fire. Something coil tight was begging to burst inside him.
Chest-to-chest, he could feel how Antinous shook with unyoked fury. And it was maddening. He savored each spasm, each twitch: anticipation would flutter hot in his belly, thinking about next time.
With unfocused eyes, Telemachus' brushed a curl away from Antinous' forehead. Quivering, panting.
"Who would even believe you?" his voice wobbled into a high-pitched whimper when his hips canted forward — when he began riding Antinous with need. Fast and wild. As if the world was teetering on end.
The irregular wheeze of breath and dull rising of Antinous' chest was enough of an answer.
He peppered the man's clavicles with kisses, licks, bites. Littering mark after mark. Almost animalistic. The skin muffled his groans, but he could still hear the slap of skin. Antinous made a high-pitched sound Telemachus wasn't too eager to understand.
He allowed his hands to roam: to scratch Antinous' back, to hang around his neck. To dig and draw blood. Even if Antinous forgot what exactly happened, he wouldn't be able to scrub wounds off. He wouldn't be able to forget. Every time the water rippled with dregs of his mirror, he'd be reminded: of the raking filthiness, of the transgression, of the odium. He'd have to live like that: debased, ebbing by with soul-gnawing shame.
Finally, Antinous would understand.
Said man whined when Telemachus dropped down with strength, clenching around his cock. He groaned something that sounded too similar to Telemachus' name. He looked so much like a dog. Feral. Wild, in need to be tamed.
Telemachus didn't know if that was what pushed him off the edge - but his back arched, and everything throbbed, and it was too much then—.
He shivered, spilling against the man's abdomen with a keen. Eyes rolling back slightly.
Fuck.
Telemachus collapsed against the man's chest - face buried in his neck - as the jolts of his climax passed like a tide. Beginning strong, and relentless, until numb and weak. It was warm, satisfying, lulling.
Fuck, Telemachus felt powerful.
And when his eyes focused again, to the sight of Antinous' eyes damp, rabid wrath behind his fuzzy glare, and cock still hard inside him — oh, he was growing addicted already. The blaze threatening to consume him all didn't abate, either.
"Oh," Telemachus cooed, breathless. He raised his hips—. "You still want more, is that it?"