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There was something about Achilles.
Something about the way he played rugby, the fire in his eyes, the power that surged in his muscles. Patroclus couldn’t get enough of it. Every Saturday he’d be in the stands, cheering on his boyfriend’s games. He absolutely loved watching his boyfriend/Dom’s raw power as he cut through opposing players, slammed into the try zone, and threw every ounce of force into a tackle.
But this Saturday, Patroclus had to leave early. As an Art History major, he had to go to Ajax’s art exhibit. At the pitch, Patroclus had kissed Achilles good luck on the cheek after he’d thrown on his red-and black-striped jersey, the number 11 emblazoned on the back. Ignoring -- or perhaps encouraged by -- the jeering and hooting from his teammates, Achilles had turned his head to kiss Patroclus on the lips. Patroclus took his place on the bleachers, front row center, as red as the jerseys. He’d had time to watch Achilles score his second try of the season, plowing through an unsuspecting center into the try zone, before he’d picked up his bag and left for the exhibition center.
Hanging his coat up and setting his notes from the exhibition on the kitchen table, Patroclus was determined to make it up to Achilles. He knew his boyfriend didn’t truly care, but Patroclus did. He loved watching Achilles after a game, eyes blazing and smile wider than he’d ever thought possible. That was, in Patroclus’ possibly-biased opinion, when Achilles was at his most attractive.
Today’s game was, he knew, one of their toughest of the season. He knew Achilles would be drained when he got home. So Patroclus changed into more comfortable clothes and retrieved his collar, black leather with a silver O-ring hanging from the front, from its home in the nightstand.
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When Achilles opened the door to their apartment, he saw Patroclus standing there in his collar, black leather blending gorgeously with Patroclus’ brown skin. Smiling at him, Patroclus gestured to the duffel bag slung over Achilles’ shoulder.
“Let me take this,” he said, relieving Achilles of the bag and dropping it by the closet. Achilles was visibly exhausted. Streaked in mud from curly hair to scuffed cleats, with a half-hearted attempt at a bandage over one scraped knee.
Ignoring that, Patroclus pressed the length of his body up against Achilles’, uncaring that his boyfriend’s jersey was grinding dirt steadily into his clothes. He nosed along Achilles’ jawline, hands running up and down Achilles’ arms. “You did so well today,” he murmured.
Achilles let his eyelids fall closed, settling into Patroclus’ warm body and tender whispers. He could feel Patroclus start pulling at the hem of his jersey. So, so badly he wanted to give Patroclus whatever he wanted. But his muscles absolutely ached, he was so tired. There was no way he could dominate Patroclus tonight like he deserved. He opened his mouth to tell Patroclus such, but a finger laid over his lips before he could start.
Patroclus shushed him, warm breath curling over Achilles’ neck. “I drew you a hot bath upstairs” he said, cupping Achilles’ jaw. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
Quieted, Achilles let Patroclus kiss him; soft, not demanding nor rough, but insistent. Comforting. He leaned back against the wall and immersed himself in Patroclus. His soft lips, the brush of his hair against Achilles’ cheek, the calloused pads of Patroclus’ fingers on his waist. He smelled like Achilles’ conditioner. Warmth spread through Achilles’ body, his cock slowly beginning to harden. He almost didn’t notice; it wasn’t a reaction to arousal, per se. Just his body telling him how nice this felt.
Patroclus pulled back from the kiss just long enough to pull Achilles’ dirty jersey over his head. Achilles raised his arms dutifully and shrugged out of it; it fell to the floor beside them as Patroclus went back to kissing him and his hands found better things to hold onto. Like Achilles’ cock.
Patroclus smiled into their kiss, cupping the bulge in Achilles’ rugby shorts. Achilles hummed his appreciation against Patroclus’ lips, content to just stand there and kiss him forever. Patroclus, however, had other ideas.
He rested his forehead against Achilles’, his eyes still closed, and Achilles was caught off guard by how utterly, breathtakingly beautiful Patroclus was.
"How about that bath?" he asked, because there were no words for how beautiful Patroclus was, the ferocity with which he loved him, the home he found in Patroclus’ heart.
Patroclus’ hazel eyes opened and he smiled. "Let's get you cleaned up." He took Achilles' hand and led him up the stairs, stopping only once to kiss him.
Achilles was greeted with the welcome sight of a tub filled with warm water and smelling lightly of jasmine. The mirror was dusted in fog, revealing evidence of their cohabitation. Faded yet still legible hearts adorned the surface, drawn in the early hours of mornings past, little gifts for whichever one of them used the bathroom next. Achilles reached out and traced another one of his own. In the line he cleared he could see Patroclus’ warm expression.
He turned and Patroclus crowded him up against the countertop, leaning forward to kiss him once more before smoothly going to his knees. He pressed a kiss to Achilles' hip, then set about untying his cleats. Drying mud caked onto the laces crumbled in his hands as he slipped them off, black knee socks quickly following.
Athletic tape was wrapped snug around Achilles' right foot. Patroclus reached up into the drawer next to the sink and pulled out the tape cutters, carefully separating the adhesive from Achilles' skin. He gently rubbed the ankle that gave Achilles so much grief when he played and looked up at his boyfriend's face.
Achilles' head was tilted back, eyes closed. He propped himself up against the counter with his hands. His chest rose and fell with his breathing, deep and even. He felt Patroclus dig his fingers underneath the triple-layer of shorts, spandex, and underwear at his hips and pull it all down. He stepped out of them and heard them crumple in a pile in the corner. No longer confined, his cock stood out from his body, but Patroclus ignored it. For now.
When he opened his eyes Patroclus was standing in front of him, tossing his black t-shirt into the pile and starting on his jeans. On a whim Achilles reached out to run a hand down Patroclus’ chest. His skin was almost hairless, soft under Achilles' fingers. Patroclus’ own hand came up to rest gently over his own, held together over his heart.
With a quick kiss to Patroclus’ cheek, Achilles climbed into the bathtub, almost letting out an audible moan as the warm water hit him. He let the heat work its way into his muscles as Patroclus divested himself of his jeans. Steadying himself on Achilles' shoulder, Patroclus lowered himself into the tub behind Achilles so he sat with one leg on each side of Achilles.
"Good?" he asked, submerging a tall plastic cup in the water and pouring it down Achilles' back.
Achilles could only mumble something unintelligible in response, leaning back into Patroclus’ touch. He was more than a little gratified to feel Patroclus’ own erection against his ass, but he didn't seem to be in any rush to take care of it.
On the contrary, Patroclus was diligently dousing Achilles with water and scrubbing at the dirt marring his body with a soapy cloth. Achilles closed his eyes, hypnotized by the rhythm.
He was meticulous, cleansing Achilles' back and arms, then carefully getting out of the tub to reseat himself between Achilles' legs. He continued washing as Achilles watched him with fondness, every so often reaching out to run his fingers through Patroclus’ hair. Patroclus pulled each of Achilles' feet into his lap in turn, washing and then rubbing them.
Returning to his spot curled behind Achilles, Patroclus carefully placed a hand over Achilles' eyes as he emptied the cup full of water over his hair.
"I love watching you play," Patroclus said, almost to himself, as he worked shampoo into a lather in Achilles' water-darkened curls. "You're so intense, so focused, every single second. You never fumble, never fail. That look you get, when you're so into the game you can barely hear, that's the same look you give me when I'm all tied up for you."
Drowsy as he may have been, Achilles couldn't deny the interested jerk his cock gave at that. "Mmm? That so, babe?" he managed.
Patroclus hummed his agreement, pouring conditioner into his palm. He didn't say anything more for a while, just continued to scratch at Achilles' scalp. Covering his eyes once more, Patroclus set about washing the shampoo out of his hair, the water surrounding them now frosted in a layer of soapy film and thick bubbles.
He made sure to remove his hand from Achilles' eyes before kissing his neck, pressing his chest against Achilles' back.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, reaching around to take Achilles' cock in hand, giving it a leisurely stroke. He pushed at Achilles' other hand when it reached between them in an attempt to grasp at Patroclus’ cock. "Not tonight, love. I'm taking care of you tonight. Let me take care of you, Achilles."
"But what about you?" Achilles at least had the thought to ask, already losing himself in Patroclus’ touch. He felt a toothy grin against his neck, and a slight bump of knuckles against his lower back.
"I'm quite good at taking care of myself as well," Patroclus said, the breathy tone to his voice indicating to Achilles he'd started touching himself. "But tonight is all about you, my darling. I'm gonna make you come, then I'm gonna take you to bed, give you a massage until you fall asleep. How's that sound, love?"
"Good," Achilles half-moaned as Patroclus’ thumb flicked over the head of his dick. His hand, which had previously found a place gripping Pat's thigh, tightened. "So good Pat, baby."
“You’re so good,” Patroclus said, hips jerking to thrust his cock into his fist.
His voice broke off into a moan, his cock grinding against Achilles’ ass. Achilles leaned back to give him some pressure, and was rewarded with teeth on his neck, sucking lightly. He nudged Patroclus’ head over so they could kiss over Achilles’ shoulder, soft and sweet yet somehow dizzying. Patroclus mumbled against Achilles’ lips between kisses.
“I can’t believe how good you are, can’t believe I get to come home every day and touch you like this.” He pumped his cock under the water, so the splashing wouldn’t disturb the gentle quiet of the bathroom they’d created, punctuated only by his voice and Achilles’ soft breaths.
Achilles just leaned back and let Patroclus overwhelm him. Patroclus filled his every thought, every sense, his every nerve was aching for Patroclus’ touch. He could feel his cock growing more impatient, precome dripping from the tip to run down Patroclus’ hand and into the water. But he felt the heat most in his chest, a soothing ache both ignited and calmed by Patroclus.
“Love you so much,” Patroclus was whispering in his ear, abandoning his own cock in favor of pressing entirely along Achilles, left hand stroking over his chest as his right stroked his cock. He murmured whatever came into his mind, a string of sweet things and endearments and finally his hips jerked against Achilles and he let out a soft oh as he came. As he shivered through his orgasm he made sure not to change the pace of his hand on Achilles’ cock, noting the shallow breaths and rhythmic tightening of the hand on his thigh.
“Come for me baby,” Patroclus said against the skin of Achilles’ shoulder. “That’s it, so good, come on now.”
Achilles’ head fell back on Patroclus’ shoulder, his eyes closed and lips parted as he focused on Patroclus’ hand wrapped around his cock. The heat in his chest swelled, grew higher and tighter until it crested, overflowing. His toes curled and he buried his face in Patroclus’ neck as he came, breathless.
Patroclus stroked Achilles’ hair as he shuddered and moaned his pleasure, giving his cock one last stroke before pulling back, knowing how sensitive he got after he came.
“That was so good Achilles, you’re so good,” Patroclus continued whispering, softer now. Achilles relaxed, content to recline in Patroclus’ lap and let the water wash over him. Patroclus just kept running his fingers through his hair, stroking his cheek and every so often pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”
Achilles looked up at the man so tenderly taking care of him, holding him so close. Those amber eyes, the spatter of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was perfect. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Achilles could easily spend the rest of his life with him. The image of Patroclus in a sharp black suit and tie, looking at him across the altar had a surge of adoration fill him. He reached up and pulled Patroclus back down for a longer, slower kiss.
“I love you too.”
There was always time for that later.