Tender devotion, barely there

Fruit

Damn it. Patroclus had been this close to falling asleep, resting his sore body. The past hour or so had been agony. Lustful, angry, pathetic agony. His dick throbbed between his legs, but he was all out of energy. He had laid down on his bed, ready for sweet, sweet Hypnos.

But then he smelt it. That goddamn scent. Like almonds and dried fruit and the meals his mother used to make him, piping hot and absolutely delicious. But this scent was an alpha's. Patroclus groaned and burrowed deeper into his nest, hoping to keep that scent as far away from him as possible.

It worked for a moment or two. Until the music started. A small melody. But absolutely enchanting. It wriggled into Patroclus' ears. It allured him. Tentatively, he had crawled out of his nest and peeked through the curtains. Sitting at the base of Patroclus' favourite statue was that fucking golden-blonde head of silky hair. His eyes were closed, his neck exposed. At least he was far away. Maybe his scent wouldn't affect Patroclus from this distance. Sure, he was close enough for Patroclus to make out the details of his face, but surely, surely he won't need to go another agonising round, just to quiet that burning sensation in his gut.

Achilleus' melody was perfect. Soothing. Patroclus leaned against the windowsill, gazing into the courtyard longingly. Achilleus looked wonderful. A small smile played on his lips, but his eyes were softly closed. After a little while, however, his fingers stumbled along the strings and the music abruptly stopped. Achilleus opened his eyes once more and looked around. Hurriedly, Patroclus blew out his candle and ran to the other side of his room. Achilleus hopefully hadn't seen him.

—

And now, Patroclus wakes up from his spot on the floor. His whole body aches. Helios' gentle rays caress Patroclus' face, but they thankfully don't reach his eyes. The lust inside of him has quelled for the moment. The peace before the storm.

He wanders to his bathing room, pouring in some sun-warmed water before settling into the tub. The water is gentle against his skin. It's somehow soft. After that exhausting night, all Patroclus needs is this rest that the water eases him into. He sighs and leans his head on the wall, settling in deeper.

But then a knock at his door disturbs him. Damn it. He thinks to himself, They don't know I'm in heat yet.

"Don't come in! What do you want?"

"Patroclus?" It's Briseis. Her voice is muffled behind the door. He can't smell her, no thanks to the scent-proofing of his room. "Is everything alright? I just wanted to make sure you're awake, so that... you know... you do your princely duties for the day. Are you ill?"

"Worse!" He groans and pauses a moment to giggle at how his toes poke up above the water. "I'm in heat."

Silence. For a moment, Patroclus wonders if Briseis left. Then, "I'll notify the king." Her voice is so quiet, he can hardly hear her.

He stays in his bath for a little while, until the water gets too cold. He steps out and dries himself off. He doesn't need to bother putting on clothes, they'll be too stifling and inevitably, he'll tear them off and ruin a perfectly good chiton, like he had last night. So he just lays down on his bed, completely nude, and tries to get at least some sleep before the next wave hits.

There's a knock at the door again. Patroclus gets the sudden urge to scream in frustration. "What is it?!" He yells to the door. He just wants to sleep. Is that such an outlandish idea?

The door opens a crack and immediately, Patroclus smells him. It's a warm feeling, burrowing in his chest. But alluring, too. Patroclus just wants to leap across the room and let him ravage him. Ugh.

A fair, slender hand peeks out and places a large bowl of fruit on the floor. Then the door closes and he's left alone once more.

Patroclus slowly crawls over to the bowl. He hardly ate yesterday and has had nothing today. The fruit still smells faintly of Achilleus. Patroclus wonders if he picked it himself. He lifts it to his mouth and hungrily devours it; he doesn't care if he gets covered in sticky fruit juice. It tastes so good, and he's so hungry. But gods fucking damn it, that hunger creeping into him is no longer for food, but for flesh. That fucking alpha coming in here and spreading his scent all over the food Patroclus would put in his mouth! Fucking hell, here we go again.

He eats his food for a moment longer until he realises he can just multitask. With one hand, he shovels more food into his mouth, and with the other, he touches his sore dick.

—

What was he thinking?! Waltzing into an omega's room and opening the door?! While he's in heat? Gods, the scent was even more intoxicating than he remembered. It had been so difficult for Achilleus to just lay that bowl down on the ground for Patroclus to come swoop it up. All he had wanted to do was throw open that door and bury his face between those lovely, plump thighs. He probably would taste so good.

Achilleus shakes himself and continues walking back to his room. He's not going to give into these temptations. Though it feels like he can't get that heady scent out of his head. The prince is probably in his room right now, stroking himself furiously. Achilleus could help him. He could fill him right up and satisfy those urges that consume him. Gods, he could turn around right now and the prince would welcome him with open legs.

Just keep walking, Achilleus. He tells himself.

And he does. He manages to get to his room without falling apart. He hadn't felt this way when Myrto went into heat right beside him. He should've. He should've wanted her this desperately. I do. He convinces himself. I will.

As soon as he gets into his room, he leaves. That whole trip, all for nothing. It's fine. A good way to clear his head. Except his head doesn't feel clearer. It's muddier. Messier. With thoughts of both the prince and his sister. The sister whom he's courting. He had told her- he had told her he wasn't really here to court her. Now that plan failed. He's courting her already. Slightly. A little. He wants to. She wouldn't make a bad Phthian queen. Sure, she wouldn't be too good at talking to anyone, but what does that matter? He can do the talking. She is a woman, after all.

He had grabbed a spear, a simple one, from his room before he had left. Now, he drags it out to a clearing in the forest. A tree stump stands in the middle, perfect for training. He stabs and throws and slashes until he's sweaty and winded and also his spear broke. Damn it.

At least he got his frustrations out. Maybe now that he's exerted himself fully, he won't be tempted to sneak into any omega's rooms now, right?