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This was one of those days. Somehow, Achilles was glowing. Was it even possible for a human to be able to glow? How could his entire body be brimming with light and shine? Then again, Patroclus figured, this was Achilles. The same Achilles who was said to be the best warrior of his time. The same Achilles who was precocious yet curious and youthful.
When Patroclus asked him about it, he said, "Am I? I think it is just the sunset."
The sun had been starting to make way for the moon, and they were outside resting on Pelion.
"Or, maybe," he continued, "It is because of you."
Patroclus at first did not understand what Achilles meant, but then he looked at the absence of proximity between them, at his soft skin and rather naked body. Then he understood.
He tried, so hard, not to get aroused. "Put your tunic back on," Patroclus warned, "Or else—"
Achilles laughed. "What? We're going to do it again? Will you not be able to control yourself?"
So, albeit reluctantly, Patroclus faced Achilles without clothes. "The gods are testing me . . ." he mumbled.
"Come closer," Achilles said, "It is cold."
"Then put your clothes on."
Achilles frowned, but complied after a while. He bent over and reached for his tunic. Patroclus, however, stopped him. He rolled him back over and kissed him. He took in everything. As he showered his golden body with succulent kisses, he took in his sweet breath, his shivering skin, his hot exhales of pleasure.
There were so many things Patroclus loved about him. His sunlight-borne hair, his olive green eyes that sparkled from time to time. And because he saw this of Achilles, he saw his own self as inferior in every way. But then Achilles would be upset and say something along the lines of, "You are the man I chose. I would have no other. I am yours."
This was another thing he loved about him: the way he reassured him without much reassurance. It was his lack of words and explanation that made it all the more trustworthy. Achilles, most famous of the Greeks, was his.
The sun had almost fully set. Even though it was dark, Achilles still glowed. Patroclus looked up and saw that in the sky, there were pieces of light breaking through.
It was an afterglow.
Achilles had an afterglow, as Patroclus had realized. But in Achilles' eyes, his lover was the one who glowed most brightly at night. At night, when the moon rose and the stars were scattered across the sky; when the curtains were closed and eyes were shut. Patroclus was most beautiful then, when the afterglow of the night shone on his dark hair and dark skin. When his dark eyes were illuminated. This Achilles loved.
He leaned over to Patroclus' side. "I am yours. And you are mine," he whispered.