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Hands, again- wandering hands on his chest as he lay on his back. They gently caress his sides, his shoulders, his hips. They move lower. They always move lower, he shudders. He feels them stop at his undergarments, playing with the edges. Pulling at them gently, but not pulling them off. This was cruel, even for her. Taking her sweet time was something she didn’t do often- it was easier for both of them to go rough and fast, tongues and teeth, painful stretches, gasps, and pleas. Decades of loneliness had made her an impatient lover.
She makes her way back up and her lips touch his own, gentle yet firm- chapped and paradoxically soft. Odysseus reacts on instinct. He sighs into her mouth openly, allowing her to push and pull him open.
I am disgusting. How horrible am I for allowing her to kiss me- kissing back. I am disgusting.
She is calling for him, he thinks. The soft murmur of his name, loving. He yearned to hear it again- not from her, never from that monster, just his name. Said with an amount of gentleness, said like he wasn’t a monster.
How gone am I.. to enjoy the way she calls for me.
He feels a laugh bubble in his throat, a bitter, angry thing. Another one follows, then another, and another. Tears chase the giggles that leave his lips. He curls in on himself. She allows it. He grabs his own hair and cries and cries, and for once, she leaves. Passively, he wonders how ugly he must be- how loudly he must be sobbing, for her to leave him alone. She never had before. She would use him through his cries- whines, sobs, and moans becoming equal. The sounds of a wounded animal, muffled into his hands.
His hands pull, scratch, bite at his skin, hair, clothes. Soft whimpers become sobs become gasps for air. Hushed whispers- so many of them- float around him. The voices of comrades, his mother, the gods, the cries of an infant, the cries of his boy, the cries of his beloved. He drowns in it. How ironic, Odysseus laughs. I am on land, and yet I’m still drowning. They feel more real than they ever have; hitting him in waves, not allowing him a moment to catch his breath.
What is there to do, other than cry? Cry at being stuck here, cry at all the time- all the people- he had lost. Hands- his own, someone else’s?- push his hair from his face. Strong, calloused fingers pull him apart. The stranger’s hands land over his own, gently prying them from his own hair to their chest. They allow him to grab onto their clothes, allow him to shove his face into their breast. He finds himself relaxing into the gentle figure. Instinct, he thinks, rearing its ugly head. They take him apart, but not how they used to. He feels like a paper bird. Odysseus waits for the hands to tear through him, pull him apart, force him to go flat, force him open. But instead, they gently trace every line, every fold, unravelling him piece by piece.
“I have you, it’s ok my love. I have you, and you’re safe.” He buries himself into the sound without thinking- pressing his face harder to the chest of the figure, chasing the rumble in their throat. Curls into them on the bed, allows their arms to wrap around his body and hold him close. They could force him to look up, but they don’t. He nearly sobs again in gratitude. “There we go, I’ve got you my love,” he hears. He breathes in deeply.
Penelope. His head shoots up. Tears flood him again- apologies follow immediately.
“I’m so sorry- I know you would never, you would never- I didn’t assume that of you I promise, I couldn’t assume that of you, that’s horrible–”
“Hey, husband,” she cups his face and wipes his tears. “I know. It’s ok. We’re ok. You’re not horrible.” She presses a kiss to the top of his head for every affirmation. Short and sweet sentences, direct and to the point, followed by equally firm kisses. She lets him fall apart in her arms. They lose track of time together.
“I.. am sorry.” Odysseus finally manages, lifting his face from her chest to look her in the eyes. “I don’t know if the suitors did anything to you, but I imagine that it would hurt regardless… to have your own husband assume you were capable of cruelty in that way.”
“I promise to you that it doesn’t offend me. Your body has had a woman forced onto it for years, we should have taken it slower, love.”
“But.. you have waited so long-” tears prick his eyes again, and he forces a steady gasp of air. “You’ve been waiting and waiting and.. I am back physically and yet I can’t give myself to you, I can’t give you what you’ve been waiting for–”
“You are awfully stupid, for being the smartest man on this island” she interrupts. Her eyes are filled with love, her lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Did you think I waited this long for sex, of all things? May I remind you that I had a palace of suitors, all of whom wanted to fulfill their desires? If it was sex I was waiting for, there was no scarcity.”
“..I don’t follow.”
She rolls her eyes, teasing again. “I mean that I waited for you, lover. Not sex, just you. We will wait as long as you need. And if you never become ready, that will be ok too.” He searches her eyes for any lie, any reluctance. He finds none.
“You are still a woman with needs.. It is unfair that I reject you for the rest of our lives.”
“No it isn’t. I will happily make do, as I have all of these years. I will not force myself onto you, just as you will not onto me.” The words leave her with an air of finality. This is not up for debate.
“I– I still find you attractive- I need you to know that it is not my mind, but my body, that refuses this. You are as beautiful as you were 20 years ago, if not more so.” His voice drops to a whisper, ashamed. “I don’t want you feeling unworthy because I cannot perform.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She laughs, and the sound sucks the remaining tension from his body. “You fought so hard to get back, and now that you’re here I can hardly walk 5 feet away from you without protest.” The fondness in her voice seeps into his bones. “I have you back, and that’s all that matters.”
And for once, he allows himself to believe it. That he is home, that he is with her, that no harm will come to him as long as he stays under this olive tree.