Disclaimer: Greek Mythology (and as it is recorded in Homer's Iliad) is none of my property, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of enjoyment.

Pairing: Achilles x Patroclus
Genre: romance
Rating: R
Words: 720
Warnings: slash

A/N: I haven't the foggiest of ideas when I wrote this; maybe... 2004? 2005? I just happened to unearth it from the depths of my hard drive and proceeded to giggle madly over the fact that I wrote Iliad slash. Oh my.

Thrust, parry.

Patroclus nearly lost his balance as he threw his weight to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp point of the wooden practice blade. Stumbling a bit, he twisted around to strike back at the older boy before him. Their blades met with a hollow sound, a sharp weight upon their palms before they jumped away, ready to attack once more.

Round and round they went, circling each other carefully, eyes intense and smoldering into each other's very being. Achilles struck at the other boy and, for a moment, they were inches apart, their forearms brushing and the sweat glistening upon their strained muscles.

His cousin looked amazingly handsome in that moment, Patroclus thought, before he moved to strike once more.

Achilles, however, had different plans.

As Patroclus' sword swung in a smooth arc towards his chest, he ducked down and tackled the other boy by the legs. Muscle tensed beneath his arms, and with a surprised gasp, the younger boy fell down upon the lush grass of the forest floor.

"Oomph!" was the only sound that left his parted lips as he found himself lying horizontal with his cousin poised above him. The point of the wooden blade was pressed firmly against his neck, and it was all he could do to swallow and focus on that instead of the way Achilles' thighs pressed hotly against his own.

"You cheated," he muttered half-heartedly, chest heaving as he attempted to pull much needed oxygen into his lungs.

"So?" the older boy panted, dragging the tip of the blade slowly down his neck and across his chest. The cloth of his practice robe was gently drawn aside, exposing the result of years of hard training—taut, streamline muscles beneath the soft silk of his bronzed skin. Patroclus took in a sharp breath as the wood scraped along his collar bone, inflaming his nerves and making him hyper-aware of his cousin's presence.

"So, you were just afraid of losing, weren't you?" The taunt was met with a sly smirk and a tap of wood against his chest.

"Not exactly. I just wanted to get you beneath me."

There was a moment's silence before color slowly seeped up Patroclus' face to tint his cheeks a faint rose. The smirk merely grew on Achilles' face before he leant down, pressing their lips firmly together.

Patroclus was always surprised by the way Achilles kissed. He expected the other boy to be rough, biting at his lips and bruising his mouth with the heat of his passion. Yet, that was not the case. Their lips always touched in the gentlest of manners, and it left him breathless with the way Achilles seemed to worship his mouth.

Achilles' hand slid slowly down his side over the contours of his ribs into the dip of his waist. Each touch of his fingertips against his skin through the clothing forced his heart to speed tenfold, until soon he felt as if it would simply give out. And he would die right there, breath halting in his throat and smooth lips pressed against his own.

He was corrected, however, when Achilles' hand found its way between his spread thighs. That was when he felt as if he could simply handle no more, lest he burst from the pleasure of it all.

With a sharp groan, he arched up against the cool grass, hips jerking forward into that welcoming touch. Achilles merely swallowed his cries before they could make it out of his mouth, and all he could do was clutch at his cousin and feel. Feel the heat of Achilles' lips upon his own; feel the teeth digging into the soft flesh of his lower lip; feel the rough calluses slide along the sensitive flesh at the apex of his legs.

He felt so much that he didn't think he could handle it.

When he came, it was with a sharp inhale of breath. Otherwise, he remained silent as he trembled, nails digging red crescents into Achilles' arms.

Achilles was smiling at him when he was finally able to think clearly—a soft smile, one that spoke of the intimate bond between them. Closest of friends, greatest of lovers.

Patroclus returned the smile before leaning up for one last kiss, mumbling against his cousin's lips. "I demand a rematch."