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It was late at night at Odysseus’s house. The leftover mess from the earlier house party was still scattered across the living room. Empty bottles, snack wrappers, and the remnants of a chaotic evening. Shadows clung to the walls, illuminated only by the bright flicker of the TV, which was playing some 2009 horror-comedy that Helen had insisted they watch.
Patroclus sprawled comfortably with his friends, laughter echoed, beer glasses clinked, and the crackling audio of the movie provided a haunting background.
They were in the middle of a tense card game that was nearing its end. More than half the group had already been eliminated, leaving Agamemnon and Diomedes to face off. Suddenly, Odysseus pushed himself to his feet dramatically.
“This is getting boring,” he announced with a mischievous grin. “Let’s do something else. I wanna show you guys something.”
“Hell no!” Diomedes shot back, eyes narrowing. “I’m about to win!”
“No, I am,” Agamemnon retorted, just as confident.
Odysseus waved them off and beckoned with a dramatic flourish. “Shush! Just watch this.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he darted out of the room.
A few minutes later, he returned, clutching a big, dusty, old book. One that looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades.
Everyone else groaned audibly.
“Oh, come on,” Odysseus said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t give me that. I found it at an antique store with Pen last week.” Penelope nodded in confirmation, a grin on her face.
Odysseus held up the practically ancient book with a smirk. “It’s got all these demon-y summoning spells. Think we should give it a try?”
The room went silent. Eyes flicked nervously between each other. Some amused, some hesitant.
Menelaus hesitated, voice trembling slightly. “Are you serious? That sounds like a terrible idea.”
Patroclus reached over and gave Menelaus a reassuring pat on the back. “Come on, it's 100% fake, what's the worst that could happen?”
Odysseus’s grin widened, sensing the tension. “Exactly! It’s all in good fun. Who’s brave enough to do a dare and summon a demon?”
There was a beat of silence, then Clytemnestra, who was lying back on the couch, didn’t look away from the TV as she said lazily, “Why don’t you do it then?”
Odysseus chuckled. “Oh, come on. Afraid you’ll lose your nerve?”
Clytemnestra finally looked over, smirking. “Scared? Please. I just don’t believe in that stuff.”
He turned to the others, eyes gleaming. “So? Who’s got the guts?”
Everyone else resumed their previous activities, pretending not to notice Odysseus standing there in the middle of the room, clutching his dusty old book. The atmosphere was still tense, Patroclus caught a faint look of anticipation in Odysseus’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the guy.
“Alright,” Patroclus said, voice calm but unwavering, “I’ll do it.”
Odysseus grinned and then flipped to a random page in the book and shoved it into Patroclus’s arms. The page was old and yellowed, with rough edges that appeared to be on the verge of crumbling if touched. In the middle, there was a detailed drawing of a heart made up of swirling lines and long, twisting tentacle drawings that seemed to move when you looked at them. The lines were delicate, yet they gave off an unsettling feeling, almost as if they were alive. Surrounding the picture was strange writing in a language Patroclus couldn't understand.
Odysseus pointed to the text, “You have to repeat these, I’m pretty sure.”
Helen paused the movie, causing a frustrated groan from Clytemnestra, and asked, “So is this like Bloody Mary or something? Are we gonna shove Patroclus in the bathroom and close the lights?”
“Well, I guess,” Odysseus shrugged.
-+-
Soon enough, Patroclus found himself in Odysseus’s bathroom, the only light coming from one of Penelope’s Bath and Body Works Japanese cherry blossom candle, an insistence from his friends to create a “ritualistic atmosphere.” The soft glow flickered across the mirror and tiles, casting gentle shadows.
He held the old book in front of him, reciting the words aloud, making sure his friends outside the door could hear. He repeated the chant twice more, just to be certain. Nothing obvious happened…no sudden gusts of wind, no ominous signs, no ten-foot demon standing behind him. But he was starting to feel the effects of all the beers he’d consumed. How many was it again? He made a mental note to himself to find a hangover cure, since he had work the next day.
“I think I’m done!” Patroclus announced, opening the door.
His friends’ curious faces greeted him. Menelaus leaned forward. “Do you feel weird?”
Patroclus hesitated, then shrugged. “Uhm… not really, I guess.”
“No demon? Aww, man… There goes Christmas,” Diomedes said sarcastically, crossing his arms.
“I want to go back to cards now,” Agamemnon announced.
Odysseus took the book from him and flipped to a page with a drawing of a sleeping man and a towering figure looming over him. “Well, I guess you’re supposed to go to sleep now. Something’s supposed to happen then.”
Patroclus glanced at the picture, smirking. “Oh good, I could use a nap.”
Odysseus led him to the guest bedroom, where Patroclus flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes.
“Night,” he said softly, settling in.
As his friends gently shut the door behind him, Patroclus thought it might be harder to fall asleep, but surprisingly, being active and staying up past midnight had its effects. He drifted off easily, the quiet darkness wrapping around him till he fell asleep.
Less than thirty minutes later, Patroclus was nudged awake. When he opened his eyes, he saw Clytemnestra gently poking him.
“Any weird dreams?” she asked softly.
Patroclus blinked, trying to wake himself fully. “Huh? No… but I’ve got a killer headache,” he muttered.
“He's hungover,” Agamemnon said bluntly, then turned to Odysseus with a sigh. “Your book’s a bust,” he declared.
Odysseus shrugged with a half-smile. “Well, at least we tried. Thanks for being my test subject, though.”
Patroclus managed a small smile. “Anytime. I think I’m gonna call it a night, though.”
Penelope stepped closer and gave him a gentle hug. “Get home safe, okay?” she said softly. Patroclus thought it was sort of ironic; he’d just supposedly summoned a demon just now, after all. Still, he hugged her back and promised to get home safely.
-+-
When Patroclus finally reached home, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He barely had the energy to peel off his clothes and wipe off the black eye makeup around his eyes and take out the piercings in his ears, forcing himself into a pair of soft sweatpants and a worn T-shirt. He shuffled to the bathroom, brushed his teeth quickly, and then collapsed onto his bed. Almost immediately, his eyelids fluttered shut, and he was out like a light, practically passing out on the spot from sheer fatigue.
Usually, Patroclus didn't dream. One moment he’d be asleep, and the next his alarm would blare for his shift, and all he could remember was a thick darkness in between. It was like slipping into a void.
He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming now. He was clearly in his room, the lights turned off just as he’d left them when he got into bed. But something was wrong. His body felt heavy, and no matter how much he willed it, he couldn’t move. His chest felt tight, and a strange, suffocating sensation crept over him, like hands were pressing down on his chest. His headache from earlier grew more intense until the only thing he heard was a loud ringing.
Patroclus knew his hands were lifted above his head, restrained against the headboard by something cold and gleaming. He couldn't turn his head to see what it was, and it remained just outside his line of sight. But he knew it was slick and slimy. It suddenly slithered down his arms, and as it reached his elbows, he realized they were tentacles. Gleaming, sickly green, and undulating with a disturbing life of their own. Despite his struggles, he couldn't break free from their grasp.
Then, out of the shadows, a figure emerged, dark and imposing yet disturbingly elegant. Its form was shadowy and indistinct, but unmistakably demonic. Long, sleek horns curled from its forehead, glinting faintly in the dim light. A pointed tail flicked lazily behind it, and in one hand, it wielded a cruel, shimmering whip. Its body was lithe and alluring, with a striking, almost hypnotic figure that contrasted sharply with the threatening aura it exuded. Despite its beauty, there was something fundamentally terrifying about its presence that sent a shiver down his spine.
The figure snapped the whip with a loud crack, stepping closer. Patroclus’s eyes widened as he took in the full sight of it. Despite the darkness, he could see that the figure possessed an astonishing, almost divine beauty. An angelic face with delicate, symmetrical features, framed by soft, flowing blonde hair that shimmered faintly in the dark. Its eyes, though partially concealed beneath a shadowed brow, seemed to glow greenish-blue with an unnatural light, both alluring and menacing. The figure’s body was tall and gracefully curved, with wide hips and plush thighs. Yet there was an unsettling perfection to its form, too flawless and too calculated.
Strangely, there was something vaguely reminiscent about its appearance, like the faces of pop stars, actors, and celebrities he had found attractive when he was a teenager and plastered posters of across the walls in his teen room.
The figure advanced toward him, each step graceful. Patroclus's anxiety grew, not just from fear, but from nervousness about the unsettling beauty of the creature. It placed the whip gently on the bedside table and leaned in closer.
“I should probably let you go now, shouldn’t I?” it whispered, its voice soft and melodic, impossibly beautiful. Patroclus desperately wanted to nod, but he still couldn’t move. The tentacles that held his hands in place began to slither away, their grip loosening just enough. With a surge of relief, he finally felt the freedom to move again.
Without warning, the creature crawled into his lap, its thick thighs straddling him insistently, arms curled around his neck, while its soft breasts pressed against his chest. Patroclus’s breath hitched, and a dizzying lightheadedness washed over him, though he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or his blood instantly rushing somewhere lower.
“You’re handsome,” it giggled softly, its fingers tracing a gentle path along his bicep while slowly grinding its hips against him. The closeness was almost overwhelming, and as he gazed at it, he caught sight of the dull pink tattoo beneath its belly button. A delicate, swirling heart made up of intricate, sharp lines similar to the picture in the old book.
“What are you?” Patroclus managed to whisper, his voice trembling.
But the creature didn’t answer. Instead, it leaned in, its soft, plump lips brushing against his own in a kiss that felt like an electric spark.
The kiss was deep, slow, and intoxicating. The sensation was overwhelming; the tantalizing taste of the inside of its mouth was addictively warm, inviting, and as delicious as nectar, probably the best thing Patroclus had ever tasted. His senses blurred, every nerve alive with a mixture of longing and disorientation.
Patroclus's hands made their way to the creature's upper thigh. He could feel just how comfortingly warm it was; he had a thought that lying down on its pillowy thighs would be heaven.
Their kiss seemed to stretch on forever, a heady blend of tenderness and desire that left him physically dizzy even after the creature moved away, making Patroclus instantly miss the taste, and leaving a thread of saliva connecting their lips.
“Do you have a name?” Patroclus blurted out, feeling it was rude to share such an intimate moment with someone without even knowing their name.
“I do,” The creature said while backing up off Patroclus’s lap. He had a fleeting thought about missing the pressure on his now embarrassingly throbbing dick. “It's Achilles.”
“That's a nice name,” Patroclus found himself saying, and meaning it; the name enchanted him somehow, such a name would surely stick with him. Achilles smiled at the compliment while leaning down to Patroclus's crotch and hooking his finger around the waistband of his pants, pulling them down slowly.
“Are you a guy or a girl? Or something else?” Patroclus hurriedly rushed out his next question, though Achilles now seemed hyperfocused, pupils dilated, on the cockhead that was now poking out from his pants.
Achilles quickly pulled the waistband down further, fully exposing himself now. He could feel the cold air and Achilles’s gaze on his already hard cock, leaking, large, and rock solid. Achilles let out an excited giggle and bit his lip at the sight.
“Whatever you want me to be,” Achilles said. He leaned his head down so he was now face to face with Patroclus’s dick, his back arched and his rotund ass in the air.
“You can still fuck my ass if you want to, though,” Achilles said, smiling. Gently touching his dick with a finger before leaning it back and watching it catapult forward. Achilles giggled once again at this. Patroclus felt somehow shy at Achilles’s amusement and crude language; he was sure he was blushing.
Achilles’s dainty hand was now wrapped around his dick; his hand didn't even fit around its whole girth, which seemed to amuse Achilles further; his smile grew wider, and he moved slowly up and down in a gentle rhythmic motion. When Achilles quickened his pace, Patroclus’s eyes rolled back, and a wave of extreme bliss washed over him, dulling his mind completely.
Patroclus felt a familiar tension building within him and let out a loud groan. He wasn't usually loud in bed, but he couldn't help the sound.
"I'm... gonna- mgh,” he managed to let out.
Achilles paid no mind to his warning, instead going faster, pushing Patroclus closer and closer to the teetering brink of release. The tension mounted with every movement, every breath, until Patroclus felt himself reaching the very edge. But just as he was about to burst, Achilles suddenly let go, and all of Patroclus’s orgasm slipped away.
Patroclus couldn't even protest or even catch his breath before he felt Achilles' warm pink tongue give a kitten lick to his tip. It seemed longer than a usual person's, tapering thinner at the end. Achilles’s tail, thin and ending in a perfect upside-down Valentine's heart, lazily moved from left to right in a graceful motion while Achilles gave passionate, sloppy kisses from the head to the base, one of his hands busying itself by softly petting the side of his dick as one would a puppy.
He then gave one final long lick before taking him whole. Never in Patroclus’s life had he seen anyone be able to take him just like that. It's not like he's slept with a lot of people, but even he knew that was no common feat.
Achilles let out a faint, choking gasp, his back arching further as his head bobbed rhythmically, loud moans escaping his lips. His throat vibrated around Patroclus’s dick, with every sweet sound adding to the overwhelming sensation. Patroclus couldn't imagine being anywhere else; nothing ever could surpass this moment of pure bliss. What more could a man want than this?
Patroclus grasped a handful of Achilles’s hair, avoiding his horns, and began guiding his head deeper and faster. He now fully filled Achilles’s throat, which tightened and constricted around him like it was made to withstand such intensity.
“Fuck,” Patroclus moaned loudly, his voice trembling with embarrassment as he roughly pressed Achilles’s head down until it reached the hilt again and again. All he wanted was release. Pure, sweet, overwhelming release. He yearned to selfishly spill into that tight throat and not care about how rough or desperate he was being.
“Let me -nghh– let me cum this time, please, please,” Patroclus begged, his pleading eyes locked onto Achilles’s hypnotic gaze, searching for any sign of approval. Achilles responded without hesitation, increasing his pace until he sank fully to the base of Patroclus’s cock a final time, and Patroclus at long last released down Achilles’s warm throat.
Achilles let out a satisfied moan, licking the spilled cum from his lips to savor every drop. His skin shimmered softly, and his hair shone luminously. Achilles had been pretty before, but he was undeniably breathtaking now. What shocked Patroclus most, however, was the glow of Achilles’s tattoo that was now pulsing with a faint, luminous pink light.
"Mmm," Achilles hummed softly, his eyes glinting with hunger as he gazed at Patroclus. "You taste so good."
Achilles’s pretty hand inched beneath Patroclus’s shirt, seeking skin. Recognizing what he wanted, Patroclus quickly shed his shirt, allowing Achilles’s fingers to explore. Achilles traced his hand up and down along Patroclus’s abs and biceps.
"Let me please you now," Patroclus offered, a mixture of gratitude and desire in his voice. He felt he owed Achilles after such an experience. In fact, he felt a little bad for not attending to Achilles first.
Achilles let out a tittering laugh, a warm glow lighting up his face as his hand gently covered his gleaming smile. The way his lips curved, effortlessly charming and radiant, made it impossible not to be drawn in. “How sweet,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m starting to like you.”
Achilles gently placed a hand on Patroclus’s bare chest, pushing him down until he was lying fully on the bed. He then slowly crawled over him. Patroclus had expected Achilles to sit on his lap again, but instead, Achilles continued to move forward, settling himself comfortably over Patroclus’s upper chest.
Patroclus admired the sight above him, “You're so beautiful-” He started to say, before Achilles shushed him.
“Shhh,” Achilles whispered, his voice gentle. “No more words,” he murmured, slipping off his panties and tossing them somewhere in the room. He then unhooked his top, and soft, pale milky breasts sprang out, rosy nipples at each of their centers. Patroclus was fully captivated by the sight and reached to touch them; his hand moved forward and grasped one of them, massaging it and thumbing the nipple.
Achilles let out a gasping moan, his gaze drifting to Patroclus’s hand squeezing his breast. Patroclus couldn’t get over the gentle squishiness of Achilles’s chest, so warm and inviting, just like his thighs. Lying against his tits as well sounded also incredibly comforting, Patroclus thought.
His hand glided down Achilles’s smooth, toned torso, settling between his thighs, where he felt a slick wetness and silky, soaked folds, and moved his fingers back and forth.
“Oh,” Achilles moaned loudly, his hands now clutching his own chest, squeezing himself. Patroclus kept rubbing that spot, feeling how clearly it was bringing Achilles pleasure. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing; he’d never been with someone who had a body like Achilles’s, but he knew that he wanted to make Achilles feel good. He liked watching Achilles’s nipples harden up with his pleasure and seeing the blissful expression on his face.
Patroclus carefully pulled his fingers away, examining the sticky residue glistening on his skin. When he spread his fingers, delicate strings of Achilles’s wetness stretched between them. Hesitating for just a moment, he brought his fingers to his mouth, and the taste was utterly intoxicating. Sweet, rich, and impossibly delicious. It was the most addictive flavor he’d ever known, and he found himself craving more…more on his tongue, more on his lips, just more. Quickly, he licked his fingers clean, savoring every lingering note of the sensation.
Achilles shifted up, positioning himself just above Patroclus’s face, as if he could read the unspoken wish in his eyes. Without hesitation, Patroclus eagerly grasped Achilles’s hips and pushed them downward, practically crushing his own face in the process. It was probably the fastest he'd ever moved in his life.
Patroclus reached out instinctively, gripping the plump, soft flesh of Achilles’s thighs with both hands, his fingers squeezing harshly. He marveled at the warmth and strength beneath his touch, feeling the smoothness of his skin. He pressed his lips to the sticky sweetness nestled between, tasting the lingering flavor with his tongue. With every wet kiss and deep mouthing, he became more captivated by the sensation, eager to explore and savor every bit of it.
His tongue slipped down from Achilles’s folds and found his hole, tongue plunging deeper and deeper with relentless hunger. He reveled in the taste that drove him forward. He felt Achilles shift his hips in response, bumping and rubbing into his nose at times, loud moans escaping both of them. Patroclus’s hands moved instinctively to Achilles’s doughy ass, trembling and recoiling from his tongue riding. He felt up the jiggling softness and squeezed at it.
Achilles gripped a fistful of Patroclus’s hair, forcing him even deeper into the sweetness; he couldn’t get enough. Patroclus devoured it with frantic, starving fervor like Tantalus finally tasting the forbidden fruit after endless longing. He was consumed by an insatiable need, unable to stop, craving more with every breath and taste.
Patroclus barely registered that he was gradually running out of air. Between his relentless need to keep going and Achilles’s thighs squeezing around his head with enough force to make it feel like it might burst, he hadn’t given it much thought until now… but as he thought about it, he realized that suffocating between those thick, powerful thighs didn’t seem so terrible after all.
Patroclus caught onto Achilles’s rising pleasure and sped up his pace. He could hear Achilles lewd high-pitched sounds of approval, and it made him feel dizzy and almost high, sending shockwaves to his dick, making him instantly hard again like magic.
Before he could dwell on it further, Achilles’s riding grew more intense and rough, moans escalating into louder, more urgent cries.
“Ah!” Achilles panted softly, each breath sharper, as he bounced and grinded into Patroclus’s face with increasing force. “Ohhh,” he gasped, voice trembling with pleasure.
Achilles let out a loud cry, and a gush of clear liquid shot directly onto Patroclus’s face, catching him off guard with a surprised grunt. He quickly realized the taste was just as sweet as Achilles’s own wetness, and he suddenly didn't mind the slight drowning sensation; he eagerly lapped up the nectar.
Achilles whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the continued sensation of Patroclus’s mouthing, his body trembling and abdomen seizing as pleasure overtook him. His legs quivered around Patroclus’s head as he rode out his orgasm on Patroclus’s face.
When Achilles pulled away, he was panting, his inner thighs now sheen with wetness. Patroclus now realized his face and hair were absolutely drenched.
“Such a tongue, master,” Achilles said between catching his breath.
“What?” Patroclus said a bit too late, but Achilles was too busy now, making his way onto Patroclus’s lap, observing his erection. Patroclus’s cock now nestled in between his thighs, the head poking out between them.
“You’re so big, I hope you’ll fit,” Achilles murmured, his voice tender as if almost in a trance. “It’s okay if you don’t. I’ve been so excited to have you inside me. It’ll be okay.”
He lowered himself onto Patroclus, but despite the earlier foreplay, he didn’t fit easily into Achilles the first try; the ache and resistance were evident in Achilles’s face. For a fleeting moment, Achilles’s expression darkened; his features shifted from the usual angelic beauty to a flicker of ugly frustration and discomfort.
Then, just as quickly, Achilles’s face softened into pleasure as Patroclus’s tip was finally swallowed into his velvety heat. Patroclus threw his head back, moaning softly as Achilles fought to inch the rest of himself inside. It was a slow, deliberate stretch, a long drag that tested them both, until finally, Achilles’s lithe body took Patroclus whole.
A sigh of relief and contentment escaped Achilles’s lips. “Perfect,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
Without hesitation, Achilles moved again, his body shifting with purpose. Patroclus grasped Achilles’s wide hips for support, steadying himself as Achilles gradually went all the way up, leaving just the tip inside. Then, he slammed down, eliciting a sharp “Augh—!” from Patroclus.
But Achilles didn’t pause. Instead, he maintained a steady, rhythmic motion, each movement deliberate and controlled, riding him in a seamless, unbroken rhythm.
Achilles moaned with each bounce, the bed creaking beneath them as the sounds of skin slapping and breathless sounds filled the air, mingling with the scent of their passion. Patroclus thrust upward to meet each movement, his hands gripping Achilles’s supple waist before sliding up to his blushing breasts, which Patroclus gave a firm, possessive squeeze.
“Ah! Master!” Achilles gasped, his voice trembling with desire, a wanton moan slipping past his lips, his eyes crossing as the bump Patroclus’s dick imprinted on his stomach flickered in and out with each powerful thrust.
Patroclus leaned in, capturing Achilles’s lips in a hungry kiss, his hands tightening on Achilles’s waist to still him briefly, before pounding into him with renewed fervor, desperate to claim what he desired.
“Yes,” Achilles groaned, stretching out the word with a shuddering breath. “Just like that… you’re doing so good.” Patroclus savored the praise, the encouragement fueling him further, pushing him into a faster, rougher rhythm.
“M’gonna fuck you so hard,” Patroclus choked out, his voice thick with desire.
“Yes,” Achilles nodded, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Good boy.”
Hearing those words broke something inside Patroclus. Fueled by a surge of primal need, he drove into Achilles with relentless intensity. He could faintly sense Achilles had already climaxed, but he showed no mercy, pushing himself until he reached his own breaking point, spilling inside as he rode out the storm of pleasure.
Patroclus panted softly, struggling to draw air back into his lungs. Beads of sweat clung to his skin, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. His mind drifted to the idea of slipping beneath the covers with Achilles, holding him close until he drifted off to sleep. Yeah, he thought, that sounded perfect.
Patroclus’s eyes were suddenly drawn to a vivid pink glow emanating from Achilles’s tattoo; his beauty intensified once more, even more than last time. Now, his radiance became even more divine, transcending even mortal perfection in a blinding way.
Achilles leaned back till he lay on the bed, still with Patroclus’s dick stuffed inside him. Patroclus felt a twinge of sadness at not seeing his pretty face, so he leaned forward, their eyes locking.
“Hi,” Patroclus blurted out.
“Hi,” Achilles replied, his voice seductive and teasing. He cupped Patroclus’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him deeply, a muffled “mmmmwhah!” escaping his lips. He then pressed a gentle kiss to Patroclus’s cheek and then peppered the rest of his face and neck, leaving faint lipstick marks.
“Can we do just one more round? Please?” Achilles begged, pouting slightly as his hands caressed Patroclus’s face tenderly. The position of his arms caused his breasts to smoosh against each other, and Patroclus couldn’t help but be captivated by the sight.
“Yes,” he responded quickly, almost instinctively, without looking away at them.
Achilles’s smile widened as he pulled Patroclus into a warm embrace, sealing the moment with another tender kiss. “I knew you’d agree!” he chirped happily. Then, something strange happened, his spent cock re-hardened inside Achilles seemingly on its own.
Patroclus looked at him with wild, confused eyes, but Achilles only giggled in response before wiggling his hips, signaling Patroclus to start moving within him; Achilles’s high, breathy moans encouraged him to keep going, each sound an affirmation.
Achilles hiked his legs up till he was holding them at his sides by the inner knee; his body moved every time Patroclus slammed forward, tits moving in circular movements as cock went in and out of him. Achilles’s sticky strings of wetness and Patroclus's escaped seed connected their bodies, his hole and Patroclus’s dick slapping together with wet sounds.
“Nghh, master… so big,” Achilles muttered, eyelids fluttering over his crossed eyes.
One of Patroclus’s hands made its way to rest over Achilles’s throat, squeezing it. Achilles left out a cross between a moan and a laugh in response. Then, Patroclus harshly flipped Achilles over so his stomach was on the bed.
Achilles quickly arched his back, presenting himself to him, and Patroclus continued his rhythm. He watched Achilles’s ass ripple with each thrust and gave it a hearty squeeze, then a slap.
Patroclus’s hands rested on Achilles’s shoulder for support, but as he gazed at the sleek curve of Achilles’s horns, they now seemed tempting to grasp. He imagined holding onto them, feeling their smoothness beneath his fingers, and envisioning drilling into Achilles’s tight hole while holding onto them. Driven by this impulse, he reached out, eager to grasp them.
Achilles let out a sharp, high-pitched yelp.
"Ah! D-don't... mmph..." he muffled, then let out a reluctant moan as Patroclus's fingers gripped his horns. Patroclus thumbed over the sensitive points, causing Achilles to emit soft whimpers and tilt his head back in response. Ensuring his hold was firm, Patroclus pressed on with a steady, assertive rhythm.
The horns seemed to be incredibly sensitive. Delicate yet nerve-rich, even the faintest brush sent shivers cascading down Achilles’s spine. Every sensation was amplified, leaving him feeling more exposed and vulnerable to the teasing contact. Achilles’s whimpers grew louder, turning into screaming moans, his body arching even further instinctively as Patroclus tugged firmly on his horns, pulling his head back.
Patroclus felt a tight pressure constricting around him within seconds and quickly withdrew. As he did, a splash of liquid spilled from Achilles, who shuddered and let out a long, trembling moan before his arms gave way, and he collapsed onto the bed before Patroclus slipped back in. It wasn't long before Patroclus reached his own climax again, spilling inside him once more, then pulled out and covered his dick with the waistband of his sweatpants before flopping on the bed.
“Don’t touch those again!” Achilles panted, turning to face Patroclus. He was now glowing, literally, casting a soft golden light that illuminated Patroclus’s room. His pink tattoo shimmered with a bright, fluorescent pink, and his striking beauty was almost overwhelming, burning into Patroclus’s eyes. He quickly closed his eyes and rubbed them, trying to ease the irritation.
"Oh! Oops," Achilles said softly, as the radiant glow around him dimmed, though his divine beauty remained. Only the horns broke the serenity of his angelic image.
"Sorry," Patroclus murmured sleepily, reaching out to gently tuck a golden curl behind Achilles’s ear.
"You're so pretty..." Patroclus whispered, still staring at Achilles. His voice was tender, and he could feel his own growing fatigue, feeling strangely hypnotic, almost nauseous, gazing at Achilles’s face.
Achilles lay down beside him now, gently smoothing Patroclus's dark hair and caressing the side of his face. They shared a tender kiss, and Patroclus nestled closer, resting his head on Achilles’s soft, pillow-like chest, his hand resting comfortingly on Achilles’s behind.
"You did such a good job making me feel good," Achilles whispered, his fingers threading through Patroclus’s hair.
Patroclus hummed in response, too exhausted to speak, feeling himself drift into a deep, peaceful sleep as Achilles massaged his scalp and whispered soothing words.
-+-
Patroclus shot upright in bed, the blaring, obnoxious noise of his alarm screaming in his ear. His body ached as it did after a grueling gym workout, and he felt exhaustedly tired as if he had not slept at all. He had woken up cuddling his pillow, and he was rock hard. Instantly, the remnants of last night's dream flooded back into his mind. Wonderful, he thought dryly, a wet dream.
He quickly silenced the alarm and checked the time. If he hurried, he wouldn't be late for work. He’d have to deal with the aftermath of his nighttime excitement later as he made his way to the bathroom and flicked on the light.
His stomach dropped as he stared at his reflection. He recognized his usual bed head, crumpled clothes, and dried drool around his mouth. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. Lipstick marks adorned his face, and his lips were smudged with the same hue.
He really didn’t want to dwell on what that meant.