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Patroclus dreams of the war. He dreams of the clash of metal, of blood running so thick that it turns the dirt at his feet to mud. And he dreams of Achilles, fighting beside him. A sword arching through the air towards Patroclus’ neck, but Achilles’ spear is in the Trojan’s gut before he can land his blow.
“Are you alright, my love?” Achilles asks, even as he wrenches his spear from the corpse’s flesh. Patroclus dares not look away from the enemy soldiers, but out of the corner of his vision he can see that Achilles’ helmet is splattered in so much blood that he can barely see the gold beneath it.
“I always am when you are by my side.”
Pat wakes with the vague idea that he had a nightmare. He never remembers his dreams very well, but he’s left with the impression of being soaked in blood, that someone was trying to kill him and someone else was trying to protect him. His phone alarm is still blaring, so he turns it off, but then he just lies on the mattress for a little while longer, staring at the ceiling of the apartment he calls home. It’s a pretty shitty one-room loft, but it’s what he could afford in the city. He doesn’t even have a proper bed frame, just a mattress on the floor. Maybe that’s why he so often dreams that he’s sleeping in a tent on a battlefield. His loft is almost as drafty as a tent. His loneliness could probably explain why he so often dreams of having a companion to hold him and, more often than not, fuck him. Before moving to a city, he hadn’t realized how lonely it could be living in a place crammed with people. As for the dreams of battles and blood, that’s fairly normal nightmare material for everyone, right?
He rolls out of bed and pushes his lingering memories of the dream out of his head as he gets ready for the day. He quickly showers and brushes his teeth in the bathroom, the only other room in his loft beside the main one. He grabs his bag off the loveseat in the corner with his small second-hand TV, then packs it full of art supplies for the figure drawing class he’s paying an absurd amount of money to take. He keeps all his art stuff on a seat by the window. The view is the best part of living here, and when he first moved in, he had aspirations of making sketches of the skyline. But he usually ends up drawing distant beaches and hilly landscapes he doesn’t recognize instead.
He also grabs his barista’s uniform for work after class. Making coffee, combined with the money he gets from freelance graphic design jobs and commissions online, all come together to barely pay his bills. But, he has been able to make it so far without dipping into his savings. Pat swings his bag over his shoulder and sets out toward the subway.
He gets to his class about ten minutes early, as usual, with just enough time to set up his station. He nods a quick hello to some of his classmates while he settles into his spot in the circle of easels. But other than that, he doesn’t pay much attention to his surroundings until a strange feeling starts to wash over him. Heat rushes through his body. He feels like he’s being watched, but the sensation isn’t an unpleasant one. It feels like Pat is sitting in bed with a boyfriend, both of them reading their own books, only for him to look up and see his boyfriend has been gazing at him with love in his eyes the whole time. It feels protective. It feels safe. Pat hasn’t had a boyfriend in ages. He doesn’t think he’s ever stayed up in bed reading with one, has never had the sensation of someone staring at him with love in their eyes. But he can somehow recognize the feeling now.
Pat looks up and immediately his eyes meet those of a blond man on the other side of the room. His breath catches in his throat. The blond’s eyes widen at being caught staring. A hint of pink rises to his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away. Pat has seen him somewhere before. He’s not part of the art class, so that couldn’t be it, but Pat knows he’s met him somewhere. A party? A friend of a friend? It couldn’t have been a hook-up. Pat would remember hooking up with a man like that.
Could it have been a hook-up? Pat feels suddenly sure that if the man were to remove his clothes, Pat would already know every inch of him by heart, as if he’d seen it a million times, had traced it with his fingertips and tongue. Pat can feel heat rising in his own cheeks.
He’s wearing a robe, Pat notes. That must mean he’s the model for today. Pat supposes he will find out soon enough whether or not he already knows this man’s body like the veins on his own arm. This man… Pat can almost remember his name. It starts with an A...?
The teacher starts class with a quick spiel that Pat barely hears because, at the center of their circle of easels, the blond man is disrobing. How can anyone pay attention to anything else when this gorgeous man is just standing there, putting himself on display? His gorgeous golden hair that cascades down his back, the lean muscles that stretch across every inch of his body… Pat has been taking art classes for years and has sketched plenty of nude models. Plenty of them have been hot. None of them have looked like this, as though they were pulling Pat into their center of gravity.
The teacher starts the timer for the first pose. The model positions himself so he’s facing Pat, looking directly at him. But Pat can’t even get lost in his eyes. He’s already busy losing himself in the rest of the man’s body. His hand is flying across the paper, making sketch after sketch. He’s gotten three done when the timer goes off and the teacher calls for the next pose. The model repositions himself, but his eyes are still on Pat.
Pat hardly needs to look at the man anymore. Each new drawing keeps flowing from his pencil as if it were easy, as if it were automatic. He feels like he’s in a trance. Pat is fascinated by this man. Sexually, yes, obviously this man is gorgeous. But it’s more than that. Pat has done nude self-portraits in the mirror before, but even those times never felt as natural as this. It’s as if he knows this model’s body better than his own.
Pose after pose, the model finds a way to fix his eyes on Pat, until eventually the teacher needs to ask him to position himself more towards another section of the class.
When the teacher announces that class is over and tells everyone to pack up, Pat blinks like he’s just waking up from a dream. That can’t be the entire time of the class. Has he really been concentrating that hard? Has he really been that out of it?
“Hi.”
Pat looks up to see the model, now back in his robe, standing in front of him. He must have made a beeline for Pat as soon as the class was dismissed.
“Hi,” Pat echoes.
The model smiles, and Pat is glad he’s sitting down, otherwise he would have feared that his knees would go weak. It’s a smile that Pat can’t help but respond to. He smiles back, which is so unlike him. He can’t even remember the last time he gave a stranger a real, genuine smile like this.
“May I have a look at your drawings?” the model asks.
“Sure. They’re of you, after all.”
The model comes to stand behind Pat, bending down so that his head is by Pat’s shoulder. Pat swears he can feel the man’s body heat radiating off of him. It makes him want to lean back, cuddle into that broad chest and press his face into that warm skin. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at his sketches for the first time since he drew them.
“Wow,” the model breathes.
Pat is compelled to agree with his assessment. This is by far some of the best work he’s ever done. But more than that, it makes no sense based on the subject he’d actually been using as a reference. He drew poses the model hadn’t actually done. They seem to have come completely from Pat’s imagination. And yet, even from a cursory glance, he can tell he captured the model’s likeness perfectly.
Possibly the weirdest part is that the model isn’t even naked in any of the sketches. As Pat flips through the pages of his sketchbook, he sees drawings of the model stretched out under a fig tree wearing - what is that? Robes? A toga? His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. He’s relaxed, mouth rounded in song as his hands strum on… a little harp? In the next sketch, he wears a full set of ancient armor, complete with one of those leather skirt things and a helmet with a mohawk. His pose is full of energy, as if he’s just about to toss his spear.
“I love your creativity. It’s very clever of you to turn my tattoo into a gauntlet.”
“Hmm?” Pat says, intelligently.
The model holds out his left forearm for Pat to see. There’s a tattoo there that Pat hadn’t even consciously noticed until that moment. It’s all bold, crisscrossing lines. Pat looks back at his sketch. Sure enough, he’d drawn a leather and metal gauntlet on the man’s left forearm in bold, crisscrossing lines.
Pat turns to the next page in his sketchbook, the last page he’s drawn on this morning. As soon as he turns the page, he regrets it. He can feel hot embarrassment climbing up from his chest to the tips of his ears. This last drawing, the one that Pat quite obviously spent the longest on, is also the only drawing where the model is completely naked. He’s splayed out as if lying down on a bed with the viewer hovering over him. The pose is obviously inviting and seductive. Every line, from the cut of his hip to the curl of his hair haloed around his head, oozed sexuality. It’s so obviously drawn by someone who wants him. The entire image has the intimate atmosphere of two lovers in bed. The expression on the model’s face is a smiling invitation. Luckily, Pat has drawn the model’s cock lying flaccidly against his thigh. If he’d drawn it erect, he never would have been able to show his face in this class again. He’d probably have to move and change his name for good measure.
Pat slams the sketchbook shut.
“Those were all really, really good,” the model insists. He stands back up from his hunched position as Pat hastily starts packing up, desperate not to meet his eye. “Where did you get the inspiration to draw me like that, in all that armor and those different poses?”
“I think I had a dream like that, last night.” Pat says the words before he even realizes it’s true. Didn’t he have a dream about some kind of battle? That would explain where the armor in his drawing came from.
“I’m jealous.” The model chuckles wistfully. It sounds thick and rich like honey. “I never remember my dreams.”
“I usually don’t either.” Pat is all packed up and stands. He’s still embarrassed enough to want to bolt, but he can’t let himself. He’s still so drawn to this man, still so attracted to him, but it’s more than that. Besides, the model doesn’t seem embarrassed about that last sketch of him. Maybe Pat shouldn’t be either. “Are you going to keep modeling for us, or was today a one-off?”
“I’m signed on for a few more classes,” the model says. “Did I do alright? Today was my first time doing this sort of thing.”
“You mean a figure drawing class?”
“Yes. And modeling at all.”
Pat’s eyes widen just a bit. “Really? You seemed like a natural.”
The man’s smile goes bashful. He bites his bottom lip. “Thank you. Truth is, a friend of mine referred me. I was shocked they accepted me without any sort of experience, but I thought it would be a good way to get some extra cash. I’m a personal trainer for my day job.”
That explains why his body looks like that.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you got hired. If you’re a personal trainer, your body probably has the discipline to stand in one position for long spans of time. And you also have a very unique look to you. Your hair especially is…” Stunning. “...fun to draw. It reminds me of when I used to have my hair long.”
“You used to wear yours long, too?” The man studies Pat’s head, as if trying to imagine him with longer hair.
“Can’t see it?”
“No, I can imagine it very clearly. Why did you cut it?”
“It was a hassle to take care of.” And I got a strange sensation every time I looked into the mirror, like I didn’t look right in my clothes and my apartment. Like I was supposed to be somewhere else, dressed some other way.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, but the entire class I’ve had the feeling like I met you somewhere before, but I can’t remember where.”
“That’s why you were staring at me the entire time, huh?” Pat doesn’t know what gives him the idea that he can tease this stranger, flirt with him, but he gets the exact reaction he wants. The man gives a shy little chuckle, glances off to the side before looking back at Pat from underneath his eyelashes.
“It is.”
“I’d think that was a line to get my number, except I’ve been getting the feeling that I know you, too.”
“Oh, thank god it’s not just me!” The model lets out a sigh of relief. “How do I know you? I don’t even remember your name.”
“It’s Pat.”
A spark of recognition flickers in the man’s eyes. “Pat! I swear I knew that. I’m AC.”
No, you’re not. Pat thinks inexplicably. That’s almost your name, but not quite.
Pat smirks at him, “AC? Like air conditioning?”
“Like… Archibald,” AC admits.
Pat laughs. “Really? That doesn’t fit you.”
“I know!” AC shrugs helplessly. “And my only nickname choice seemed to be Archie. So I go by AC instead, even though I don’t actually have a middle name, much less one that starts with C.”
Someone clears their throat and Pat turns slightly, reluctant to move away from AC. He quickly realizes it’s his teacher, standing near the door.
“I hate to kick you two out, but I need to lock up.”
“What time is it?” Pat checks his phone and grimaces. “I need to leave now, or I’ll be late for my shift.”
“Wait!” AC says, making Pat pause on the way to put his phone back in his pocket. “Can I give you my number? I promise I’m not usually this blunt, and you don’t even have to call me or text me or anything, I just…”
I can’t lose you , Pat thinks, not sure if he’s imagining the end to AC’s sentence or having a realization of his own feelings. Then, for some reason, he thinks, I can’t lose you again .
Pat hands over his phone and AC breathes a sigh of relief as he enters his contact information. Their fingertips brush when AC hands the phone back, and in that moment Pat swears that his teacher’s watchful gaze is the only thing keeping him from throwing himself at AC and kissing him until his lips go numb.
What is going on with me today?
“I really have to go,” Pat says reluctantly. “If I don’t start walking now, I’ll be late for work.”
“And I need to get dressed,” AC responds.
They just stare at each other, the feeling of deja vu mixing with attraction and the sensation of having met before building until it reaches a crescendo and Pat finally needs to look away before he becomes overwhelmed. “Bye. It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” AC says.
Pat can feel AC’s eyes on him as he leaves the classroom. He only makes it about a block before he hears someone run up behind him. He turns to see AC, running toward him with the speed of a true athlete. When he stops in front of Pat, he isn’t even breathing hard. He’s wearing clothes again, and is possibly the first man Pat has ever seen make athleisure look sexy.
“Hi,” AC says.
“Hi.” Pat’s voice is full of wonder at seeing this man again so soon. “Did I forget something?”
“No, but,” AC bites his lip. “At the risk of being way too forward and ruining everything, can I walk you to work? I promise I’m not a creep, but I also know that’s exactly what a creep would say.”
AC is right. Pat would usually never let a guy he just met know where he works. He would usually dismiss this kind of guy as desperate, as coming on way too strong, and kick him to the curb. But none of those other guys were AC.
“Okay. But you’ll need to walk fast.”
A smile breaks across AC’s face like the sunrise breaking over mountaintops. “I can do that.”
They talk the entire way to the bougie cafe Pat works at, until Pat is forced to say goodbye so he can clock in. When he comes back out to the coffee bar, he finds AC waiting in line to order a drink. They can’t talk while Pat is working, but they keep stealing glances at each other while AC sits at one of the tables and nurses his coffee as slowly as possible. Finally, once he’s finished and no longer has an excuse to stay, he leaves with one final wave. Pat waves back, then texts him as soon as he’s on his ten minute break.
Pat: Didn’t want to set up camp with your laptop? Some people stay for my entire shift like that and only order a single cup of black coffee.
AC: One, I didn’t have a laptop with me. Two, are people even allowed to stay in cafes that long without ordering more? Three, I had to leave for work…
Pat: Boo
Pat needs to get back to work then. On his half hour for lunch, he sees he has a new text from AC.
AC: Thank you for texting. I was worried I scared you off.
Pat: I’m the one who drew a weirdly erotic nude portrait of you.
AC: I was the one naked in the first place. If you didn’t draw me in a weirdly erotic way, I’d think you weren’t into me at all!
AC: Honestly, no one’s ever made me look that hot before.
Pat: I think you do a pretty good job of making yourself look hot.
They text for the rest of his lunch break, then again during his second ten minute break, and even more on Pat’s subway ride home. They text while Pat is making dinner, then as he eats dinner and works on a graphic design commission. They talk about whatever comes to mind. Pat finds out that AC loves the ocean because it reminds him of his mother. They both have an affinity for fig jam. Even as Pat is learning new things about AC, it still feels as comfortable as talking to an old friend. They’re still texting late at night when all the lights are out and Pat is lying in bed, cradling his phone, until AC finally says that he really needs to go to bed because his first client appointment is at 6 am the next day. So they say good night and Pat falls asleep with his phone on his pillow.
Everyday, after the gore of the fight, Patroclus and Achilles dunk themselves in the ocean until their eyes burn and their skin is finally clean, then return to their tent and surrender their battle-weary bodies to one another entirely. On days when they are too tired even for lovemaking, they simply hold each other, taking comfort in soft touches and kissing languidly while Patroclus runs his fingers through Achilles’ hair.
This is not one of those days.
“Take me,” Achilles murmurs against Patroclus’ lips. “I don’t want to belong to the war any longer. I want to belong to you.”
“You do,” Patroclus says as he kisses a path down Achilles’ neck. “You do.”
He lies down behind Achilles, wrapping his arms around his chest and pressing his cock between Achilles’ oil slick thighs. The heat of his body, the feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth are all ambrosial. It is in moments like these Patroclus can imagine he might actually be blessed by the gods, to be able to have a lover such as this.
“Patroclus!” Achilles gasps as Patroclus takes his lover’s cock in hand with long, languid strokes. “I love you. I need you.”
The two have known each other so long, spent more time in their lives together than not. They each know exactly what the other’s body needs. Achilles knows just when to squeeze his thighs to make Patroclus’ hips buck and spasm. Patroclus knows the exact way to brush his thumb over Achilles’ cockhead, how to tease him until he’s spilling into Patroclus’ palm. They touch each other with hands and thighs and mouths until the only words they can say are “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Pat wakes up with a painfully hard erection, as well as the recollection of blond hair and thick muscles. He reaches a hand down and starts lazily getting himself off. With his other hand he checks his notifications on his phone. He has two texts from AC.
AC: Good morning!
AC: Are you working at the cafe again today, and if you are would you mind if I stopped by?
Pat types out, “I think I had a sex dream about you,” then quickly deletes it. He shouldn’t be sexting him this early on, especially if AC is with a client right now. Instead he types “I’m working again today. I’d love to see you.” He presses send, then tosses his phone aside and starts stroking his cock faster. He imagines AC at the gym, sweat soaking through a thin white tank top. He imagines AC wearing nothing at all, the memory still vivid from his modeling session the day before. He imagines AC on his knees, sucking him off. He imagines AC lying on the grass with him underneath a tree, hands on each other’s cocks, kissing mouths that still taste of sweet figs.
Pat comes with a deep groan, then lies there staring at the ceiling and panting as he drifts down from the high of his orgasm. AC seems to like him. Really like him. And, surprisingly, Pat likes him just as much. Pat has never had a good track record with relationships. He never seems to be as into his boyfriends as his boyfriends are into him, and it always ends in disaster. Pat always thought he had commitment issues, or was scared of emotional intimacy. But something about AC is making him think this could work. Pat wants to have sex with AC, but for once he actually wants to stick around for what comes after, too.
Pat gets in the shower and starts his daily routines before it’s time for his shift at work. It’s not until the lunch rush that AC comes in.
“Hey! Sorry, did I come at a bad time?” AC asks.
“A little. I just have a million drinks to make right now.” Pat says, as he works on making those million drinks.
“Sorry,” AC apologizes again. “This is my only break between clients today. If you’re busy, I’ll cut to the chase. When do you get off?”
This morning , Pat thinks.
“My shift’s over at 7:30,” he says.
“Would you mind if I picked you up then? For dinner?”
Pat pauses in his milk pouring just long enough to look up and meet AC’s eyes. “Like a date?”
A bit of pink dusts AC’s cheekbones. “Yeah. I had hoped by now it would be obvious that I want to date you.”
Not just a date. He wants to date me.
“Then I’ll see you at 7:30.”
AC takes his drink and says goodbye, leaving Pat to deal with the rest of the rush. Though talking to AC definitely slowed him down, Pat is left wishing he could have stayed a little bit longer. The rest of the day passes slowly, until Pat is sweeping up in the back around 7:15 and his goth teenage co-worker pokes his head in to say, “Prince Charming is back.” Pat rolls his eyes, but eagerly finishes up, changes out of his uniform, and clocks out. When he goes back into the lobby and catches sight of AC gracefully sweeping his curtain of hair behind his ear, he can’t help but think this man does look like some sort of prince.
“Do you like Greek?”
Pat’s lips quirk. “Why, is that what you are?”
AC smiles indulgently. “It’s the type of restaurant I was planning on taking you to.”
“As long as it’s not too expensive, I’m game.”
AC waves the thought away with a flick of his hand. “It’s not, but don’t worry about that anyway. It’s my treat.”
They take the subway to the restaurant, and the train is crowded enough that Pat and AC need to press in close to fit. They stand chest to chest, sharing body heat and not saying a word until AC finally murmurs, “This is our stop,” and takes Pat’s hand to help him off the train. He lets go of his hand as soon as they’re safely on the platform, which Pat thinks is a shame.
The restaurant is actually not too far from Pat’s loft, but he has never been there before. The decor tells him this place sits in that sweet spot between way too fancy and hole in the wall joint. The server who seats them seems to recognize AC.
“Been here before?” Pat asks as he looks over the menu.
“It’s my favorite restaurant. I come here all the time.”
“Really?” Pat peeks up over the top of his menu and sees ocean blue eyes looking back at him. “I actually live around here. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before.”
AC’s eyebrows raise. “Wow. We might have passed each other on the street before and never even knew it.”
No, Pat thinks, I would have known.
When the waitress arrives, she asks what AC would like, and he surprises Pat by ordering a laundry list of dishes. When he notices the look Pat is giving him, he shoots him a wry smile. “I’m a personal trainer, remember? Gotta keep my strength up.”
Between the two of them, Pat and AC must order about half the menu. They eat olives and feta drizzled with olive oil, plump dolmathes stuffed to bursting, rich spanakopita, lamb meatballs dipped in yogurt sauce, and then split a whole grilled fish braised with lemon. Pat can’t remember the last time he ate this well, or the last time a meal made him feel so satisfied, so happy. He knows part of that must be the company. By the time the waitress asks if they want dessert, Pat feels contentedly full and doesn’t order anything
“But you can get dessert if you want,” Pat offers. “I don’t mind.”
When AC’s baklava arrives, Pat regrets saying he didn’t have an appetite. AC raises a piece to his mouth and Pat watches, enraptured, as he bites down. His tongue flicks out to catch a piece of flakey pastry. He licks a drop of honey from the pad of his thumb. Suddenly, Pat is very hungry again.
AC’s catches Pat staring at him, and his eyes go lidded as he sees the desire in Pat’s gaze. “Want some?”
Pat nods wordlessly and AC holds a piece of baklava out to him. He takes it between his teeth and sweetness spreads across his tongue. His lips brush AC’s fingertips, then his tongue darts out to lick up the honey still clinging there. Pat wants to linger, to hold AC by the wrist to steady him as he sucks each of his fingers in turn. But they’re in a restaurant, and there are people around, so he withdraws with the taste of honey in his mouth.
At the end of the meal AC pays just like he promised to and all of the sudden they find themselves standing outside the restaurant on the precipice of going their separate ways.
“I had a lovely evening,” AC says in a way that sounds like the beginning of a reluctant goodbye.
“It doesn’t have to end yet,” Pat blurts. “Come home with me.”
“Yes,” AC responds just as quickly, just as eagerly.
Pat takes his hand and leads him in the direction of his loft. This time, neither of them let go. They don’t let go when Pat needs to awkwardly fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door with one hand. They don’t let go when they step inside and Pat closes the door behind them. They don’t let go as AC stands in silence, taking in the single room and Pat shuffles his feet beside him.
“I know it’s not much,” Pat says.
“I don’t care about the apartment.” AC turns to face him then. “I care about you.”
Pat sucks in a breath. He can see AC watching the motion, his eyes following the bob of his Adam’s apple, the rise and fall of his chest.
“May I touch you?” AC asks. His voice is soft, as though afraid he could break the moment as easily as the surface of a bubble.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Pat’s voice is also low. His eyes are on AC’s mouth.
“I’m here because I didn’t want to say goodbye.” AC’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “We could do anything. We could watch TV or-”
Pat lets go of AC’s hand then, but it's only so he can cup his face in both palms and kiss him. It’s a kiss like a sailor meeting his wife again after years at sea. It’s a kiss like an astronaut kissing the earth after years in orbit. It’s cool water in a drought. It’s the first bite of chocolate after a long fast. It’s a prayer finally answered. Their lips meet, mouths barely open, barely moving. They simply luxuriate in the feeling and heat and softness. Pat feels like he’s about to cry and he has no clue why.
“Your beard…” AC murmurs.
“Hmm?”
“I love the way your beard feels…” AC raises a hand to run his fingertips through Pat’s facial hair.
Pat moves his own hands from when they are cradling AC’s face and instead tangles them into the man’s hair. AC lets out a shuddering gasp and they’re kissing again, mouths open and desperate. Their tongues slide together. Pat sucks on AC’s lower lip, tightens his grip on his hair, and AC whimpers. Pat moves to kiss the patch of skin behind AC’s earlobe, then starts whispering to him.
“You love it when I play with your hair. You love lying your head in my lap while you’re falling asleep and having me run my finger through it.”
“ Yes ,” AC gasps.
“And when you want it rough, you like to get on your hands and knees and have me fuck you from behind while I pull your hair. It makes you arch your back and moan so loud that the entire encampment can hear you.”
Pat doesn’t know how he knows these things, but AC is moaning his agreement. Pat can feel him getting hard, his erection pressing against Pat’s hip.
“I never do this,” AC admits between kisses. “Not on the first date.”
I do , Pat thinks, but doesn’t dare say it aloud. He doesn’t want to risk AC thinking he’s just some conquest when the truth is that no one else, no other kiss, no other hand in his, has ever lit him aflame like this. He thought he knew need. He thought he understood that he needed air and water and sleep. But he had never really felt it until now, until he needed AC to hold him, to say his name, to feed him baklava.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want,” Pat says.
“ I want you .” The conviction in AC’s voice sounds like a deathbed confession. “I want this with you.”
AC pulls him toward the bed and Pat follows readily. They disrobe and hardly even take a moment to look at each other’s naked bodies. Pat’s hands are already following the curves and hard lines of AC like a map of his home town. He knows this dimple, this mole, the strong plane of his back. It must be because he already studied AC’s bare body as a model. That’s the only explanation. AC’s touch is feather-light up Pat’s side, making his skin jump pleasantly, giving him exactly what he wants without him having to ask for it.
“I’m going to get on my back,” AC says. “I want to spread my legs for you and watch your face when you push inside me.”
Our greatest warrior, spreading his legs for me and me alone, Pat thinks. It’s a private joke between us. It’s also an honor I don’t take lightly. Those sorts of thoughts are coming into his lust-addled mind too quickly for him to question them. He just lets them wash over him as he hovers over AC and works him open with lube slick fingers. When he lines up his cock and presses inside, AC wraps his thighs around Pat’s waist to draw him closer. He wraps his arms around Pat’s shoulders and Pat allows himself to be drawn down. Their bodies fit together like a broken bone being set, mending itself until its whole again. They kiss until they’re out of breath, and then they pant against each other’s mouths and breathe the same air. Pat raises himself up just enough to reach AC’s cock and stroke him. AC bucks up to meet every one of his thrusts until Pat is aching for release.
“ Achilles! ” Pat moans, and hearing him is enough to make AC’s back bow as he comes across his own stomach. Pat is soon to follow. They fall asleep in each other’s arms, too far gone for either of them to realize what name Pat actually said.
Patroclus falls from his chariot, Achilles’ heavy armor dragging him down to the firm ground. He lands on his shoulder. He thinks he might have dislocated it, or broken something. But it won’t matter for long. Achilles’ helmet prevents him from cracking his skull, but now it’s the helmet that is cracked. It rolls away, revealing Patroclus’ face. Now everyone can see it was him wearing Achilles’ armor into battle, and Achilles himself is nowhere in sight. Hector approaches. Maybe if he had not just fallen, had not hurt his shoulder beyond use, or if his head was not already spinning, perhaps then Patroclus could have fought back. But as it is, Patroclus is only barely able to roll onto his back and look into his killer’s face as Hector plunges the spear into his chest. It’s a firm blow, one that even Achilles’ armor can’t protect him from.
Pat wakes in the middle of the night to a body thrashing on the mattress next to him. He reaches for AC in the pitch dark and shakes him.
“AC, wake up! Wake up, you’re dreaming.”
AC jolts awakes. Pat’s vision is starting to adjust to the low light coming in from the streetlamps outside his window. He can see AC’s bright blue eyes darting around wildly, as if on guard against an attack. His gaze lands on Pat and he chokes back a sob.
“You died,” AC manages to say.
“I’m right here.” Pat gathers AC into his arms and AC clings to him helplessly. He presses his nose into the crook of Pat’s neck and breathes deeply. “It was just a dream. I’m okay.”
“They brought me your corpse.” His voice sounds haunted. “They wanted to burn you, but I wouldn’t let them. I just wanted to hold your body one last time. I wouldn’t let you go. I only let you go to the pyre after I made them promise to let our ashes mingle after I died.”
“Who is ‘them’?”
AC shakes his head, face still held tight against Pat’s skin. “I don’t know. It was a dream.”
Pat runs his hand over AC’s hair, gradually getting his tense frame to relax. He doesn’t mention that he just had a similar nightmare, himself. “That’s right. It was only a dream.”
AC sniffles. “It felt so real.”
They’re eventually able to fall back asleep. When Pat wakes up again, it’s to a plate of muffins and a cup of coffee on his kitchen nook, along with a handsome blond man sitting on a stool and sipping from his own paper cup.
“Good morning,” Pat says groggily. He doesn’t bother covering up as he climbs out of bed and walks to the kitchen. “Did you seriously get me breakfast? Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect…”
“It’s actually meant to be an apology.” AC looks down at his cup sheepishly. “I swear I don’t usually have a mental breakdown in the middle of the night after I hook up with someone.”
Pat sits down on the stool next to AC, despite still not having a stitch of clothing on. “Honestly, after sex like that you can have a breakdown whenever you want.”
AC sighs with relief. He dares to peek up at Pat through his curtain of hair. “It was pretty great, wasn’t it?”
“Great isn’t a big enough word.” Transcendent is more like it. “I’ve never felt that connected to anyone before. Not just during sex. I mean, at all.”
“Me, too.” AC grips Pat’s hand. “It felt like I’d known you forever.”
Neither of them have work that day, so they spend it together. They shower together, kissing and getting one another off before they actually get down to the business of cleaning themselves. Pat massages shampoo into AC’s head, then conditioner. After, Pat lets AC borrow some of his clothes and they discover that they’re about the same size. Pat brushes AC’s hair for him. Then they sit on the loveseat and watch a movie. AC lays his head in Pat’s lap and Pat runs his fingers through his hair, just like he said the night before. They go for a walk in a nearby park and hold hands the entire time. AC sleeps over that night, too. It’s a first date that never ends, and that neither of them want to end. They only part when Pat needs to go back to work for his next shift. AC walks him there, and by the time he kisses his goodbye at the cafe door Pat is pretty sure he’s going to marry this man.
“How did you two meet?” One of his coworkers asks when Pat walks in with cheeks aching from smiling so hard.
“We were childhood friends,” Pat says, before he realizes that’s wrong. They met in his figure drawing class, right?
They see each other everyday and sleep together every night, switching off whose apartment they spend their time at. AC’s place is undoubtedly nicer, if only because he actually has a bedframe for his mattress. Tonight it’s Pat on his back, hands in AC’s hair as AC’s mouth works over his cock. He licks slow, teasing stripes up Pat’s shaft, his thumbs rubbing circles into the dip of Pat’s hips. He dips his head and AC moans loudly when Pat’s cockhead brushes the back of his throat. He starts to bob his head up and down with renewed, eager purpose. He looks up and those blue eyes lock on Pat’s.
“You’re gorgeous,” Pat babbles. “You know just what I need, just how to touch me. You’re- Ah! You’re amazing. I love you! ”
Pat hadn’t said that before. Not to AC, but not to anyone else either. He knows it’s too soon to say something like that, but as soon as the words are past his lips, he knows they’re true.
AC sucks harder. He hums, sending reverberations down Pat’s shaft. Pat can’t take it anymore. He fists his hand hard in AC’s hair and comes in his mouth while AC greedily swallows every drop. Then AC’s mouth is on his, hands desperately gripping everywhere.
“I love you, too,” AC whispers urgently between kisses. Pat reaches down to take hold of AC’s own hard cock. AC gasps as Pat starts to stroke him off, but doesn’t stop talking. “I love you. I missed you so much. Everything was difficult without you. Waking, breathing, I couldn’t do it without you. I’d never known agony like that.”
Logically, Pat knows what AC is saying makes no sense. They’ve been together near constantly since they met. AC wouldn’t have had time to miss him. But Pat responds with his own nonsense. “You’ve always been the needier one. You’ve always clung to me, ever since we were kids.”
They don’t speak after that. They only kiss and revel in the closeness of their bodies until AC’s pleasure peaks and Pat works him through his orgasm.
Patroclus sits in his meadow beside the River Lethe. This used to be such a site of misery for him. Now all he feels is impatience. He’s planning for what he will do when Achilles returns to him again. He has a few tales to tell him, of Theseus’ impossible boasts and of Achilles’ student’s antics. He has kisses to give him. There are fig trees in this meadow. He wants to share their sweetness with Achilles. He wants to share everything with him.
Someone appears in the meadow, but it’s not Achilles. It’s the shimmering image of a goddess sending her message down to him.
“ Patroclus .” Aphrodite’s voice drips like red wine over a pair of full lips. “I have a proposition for you. You and your love both had life stolen from you in your youth. I want to allow you both to live another lifetime in the world above. I spoke to Hades of my plan, but he demands there be a price for you and Achilles to pay…”
Patroclus sits up straighter. Another lifetime with Achilles by his side? Not just these stolen moments in the underworld?
“I’m listening.”
Patroclus blinks his eyes open slowly. It’s still dark in Achilles’ apartment. He can make out the outline of his exercise machines, his weights. He can also make out the outline of the body lying next to him in bed. Blue eyes are already open and staring back at him.
“Achilles?” he whispers hesitantly.
“Patroclus,” Achilles sighs.
The sound is like a dam breaking. The memories that the Lethe had been holding back from them come flooding forward. They bump their noses together in their urgency to kiss one another. Their hands grip each other hard enough to bruise. Achilles kisses Patroclus’ forehead while Patroclus kisses just below Achilles’ eye. Every inch of skin they can reach is a temple to worship at.
“I almost lost you,” Achilles gasps. “I lost you in the war, then I lost you to Elysium, and then I nearly forgot you entirely.”
“I’m here,” Patroclus breathes. “We found each other. We knew we could find one another. There is no Patroclus without Achilles.”
The kisses keep falling from their lips, like tears from their eyes.
“Patroclus. My love, my heart, my soul, my everything.”
They weep for the time they were forced to be apart and for the relief of being reunited. But they have time to waste a night on tears. They have an entire life to live in peace, free from war. They will eventually return to Elysium, but they have plenty of time to make new memories before then.