Patrochilles ~ Anything But Lovers

Shame and Guilt 😃

I work really hard on these stories, and have edited like, 8 quadrillion times in Google Docs before pasting them here, so if you don't like them... shut the fuck up and get away from me.

The cool sea breeze carried the echo of their laughter as they climbed back towards the camp. The playful energy from the cove had faded, replaced by a lingering silence. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill crept into Patroclus' heart.

Back in the tent, exhaustion finally settled in. Achilles laid down, eyes closed, the memory of their shared laughter lingering on his lips. Patroclus, unable to shake the strange unease, found himself restless. He stretched, feigning fatigue, and his hand brushed lightly against Achilles' arm.

Achilles tensed momentarily, then relaxed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Hesitantly, Patroclus lingered, his fingers tracing the lines on Achilles' forearm, their touch sending a jolt through him. He quickly pulled away, the weight of their kiss suddenly heavy on his chest.

Patroclus stared at the ceiling, the silence in the tent amplifying the pounding of his heart. The warmth of the sun had long since set, leaving the space cool and shadowed. Every breath felt heavy, burdened by the memory of the day.

The playful wrestling at the cove, the shared laughter, the touch – it had all felt innocent then, fueled by the freedom of the sun and the sea. But as the moon cast its ghostly light through the tent flap, innocence felt a million miles away.

Their kiss. Soft, tender, yet the memory of it burned on Patroclus' lips like a brand. It wasn't the act itself that gnawed at him – it was the unspoken implications, the desires it unveiled, the line it so blatantly crossed.

Achilles slept soundly beside him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. The sight should have offered comfort, but instead, it intensified Patroclus' guilt. How could Achilles sleep so peacefully after what they had done? Was he unaffected, untouched by the weight of their secret?

Patroclus stared at the ceiling, the silence in the tent amplifying the pounding of his heart. The warmth of the sun had long since set, leaving the space cool and shadowed. Every breath felt heavy, burdened by the memory of the day.

The playful wrestling at the cove, the shared laughter, the touch – it had all felt innocent then, fueled by the freedom of the sun and the sea. But as the moon cast its ghostly light through the tent flap, innocence felt a million miles away.

Their kiss. Soft, tender, yet the memory of it burned on Patroclus' lips like a brand. It wasn't the act itself that gnawed at him – it was the unspoken implications, the desires it unveiled, the line it so blatantly crossed.

Achilles slept soundly beside him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. The sight should have offered comfort, but instead, it intensified Patroclus' guilt. How could Achilles sleep so peacefully after what they had done? Was he unaffected, untouched by the weight of their secret?

Or was Patroclus just projecting his own turmoil? Perhaps Achilles, ever the stoic, simply held his emotions deeper, hidden beneath the surface. The thought offered no solace. Whatever Achilles felt, Patroclus knew he shouldn't have let it happen.

He had been the one to linger, his fingers tracing the lines on Achilles' arm, seeking a connection neither could afford. His own shame mingled with a pang of anger towards Achilles, a silent accusation for not pulling away, for letting the moment unfold.

But anger was pointless, hollow. He had been just as complicit, just as consumed by the warmth of the sun and the thrill of the forbidden. Now, the sun had set, and the chill of reality crept in.

The consequences of their actions loomed large in Patroclus' mind. Could their bond, their cherished friendship, survive this? Could they go back to pretending, to the carefully constructed facade of mere comrades? Or had they shattered something irreparable, leaving only fragments of trust and unspoken desires in its wake?

Sleep refused to come, replaced by a relentless tide of questions. As the first rays of dawn painted the sky, Patroclus made a decision. He couldn't bear the unspoken tension any longer. He needed to talk, to understand, to mend the rift he felt growing between them, even if it meant facing the truth – whatever it may be.

With a heavy heart, he turned towards Achilles, the words he needed to say forming a knot in his throat. The weight of his guilt, his confusion, and the fear of losing his closest friend hung heavy in the air, waiting to be addressed, hoping for even a glimmer of understanding in the shared light of dawn.