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No one suspected the fact that, even though there were individual tents for each soldier, Patroclus preferred to sleep in the company of Achilles. They were very close, friends for many years, and perhaps that was enough to justify his behavior. Or they just pretended not to notice the commotion in Achilles' tent, which was accompanied by the sighs and moans that arose in the early morning. Or how Patroclus always left Achilles' tent covered in bruises in the morning.
It was a hot summer night, cooled by the breeze that made the sparse vegetation rustle. Achilles and Patroclus gathered to sleep in their shared tent. Sipping water from a kylix, Patroclus stood while the son of Peleus waited patiently. They would have drunk wine, but it was running out at the moment, and the cold water, although it did not give him an injection of warmth and energy like alcohol, quenched his thirst.
When the last drop disappeared from Patroclus's mouth, Achilles removed his heavy helmet, setting it aside, while the cup was forgotten, left to rest on a table. Patroclus imitated the movements of the golden-haired soldier, and for a few seconds, there was only the clinking of the metal being removed. The son of Peleus began with his arms, then the heavy bronze breastplate, before finally removing his crimson tunic. Patroclus, having simpler armor, was moving faster.
Without haste, Achilles's eyes scanned Patroclus's body as he removed the greaves of his bronze armor, his pupils savoring every curve, the sway of his limbs, the programmed way his fingers moved. When at last, Patroclus stood naked before him, Achilles admired him as if for the first time, as if the Menoetiades were a living work of art. Dark hair falling in curls, skin with a natural tan, gray eyes contrasting with his own blue ones. A dark beard covering his chin, broad chest, a trail of hair stretching from his belly to his groin, the muscles of his thick, firm legs, his full thighs, his plump, pert buttocks. A body so beautiful to him, as if it had been sculpted in minute detail by Aphrodite herself. Patroclus was mortal, an exile, an insignificant and unimportant man to others. Even though he was a skilled warrior — he had killed even more men than Achilles — and a great healer, Achilles outshone him with his light.
Even so, Achilles could not remember ever having met a man of superior beauty, or even similar to the one standing before him. Not wanting to wait any longer, Achilles threw away his greaves, the only part left to remove
The metal emitted a dull, slightly sharp sound as it collided with the floor. He sat on the bed with his legs spread, and Patroclus immediately sat on his lap. Achilles let out a murmur of pleasure as he felt Patroclus's member briefly touch his with the movement. The son of Peleus took his lips, savoring them slowly, while embracing him from behind with one arm. Patroclus kissed him as if he wanted to unite their lips into one. He pressed them, sucked them avidly, entwined his tongue with his, feeling the warm vapor of his breath. When they had to pause the kiss to catch their breath, Patroclus inquired:
"Why do you insist on staying with me, if you already have Briseis? If you are married to Deidamia? Can't you plunder countless cities and have all the sex slaves you wants?"
Achilles frowned, not understanding his beloved's question, nor why he seemed so distressed, yielding to justifications. After so much time and everything they had done, he still doubted the veracity of his love? Was it jealousy? Or was this some kind of test?
"Briseis could never satisfy me the way you do," the hero assured him. "I claimed her because if I didn't, Agamemnon would. I was protecting her from him by taking her as spoils. I don't want her near that disgusting man, who was capable of sacrificing his own daughter, Iphigenia, blood of his own blood. Agamemnon dominates everyone, and he wouldn't accept no for an answer. I don't want Briseis violated by such a vile man. And I only married Deidamia because of my mother's influence and insistence, when she told me that it will be my son who will make Troy burn. I don't deny finding you beautiful, but what I felt sleeping with Deidamia was far inferior to what I feel for you.
"If that's true, then love me more," demanded Patroclus, tracing the line of Achilles' jawline before caressing the beard on his chin. "Make me a man, Achilles. Possess me. Claim me as your rightful territory. Claim me as your spoils of war".
Achilles smiled.
"With pleasure. Tonight I will lie upon you, my warrior. This night is to fill the voids of body and soul, my beloved. My hetairos…"
"We are much more than that."
Achilles didn't answered with words, only kissed him once more, his hands burying themselves in the dark strands of Patroclus's hair. In a few seconds, his focus shifted, his target being the exposed neck of the Menoetides, who closed his eyes in simple and sublime delight.
"Hmm... Patroclus..." murmured Achilles, feeling that he could never tire of the sweetness of that skin, the softness of his lips. Achilles's body formed a perfect arch as he bent towards the other warrior to kiss him, rising above him in an almost protective gesture.
"Even if I don't live to see the gates of Troy open, I will ensure that you live until then." His hand landed in the middle of his lover's chest, right over his heart. "You will not die, Patroclus. I will kill any soldier who dares to come within 3 meters of you. Anyone who wounds you will be impaled on a spear and then thrown to the dogs. I will not allow you to die, nor will I have to wash myself in blood or cause a hecatomb for all the gods of Olympus to beg for help."
With this final declaration and with both burning with desire, Achilles took a flask of palm oil, which he had carefully saved for this moment. And since there was oil, they would use it. The demigod poured the liquid into his hands, which slowly slid down the curve of Patroclus's shoulder, then massaged his biceps, his fingers descending shortly after to trace each prominent vein on his forearm.
His hands enveloped his neck, and when it was already smeared there, Achilles couldn't help but kiss and lick his nape in a slow, seductive gesture.
"You smell so good…" murmured Achilles, gently nibbling at Patroclus's neck. His hands decided to wander over his chest, his fingers pinching Patroclus's dark nipples. The demigod felt the taut muscles of his legs as he spread them and touched the inside of his thighs, then drew circles between his buttocks. One of his fingers slipped between them, poking and massaging.
Patroclus winced in pain before feeling the touch become pleasant and relaxing. Achilles rubbed and slowly expanded him. His hole tingled as he felt his finger sliding inside so efficiently, trying to bury itself as deep as possible. He could no longer contain his moans when he inserted two fingers, spilling incoherent murmurs.
"Achilles…" Patroclus whimpered, "I want to feel more than just your fingers…"
The son of Peleus still wanted to save himself for last, so that it would be grand. Therefore, he obeyed Patroclus's request, from whose lips escaped sweet moans. Achilles withdrew his fingers, sucking the oil that dripped from them, before getting out of bed. Standing, he turned Patroclus' body into a more comfortable position, leaving him lying on his stomach, unable to resist the urge to give his exposed buttocks a provocative squeeze before kneeling down.
His mouth entered between those soft buttocks, licking the red flower bud hidden there with the tip of his tongue, teasing the surrounding area. He began in circles, then applied gentle pressure, almost as if he wanted to enter. The hairs stood on end as he tried not to squirm and failed, moving his hips in the direction of what was giving him pleasure. Hot, wet, moving, going deeper… it was intoxicating.
"A-ah…! Achilles…" Patroclus gasped, closing his eyes.
Seeing that his lover's entrance was now wet and open enough, the Pelides turned his lover onto his back before positioning himself over the other warrior, holding Patroclus' wrists firmly on the bed. His gaze swept over the beautiful tanned body, fixing on the soldier's erect phallus. Seeing his beloved's cock contracting with pleasure, the son of Peleus placed a short kiss on the tip, which made Patroclus bite his lip, giving him a pleading and needy look.
Achilles poured some oil on his sensitive penis, almost groaning as he felt how the liquid made his hand slide gracefully along the shaft. Supporting one hand on the bed and the other on his member, he guided it until the tip touched the entrance of the ebony-haired man almost imperceptibly. Achilles rubbed his vigorous cock against Patroclus's cavity, just to tease him, before inserting the head, and then penetrating him to the hilt. The other man gripped his back tightly as he felt his cock slowly opening him, his nails almost digging into the skin.
"O-oh… Achilles…" ,moaned Patroclus, raising his head to the sky, ecstatic, feeling the heat and pressure of Achilles' member devouring him from within.
"Your moans are, to me, better music than any song Apollo could play on his divine lyre." the demigod whispered in Patroclus' ear.
"Kiss me more… please… begged Patroclus, his face flushed with excitement, driven only by desire "Go deeper… oh…"
"You're look like a drunk man, Patroclus." joked Achilles.
"You're right." agreed Patroclus "I'm drunk of eros."
And with that, Achilles kissed him as he thrust into him with quick strokes, sliding in and out, intertwining his hands with those of his brown-skinned lover. He paused for only a few seconds to provocatively lick one of his lover's thighs before placing his legs on his shoulders.
Every time Patroclus writhed and gasped on the sheets beneath him, like a helpless warrior attacked multiple times by the same sword, with no choice but to moan in response, the nimble-footed hero felt he had made the right choice in choosing him as his partner.
In the near silence of the night, their sweaty bodies slamming against each other and their moans were the only audible sounds.Sounds that were muffled and forgotten by two voices shouting at the same time so that they overlapped each other harmoniously, the mark of a finale, the grand finale, the end of a symphony:
"Ah, Achilles!"
"Oh, Patroclus!"
(...)
After a few minutes of rest, sprawled on the bed, Achilles' mouth sought Patroclus'. The fire of their desire had not yet been extinguished, and the contact of their lips rekindled the almost dead spark of excitement. Achilles pinched his nipples while nibbling at his neck. Patroclus' body was still slippery from being smeared with oil, causing them to gasp as the mere contact of their bodies together had left them both erect once more, thirsty to rub against each other and release their pleasure.
Patroclus closed his legs tightly, trapping Achilles' penis between them. Feeling the pressure of Patroclus' thighs around his cock, Achilles thrust against it, moving his hips as if he were penetrating him. At times, the dark-skinned warrior's penis touched Achilles' for brief seconds, making him whimper, thirsty for more contact.
Seeking more stimulation, Patroclus's hand moved down to grasp his and Achilles's cocks together, using the residual oil to lubricate them, causing them to groan harmoniously with the friction as they caressed each other from head to base, squeezing and pressing both glans simultaneously. They rubbed against each other in a rapid and constant rhythm, their penises already leaking pre-ejaculate as they stimulated each other before they came on top of each other, strands of their warm semen connecting, drops running down their bellies. Such was the moan that escaped Patroclus's sweet lips before he went limp under the sheets as he came for the second time that Achilles couldn't help but place a kiss on his forehead and say:
"I love you so much, philtatos."
(...)
Thus they spent the night, amidst caresses, touches, and libidinous cries, until Odysseus came to his tent the next day, asking him to send the Myrmidons to battle on Agamemnon's orders.
Finding the two men still lying naked, exchanging a morning kiss, under threat of receiving a spear in the heart, he kept the secret of what he had seen. When questioned by Agamemnon, the son of Laertes only said that Achilles was exausted and unable to fight.