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Loving Patroclus is the taste of seawater on sun kissed skin, a gentle melody played on the lyre, the inside of a juicy fig, the grit of warm sand between your bare toes. It's intoxicating and leaves the body aching for more or a brief respite from the weight of it all.
"Do you think love can be measured in words?," Achilles asks. Patroclus runs his fingers through golden curls that rest on his thigh where Achilles has stretched out sideways. They're sat under the shade of a large tree, surrounded by the beauty of nature and birds chirping love songs in hopes of finding someone worth building a nest for.
"Poetry?"
Achilles tosses a fig in the air and thinks. No, not only poetry.
"Any words. Books, poetry, letters."
Patroclus leans back against the tree and intertwines their hands. His eyes slide shut and Achilles imagines that he must be thumbing through books written by the greats, in his mind. "Love," he says, "is a force beyond words. When I touch you, I could describe it in thousands of ways; some without them. I could paint murals or turn it into a song without lyrics. I could prove it just by doing this." He skims a finger up Achilles' ribs and it's hardly a whisper but it gives him chills.
When their bodies meet, it never fails to make Achilles feel like he has swallowed the sky itself and allowed sunbeams to light up every darkened corner. Nothing will ever come close to that feeling. It's a once in a lifetime shooting star that burns for him alone.
"Will you not tell me you care for me?," he asks.
Patroclus smiles, crookedly, and Achilles wants to taste that happiness. If he were to swallow it he is almost positive he'd glow, bright and luminous like the moon on a clear night.
"I will."
"Do not speak," Achilles says. He allows himself to be pressed against the earth with sand at his back and strips of long foliage forming a bed as if it knew his body would need shelter.
Patroclus places a leg on both sides and straddles him. He is the best kind of weight and if he were to tell Achilles to stay in this exact spot for the rest of their lives, he would not mind. He leans forward and sucks wet kisses to the side of Achilles neck until they're a light shade of purple but hardly noticeable to the naked eye unless a person were looking for them. When he feels Achilles has had enough and is restless beneath him, he moves onto a collarbone then skims down to his sternum.
Achilles wants this love permanently imprinted upon his flesh so that when he passes, the gods will look upon it and see how greatly he loved. They will read his body and know, without a doubt, that his was a life well lived.
Patroclus skims his hands over sensitive skin and continues his quest. He leaves kisses in odd places; behind a knee, the inner elbow, the tip of Achilles nose, behind each ear, supersternal notch and Achilles has never felt so loved in the entirety of his existence. By the time Patroclus fits between his legs, he's trembling with need and standing on the edge of everything bright and beautiful. They move sensually together, two bodies built for one another. When it's over, Patroclus collapses on top of him and laughs against his dampened skin.
"Have I told you how much love I feel for you?," he questions.
Achilles, still panting, replies, "You will need to remind me of it tomorrow."
And the next day for the rest of our lives, he thinks.
Patroclus presses a kiss to the underside of Achilles jaw. "With words?"
"They are too heavy. You should always show me with your body, with your hands and mouth."
Patroclus' gently bites Achilles' earlobe and whispers, "I will not forget to."
Achilles thinks that if he were to mix every potion and herbal remedy together, they would never amount to this explosion between them. Patroclus is the pull of the moon to the sea, he is the first star in the sky, he is the breath in Achilles' lungs. Loving him cannot be captured in any language.
"Do you know how much I love you?"
Patroclus shakes his head no, "Show me."
It begins with a kiss.