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“Let us finish what we started.”
I met no resistance when Achilles lifted his arms to let me take off his tunic, and he was all too eager to return the favor and take off mine. We rolled around on our bed and I had to blame the wine from the banquet for our clumsiness. We laughed like we were forever young, skin sliding against skin, knowing we’d never grow old enough to feel it wrinkled.
“They will wonder why we left,” he said with a huff; I had placed my palm on his chest and shoved him back onto the bed when we were finally naked.
“If you cared, you would not have followed me,” I said as I palmed him, too riled up from how he aroused me back at the banquet.
Achilles sighed and ran his fingers down my arms and thighs. I sat astride him, and he was not abashed in the way he drank me in the way I moved above him, his eyes hot against my skin. “You’re right. I do not care,” he whispered.
I leaned down to kiss him softly, and then pulled back and smiled, my hand gentle against his now hardened length. “Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere.”
He replied with a grin and a roll of the hips. I laughed and indulged him by meeting him with mine with more force. I leaned down to kiss him again, and we stayed there for minutes, my hand between our hips, getting sweaty in how we desperately moved against each other.
A few minutes of our indulgence passed when a raucous applause came from outside, making both of us jump and look towards the entrance of the tent, suddenly worried that something had happened. We heard the roar of a man next, and relaxed once we realized it was just a drunkard chasing someone else.
“The soldiers play as if they were children,” Achilles said with a laugh underneath me. He moved his hips and brought a hand down to stroke me so as to bring my attention back from over my shoulder back to him. It worked; I swiftly turned my torso towards him to moan and drop my body against Achilles’.
I sagged against him, and he panted in my ear, “they cannot hear us.”
I pulled back to look at him, trepidation slowly ebbing away in his tight grasps on me, one on my hip and another on my length. I was lost in the way he licked his lips, wine stained and puffy and red from my kisses. I wanted sound from him, I wanted noise that no one else may here. A sound that could only be his and mine.
Achilles gasped when I suddenly inserted two fingers into his mouth with one warning coming from my lips: “suck.” His grasp dragged my body down closer so I could pant in the crook of his neck, his fingers now digging into my back so painfully I cried out and bit at his neck. He laughed at the pain as he continued to suck on my fingers.
I pulled my fingers out and dragged them down his chest between our torsos, making sure to feel how his heart sped and the graze of his body hair against my cool and wet fingers. I lowered my fingers until they teased his entrance, and Achilles groaned when I only inserted one. He pushed back eagerly, looking above his head with wild eyes as I looked down between us, unbelievably aroused at the sight of our meeting phalli and the way his behind received my fingers. My confidence seemed to soar in the height of our love making.
“Do not be shy, Achilles. I know how loud you can be,” I whispered into his ear, adding another finger.
“Oh,” he moaned, and then laughed, biting his lip. “Oh, how wine makes you brave, Patroclus.”
He moved on my fingers and I reciprocated just as eagerly, my length sliding against his as I draped myself over him. I wished I had more hands, feel the tightness in his shoulders, hold his head as I kissed him, pull his hair until he yelled louder, but I couldn’t resist the pull to his member. I wrapped the hand that wasn't already inside him around it, excited beyond words.
He moaned, “Patroclus,” as I began to stroke. He beckoned my name, and I met him halfway, kissing him, his moans echoing in the chamber of our mouths, and it was all I wanted.
I wanted that chamber to be where those sounds lived forever.
We both stroked each other, and I am sure we forgot where we were. We were younger once more, and the ruckus from the outside was replaced by the songs of crickets, the passing of the nearby river. We were in our cave once more, and most importantly, we were in each other’s arms.
He came with a cry, louder than any I had ever heard, and I smiled against his lips. I was happy we could be so uninhibited, and I thanked the gods for our banquets as I joined him in climax, yelling out until I was wrung dry. I dropped beside him on our bed, Achilles on his back, me on my stomach.
He panted, staring at the ceiling of our tent, grinning like he could see shooting stars from where he lay. I smiled at his bliss, lost in the brightness of his grin and the ways his pants subsided to slow sighs.
“A warrior in the field and in the bedroom.” I laughed and buried my head in the sheets of our bed, feeling embarrassed that I had said such a silly thing. I was drowsy again, but I would not sleep yet.
“Patroclus, you must not drink so much during these celebrations.” I peeked one eye out and saw his eyelids crinkled at the corners, showing amusement.
We grinned at each other and leaned in to have another round.