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Odysseus is a patient man. He is an intelligent man. He very rarely acts without thought or planning.
But he is going to murder Achilles.
Their greatest asset on the battlefield is a spoiled, whiny brat who shrugs off the commands of his betters without a thought. There was a plan today. A formation they were not supposed to break.
And guess who broke it?
He storms into the Myrmidon camp, and throws aside the commander’s tent flap. Instead of finding a smug Achilles to chew out he only sees Patroclus. The man looks up at him, unfazed at the intrusion.
“Something wrong?”
He takes a deep breath, and wills himself not to snap at a soldier who has done nothing wrong, “…Your eromenos” He starts, “Is a menace”
“He’s not actually my eromenos,” He says mildly, “But I agree with your second point. What did he do this time?”
When he’s done ranting with rage Patroclus just regards him with a blank stare.
“Odysseus, my wise friend– Your methods are good, but they won’t work with Achilles. He’s not quite a soldier. He’s…” He trails off, standing to be equal to Odysseus.
“Here, let me demonstrate”
He whistles, and one of his many hunting hounds bounds up to them. The dog looks up with a panting tongue and wagging tail. Patroclus smiles, and holds up a hand, “This is Myia. She hates baths”
Odysseus crosses his arms impatiently, waiting for wherever this is headed. Patroclus walks over to the tub stored in the corner of the tent. It’s empty, but the dog still whines at the sight of it. He points to it, and speaks with a firm but gentle voice.
“In, Myia”
The hound hesitates, but steps into the tub, looking up at her owner. He smiles and pets her head, giving her a treat.
“Dogs get treats when they do something you want, and discouragement when they do something you want. When they listen– Especially when they don’t want to, you should reward them”
He blinks, “…Are you comparing Achilles to a dog?”
He shrugs, “It works well enough. Although I give him a different sort of treat.” He snickers softly, and Odysseus feels his face get hot.
“So what, you want me to– to reward him for not being reckless?” He asks, exasperated.
“More or less. You have to do it consistently, and reward him when he does something good, or even neutral. When he’s about to make chaos don’t punish him– Distract him. All that energy has to go somewhere, after all”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, “I… Fine. Okay. But I don’t have anything he wants. What am I supposed to… reward him with?”
Patroclus raises an eyebrow. Odysseus does not like that.
“What? What are you suggesting?”
He rolls his shoulders, and smirks slightly, “Well… If you’re willing, my beloved has a certain set of proclivities, if you understand”
He blinks, “What?”
“He likes older men. You’re his type”
…
“What?”
Patroclus laughs at him, “Look, you don’t have to do it, but it would probably work. In any case– He responds to praise. Sincere praise. Call him a good boy and he’ll kill whoever you point at”
“…You… Your advice for dealing with the most ruthless, deadly warrior in all of Greece is to… What, pet him on the head and call him a good boy?”
“It’s more about the idea than the phrasing, but yes,” He says, “Or you could keep going on as you have. I’m sure it’ll work”
He sighs, “You’re certain this is the best way?”
Patroclus makes a faux-offended expression, “Would I lie to you, Laertiades?”
This is going to be interesting.
⸶꩜⸷
Achilles breaks formation again in the next battle. Odysseus resists the urge to shout, and instead finds him when he’s washing blood off his spear.
His grin turns feral and mocking, “Laertiades. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Distract him. Reward him.
“You… fought well today. It was impressive”
Those impossibly blue eyes blink at him. His entire body seems to lag for a moment before he speaks, “Uh. Thank you”
He smiles slightly. Achilles is clearly trying to look nonchalant, but he’s always been an awful liar– especially when it comes to his body. Odysseus thinks there may be a flush rising to his cheeks, but maybe it’s his imagination.
“Of course. You’re an asset, Pelides”
He leaves it at that, and goes back to his own camp to think.
That small experiment seemed… surprisingly effective. Maybe at this rate he can get the boy to listen.
⸶꩜⸷
The next time the Greeks gather for war counsel, Achilles is in his usual spot, separated from the other men by Patroclus and Antilochus on either side. He twirls a dagger between his fingers in a way that seems deliberate in its show of disinterest.
Agamemnon is laying out the map of the Aegean sea, talking through the ships that will arrive in the following weeks, carrying supplies to keep them afloat for a while longer. He starts to move on to war plans, and Odysseus watches Achilles open his mouth to say something deliberately inflammatory, as always.
“Pelides,” Odysseus speaks up before he can get the words out. The demigod looks at him with wide eyes, like he’s surprised to be addressed directly– He’s right to be, in all honesty. Achilles is a brilliant warrior, and a good leader to his men, but a strategist he is not.
“How do you suggest we break their line? We’ll have less men up front if we plan to flank them”
The men on his side of the table– The men who are older and generally wiser and also generally somewhat disapproving of Achilles– Look at him like he’s been stricken with madness.
Achilles looks exactly the same, but his confusion gives way to a sharp-toothed grin as he leans over the table.
“Well if you ask me–”
Achilles proposes that he and his men do a spear formation to break through the Trojan line, and it goes over surprisingly well. Even Agamemnon doesn’t offer any substantial criticism.
When the meeting ends, Odysseus sees Greater Ajax slap Achilles on the back with a smile, praising him for his thoughts. That sharp little smile returns, and Odysseus feels a lick of satisfaction curl up in his chest.
For once everyone leaves the war council in a decent mood. Achilles’ hair is mussed up, and the fading sunlight catches the angles of his face, making him look like something even more divine than usual.
He’s pleasantly surprised to find his demigod waiting outside his tent when he gets back to camp. He smiles at Odysseus– almost looking giddy.
“Hey. Thanks for that.The thing in the meeting,” he says.
Odysseus smiles wryly, and crosses his arms over his chest, “Well, I appreciate your input”
He hesitates for half a second, and then ruffles his hair softly, “Good boy”
He definitely isn’t imagining the blush on his face this time.
⸶꩜⸷
“Told you,” Patroclus says smugly. Odysseus sighs.
“You did, and yet I still barely believe you”
“Mhm,” Patroclus gives him a look, and he can’t quite parse what it means.
“What is it?”
He huffs, rubbing his hand over his beard, “It’s just funny. A week of encouragement and Achilles almost seems to like you. He was predisposed to it”
His face feels warm despite himself, “Achilles doesn’t seem like one to share”
“Oh, he wouldn’t be the one sharing”
He chokes for a moment, “You’re joking”
“Am I? He has a lot of energy. He needs more attention than I can give him”
He’s quiet for one second. And then two.
Oh.
“…Who else?” The question immediately starts to eat at him. Who else has been allowed to tame Achilles? Antilochus seems close to him, but he isn’t sure their relationship is like that. Automedon? The charioteer certainly shares his taste for adrenaline. Who else? Menelaus? Agamemnon? He shudders to think about that possibility, for a number of reasons.
“You’ll have to ask him that”
The heat on his face turns slightly frustrated, and Patroclus laughs, “Look, if it works it works. And you don’t seem uninterested”
“…I’ll think about it,” he says softly, leaving before he can lose any more of his dignity.
⸶꩜⸷
He finds the godling stretched over a sun-warmed rock by the beach, his chiton loosened to reveal the hard planes of his chest. Odysseus forces himself to look at his face– Which, granted, is no less pleasant to look at.
“You need something, Laertiades?”
“I thought you’d like to spar for a bit, actually”
He perks up, and Odysseus almost laughs at how similar it is to a dog being offered a treat.
“You? Seriously?”
He raises a brow, “I do have quite the reputation on the field, Pelides”
A grin, bright and unrepentant, “Bring it on, old man”
⸶꩜⸷
Odysseus is a good warrior, thank you very much. His mind is his greatest weapon, but a spear is a close second… Or third, maybe, after the bow.
That being said, sparring Achilles was a mistake. He can see why Patroclus is the only one who stands to do it regularly.
He lasts all of a few minutes before his feet are swept out from beneath him. He groans as he lands on his back, and Achilles grins as he taps the spear against his chest.
“Dead”
He tries twice more, with more or less the same result. Achilles is practically bouncing with excitement as he helps him up again, brushing his nose through his hair as he stands behind him.
They both breathe hard for a moment, and he feels Achilles grin against his ear, “Patroclus said you were asking about me”
He swallows, “I might’ve been”
He can feel Achilles’ rapid heartbeat pumping warmth against his back. He also feels the blood pumping through something else behind him.
“He said you were interested”
He feels a pang of bewilderment shoot through him, “…He did, did he? And what do you have to say?”
“Mm… I think that if you are… You’re doing a good job”
Achilles is almost giggling as he leans in close to his ear, “Good boy”
Odysseus freezes.
He’s been played.
“You little brat” He gasps out, almost laughing at the sheer audacity.
Achilles takes a step back, leaning on his spear with a smug grin.
Distract him. Reward him.
Patroclus’ words echo through his head. Son of a bitch.
“You planned this,” He tries not to sound as astonished as he feels.
“Maybe a little,” He shrugs.
“You’re insufferable”
“And yet you’re still here”
He can’t help but laugh.
⸶꩜⸷
He sits between Achilles and Patroclus around the fire that night, the demigod draped over him in an extremely inconvenient way as he tries to eat. Patroclus looks very annoyingly amused.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He grumbles softly.
Patroclus hums noncommittally, “I might’ve suggested he stop pouting over you”
“Hey! I was not pouting,” Achilles pouts at them. He catches Patroclus’ eye, and for that moment, at least, there is understanding.
⸶꩜⸷
Achilles drags him to his tent, not even bothering to be subtle about it. The Myrmidons send him amused glances as the tent flap falls shut.
He’s not one step in before the boy’s mouth is on him, hungry and lapping at his mouth like an eager hound. Odysseus almost lets him get away with it, but then Achilles lets out the most pathetic whine, and he pushes against his chest.
“Behave, pup. I haven’t forgotten your little game,” he growls softly. Achilles’ pupils are blown wide, and he’s practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Okay– Alright…” He falls back onto his bedroll, blinking like he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. Odysseus can’t help the grin that twists his lips, and he laughs as he unties his belt.
“Hush. Good boys don’t talk”
⸶꩜⸷
Achilles almost– almost wishes that Patroclus was here. It would make things that much better if he was wrecked by his beloved and Laertiades.
Almost, because he knows Patroclus would also be teasing him relentlessly about how hard he gets at being called a good boy. He’s panting and rubbing his thighs together as Odysseus strips off his chiton.
The man is broad and his muscles are firm, scar tissue layered over thick thighs.
Achilles knows beauty– He knows it in Deidamia’s bright laugh and Iphigenia’s gentle smile. He knows it in the sunlight catching in Patroclus’ lashes before he wakes up in the morning.
It seems wrong to think of Odysseus in that same vein– He’s older, and shorter, and his face is boring for all its sharpness.
And somehow Achilles looks at him and can only think that he’s beautiful.
He reaches his hand up, not even sure what he means to do, when Odysseus catches it and pins him back against his bedroll. Achilles makes a frankly embarrassing squeak that makes the man grin like a hungry wolf.
“Hold still, pup”
He nods, and Odysseus pulls his bottom lip from between his teeth, swiping up the blood and bringing it to his tongue. The sight makes Achilles choke on his breath. He’s sure he’s never been this hard in his entire life.
Odysseus climbs over him, stripping him with a sort of brutal efficiency that makes Achilles feel like a spear is aimed at his gut.
⸶꩜⸷
He’s deliberately slow when he pours oil over his fingers, massaging the rim of the boy’s entrance. Achilles is shaking like a real dog, and when he pushes his index finger in he makes a wounded sound that might worry him if he wasn’t as worked up as he is.
“Good boy– Gods, you’re just a desperate little puppy, aren’t you? I’m almost jealous that Menoitiades gets to see you like this so often…”
Achilles yelps, and he pushes another finger in. It’s less patience than he would give most men– certainly less patience than he allowed Diomedes when he allowed him a similar position. But Pelides can take it, he’s sure.
He shoves a third finger in, and pushes them deeper until Achilles makes a startled little yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders.
“More– please–”
He uses his free hand to put weight on his neck, his cock throbbing when it makes Achilles moan like a girl. The more pressure he applies to the windpipe the harder Achilles clenches around his fingers.
He stretches the boy out clumsily, more affected by his breathy little moans then he would care to admit. When he finally strokes his cock, spreading oil over himself, Achilles is properly drooling.
“Beg for me, pup”
There’s a hint of pride in Achilles’ gaze, but it quickly bleeds out of him when Odysseus thrusts his fingers into that bundle of nerves that makes him whine.
“Please– please, Odysseus, gods– I need you– I’m your puppy–!”
He can’t manage to be patient anymore, and shoves his cock into Achilles’ tight hole. He moans like he’s been wounded, and Odysseus can’t help the grin it brings to his face as he starts to rock his hips.
“You’re a good little bitch, aren’t you? Taking my cock like a good pup– Like a good girl”
Achilles sobs, and he threads his fingers through golden locks as he snaps his hips. He’s as tight as any slave woman and sounds just as good when Odysseus jerks his head back to fuck into him harder.
His other hand is digging into the boy’s hip, making indentations that’ll surely bruise. He snaps his hips harder, determined to fill him up before this all starts to catch up with his body.
Achilles wraps his arms around his neck, sobbing and gasping, “Please– fuck- yes– Yes, I’m a good girl, I’m your bitch–”
His legs shake as he clenches around Odysseus’ cock, spilling cum onto his stomach. He looks so blissed out and pathetic, and Odysseus gives two more hard thrusts before filling the boy up with his own cum.
He swallows lungfuls of air until his head feels a little clearer, and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of Achilles’ face. He looks dizzy, and his entire body shudders when Odysseus pulls out.
The demigod doesn’t say anything for a long while as he cleans them up, wiping sweat and spend from their skin and holding a wineskin to his lips so he can sip from it.
It feels weird, and he wants to leave, like he has so many other times with other encounters, but Acilles still hasn’t said anything, and he doesn’t feel especially inclined to make the walk of shame to his own camp.
He falls asleep at some point with a head in his lap, and thinks that this is probably better than murdering Achilles.
⸶꩜⸷
“Told you it would be good”
“Shut up, Menoitiades”