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The war raged on. It was a never-ending sequence of blood and screams of soldiers on the battlefield. I, Patroclus, never heard them myself but I have heard the pained groans of injured troops when they rolled into the med tent. It was a pity, most of these men wanted to get home to their wives and kids if they even had one but they were forced to fight for their realm.
My heart tears whenever my love, Achilles has to go and spends the whole day out slaughtering foes who were unfortunate to come face to face with him. His heart was made of steel, and his golden locks flowed behind him with a radiating aura of confidence as his chin was held high through each victory. Though, these days, after the dispute between Achilles and Agamemnon. Achilles refused to offer his aid in the war which only resulted in more wounded.
It seemed as if the kings were reliable on Aristos Achaion whenever the Troyans came by. Achilles is a cruel monster, that's how others depict him... but they have not seen the side of him that I see, the side that really cares.
My hands run through his hair. There was a huge contrast between my skin color and the strands. This was one of some of those treasured moments that I have with him whenever we see each other. The night air flew by, the flaps of our tent slapped as they allowed little air to rake through our naked bodies. Summer has taken a toll on everyone, I couldn't imagine the heat those soldiers must be bearing each morning when they clasp their armor and get ready to fight.
Achilles let out a hum and shifted a bit, his head now on its side on my thigh while his hand caressed the soft flesh. He looked peaceful. His breath caressed my skin lightly, like a feather. This is how it was supposed to be, just him and me. His hand trailed over a birthmark I had on my hip, I didn't even realize he was awake. "That's such a beautiful mark." His fingertips were feather light as he traced over the mark.
I purred. It felt ticklish. "Thank you..." I manage to say through my weary mouth. My hand kept its motions through the silky locks. "I wonder if there are any more like this." Achilles continued, this time sitting up, breaking contact from my skin briefly before his hand trailed over my body. Calloused, feel familiar on my curves.
His eyes scanned my body and it made me flush. I was more aware of how revealed I was. "There, another." His finger pointed to a small mole I had on my cheek. It should have been teeny tiny since no matter how many times I have seen myself in the mirror I have never seen any blotches on my face other than my freckles. His eyes must have trained on my body.
Achilles continued his exploration, his battle-worn hands were so gentle on my leaner frame, it was a type of gentleness only reserved for me. His tips trailed over a small slash across my chest. His eyes gleamed when he inspected the scar. "Who did this to you, Philtatos?."
"I don't know," I replied. I have never seen that scar in my life. It was probably the result of being in the med tent too long, I had to deal with sharp objects too much.
He looked discontented by my response, his eyes locking on mine. Those green speckles were warm and light. They brought a desire within me that could only be sated by him. I gulp and let out a sigh.
I caught a glimpse of a scar along his neck. it wasn't large, just long. It was strange, given the fact Achilles barely got hurt. My fingers skimmed over it. "How did you get this?" I ask.
His head tilted and gazed at the cicatrix I pointed at. "A knife." He said blatantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I blink. If it was a knife it could have been an assassination attempt. who would want to strike Achilles down. Other than the Troyans themselves, I doubt they got near camp. "When?" Concern fills my features.
He yawns lazily and leans against me, pressing his nose against mine. "Back at Scyros, A servant's hand slipped."
That still wasn't telling me anything but I decided not to press further. This has to be a worry-less moment between us.
His hands rested on my hips, his thumbs pressed on the bone as he massaged. "There's another mole, here." He pressed his lips on the spot. It was a small dot mark. I was intrigued. "And a small heart, right here." Achilles pressed a finger on a small pinkish mark. It was beautiful, a heart.
We laid back on the bed and cuddled. Achilles was still running his hands over my body and kissing each mark, blemish, and birthmark. I cherish moments like these, where we could just lay in each other's arms and feel that familiar softness that is us. Even I joined in and discovered spots on my lover that I haven't through all these years together.
After what seemed like hours of exploring we finally settled down on our cot, wrapped in each other’s arms. The warmth of Achilles brings me comfort above all else. “Do you think, it’ll always be like this?” I murmur
His hand kept stroking my curls as we both fell into a close sleep. “Hopefully.”