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“Achilles?” Patroclus dumps his briefcase on the hall dresser, in so much as he ever dumps anything, and shucks his jacket, hanging it on the hook. (His housemate's neatness has rubbed off after ten years together.)
“Hello, beloved.” Achilles greets him, leaning against the doorframe to their kitchen. “How was class?” He's asked Patroclus that every day he's worked at the university.
Patroclus takes a moment to drink in the sight of him, the bronze skin and golden hair something he has missed, despite the fact that he saw his husband earlier that day.
“Good.” He answers, just as the pink corners of Achilles' mouth start to curl up into a smirk. It happens every day, that small grin, as Patroclus inevitably gets distracted looking at him. “They did well. Their final essays were really great.”
Achilles saunters towards his husband and tilts his head lazily.
“So it was a good end to the semester.” He toys with the end of Patroclus' tie, tendons in his arm moving under his skin. Patroclus watches the way that he always does, fascinated.
“Perfect.”
Patroclus probably isn't talking about his students, any more, and Achilles knows it.
“How's the gym?” He slips his hand under Achilles' muscle tee and slots his thumb into the vee of his hip.
“Smelly.” Achilles' eyes twinkle and Patroclus bursts into surprised laughter.
“Is that so?” He snorts.
“Mm. Like feet.”
Patroclus hauls the smiling blond closer with a hand on the back of his neck, and traces over the chords of muscle.
“I love you, dork.” He says fondly.
Achilles smiles and pulls him down by his tie for a kiss, biting his lower lip gently and huffing warm air into Patroclus' mouth.
“I love you too, beloved.” He says seriously, as he pulls back.
And then his phone rings. Patroclus groans.
“Again?”
Achilles grimaces.
“Sorry. You know what she's like if I don't answer/” He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his gym shorts, and hits answer. “Chaírete, Mitéra.”
Hello, Mother. Patroclus mentally translates. His Greek isn't great, so he just loops his arms around his husband and presses kisses to the side of his head as the blond chatters rapidly in Greek, and waits. He knows he'll get an explanation as to what Thetis wants this time, later.
“Say hi for me?” He tries to keep the peace, with Achilles' mother. She took a long time to accept him and he doesn't want to rock the boat.
“Patroclus says hi, Mom.” Achilles says, in English. Patroclus can just about hear indistinct Greek on the other end of the line, with his head bent down to Achilles' shoulder like this.
“No, Mom, he just got home, he's exhausted. Next week? Give him a chance to relax. Yeah. No, speak soon. I love you, too.” He lowers the phone.
“How is she?” Achilles rolls his eyes.
“The usual. Neurotic and bitching about the other designers.”
“Sounds like her.”
“Let's not talk about my mother any more, beloved.”
Patroclus smiles, and kisses Achilles.
“What shall we talk about, then?”
Achilles grins.
“What I have in mind, beloved, doesn't exactly involve conversation.” He starts leading Patroclus to the stairs by his tie, the silk wrapped around his fist possessively. “I think I’ll leave this on while you fuck me.” He muses.
He's true to his word.