worthy of being sung

He is ridiculous. It’s a thought that has graced Patroclus’ mind many times before, but the fondness in which it hits him has him reeling, dissolving once more into giggles as Achilles holds him still. He wants to shriek, wants to run, wants to – do something. He doesn’t know what, but he has far too much energy. He’d always assumed that wine made you sleepy, made you lazy, but with Achilles looking up at him like that, he wants to take on the world. Instead, he gives an unattractive snort and pushes the other backwards, swaying forward until he’s almost on top of the other boy. There’s no balance left in his muscles, not that his was particularly great to begin with, and he beams as he finds them face to face.          “You have a very – nice face. I like it very much.”

His drunken mind cannot comprehend much, but he knows that he likes when Patroclus is on top. He hums as he is shoved onto his back, though instinct lifts his hand, as though to defend and attack whatever power desires to have him down. However, his coordination is quite off and results in his fingers brushing against Patroclus’ chin, followed by several giggles as his arm drops across his forehead, his cup left discarded. The opposite hand grips around his friend’s behind, drawing him closer.

Achilles responds with nothing but a series of grumbled, slurred Greek expletives, words he had only heard from the lowest glasses within his father’s palace, muttered into Patroclus’ throat. With the opposite hand not grasping his glass, he holds firmly onto his friend, lest he fall over.

     “ S’not my fault, it would not tickle         if you did not squirm. ”

Briseis: [uses hands like a megaphone] PATROCLUS SUCKS

Achilles: [from across the street] what the fUCK DID YOU JUST SAY

He is ridiculous, but Patroclus is fond, and he smiles up at his lover, despite the interruption, glad for any moment that they get to themselves. Achilles is spoiled, but so is Patroclus, and he stretches out, tipping his head back lazily when his lover presses lips to his throat. His fingers find purchase in golden curls as the man’s weight settles above him, and he tugs, gently, a soft hum leaving parted lips – this is certainly better than studying.         “You can not always have my attention, love.”

     “ I object most strongly. ”

He has yet to discover exactly why he adores Patroclus’ fingers in his hair, pulling, tugging at the divine curls, locks that form a sun about his head. But he does. He omits a low growl deep in his chest as he leans into his friend’s hand, his attention drawn from the tan neck to press kisses against his wrist. His skilled fingers trail along the muscular curves of Patroclus’ arm, gripping him firmly.

He will never be free from this curse, but he doesn’t entirely want to be, especially not when Achilles angles in for another kiss. He doesn’t bother to protest, his eyes slipping shut as he gives in, willingly, to Achilles’ wishes – there’s no scramble for the book, no fight to push him back; in fact, he shifts backwards at the slightest pressure, until he’s laying back against the cushions with a smug Achilles above him.         “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he scolds gently, lifting his hand         to cup the other man’s cheek. “The world is not distracting me from         what I need to do, you’ll find. Did you miss my attention so much?”

     “ Is that a serious question, my friend? ”

He snorts at the almost comedic obviousness of the inquiry, leaning back just slightly now that his dominance is asserted. Dominance, of course, over the dreaded homework. How dare that book steal away his lover. Achilles darts forward to press another incredibly necessary kiss to his throat, flattening his body over Patroclus and resting between his parted knees.

The kiss, albeit not a surprise, is not unwelcome, and though he knows it’s a distraction tactic, Patroclus sinks into it with a sigh. Lifting a hand to Achilles’ upper arm, he presses into the touch, returning the kiss happily – he certainly won’t complain about the affection, though he’s hardly as needy as his boyfriend.        “I’m supposed to be studying right now,” he reminded        gently, once they had parted. “You’re a distraction.”

     “ On the contrary.” His words are grumbled lowly         into Patroclus’ lips as he tilts his head, returning         to the kiss in the opposite angle. “Everything else         is the distraction. ”

Slowly, his hand slides the book further and further away as Achilles uses his body to push Patroclus further back into the sofa, leaning him back against the arm rest. It is not fair that simple parchment subtracts the attention away from someone so glorious as Achilles. How dare that parchment.