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Telemachus’ head throbbed the second he woke up. He blearily opened his eyes which was blotted with dark spots before he finally managed to let out a small groan of pain.
His body ached with pain, and his neck felt raw and stinging as he forced himself to sit up. He wasn’t in his room. That much was obvious. This was one of the guest rooms, the one his father lended to-
“Morning sleepyhead.” Telemachus shivered as he felt Diomedes’ warm bare chest against his back, arms wrapping around his waist. The prince growled and attempted to shake him off, but Diomedes was clearly in a better state than him.
“Gods, you look like shit,” Diomedes murmured as he hooked his chin on Telemachus’ shoulder, “Probably should’ve given you less of that drug, huh?”
Telemachus stiffened at the reminder, and managed to pull himself away from Diomedes for a split second before the older man pulled him back and wrapped an arm around his waist and used his other hand to grip Telemachus’ chin.
“Fuck you.” Telemachus hissed but he stopped fighting for now, letting Diomedes’ hand roam his chest and stomach.
“Still so much bite after last night, I’m honestly shocked,” Diomedes murmured, pressing his mouth along Telemachus’ throat, “I thought a spoiled little whore like you would’ve been an easier hit, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“Get off me.” Telemachus flinched when Diomedes bit softly at a bruise on his shoulder, and lapped at a sore bite mark.
“Where are you off to in such a rush?” And Telemachus hated how calm he was about this situation. About what he did to him.
“Anywhere but here.” Telemachus muttered. The first place he was going to was the baths. Scrub off Diomedes’ touch on him like he had with the suitors.
It felt like clockwork now, this sick twisted feeling in his stomach of feeling used. Of every day in Ithaca feeling like a gray and murky morning when the sun was bright and skies and lands were lush and clear. Why was it always him?
“Did you not enjoy it?” Diomedes asked, a fake tone of sadness in his voice, “You did. Your pretty cock wouldn’t have came so hard if you didn’t.”
“Stop it-“ Telemachus gasped as he tried to push away from Diomedes, feeling the older man’s grip on his tighten around him.
“You wouldn’t have squirmed under my touch, wouldn’t have begged and cried for it like the desperate dumb cock slut you are.” Diomedes’ words were said so calmly with no bite or emotion and in them, "Honestly, it was your own fault for making it all so easy.”
“Stop it.” Telemachus repeated, feeling tears prick at his eyes as he squeezed them shut. How many times had he said that? It felt like a mantra now, being held down and uselessly begging for it to stop.
“Your father,” Diomedes murmured, “Your father would’ve at least tried to put up more of a fight.”
Telemachus hated how pathetic he felt as Diomedes said that, because it wasn’t even about him. It was about his father. How Diomedes couldn't have him so he went for the next best thing. Just like those sloppy pigs that roamed the halls and ate at the palace’s wealth.
“I’ll tell him.” Telemachus said, even as he did he knew it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Because when had he ever told his mother about the suitors? How many times they groped him, or purred in his ear all their lewd thoughts, what they would do to him if they could. How they’d pull him on their laps and Telemachus let them, because at least it was better him than the slave girls.
How when Antinous finally realized there was nothing stopping him, he forced Telemachus down on his sheets and fucked him with a the vigor of a desperate man.
How Telemachus dug his fingers into the suitor’s arms, feeling the blood dribbling on his fingertips, but still the suitor didn’t relent. His damned fucking moans burning Telemachus’ ears red as he spilled in him.
How the suitors reacted when they heard of Antinous’ conquest and realized the little Prince wasn’t as untouchable as they thought. And how he let them, over and over. Whether it be scuffing his knees as he swallowed their pricks or pinned to the walls as they fucked him carelessly - he let them.
Because it was better him than his mother.
And now, it was better him than his own father.
“You could,” Diomedes agreed, sounding oh so pleased with himself, “Be sure to also inform your mother. She’ll surely have my head rolling on a stick over a spit of fire.”
Telemachus stopped fighting, his heart pounded numbly in his chest as he let his head slip forward, Diomedes’ soft and almost loving touches never stopping.
“But you won’t.” The confidence in his voice, almost like he was daring Telemachus to disagree. And Telemachus took the bait.
“Why is that?” Telemachus grit his teeth, ignoring the shiver he felt as Diomedes leaned in impossibly closer.
“You won’t because you care for your father. Even if you don’t know him you want him to be happy. Happier than you at least. And hearing how his close friend drugged and raped his own son wouldn’t exactly fufill that would it?” Diomedes said cruelly.
“Odysseus has been through hell, facing gods and monsters and killing his own crew. I happen to be a sort of anchor from his old life before all that. Not as strong as your mother or you were but still an anchor. And honestly what's left of his old life? His conquests have been overshadowed and any allies in Troy or companions he had are either dead or against him now.”
Telemachus heard that sick sort of pride in Diomedes' voice as he talked of Odysseus, like he was a treasure that Diomedes hopes to one day discover but knowingly never will, like a myth.
“Agamemnon was slaughtered by his wife, Nestor is an old bat, Achilledes was never fond of him, and his crew? Eurylochus and Polites? Killed and slaughtered at his hand. There’s no glory, only death now from his findings. And he loves you. I know he does.”
Diomedes said it almost bitterly - Telemachus knows Diomedes wanted to be in his stead of all Odysseus’ high praise for his son. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
“So he also wouldn’t think twice before slitting my throat like a pig to protect you. Because he'd burn the world to keep you safe. Because he doesn’t love anything else more than you or your mother.”
That too, was edged. Like a personal dagger Diomedes kept reserved for Penelope.
“But it'd also hurt him, gods knows how much he’s been through. And to find out what I did? A final anchor connecting memories to his past, good memories, and since all other anchors have already been cut off.”
Diomedes stopped and pressed his lips to Telemachus’ hair, breathing in his scent, but cutting it off like he was disappointed it wasn't Odysseus’ musk.
“Well, that’d break him, Telemachus. And the blood he spills would be on your hands. Because you couldn’t keep it to yourself and man up for once in your pathetic fucking life. Because you can’t stop loving the feeling of getting fucked like the greedy disgusting slut you are.”
Telemachus didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a tear fall onto his chest. No sobs came, no violent protests or whining, but silent unstopping tears rolling down his face as he shook quietly in Diomedes' hold.
Diomedes grabbed more harshly at his chin and turned his neck to the side, their gazes lining up as Diomedes forced him to look.
“So tell him, Telemachus.” Diomedes hissed like the snake he was, “Tell him how I purposely slipped a tonic in your drink while you weren't looking. Tell him how I waited till the end of the night till we were alone to guide you to your room only to shove you down on my sheets. Tell him how I held you down and fucked you over and over despite your weak token protests, and how I marked you with bruises, how I spilled my seed in your slutty hole, how I fucked you even when you fell unconscious. And how it was because I pictured him in your stead, how I’ve wanted him for longer than I could possibly remember and settled for his harlot of a son, how I lov-“
Diomedes stopped himself, taking in a harsh breath and then began pressing fervent kisses on Telemachus, until that wasn’t enough and tilted the prince’s head to the side to slot their lips together.
Diomedes ran a hand through Telemachus’ hair and moved him around so the prince was facing him. Diomedes held him in his lap as he dragged his teeth on Telemachus’ bottom lip and tapped on Telemachus’ jaw which signaled the younger man to part his lips and let Diomedes slide his tongue into his mouth, groaning at the taste of the prince.
Despite himself, there was a sliver of empathy inside of Diomedes of his situation. How he was in love with a man who didn’t bother letting him down easy.
Telemachus vaguely recalled Diomedes’ soft praise as he'd thrusted into Telemachus, or the tears that fell on Telemachus’ collarbone from the man on top of him.
He hated Diomedes. And he hated himself for feeling like he was obliged to comfort the older man for his father’s disinterest.
Instead he let Diomedes kiss him intimately and drag his hands up Telemachus’ body and slowly lay him down on his back. He remained pliant and only let a small hiss out when Diomedes sank into him again and began to rock his hips.
Diomedes leaned his entire body against Telemachus’, their chests touching as he hunched over the younger man like a giant. Telemachus hooked his chin on Diomedes' shoulder, ignoring the older man’s warm kisses as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind tuning out all around him.
“Telemachus.” Diomedes moaned, which made Telemachus hiss and squirm. He preferred to be called his father or even his mother. His own name on Diomedes’ lips only reminded him of what he was letting happen, how he was the one that was too weak to do anything.
That didn’t stop Diomedes though. Now, with every thrust into Telemachus he moaned his name like a mantra. The opposite of what he did the previous night.
In fact, everything felt different than last night. Diomedes thrusted into him slowly and pressed his mouth onto Telemachus’, running a hand along Telemachus’ thigh with every thrust. Unlike his fervent and desperate fucking from last night, when Telemachus’ mind was too muddled to fight back.
Telemachus whined in protest as Diomedes sank his teeth as he spilled deep into Telemachus, rocking his hips slowly slipping his cock in and out experimently before he finally pulled out.
Diomedes sat up on his forearms and looked down at Telemachus with a heavy gaze. A look Telemachus hadn't seen before on him, like Diomedes realized the rules of the game were changing, and as were the variables.
It felt like forever before Diomedes’ finally gave him that crooked smile, calm and nonchalant facade back on as he pressed a kiss on Telemachus’ throat.
“You surprise me, little prince.” Diomedes crooned, his voice, expression, and body acting nothing like he had before, like there was no such moment of him breaking down or holding onto Telemachus like a lifeline.
“Get off me.” Telemachus finally managed. He wasn’t drugged anymore, he should’ve left before all of this.
When Diomedes pulled back, Telemachus tried to muster the rest of his energy to glare up at him which made the older man smile in amusement. He finally rolled off Telemachus and watched as the prince shakily stepped out of his bed, his head spinning.
“Your chiton is somewhere on the floor,” Diomedes said boredly as he leaned back on the guest bed, a hand under his head.
Telemachus only took a few seconds before he found it and slipped it on, ignoring the wet feeling dripping on his thighs, and decided he didn’t want to wait around any longer to find his undergarments before he opened guest room’s door and left without a second glance, knowing he’d only catch Diomedes’ mocking smile.
He walked through the empty halls of the palace, avoiding any noise as he made it to his room. It was still quite early in the day, his father and mother would probably still be in bed right now, holding each other.
His father was so much better now, a few months ago he wouldn’t even dare trying to sleep - his dreams plagued with his past and screams. But now he slept peacefully and woke up with a warm smile, so so happy to be back home.
Telemachus will tell him. This time he will finally tell someone, he thought as his bare feet hit the cold marble floors.
Telemachus promised to himself after he cleans up, and Diomedes’ boat parts in the afternoon, he’ll tell his father what happened, and his mother about the suitors.
But even as he made it to his room, and cleaned up and headed to breakfast to greet his parents, he knew it was all an empty promise.
Like the ones he gave his mother when she asked if the suitors were being too harsh. Or the ones he gave his people when they tell him to take a break, to rest rather than indulge in so much field work and hard labors.
Or the ones he gives his father when Odysseus frowns at training and asks if he’s been sleeping, and tells him to rest for the remainder of the day.
He keeps up the mantra for the rest of the day, claiming this time - this time he’ll finally tell someone. And he’ll be better. And finally feel happy and warm and safe and content.
That is until Diomedes shows up at breakfast, hugging Odysseus and telling him he will be extending his visit if it is alright with them. Odysseus smiles and tells him they’d be honored.
And when Diomedes smiles and thanks them, and he turns to smile at Telemachus - the prince understands that what’s happened to him will be kept rotting in his chest til the day he’ll die.
No, he won’t plague his mother’s mind of the suitors because she’ll blame herself. No, he won’t tell his father about Diomedes and that the man’s interest hasn't dulled in the slightest when Odysseus thought the man moved on, because Odysseus will grow cold and kill his friend without hesitation.
And he’ll lock himself in his room, mourning for Diomedes but not regretting it, showing Telemachus that bone chilling side of Odysseus that was never directed to him or his mother.
He’ll keep this secret to his pyre even if a little part in him hopes someone else will find out without him telling, and he’ll finally he be set free.