Fic: Jealousies
Title: Jealousies
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Patroklos/Achilles, Achilles.Troilus. There are consequences for killing a certain prince. Set in the early years of the war. Contains very, very slight sexual references. If you squint and turn sideways, you can't even see them.
I know exactly what happened as soon as Patroklos backhands me. If he's mad with another man he might punch him, but not this. The first time it ever happened, and I yelled at him for it, he told me, “If you don't want me to treat you like a child, then don't act like one.” He's never done it in public, for which I am eternally grateful, but it's humiliating, nonetheless.
He's heard that I killed Troilus. It's not even that-Troilus was a Trojan, and that's what we're here for-but for the fact that it was out of anger at dismissal. Even worse that I did so in a temple. He was waiting for me when I returned to my tent.
This time I am in more of a contrary mood than usual. Normally I might glare at him as he scolded me, but this time I hit him back, throwing all my weight on him, and we're tumbling to the floor. I'm the better fighter, but that doesn't mean that Patroklos is any mean opponent, and certainly not when angry.
The brand of our grappling changes suddenly, and I am reminded why I don't accept him as a wrestling partner when exercising. He's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen. Not just that, either, he silently forces me to remember, but also because I am young; I'm certainly not the first youth to desire him, and just because he's my erastes doesn't mean I'll be the last. Not by any means.
Finally we still, both breathing hard, his head resting on my shoulder. He sits up and turns around, and I can tell that he's still angry. I can tell by the way he sits, the way his muscles flex. But more than anything, I can simply feel it. I always have been able to.
And I come to a realization.
“This isn't about me killing Troilus, is it?” I ask. When he doesn't answer, I rest a hand on his. “Patroklos?”
He turns his head slightly. “I have always prided myself on my patience, and on my understanding of others.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “I am angry at you, yes. You overreacted-again-to having your pride wounded. But more than that, I'm angry at myself.” Finally he turns to look me in the eyes. “We've always agreed to be honest with one another, without fear of consequences, haven't we?”
“I have always wanted you to be.”
He pauses, deliberating. “I'm ashamed of myself. I hate that I'm so jealous over you.”
I laugh. “I love that you're so jealous over me.”
“You do now, but what happens in a few years? When those bonds start feeling like restrictions, it'll hurt you, and it'll hurt me. It could ruin us.”
“Is this really what it's all about? You don't care that Troilus is dead, do you?” I give an annoyed sigh. “I wish you would just tell me when you're bothered by something, instead of keeping it bottled up until you can't take it anymore.”
He smiles softly, that lovely smile that I find so wonderful. He's sweet in a way I could never be. “I wish I would, too.”
“You know, you told me that one of the things you love about me is that I always say what I think all the time. You said I'm a very honest person.” We laugh at his previous understatement. “Why don't you? You have no problem with slapping me around, and I'm far more formidable of a person than a lot of others.”
“Ah, but I know that you won't have me flogged for my impertinence,” he says, smiling. Then he becomes serious again. “It's not my place to tell greater men than myself what to do. The only reason I can get away with it with you is because you're my beloved.”
I sit up and move closer to him, putting my cheek on his shoulder. “You're greater than all of them. You shouldn't have to fight as a lesser captain.”
“The Fates are cruel in their ways,” he says, running a hand through my hair. “But if I had never had to live in Phthia, what would have happened? Clysonymus would have grown up with me, instead of you, and perhaps he would be my beloved, and I his lover. We might never have met at all. Or if we did, would we know what we could have? No, it's better this way. I would rather lose my birthright as a prince and found you than keep it and never have known the love that we have.”
I sigh. “Either way, you should get a little angry sometimes. Defend your honour, all that.”
He laughs. “I think, Achilles, that you have a short enough temper for the both of us. And anyway, didn't you know that sometimes it hurts far more to just walk away than to strike a man?”
I sigh again and pull him down so that we're laying on the ground in the middle of the tent, simply staring up at the hide above us. We stay there for a time, running hands through each other's hair and across each other's bodies. I find it just as amazing how his touch can as chaste at one time as it is sexual at another.
Finally, I answer everything he's said. “I know.”
Notes: Um, yeah. This came out in a big spurt of inspiration. And it's not very long. But.. yay first-person present-tense! right? And I went and switched the spelling of Patroklos' name again.
Anyway, Achilles is what, seventeen here? And he never fully grows up, does he? I tried to flesh them out a little more, mostly Patroklos; as far as I'm concerned, he certainly has a darker side to his personality than his gentleness that not many people see.
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Rating: PG-13
Summary: Patroklos/Achilles, Achilles.Troilus. There are consequences for killing a certain prince. Set in the early years of the war. Contains very, very slight sexual references. If you squint and turn sideways, you can't even see them.
I know exactly what happened as soon as Patroklos backhands me. If he's mad with another man he might punch him, but not this. The first time it ever happened, and I yelled at him for it, he told me, “If you don't want me to treat you like a child, then don't act like one.” He's never done it in public, for which I am eternally grateful, but it's humiliating, nonetheless.
He's heard that I killed Troilus. It's not even that-Troilus was a Trojan, and that's what we're here for-but for the fact that it was out of anger at dismissal. Even worse that I did so in a temple. He was waiting for me when I returned to my tent.
This time I am in more of a contrary mood than usual. Normally I might glare at him as he scolded me, but this time I hit him back, throwing all my weight on him, and we're tumbling to the floor. I'm the better fighter, but that doesn't mean that Patroklos is any mean opponent, and certainly not when angry.
The brand of our grappling changes suddenly, and I am reminded why I don't accept him as a wrestling partner when exercising. He's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen. Not just that, either, he silently forces me to remember, but also because I am young; I'm certainly not the first youth to desire him, and just because he's my erastes doesn't mean I'll be the last. Not by any means.
Finally we still, both breathing hard, his head resting on my shoulder. He sits up and turns around, and I can tell that he's still angry. I can tell by the way he sits, the way his muscles flex. But more than anything, I can simply feel it. I always have been able to.
And I come to a realization.
“This isn't about me killing Troilus, is it?” I ask. When he doesn't answer, I rest a hand on his. “Patroklos?”
He turns his head slightly. “I have always prided myself on my patience, and on my understanding of others.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “I am angry at you, yes. You overreacted-again-to having your pride wounded. But more than that, I'm angry at myself.” Finally he turns to look me in the eyes. “We've always agreed to be honest with one another, without fear of consequences, haven't we?”
“I have always wanted you to be.”
He pauses, deliberating. “I'm ashamed of myself. I hate that I'm so jealous over you.”
I laugh. “I love that you're so jealous over me.”
“You do now, but what happens in a few years? When those bonds start feeling like restrictions, it'll hurt you, and it'll hurt me. It could ruin us.”
“Is this really what it's all about? You don't care that Troilus is dead, do you?” I give an annoyed sigh. “I wish you would just tell me when you're bothered by something, instead of keeping it bottled up until you can't take it anymore.”
He smiles softly, that lovely smile that I find so wonderful. He's sweet in a way I could never be. “I wish I would, too.”
“You know, you told me that one of the things you love about me is that I always say what I think all the time. You said I'm a very honest person.” We laugh at his previous understatement. “Why don't you? You have no problem with slapping me around, and I'm far more formidable of a person than a lot of others.”
“Ah, but I know that you won't have me flogged for my impertinence,” he says, smiling. Then he becomes serious again. “It's not my place to tell greater men than myself what to do. The only reason I can get away with it with you is because you're my beloved.”
I sit up and move closer to him, putting my cheek on his shoulder. “You're greater than all of them. You shouldn't have to fight as a lesser captain.”
“The Fates are cruel in their ways,” he says, running a hand through my hair. “But if I had never had to live in Phthia, what would have happened? Clysonymus would have grown up with me, instead of you, and perhaps he would be my beloved, and I his lover. We might never have met at all. Or if we did, would we know what we could have? No, it's better this way. I would rather lose my birthright as a prince and found you than keep it and never have known the love that we have.”
I sigh. “Either way, you should get a little angry sometimes. Defend your honour, all that.”
He laughs. “I think, Achilles, that you have a short enough temper for the both of us. And anyway, didn't you know that sometimes it hurts far more to just walk away than to strike a man?”
I sigh again and pull him down so that we're laying on the ground in the middle of the tent, simply staring up at the hide above us. We stay there for a time, running hands through each other's hair and across each other's bodies. I find it just as amazing how his touch can as chaste at one time as it is sexual at another.
Finally, I answer everything he's said. “I know.”
Notes: Um, yeah. This came out in a big spurt of inspiration. And it's not very long. But.. yay first-person present-tense! right? And I went and switched the spelling of Patroklos' name again.
Anyway, Achilles is what, seventeen here? And he never fully grows up, does he? I tried to flesh them out a little more, mostly Patroklos; as far as I'm concerned, he certainly has a darker side to his personality than his gentleness that not many people see.
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