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Achilles’ long arms stretched over Patroclus’. The wind ever so slightly fluttered the hair across Patroclus’ cheek, clinging to his damp skin. Neither moved to brush it away, their full attention on the target before them.
“Hold it…” Achilles whispered in his ear. The wind blew the words away, lost for no one to hear again. “Wait for the right moment”. Patroclus felt the water on Achilles’ bare chest press against his thin chiton. A delightful chill crept up his spine.
The sun seemed to prolong this moment into eternity and the landscape seemed to shake in Helios’ glare. Achilles let out a soft breath, leaving the hairs on Patroclus’ back standing on end. He felt a light tap on his wrist; Achilles was signaling that he could shoot. Words felt far too concrete for the moment they were sharing.
Patroclus steadily eased his grip, letting the arrow speed through the air. The noise as it travelled to the target was covered by the sound of the waves crashing at the shore beside them. Achilles buried his face in Patroclus’ neck, hiding a soft smile.
“That was good, Patroclus” he concluded. He wanted to say so much more, but his breath would never be able to carry the weight of his adoration for the man in front of him. He let his arms drop and rest on Patroclus’ hips, squeezing lightly before stepping back. “You’re good” he quietly added, his words carried away in the breeze before they reached his lover’s ears.
Patroclus let a confused smile overtake his face as he whipped his head around to look at Achilles. “Did you say something else? I couldn’t hear.”
Achilles let out a chuckle, motioning towards the water. “My mother. She must be proud of you.” The water had crawled up the shoreline, now lapping at their feet. Patroclus smiled fondly at the ground.
“I’m thankful. But I am nothing without your help, Achilles.” Patroclus looked up to Achilles with his smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides and his teeth showing. Achilles could feel his legs quiver and recited a quick prayer to Aphrodite in his head. “I’m supposed to be older than you but you’re always the one teaching me new things.” Patroclus tilted his head playfully. “You brat.”
Achilles made a futile attempt to stop the grin on his face by biting down on his lower lip. “Huh? What did you call me?” He reached forward and grabbed Patroclus’ hips, pulling him in close. Achilles’ chest had dried in the breeze, but his hair still was damp with sea water. The salty smell of the ocean lingered between them as Achilles brought their faces close together.
Patroclus closed his eyes, awaiting a touch that never came. Instead, Achilles dipped his head close to his ear and muttered in a soft and seductive voice, “Patroclus…” Patroclus softly bit the inside of his lip in anticipation. “Race you to the end of the beach.”
With that, Achilles yanked away and sprinted past Patroclus’ shoulder. He tilted his head back in laughter as he ran, offering a cocky smile over his shoulder. Patroclus groaned in annoyance, but a smile still graced his lips as he followed in Achilles’ dust.
He could tell Achilles was purposefully running slow and shoved his shoulder as he caught up. “Don’t go easy on me,” Patroclus cried out in frustration. Achilles staggered and dramatically fell to the ground.
“Oh my dear Patroclus! You have gravely injured me. I cannot believe you would betray me this way and be the foundation of my prophecy,” he cried out. Patroclus’ expression shriveled up in distaste.
“Don’t make jokes like that, Achilles,” he pleaded softly. “I don’t care what the prophecy has told you. I know you, Achilles. You–” Patroclus paused and took a quick breath. “You’ll come back. You will settle down with a nice young wife, worthy of a hero such as yourself.” Achilles could feel the pain in his voice as he said this.
“Patroclus, there’s no way to escape fate,” Achilles explained cautiously.
Patroclus continued, “Your name won't just be spoken of in stories told by your men, but passed on through your kids. Through your family. Through… me.”
Achilles let out a strained laugh, a forced smile tight on his lips. He pushed himself off the ground and leaned forward onto his knees. “Oh my lovely Patroclus,” he muttered and reached forward to grab one of the other man’s hands, bringing it to rest against his lips. “My mother told me of my weakness, but every time I see your face, I wonder whether or not she mistook my heel for my heart.”
Patroclus pouted, but it did little to hide the affection in his eyes. His eyelids fluttered closed and stole Achilles’ breath away. “Do you really mean that, Achilles?” he begged.
Achilles stood up to look Patroclus in the eyes. “I would swear it upon every god or goddess to ever have been born. My heart yearns to stay here with you, but I know I would never be complete.” Achilles’ voice wavered, a rare sign of weakness that he rarely ever showed, even to Patroclus. “My entire life, word of my future accomplishments spread from person to person and city to city. If I go to Troy, I will die, but you will forever hold my heart.” He gripped Patroclus’ hands harder. Or was it Patroclus who gripped his. “If I stay,” he whispered, almost scared to admit, “I may be able to hold you, but I won’t be Achilles any longer. I won’t be the same man you fell in love with, because the spirit of the man you love will have still died in Troy beside his men.”
Patroclus blinked out a tear. Achilles’ face softened, his eyebrows furrowing as he reached up a hand to wipe away the tear. “Please don’t cry for me, Patroclus. You will be the one who bears my heart long after I’m gone, so you need to be strong for the both of us, okay?” Achilles continued to rub his thumb across Patroclus’ cheek. He leaned in and kissed under Patroclus’ eye, tasting the saltiness of his tears. “Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is, Patroclus,” he whispered, pulling back to look him in his red, teary eyes.
“Okay. I understand,” Patroclus mumbled out, letting his face fall forward and rest against Achilles’ chest. The three words were left unspoken between them, for the forbidden still scared them both. At least for now Achilles’ arms felt safe. The heat of their skin touching felt sticky from sweat as they basked in the sun, but it didn’t really bother either of them too much.