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Mortified. It was the only word for it, embarrassment settling in layers as Achilleas strode through the camp,looking for his cousin. He didn’t want to find him. In fact, were he acting on his feelings, the Mikaelidas Lord thought he would be happy if he never saw the man again. But, he had to. Had to try and..diminish what had happened, apologise and hope that Stephanos would be content never to mention it ever.
They had shared much over the years, Achilleas and the younger of his two princely cousins. Of an age, the pair had grown up in each other's company, and though Stephanos was more often found carousing with Emilios now, Achilleas still considered him a close friend. And he would have trusted the man with most all of his secrets. But this…
It shouldn’t have ever happened. He was usually so careful, to the point that Damocles often grew irritated with him, but Achilleas knew better than to do anything to risk clouding his reputation with unsavoury incidents. Which was why he was kicking himself now for letting his dick overrule his better sense. Oh Gods. Swallowing, Achilleas tried to push the memory of it from his head because he’d never be able to look Steph in the eye if he didn’t, but it was like self-flagellation, his mind kept playing it back to him in precise detail in case there were elements he had forgotten.
The fact that he’d been pinned beneath the weight of the other man, only half wearing his clothes. Or that his hands had definitely been snaking up Damo’s back, that Damocles’ hands had been..oh and that he had moaned. An unmistakably lusty moan, right before he’d looked over his lover’s shoulder and seen the shock-slack face of his cousin.
He wanted to die.
Achilleas had almost thrown Damocles off him, had sat up as the Colchian man had crash landed next to the kline they had been lying on, trying to pretend he didn’t have a raging boner and make it look like anything but what it was. But it was too late, his cousin hadn’t hung around to wait for explanations and now here Achilleas was, trying to find him so he could offer one. If he could think of one.
Which was ridiculous because Achilleas had heard plenty about his cousin’s raucous sex life. And truth be told he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he had heard that Steph had been caught cavorting with some soldier. But it felt very different when it was his indiscretions out in the open, and when the Captain finally caught sight of the Taengean Prince, he almost lost his nerve.
It was only the need to ensure that Stephanos kept his big mouth shut that gave him the fortitude to walk right up to where his cousin stood in conversation with some other soldiers.
“A word, your highness, if you please.” was all he managed, the request for an audience with the man tripping curtly off his tongue. Achilleas had shouldered through the other men, just kept walking and expected Steph to follow as he stalked towards the very edge of the camp where it swept down towards the river. Where they would not be overheard.
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Dec 11, 2019 23:46:20 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 11, 2019 23:46:20 GMT
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Mortified. It was the only word for it, embarrassment settling in layers as Achilleas strode through the camp,looking for his cousin. He didn’t want to find him. In fact, were he acting on his feelings, the Mikaelidas Lord thought he would be happy if he never saw the man again. But, he had to. Had to try and..diminish what had happened, apologise and hope that Stephanos would be content never to mention it ever.
They had shared much over the years, Achilleas and the younger of his two princely cousins. Of an age, the pair had grown up in each other's company, and though Stephanos was more often found carousing with Emilios now, Achilleas still considered him a close friend. And he would have trusted the man with most all of his secrets. But this…
It shouldn’t have ever happened. He was usually so careful, to the point that Damocles often grew irritated with him, but Achilleas knew better than to do anything to risk clouding his reputation with unsavoury incidents. Which was why he was kicking himself now for letting his dick overrule his better sense. Oh Gods. Swallowing, Achilleas tried to push the memory of it from his head because he’d never be able to look Steph in the eye if he didn’t, but it was like self-flagellation, his mind kept playing it back to him in precise detail in case there were elements he had forgotten.
The fact that he’d been pinned beneath the weight of the other man, only half wearing his clothes. Or that his hands had definitely been snaking up Damo’s back, that Damocles’ hands had been..oh and that he had moaned. An unmistakably lusty moan, right before he’d looked over his lover’s shoulder and seen the shock-slack face of his cousin.
He wanted to die.
Achilleas had almost thrown Damocles off him, had sat up as the Colchian man had crash landed next to the kline they had been lying on, trying to pretend he didn’t have a raging boner and make it look like anything but what it was. But it was too late, his cousin hadn’t hung around to wait for explanations and now here Achilleas was, trying to find him so he could offer one. If he could think of one.
Which was ridiculous because Achilleas had heard plenty about his cousin’s raucous sex life. And truth be told he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he had heard that Steph had been caught cavorting with some soldier. But it felt very different when it was his indiscretions out in the open, and when the Captain finally caught sight of the Taengean Prince, he almost lost his nerve.
It was only the need to ensure that Stephanos kept his big mouth shut that gave him the fortitude to walk right up to where his cousin stood in conversation with some other soldiers.
“A word, your highness, if you please.” was all he managed, the request for an audience with the man tripping curtly off his tongue. Achilleas had shouldered through the other men, just kept walking and expected Steph to follow as he stalked towards the very edge of the camp where it swept down towards the river. Where they would not be overheard.
Mortified. It was the only word for it, embarrassment settling in layers as Achilleas strode through the camp,looking for his cousin. He didn’t want to find him. In fact, were he acting on his feelings, the Mikaelidas Lord thought he would be happy if he never saw the man again. But, he had to. Had to try and..diminish what had happened, apologise and hope that Stephanos would be content never to mention it ever.
They had shared much over the years, Achilleas and the younger of his two princely cousins. Of an age, the pair had grown up in each other's company, and though Stephanos was more often found carousing with Emilios now, Achilleas still considered him a close friend. And he would have trusted the man with most all of his secrets. But this…
It shouldn’t have ever happened. He was usually so careful, to the point that Damocles often grew irritated with him, but Achilleas knew better than to do anything to risk clouding his reputation with unsavoury incidents. Which was why he was kicking himself now for letting his dick overrule his better sense. Oh Gods. Swallowing, Achilleas tried to push the memory of it from his head because he’d never be able to look Steph in the eye if he didn’t, but it was like self-flagellation, his mind kept playing it back to him in precise detail in case there were elements he had forgotten.
The fact that he’d been pinned beneath the weight of the other man, only half wearing his clothes. Or that his hands had definitely been snaking up Damo’s back, that Damocles’ hands had been..oh and that he had moaned. An unmistakably lusty moan, right before he’d looked over his lover’s shoulder and seen the shock-slack face of his cousin.
He wanted to die.
Achilleas had almost thrown Damocles off him, had sat up as the Colchian man had crash landed next to the kline they had been lying on, trying to pretend he didn’t have a raging boner and make it look like anything but what it was. But it was too late, his cousin hadn’t hung around to wait for explanations and now here Achilleas was, trying to find him so he could offer one. If he could think of one.
Which was ridiculous because Achilleas had heard plenty about his cousin’s raucous sex life. And truth be told he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he had heard that Steph had been caught cavorting with some soldier. But it felt very different when it was his indiscretions out in the open, and when the Captain finally caught sight of the Taengean Prince, he almost lost his nerve.
It was only the need to ensure that Stephanos kept his big mouth shut that gave him the fortitude to walk right up to where his cousin stood in conversation with some other soldiers.
“A word, your highness, if you please.” was all he managed, the request for an audience with the man tripping curtly off his tongue. Achilleas had shouldered through the other men, just kept walking and expected Steph to follow as he stalked towards the very edge of the camp where it swept down towards the river. Where they would not be overheard.
He didn’t remember what he’d gone back to the tent for. Whatever it was wasn’t important enough in the face, or ass, in this case, of what he’d witnessed. For a moment, right after he’d turned back the tent flap and stepped into the shadowed interior of his shared dwelling with his cousin, he couldn’t make out exactly what was happening before him. It was the moan that made him realize that Achilleas was with someone just before his vision adjusted enough to see the massive man on top of Achilleas. Despite the moan, Stephanos’s first instinct was that Achilleas was being attacked and he moved forward, thinking to grab Damocles’s shoulder and rip him off his cousin, but he stopped just shy. Achilleas’s round blue eyes registered all the shock Stephanos needed to see.
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. What else could he say? “Oh,” he said again and now Achilleas’s whole relationship with Krysto was making a lot more sense. Stephanos wasn’t totally aware of backing out of the tent, but he saw Achilleas shove Damocles off and his cousin’s erect penis and that was it for him. He didn’t need to see anymore. Or want to.
Charging through the camp, Stephanos kept the back of his fist over his mouth, trying not to laugh. The laugh was actually more of a high pitched giggle that befitted a much younger, nine year old Stephanos. Not the tall, deep voiced man who was now laughing his way through the rows of tents. By the time he came to the middle of the camp, he could barely see through the sheen of tears and he was not fit to tell anyone what he’d seen, even if he’d wanted to.
A few of his superiors did not find this behavior amusing at all and when he wouldn’t tell them what was so unbelievably hilarious, they sobered him up fairly quickly by making him do a long running lap around the encampment. It was to these people that Stephanos was reporting when Achilleas tersely summoned him away. A smile curved up his lips but he was still breathing too heavily to be able to laugh at this point, and so, with hands on hips, panting, he trailed after Achilleas.
“Look,” he said, before his cousin had the chance. “Just put like a stick in front of the tent or something. There is not enough lye in Egypt to scrub away-” Stephanos physically shuddered. And the moan. He made a face. That was going to haunt him, he was pretty sure.
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Dec 17, 2019 18:22:09 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 17, 2019 18:22:09 GMT
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He didn’t remember what he’d gone back to the tent for. Whatever it was wasn’t important enough in the face, or ass, in this case, of what he’d witnessed. For a moment, right after he’d turned back the tent flap and stepped into the shadowed interior of his shared dwelling with his cousin, he couldn’t make out exactly what was happening before him. It was the moan that made him realize that Achilleas was with someone just before his vision adjusted enough to see the massive man on top of Achilleas. Despite the moan, Stephanos’s first instinct was that Achilleas was being attacked and he moved forward, thinking to grab Damocles’s shoulder and rip him off his cousin, but he stopped just shy. Achilleas’s round blue eyes registered all the shock Stephanos needed to see.
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. What else could he say? “Oh,” he said again and now Achilleas’s whole relationship with Krysto was making a lot more sense. Stephanos wasn’t totally aware of backing out of the tent, but he saw Achilleas shove Damocles off and his cousin’s erect penis and that was it for him. He didn’t need to see anymore. Or want to.
Charging through the camp, Stephanos kept the back of his fist over his mouth, trying not to laugh. The laugh was actually more of a high pitched giggle that befitted a much younger, nine year old Stephanos. Not the tall, deep voiced man who was now laughing his way through the rows of tents. By the time he came to the middle of the camp, he could barely see through the sheen of tears and he was not fit to tell anyone what he’d seen, even if he’d wanted to.
A few of his superiors did not find this behavior amusing at all and when he wouldn’t tell them what was so unbelievably hilarious, they sobered him up fairly quickly by making him do a long running lap around the encampment. It was to these people that Stephanos was reporting when Achilleas tersely summoned him away. A smile curved up his lips but he was still breathing too heavily to be able to laugh at this point, and so, with hands on hips, panting, he trailed after Achilleas.
“Look,” he said, before his cousin had the chance. “Just put like a stick in front of the tent or something. There is not enough lye in Egypt to scrub away-” Stephanos physically shuddered. And the moan. He made a face. That was going to haunt him, he was pretty sure.
He didn’t remember what he’d gone back to the tent for. Whatever it was wasn’t important enough in the face, or ass, in this case, of what he’d witnessed. For a moment, right after he’d turned back the tent flap and stepped into the shadowed interior of his shared dwelling with his cousin, he couldn’t make out exactly what was happening before him. It was the moan that made him realize that Achilleas was with someone just before his vision adjusted enough to see the massive man on top of Achilleas. Despite the moan, Stephanos’s first instinct was that Achilleas was being attacked and he moved forward, thinking to grab Damocles’s shoulder and rip him off his cousin, but he stopped just shy. Achilleas’s round blue eyes registered all the shock Stephanos needed to see.
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. What else could he say? “Oh,” he said again and now Achilleas’s whole relationship with Krysto was making a lot more sense. Stephanos wasn’t totally aware of backing out of the tent, but he saw Achilleas shove Damocles off and his cousin’s erect penis and that was it for him. He didn’t need to see anymore. Or want to.
Charging through the camp, Stephanos kept the back of his fist over his mouth, trying not to laugh. The laugh was actually more of a high pitched giggle that befitted a much younger, nine year old Stephanos. Not the tall, deep voiced man who was now laughing his way through the rows of tents. By the time he came to the middle of the camp, he could barely see through the sheen of tears and he was not fit to tell anyone what he’d seen, even if he’d wanted to.
A few of his superiors did not find this behavior amusing at all and when he wouldn’t tell them what was so unbelievably hilarious, they sobered him up fairly quickly by making him do a long running lap around the encampment. It was to these people that Stephanos was reporting when Achilleas tersely summoned him away. A smile curved up his lips but he was still breathing too heavily to be able to laugh at this point, and so, with hands on hips, panting, he trailed after Achilleas.
“Look,” he said, before his cousin had the chance. “Just put like a stick in front of the tent or something. There is not enough lye in Egypt to scrub away-” Stephanos physically shuddered. And the moan. He made a face. That was going to haunt him, he was pretty sure.
Achilleas had not even noticed that it was their superiors who he had shouldered through so abruptly, a testament to exactly how preoccupied he was. He left them in his wake anyway, not pausing in the determined strides he took away from the camp proper. When the tents had thinned, when instead the land began to shelve gently toward the yawning wide river, then the dark-haired young man stopped, turned to face his cousin. He had built himself up, ready to take a defensive stance and deliver a more acceptable retelling of events, but Stephanos was too quick, and he was speaking before Achilleas could open his mouth.
Having Stephanos address what had happened so head-on, well it rather robbed him of his impetus, and Achilleas just gaped at the prince a moment, before he covered his face with one large hand, as if if he might shut out the excruciating awkwardness of the entire moment. “I’m sorry” he managed after a pause and no small amount of effort. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
Achilleas let his words trail off, because really what could he say. He had not exactly planned to ever have to have this conversation, with anyone, let alone Steph, and words weren’t coming easily. Gods, he hadn’t exactly planned to have cause to have the conversation. And he didn’t really know where he stood on it, wasn’t ready to consider it alongside the actual reality of his life. How could he explain something that he didn’t even really understand?
It was not that men lying with men were unheard of, not even that unusual. But it had never been a thing to turn his head. And it was enough to stir gossip and that was something Achilleas always took pains to avoid. He wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten himself here…perhaps it was just because he was far from home, and it was easy to disregard the foolishness of what he was doing? Or had been, up until now.
He didn’t look at his cousin but rather fixed his gaze on a patch of the infernal sand that was their constant companion in this place, frowned at it as if it perhaps was to blame for this predicament. And when he spoke, he still wasn’t meeting Stephanos’ eyes.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.” And then as if growing irritated with his own stumbling, Achilleas blew a short sharp huff of air through his nose.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
He folded his arms across his chest and drew himself up, finally managed to look at his cousin and the blue of his eyes seemed somehow bluer against the tan picked up under the hot Egyptian sun. Whatever contrition or embarrassment Achilleas might have been feeling, it was manifesting in a rather prickly demeanour, which would not be anything new to his cousin. Stephanos would know precisely how stubborn and objectionable Irakles’ eldest son could be when he was feeling less than certain in a situation, and it appeared this was one such time.
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Dec 20, 2019 18:27:41 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 20, 2019 18:27:41 GMT
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Achilleas had not even noticed that it was their superiors who he had shouldered through so abruptly, a testament to exactly how preoccupied he was. He left them in his wake anyway, not pausing in the determined strides he took away from the camp proper. When the tents had thinned, when instead the land began to shelve gently toward the yawning wide river, then the dark-haired young man stopped, turned to face his cousin. He had built himself up, ready to take a defensive stance and deliver a more acceptable retelling of events, but Stephanos was too quick, and he was speaking before Achilleas could open his mouth.
Having Stephanos address what had happened so head-on, well it rather robbed him of his impetus, and Achilleas just gaped at the prince a moment, before he covered his face with one large hand, as if if he might shut out the excruciating awkwardness of the entire moment. “I’m sorry” he managed after a pause and no small amount of effort. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
Achilleas let his words trail off, because really what could he say. He had not exactly planned to ever have to have this conversation, with anyone, let alone Steph, and words weren’t coming easily. Gods, he hadn’t exactly planned to have cause to have the conversation. And he didn’t really know where he stood on it, wasn’t ready to consider it alongside the actual reality of his life. How could he explain something that he didn’t even really understand?
It was not that men lying with men were unheard of, not even that unusual. But it had never been a thing to turn his head. And it was enough to stir gossip and that was something Achilleas always took pains to avoid. He wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten himself here…perhaps it was just because he was far from home, and it was easy to disregard the foolishness of what he was doing? Or had been, up until now.
He didn’t look at his cousin but rather fixed his gaze on a patch of the infernal sand that was their constant companion in this place, frowned at it as if it perhaps was to blame for this predicament. And when he spoke, he still wasn’t meeting Stephanos’ eyes.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.” And then as if growing irritated with his own stumbling, Achilleas blew a short sharp huff of air through his nose.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
He folded his arms across his chest and drew himself up, finally managed to look at his cousin and the blue of his eyes seemed somehow bluer against the tan picked up under the hot Egyptian sun. Whatever contrition or embarrassment Achilleas might have been feeling, it was manifesting in a rather prickly demeanour, which would not be anything new to his cousin. Stephanos would know precisely how stubborn and objectionable Irakles’ eldest son could be when he was feeling less than certain in a situation, and it appeared this was one such time.
Achilleas had not even noticed that it was their superiors who he had shouldered through so abruptly, a testament to exactly how preoccupied he was. He left them in his wake anyway, not pausing in the determined strides he took away from the camp proper. When the tents had thinned, when instead the land began to shelve gently toward the yawning wide river, then the dark-haired young man stopped, turned to face his cousin. He had built himself up, ready to take a defensive stance and deliver a more acceptable retelling of events, but Stephanos was too quick, and he was speaking before Achilleas could open his mouth.
Having Stephanos address what had happened so head-on, well it rather robbed him of his impetus, and Achilleas just gaped at the prince a moment, before he covered his face with one large hand, as if if he might shut out the excruciating awkwardness of the entire moment. “I’m sorry” he managed after a pause and no small amount of effort. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
Achilleas let his words trail off, because really what could he say. He had not exactly planned to ever have to have this conversation, with anyone, let alone Steph, and words weren’t coming easily. Gods, he hadn’t exactly planned to have cause to have the conversation. And he didn’t really know where he stood on it, wasn’t ready to consider it alongside the actual reality of his life. How could he explain something that he didn’t even really understand?
It was not that men lying with men were unheard of, not even that unusual. But it had never been a thing to turn his head. And it was enough to stir gossip and that was something Achilleas always took pains to avoid. He wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten himself here…perhaps it was just because he was far from home, and it was easy to disregard the foolishness of what he was doing? Or had been, up until now.
He didn’t look at his cousin but rather fixed his gaze on a patch of the infernal sand that was their constant companion in this place, frowned at it as if it perhaps was to blame for this predicament. And when he spoke, he still wasn’t meeting Stephanos’ eyes.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.” And then as if growing irritated with his own stumbling, Achilleas blew a short sharp huff of air through his nose.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
He folded his arms across his chest and drew himself up, finally managed to look at his cousin and the blue of his eyes seemed somehow bluer against the tan picked up under the hot Egyptian sun. Whatever contrition or embarrassment Achilleas might have been feeling, it was manifesting in a rather prickly demeanour, which would not be anything new to his cousin. Stephanos would know precisely how stubborn and objectionable Irakles’ eldest son could be when he was feeling less than certain in a situation, and it appeared this was one such time.
He wasn’t looking right at Achilleas. All he could think about was his cousin’s very erect penis and how there had been a gigantic man making Achilleas moan. It was...horrifying. This shattered every illusion Stephanos had of the other man and was making him highly concerned. All their past moments were being reexamined and all he could come up with was being vaguely offended that Achilleas had never even made a single move so that he, Stephanos, could turn him down. It was a little galling.
“I’m sorry,” Achilleas interjected. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
“I’d say not,” Stephanos finally looked over at him. “You realize tent walls are pretty thin, don’t you? How many soldiers have you let plow you?” Stephanos made a face. For some reason, it was quite different to be having sex with a lot of men, versus women. He didn’t like to think of his cousin as the camp whore. Especially because of who Achilleas was and who he was in relation to himself.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.”
“I can’t what?” Stephanos folded his arms, agitated and Achilleas’s own discomfort wasn’t helping matters.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
Stephanos glared. “Oh no, no. We’re going to talk about it. I know that man. That’s the one from when we fought in Colchis, isn’t it?” He made a tsking sound. “Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.” Stephanos shook his head and turned away from his cousin, looking off across the tents again. “At least pick someone who isn’t a soldier.” Although his personal ideal would be for Achilleas to stop this immediately.
“Have I not been good enough to you? Do you need a whore? I’m going to go get one,” he promised. “Girls have these wonderful things called breasts? You’ll love them. And girls taste great. I’m sure better than whatever that Colchian’s cock tastes like,” he added scathingly. “And, because I’m kind, Achilleas, I will make sure to get you a really beautiful whore.”
He started to walk away but spun on his heel and held up his hands. “Also, am I not good enough for you? You’ve never once tried to kiss me and I feel a little hurt.” This was mostly a joke. Mostly.
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Dec 29, 2019 15:21:27 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 29, 2019 15:21:27 GMT
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He wasn’t looking right at Achilleas. All he could think about was his cousin’s very erect penis and how there had been a gigantic man making Achilleas moan. It was...horrifying. This shattered every illusion Stephanos had of the other man and was making him highly concerned. All their past moments were being reexamined and all he could come up with was being vaguely offended that Achilleas had never even made a single move so that he, Stephanos, could turn him down. It was a little galling.
“I’m sorry,” Achilleas interjected. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
“I’d say not,” Stephanos finally looked over at him. “You realize tent walls are pretty thin, don’t you? How many soldiers have you let plow you?” Stephanos made a face. For some reason, it was quite different to be having sex with a lot of men, versus women. He didn’t like to think of his cousin as the camp whore. Especially because of who Achilleas was and who he was in relation to himself.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.”
“I can’t what?” Stephanos folded his arms, agitated and Achilleas’s own discomfort wasn’t helping matters.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
Stephanos glared. “Oh no, no. We’re going to talk about it. I know that man. That’s the one from when we fought in Colchis, isn’t it?” He made a tsking sound. “Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.” Stephanos shook his head and turned away from his cousin, looking off across the tents again. “At least pick someone who isn’t a soldier.” Although his personal ideal would be for Achilleas to stop this immediately.
“Have I not been good enough to you? Do you need a whore? I’m going to go get one,” he promised. “Girls have these wonderful things called breasts? You’ll love them. And girls taste great. I’m sure better than whatever that Colchian’s cock tastes like,” he added scathingly. “And, because I’m kind, Achilleas, I will make sure to get you a really beautiful whore.”
He started to walk away but spun on his heel and held up his hands. “Also, am I not good enough for you? You’ve never once tried to kiss me and I feel a little hurt.” This was mostly a joke. Mostly.
He wasn’t looking right at Achilleas. All he could think about was his cousin’s very erect penis and how there had been a gigantic man making Achilleas moan. It was...horrifying. This shattered every illusion Stephanos had of the other man and was making him highly concerned. All their past moments were being reexamined and all he could come up with was being vaguely offended that Achilleas had never even made a single move so that he, Stephanos, could turn him down. It was a little galling.
“I’m sorry,” Achilleas interjected. “… I obviously was not expecting to be interrupted and well, just…..”
“I’d say not,” Stephanos finally looked over at him. “You realize tent walls are pretty thin, don’t you? How many soldiers have you let plow you?” Stephanos made a face. For some reason, it was quite different to be having sex with a lot of men, versus women. He didn’t like to think of his cousin as the camp whore. Especially because of who Achilleas was and who he was in relation to himself.
“Look, Stephanos, what you saw...I’m not, I haven’t been like that with a man..not before here. I.. you can’t.”
“I can’t what?” Stephanos folded his arms, agitated and Achilleas’s own discomfort wasn’t helping matters.
“I would appreciate it if you could just not speak of it. That is all.”
Stephanos glared. “Oh no, no. We’re going to talk about it. I know that man. That’s the one from when we fought in Colchis, isn’t it?” He made a tsking sound. “Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.” Stephanos shook his head and turned away from his cousin, looking off across the tents again. “At least pick someone who isn’t a soldier.” Although his personal ideal would be for Achilleas to stop this immediately.
“Have I not been good enough to you? Do you need a whore? I’m going to go get one,” he promised. “Girls have these wonderful things called breasts? You’ll love them. And girls taste great. I’m sure better than whatever that Colchian’s cock tastes like,” he added scathingly. “And, because I’m kind, Achilleas, I will make sure to get you a really beautiful whore.”
He started to walk away but spun on his heel and held up his hands. “Also, am I not good enough for you? You’ve never once tried to kiss me and I feel a little hurt.” This was mostly a joke. Mostly.
‘How many soldiers have you let plow you?’
Achilleas jerked his head up at that, offended. He hadn’t...wouldn’t. In trying to explain, he could feel the heat rush over his face, because talking about this with Stephanos was beyond uncomfortable. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened, and have his cousin do the same. But it seemed as if he would not be so fortunate when Stephanon insisted that they would talk about it, and he began to get the sense that his cousin was angry at him. He uncrossed his arms, put his hands on hips, prepared to argue against whatever the other had to say.
He had not considered that his two worlds would meet thusly, that he would have to explain Damocles to Stephanos, who of course remembered the Colchian from that first meeting back in Eubocris. He was ready to explain that first impressions were not always as they seemed, that the Lieutenant had more about him than the thuggish fool Stephanos had met. But the prince had not finished and his next words had Achilleas freeze, because they played into all of his own fears.
'Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.'
His cousin thought less of him because of this. Was ashamed of him. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and Achilleas was reminded that he was talking to a Prince of Taengea as well as his friend. He’d served alongside Stephanos in the military for years, in the Order too, and it stung to be spoken of so. He straightened his shoulders, arms falling to his sides. “I’m not owned...” he spluttered, hating the implication, and tempted to remind Stephanos with his fists that he was not some feeble little nothing just because he..
The half a step he’d taken toward the other man halted though, because it was not as it Achilleas hadn’t second-guessed all of this himself. Why he struggled so much with it, and why Damocles had talked him down again and again as he had made this very point. If the men knew, he’d lose their respect, in the same way he could feel Stephanos was not affording it to him now and so he pressed his lips together, grit his teeth and tried not to feel as scalded by his cousin’s words as he did.
And perhaps he might have managed it if the prince had not been so flippant in the next if he had not switched so easily from wounding Achilleas to..making a joke of it all? Achilleas rolled his eyes when the other starting speaking of whores, and he was shaking his head, turning away himself and prepared to go and lick his wounds when Steph paused, asked Achilleas why he had never made any overtures towards him.
That was it. His cousin had all but called him a whore, had implied he was somehow a disappointment to Taengea, and now poked fun at having hurt feelings?
“Oh you’re a piece of work, Steph” he muttered, turning slowly back towards the prince. He didn’t fully intend for what happened next to happen,but it felt really good when he crashed into his cousin, and it was not because he was trying to make Stephanos feel better for not having shown interest in him before. No, instead, this was Achilleas proving that whatever Steph might have learnt about him didn’t mean that he was going to be spoken to like he was lesser. He could still thump the crap out of him when it came down to it, and maybe he needed to remind himself of that as much as his cousin.
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Dec 29, 2019 18:03:31 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 29, 2019 18:03:31 GMT
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‘How many soldiers have you let plow you?’
Achilleas jerked his head up at that, offended. He hadn’t...wouldn’t. In trying to explain, he could feel the heat rush over his face, because talking about this with Stephanos was beyond uncomfortable. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened, and have his cousin do the same. But it seemed as if he would not be so fortunate when Stephanon insisted that they would talk about it, and he began to get the sense that his cousin was angry at him. He uncrossed his arms, put his hands on hips, prepared to argue against whatever the other had to say.
He had not considered that his two worlds would meet thusly, that he would have to explain Damocles to Stephanos, who of course remembered the Colchian from that first meeting back in Eubocris. He was ready to explain that first impressions were not always as they seemed, that the Lieutenant had more about him than the thuggish fool Stephanos had met. But the prince had not finished and his next words had Achilleas freeze, because they played into all of his own fears.
'Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.'
His cousin thought less of him because of this. Was ashamed of him. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and Achilleas was reminded that he was talking to a Prince of Taengea as well as his friend. He’d served alongside Stephanos in the military for years, in the Order too, and it stung to be spoken of so. He straightened his shoulders, arms falling to his sides. “I’m not owned...” he spluttered, hating the implication, and tempted to remind Stephanos with his fists that he was not some feeble little nothing just because he..
The half a step he’d taken toward the other man halted though, because it was not as it Achilleas hadn’t second-guessed all of this himself. Why he struggled so much with it, and why Damocles had talked him down again and again as he had made this very point. If the men knew, he’d lose their respect, in the same way he could feel Stephanos was not affording it to him now and so he pressed his lips together, grit his teeth and tried not to feel as scalded by his cousin’s words as he did.
And perhaps he might have managed it if the prince had not been so flippant in the next if he had not switched so easily from wounding Achilleas to..making a joke of it all? Achilleas rolled his eyes when the other starting speaking of whores, and he was shaking his head, turning away himself and prepared to go and lick his wounds when Steph paused, asked Achilleas why he had never made any overtures towards him.
That was it. His cousin had all but called him a whore, had implied he was somehow a disappointment to Taengea, and now poked fun at having hurt feelings?
“Oh you’re a piece of work, Steph” he muttered, turning slowly back towards the prince. He didn’t fully intend for what happened next to happen,but it felt really good when he crashed into his cousin, and it was not because he was trying to make Stephanos feel better for not having shown interest in him before. No, instead, this was Achilleas proving that whatever Steph might have learnt about him didn’t mean that he was going to be spoken to like he was lesser. He could still thump the crap out of him when it came down to it, and maybe he needed to remind himself of that as much as his cousin.
‘How many soldiers have you let plow you?’
Achilleas jerked his head up at that, offended. He hadn’t...wouldn’t. In trying to explain, he could feel the heat rush over his face, because talking about this with Stephanos was beyond uncomfortable. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened, and have his cousin do the same. But it seemed as if he would not be so fortunate when Stephanon insisted that they would talk about it, and he began to get the sense that his cousin was angry at him. He uncrossed his arms, put his hands on hips, prepared to argue against whatever the other had to say.
He had not considered that his two worlds would meet thusly, that he would have to explain Damocles to Stephanos, who of course remembered the Colchian from that first meeting back in Eubocris. He was ready to explain that first impressions were not always as they seemed, that the Lieutenant had more about him than the thuggish fool Stephanos had met. But the prince had not finished and his next words had Achilleas freeze, because they played into all of his own fears.
'Achilleas. You are the son of Taengea’s top general. You can’t let yourself be owned like this, and especially not by him.'
His cousin thought less of him because of this. Was ashamed of him. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and Achilleas was reminded that he was talking to a Prince of Taengea as well as his friend. He’d served alongside Stephanos in the military for years, in the Order too, and it stung to be spoken of so. He straightened his shoulders, arms falling to his sides. “I’m not owned...” he spluttered, hating the implication, and tempted to remind Stephanos with his fists that he was not some feeble little nothing just because he..
The half a step he’d taken toward the other man halted though, because it was not as it Achilleas hadn’t second-guessed all of this himself. Why he struggled so much with it, and why Damocles had talked him down again and again as he had made this very point. If the men knew, he’d lose their respect, in the same way he could feel Stephanos was not affording it to him now and so he pressed his lips together, grit his teeth and tried not to feel as scalded by his cousin’s words as he did.
And perhaps he might have managed it if the prince had not been so flippant in the next if he had not switched so easily from wounding Achilleas to..making a joke of it all? Achilleas rolled his eyes when the other starting speaking of whores, and he was shaking his head, turning away himself and prepared to go and lick his wounds when Steph paused, asked Achilleas why he had never made any overtures towards him.
That was it. His cousin had all but called him a whore, had implied he was somehow a disappointment to Taengea, and now poked fun at having hurt feelings?
“Oh you’re a piece of work, Steph” he muttered, turning slowly back towards the prince. He didn’t fully intend for what happened next to happen,but it felt really good when he crashed into his cousin, and it was not because he was trying to make Stephanos feel better for not having shown interest in him before. No, instead, this was Achilleas proving that whatever Steph might have learnt about him didn’t mean that he was going to be spoken to like he was lesser. He could still thump the crap out of him when it came down to it, and maybe he needed to remind himself of that as much as his cousin.
He knew that some of the things he’d said had hurt Achilleas but he wasn’t going to take them back. They were true. Whether his cousin did or didn’t remember, he had a reputation that would be tarnished if this little open secret was widely known. It wasn’t the act itself that had Stephanos so agitated so much as with who. That blowhard from Colchis so angered Stephanos that he couldn’t stand the thought that Achilleas had found some sort of perverse pleasure from being owned, as Stephanos thought of it. There was no other word he could call to mind for it. If his cousin was on his hands and knees, being plowed from behind, that was being owned. Especially by...whatever his name was.
It was just as Stephanos was thinking that thought that he felt Achilleas’s body slam into his. Taken completely by surprise, Stephanos felt his feet slide out from underneath him and in the next moment, his knees and chest hit the sand, followed by his chin. His teeth clamped together hard enough to rattle his skull and his first thought was to pull his arm free and check to see if his jaw was dislocated. It wasn’t.
Twisting underneath Achilleas, he brought his arms up to form a barrier between his bleeding face and his cousin’s fist. “Lunatic!” he growled, shifting his hips to try and buck Achilleas off him. “Get off me!”
He could only imagine what this looked like from a distance. The group of nobles, generals, commanders, and captains would look out. They’d see a scraggly tree, tufts of tall grass, the gorgeous tawny sand sprinkled with sparkling sunlight. And then they’d see Achilleas on top of the prince of Taengea, attempting to soundly throttle him, while Stephanos writhed under him, spitting curses and reminders to keep his face out of it.
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Dec 30, 2019 19:42:49 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 30, 2019 19:42:49 GMT
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He knew that some of the things he’d said had hurt Achilleas but he wasn’t going to take them back. They were true. Whether his cousin did or didn’t remember, he had a reputation that would be tarnished if this little open secret was widely known. It wasn’t the act itself that had Stephanos so agitated so much as with who. That blowhard from Colchis so angered Stephanos that he couldn’t stand the thought that Achilleas had found some sort of perverse pleasure from being owned, as Stephanos thought of it. There was no other word he could call to mind for it. If his cousin was on his hands and knees, being plowed from behind, that was being owned. Especially by...whatever his name was.
It was just as Stephanos was thinking that thought that he felt Achilleas’s body slam into his. Taken completely by surprise, Stephanos felt his feet slide out from underneath him and in the next moment, his knees and chest hit the sand, followed by his chin. His teeth clamped together hard enough to rattle his skull and his first thought was to pull his arm free and check to see if his jaw was dislocated. It wasn’t.
Twisting underneath Achilleas, he brought his arms up to form a barrier between his bleeding face and his cousin’s fist. “Lunatic!” he growled, shifting his hips to try and buck Achilleas off him. “Get off me!”
He could only imagine what this looked like from a distance. The group of nobles, generals, commanders, and captains would look out. They’d see a scraggly tree, tufts of tall grass, the gorgeous tawny sand sprinkled with sparkling sunlight. And then they’d see Achilleas on top of the prince of Taengea, attempting to soundly throttle him, while Stephanos writhed under him, spitting curses and reminders to keep his face out of it.
He knew that some of the things he’d said had hurt Achilleas but he wasn’t going to take them back. They were true. Whether his cousin did or didn’t remember, he had a reputation that would be tarnished if this little open secret was widely known. It wasn’t the act itself that had Stephanos so agitated so much as with who. That blowhard from Colchis so angered Stephanos that he couldn’t stand the thought that Achilleas had found some sort of perverse pleasure from being owned, as Stephanos thought of it. There was no other word he could call to mind for it. If his cousin was on his hands and knees, being plowed from behind, that was being owned. Especially by...whatever his name was.
It was just as Stephanos was thinking that thought that he felt Achilleas’s body slam into his. Taken completely by surprise, Stephanos felt his feet slide out from underneath him and in the next moment, his knees and chest hit the sand, followed by his chin. His teeth clamped together hard enough to rattle his skull and his first thought was to pull his arm free and check to see if his jaw was dislocated. It wasn’t.
Twisting underneath Achilleas, he brought his arms up to form a barrier between his bleeding face and his cousin’s fist. “Lunatic!” he growled, shifting his hips to try and buck Achilleas off him. “Get off me!”
He could only imagine what this looked like from a distance. The group of nobles, generals, commanders, and captains would look out. They’d see a scraggly tree, tufts of tall grass, the gorgeous tawny sand sprinkled with sparkling sunlight. And then they’d see Achilleas on top of the prince of Taengea, attempting to soundly throttle him, while Stephanos writhed under him, spitting curses and reminders to keep his face out of it.
It was immensely satisfying to see Steph meet the sand with an ungentle thump, and Achilleas had fisted his hands in the neck of the man’s chiton, hauling him round so he could punch him a couple of times for good measure. He wasn’t thinking clearly, oblivious to the fact that they made a spectacle of themselves in front of their fellow soldiers and superiors, just intent on redressing some of the injured pride he felt.
His cousin had raised his arms, setting them as a barrier between Achilleas’s fists and his face, and still in the grip of his anger and hurt, the dark-haired Lord instead gripped the fabric of his cousin’s clothes, slammed him on the sand again. He ignored Stephs’s outraged shout, fuelled by this need to reassert himself, to shake whatever twisted view his cousin had of him now right out of his stupid head.
There was fear too, beyond the thudding of his pulse in his temples, because he didn’t want to have to confront the reality of what Stephanos now knew. It had been easy to ignore the repercussions when it was his secret. There shouldn’t have been any. But now, now Achilleas was having to swallow the fact that he’d been naive in expecting it to stay that way. He paid no heed to where Steph hit him back, in fact, he relished it, because that was a much more simple conversation between them than the one that had gone before. The sand that ground into his knees, the sting on his knuckles. They were simple feelings, clean.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me” he ground out, breathless between driving a fist into the soft, unprotected flesh of his cousin’s side. “You don’t look at me like that” Like he was diminished.
He wasn’t, was he?
Perhaps the thought would have been enough to give him pause, to see beyond the need to lash out in retribution for how his cousin’s words had stung him. It didn’t matter though, because even in the brief moments where the two Mikaelidas man tussled in the sand, their fellow soldiers had broken into a run, intent on quashing whatever the squabble was before it set about any serious discontent.
Achilleas found himself being hauled backward, up and off his cousin, and at first he resisted, struggling against the arms that held him until a shake to his shoulder and a harshly bitten out “CAPTAIN” was enough to jar him out of his red-blinkered rage, remind him where he was. Who he was.
Breathing fast, Achilleas turned to meet the wide-eyed gaze of one of his own men, who released his hold on the nobleman and stepped back, glancing between his two superiors with a nervous sort of expression. Achilleas swallowed past a dry throat, and then looked over at the bewildered faces of the other Taengeans, no doubt wondering what had set two of their own at each other's throats. They couldn’t find out.
“It's nothing, Eugene. Just..horseplay got out of hand” Achilleas said curtly to the soldier who had just man-handled him away from fighting his own cousin. Lifting a hand to his lip, he drew it away splattered with his own blood. When did that happen? Stephanos had gotten some hits in somewhere then. His eyes flickered over towards his cousin, not settling on the man, and Achilleas gathered himself, rolled back his shoulders back and tried to pretend that he was not as thrown by all of this as he was. “If you’ll excuse me”.
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Dec 31, 2019 12:50:01 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Dec 31, 2019 12:50:01 GMT
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It was immensely satisfying to see Steph meet the sand with an ungentle thump, and Achilleas had fisted his hands in the neck of the man’s chiton, hauling him round so he could punch him a couple of times for good measure. He wasn’t thinking clearly, oblivious to the fact that they made a spectacle of themselves in front of their fellow soldiers and superiors, just intent on redressing some of the injured pride he felt.
His cousin had raised his arms, setting them as a barrier between Achilleas’s fists and his face, and still in the grip of his anger and hurt, the dark-haired Lord instead gripped the fabric of his cousin’s clothes, slammed him on the sand again. He ignored Stephs’s outraged shout, fuelled by this need to reassert himself, to shake whatever twisted view his cousin had of him now right out of his stupid head.
There was fear too, beyond the thudding of his pulse in his temples, because he didn’t want to have to confront the reality of what Stephanos now knew. It had been easy to ignore the repercussions when it was his secret. There shouldn’t have been any. But now, now Achilleas was having to swallow the fact that he’d been naive in expecting it to stay that way. He paid no heed to where Steph hit him back, in fact, he relished it, because that was a much more simple conversation between them than the one that had gone before. The sand that ground into his knees, the sting on his knuckles. They were simple feelings, clean.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me” he ground out, breathless between driving a fist into the soft, unprotected flesh of his cousin’s side. “You don’t look at me like that” Like he was diminished.
He wasn’t, was he?
Perhaps the thought would have been enough to give him pause, to see beyond the need to lash out in retribution for how his cousin’s words had stung him. It didn’t matter though, because even in the brief moments where the two Mikaelidas man tussled in the sand, their fellow soldiers had broken into a run, intent on quashing whatever the squabble was before it set about any serious discontent.
Achilleas found himself being hauled backward, up and off his cousin, and at first he resisted, struggling against the arms that held him until a shake to his shoulder and a harshly bitten out “CAPTAIN” was enough to jar him out of his red-blinkered rage, remind him where he was. Who he was.
Breathing fast, Achilleas turned to meet the wide-eyed gaze of one of his own men, who released his hold on the nobleman and stepped back, glancing between his two superiors with a nervous sort of expression. Achilleas swallowed past a dry throat, and then looked over at the bewildered faces of the other Taengeans, no doubt wondering what had set two of their own at each other's throats. They couldn’t find out.
“It's nothing, Eugene. Just..horseplay got out of hand” Achilleas said curtly to the soldier who had just man-handled him away from fighting his own cousin. Lifting a hand to his lip, he drew it away splattered with his own blood. When did that happen? Stephanos had gotten some hits in somewhere then. His eyes flickered over towards his cousin, not settling on the man, and Achilleas gathered himself, rolled back his shoulders back and tried to pretend that he was not as thrown by all of this as he was. “If you’ll excuse me”.
It was immensely satisfying to see Steph meet the sand with an ungentle thump, and Achilleas had fisted his hands in the neck of the man’s chiton, hauling him round so he could punch him a couple of times for good measure. He wasn’t thinking clearly, oblivious to the fact that they made a spectacle of themselves in front of their fellow soldiers and superiors, just intent on redressing some of the injured pride he felt.
His cousin had raised his arms, setting them as a barrier between Achilleas’s fists and his face, and still in the grip of his anger and hurt, the dark-haired Lord instead gripped the fabric of his cousin’s clothes, slammed him on the sand again. He ignored Stephs’s outraged shout, fuelled by this need to reassert himself, to shake whatever twisted view his cousin had of him now right out of his stupid head.
There was fear too, beyond the thudding of his pulse in his temples, because he didn’t want to have to confront the reality of what Stephanos now knew. It had been easy to ignore the repercussions when it was his secret. There shouldn’t have been any. But now, now Achilleas was having to swallow the fact that he’d been naive in expecting it to stay that way. He paid no heed to where Steph hit him back, in fact, he relished it, because that was a much more simple conversation between them than the one that had gone before. The sand that ground into his knees, the sting on his knuckles. They were simple feelings, clean.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me” he ground out, breathless between driving a fist into the soft, unprotected flesh of his cousin’s side. “You don’t look at me like that” Like he was diminished.
He wasn’t, was he?
Perhaps the thought would have been enough to give him pause, to see beyond the need to lash out in retribution for how his cousin’s words had stung him. It didn’t matter though, because even in the brief moments where the two Mikaelidas man tussled in the sand, their fellow soldiers had broken into a run, intent on quashing whatever the squabble was before it set about any serious discontent.
Achilleas found himself being hauled backward, up and off his cousin, and at first he resisted, struggling against the arms that held him until a shake to his shoulder and a harshly bitten out “CAPTAIN” was enough to jar him out of his red-blinkered rage, remind him where he was. Who he was.
Breathing fast, Achilleas turned to meet the wide-eyed gaze of one of his own men, who released his hold on the nobleman and stepped back, glancing between his two superiors with a nervous sort of expression. Achilleas swallowed past a dry throat, and then looked over at the bewildered faces of the other Taengeans, no doubt wondering what had set two of their own at each other's throats. They couldn’t find out.
“It's nothing, Eugene. Just..horseplay got out of hand” Achilleas said curtly to the soldier who had just man-handled him away from fighting his own cousin. Lifting a hand to his lip, he drew it away splattered with his own blood. When did that happen? Stephanos had gotten some hits in somewhere then. His eyes flickered over towards his cousin, not settling on the man, and Achilleas gathered himself, rolled back his shoulders back and tried to pretend that he was not as thrown by all of this as he was. “If you’ll excuse me”.
No good deed goes unpunished. If he’d had any idea of how Achilleas would react, he would have still made his same remarks, only he’d have run afterwards. Stephanos did not feel it made him a coward not to want to be punched, which, unfortunately for him in this precise moment, was quite the skill his cousin had. With every jarring hit of Achilleas’s fist, Stephanos didn’t even have time to do more than firm up his torso to take it. His cousin’s fist met protective muscle, shielding Stephanos’s inner organs from the onslaught. The bruising would be pretty bad, Stephanos thought, in a detached way.
With his arms blocking his face, he couldn’t see the pale fury in the other’s. He didn’t see the wild, ugly look in Achilleas’s eyes or the murderous expression etched in every feature. Every hit conveyed that sentiment, though, and Stephanos wondered if he should have just stood there in the doorway of the tent and let Achilleas moan out his finish. Gritting his teeth against another hit to his ribs, he thought that, yes, he should have let Achilleas finish. That would have been the least he could do, though, his charity towards his cousin ran out when another punch vibrated against his side and he felt the crack, the bone give, and his breath whoosh out of his lungs.
He broke my rib, Stephanos thought, dumbfounded. The realization streaked like lightning across his mind and he rolled out of the way, kicking at his cousin as he did it. This was supposed to be just a good natured beat down, just to let Achilleas blow off some steam and anger. By Ares, the man kept himself wound so tightly he was liable to snap at any second. That this was that second wasn’t incredible to Stephanos. The shock came from the violence to himself. He who had done nothing but save his cousin’s reputation. Screw him. Harmless punching was one thing, broken bones was another.
He managed to get out from under Achilleas and slammed his fist against his cousin. This wasn’t a practice fight. It had become real and Stephanos didn’t hold back. All humor was gone and he threw a volley of punches straight back, fully intending to break one of his cousin’s ribs in return. Broken bone for broken trust. All Stephanos was looking for was some give in Achilleas’s side. He hooked his elbow upwards in an uppercut to catch Achilleas’s nose, trying to break it, but doing that earned him another punch from Achilleas. He sprawled, panting, ignoring his screaming ribs, glaring as Achilleas growled at him.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me. You don’t look at me like that.”
Stephanos didn’t answer. He didn’t care. There wasn’t room in his rage to process what his cousin was saying. His understanding stopped at “You don’t get to-” and from there, his overriding impulse was Yes. I. Can. Achilleas had it the wrong way around. It was Achilleas who didn’t get to do things. It was Achilleas who stood in his own way.
Leaping at Achilleas again, the two of them battled it out more viciously than they’d ever done. Sand flew, skin tore, and fingers dug at each other’s in an attempt to harm and maim. If Stephanos could have ripped Achilleas’s face off, he’d have done it. Stephanos was so intent on breaking whatever he could get his hands on of his cousin that he didn’t hear the crunch of rock and sand under fast moving sandals. Nor did he hear shouting, nor understand his name being bellowed over and over. What he did see was Achilleas’s sudden shock as arms came up under the man’s armpits and then Achilleas was gone.
“Hey!” he roared when someone hauled him to his feet. He ignored the stinging all over his body, did not notice blood seeping from his arm. His whole focus was on Achilleas and he strained against the men who held him, trying to get at his cousin. The same bark that drew up his cousin’s notice made Stephanos blink and momentarily still as well. Breath rushed in and out of his nose as he clenched his jaw shut, glaring at the interruption. His heart hammered and he shot a daggered look at Achilleas, who was blinking around with an expression of dawning understanding.
Stephanos’s blood boiled in his veins as he curled his fists at his sides. Only once he’d stopped struggling did the men holding him let go. His eyes bored into his cousin as Achilleas explained that this was a bit of horseplay. So that was how this was going to be, hmm? Lies upon lies upon lies. And then Achilleas was trying to leave. The ring of Taengeans were not really keen on staying and the ones who did try to pull on Stephanos’s clothes as he started toward Achilleas found the prince snarling into their faces. “Get. Off. Me,” he growled, and took off after Achilleas.
“Horseplay?” he snapped, holding his ribs. Every breath he took was a fun little bit of agony. “What was that? Achilleas? You know what?” Stephanos shook his head and retreated two steps away from Achilleas. “If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore.” He turned his back to go to the medical tent to get cleaned up, all traces of previous humor completely gone.
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No good deed goes unpunished. If he’d had any idea of how Achilleas would react, he would have still made his same remarks, only he’d have run afterwards. Stephanos did not feel it made him a coward not to want to be punched, which, unfortunately for him in this precise moment, was quite the skill his cousin had. With every jarring hit of Achilleas’s fist, Stephanos didn’t even have time to do more than firm up his torso to take it. His cousin’s fist met protective muscle, shielding Stephanos’s inner organs from the onslaught. The bruising would be pretty bad, Stephanos thought, in a detached way.
With his arms blocking his face, he couldn’t see the pale fury in the other’s. He didn’t see the wild, ugly look in Achilleas’s eyes or the murderous expression etched in every feature. Every hit conveyed that sentiment, though, and Stephanos wondered if he should have just stood there in the doorway of the tent and let Achilleas moan out his finish. Gritting his teeth against another hit to his ribs, he thought that, yes, he should have let Achilleas finish. That would have been the least he could do, though, his charity towards his cousin ran out when another punch vibrated against his side and he felt the crack, the bone give, and his breath whoosh out of his lungs.
He broke my rib, Stephanos thought, dumbfounded. The realization streaked like lightning across his mind and he rolled out of the way, kicking at his cousin as he did it. This was supposed to be just a good natured beat down, just to let Achilleas blow off some steam and anger. By Ares, the man kept himself wound so tightly he was liable to snap at any second. That this was that second wasn’t incredible to Stephanos. The shock came from the violence to himself. He who had done nothing but save his cousin’s reputation. Screw him. Harmless punching was one thing, broken bones was another.
He managed to get out from under Achilleas and slammed his fist against his cousin. This wasn’t a practice fight. It had become real and Stephanos didn’t hold back. All humor was gone and he threw a volley of punches straight back, fully intending to break one of his cousin’s ribs in return. Broken bone for broken trust. All Stephanos was looking for was some give in Achilleas’s side. He hooked his elbow upwards in an uppercut to catch Achilleas’s nose, trying to break it, but doing that earned him another punch from Achilleas. He sprawled, panting, ignoring his screaming ribs, glaring as Achilleas growled at him.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me. You don’t look at me like that.”
Stephanos didn’t answer. He didn’t care. There wasn’t room in his rage to process what his cousin was saying. His understanding stopped at “You don’t get to-” and from there, his overriding impulse was Yes. I. Can. Achilleas had it the wrong way around. It was Achilleas who didn’t get to do things. It was Achilleas who stood in his own way.
Leaping at Achilleas again, the two of them battled it out more viciously than they’d ever done. Sand flew, skin tore, and fingers dug at each other’s in an attempt to harm and maim. If Stephanos could have ripped Achilleas’s face off, he’d have done it. Stephanos was so intent on breaking whatever he could get his hands on of his cousin that he didn’t hear the crunch of rock and sand under fast moving sandals. Nor did he hear shouting, nor understand his name being bellowed over and over. What he did see was Achilleas’s sudden shock as arms came up under the man’s armpits and then Achilleas was gone.
“Hey!” he roared when someone hauled him to his feet. He ignored the stinging all over his body, did not notice blood seeping from his arm. His whole focus was on Achilleas and he strained against the men who held him, trying to get at his cousin. The same bark that drew up his cousin’s notice made Stephanos blink and momentarily still as well. Breath rushed in and out of his nose as he clenched his jaw shut, glaring at the interruption. His heart hammered and he shot a daggered look at Achilleas, who was blinking around with an expression of dawning understanding.
Stephanos’s blood boiled in his veins as he curled his fists at his sides. Only once he’d stopped struggling did the men holding him let go. His eyes bored into his cousin as Achilleas explained that this was a bit of horseplay. So that was how this was going to be, hmm? Lies upon lies upon lies. And then Achilleas was trying to leave. The ring of Taengeans were not really keen on staying and the ones who did try to pull on Stephanos’s clothes as he started toward Achilleas found the prince snarling into their faces. “Get. Off. Me,” he growled, and took off after Achilleas.
“Horseplay?” he snapped, holding his ribs. Every breath he took was a fun little bit of agony. “What was that? Achilleas? You know what?” Stephanos shook his head and retreated two steps away from Achilleas. “If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore.” He turned his back to go to the medical tent to get cleaned up, all traces of previous humor completely gone.
No good deed goes unpunished. If he’d had any idea of how Achilleas would react, he would have still made his same remarks, only he’d have run afterwards. Stephanos did not feel it made him a coward not to want to be punched, which, unfortunately for him in this precise moment, was quite the skill his cousin had. With every jarring hit of Achilleas’s fist, Stephanos didn’t even have time to do more than firm up his torso to take it. His cousin’s fist met protective muscle, shielding Stephanos’s inner organs from the onslaught. The bruising would be pretty bad, Stephanos thought, in a detached way.
With his arms blocking his face, he couldn’t see the pale fury in the other’s. He didn’t see the wild, ugly look in Achilleas’s eyes or the murderous expression etched in every feature. Every hit conveyed that sentiment, though, and Stephanos wondered if he should have just stood there in the doorway of the tent and let Achilleas moan out his finish. Gritting his teeth against another hit to his ribs, he thought that, yes, he should have let Achilleas finish. That would have been the least he could do, though, his charity towards his cousin ran out when another punch vibrated against his side and he felt the crack, the bone give, and his breath whoosh out of his lungs.
He broke my rib, Stephanos thought, dumbfounded. The realization streaked like lightning across his mind and he rolled out of the way, kicking at his cousin as he did it. This was supposed to be just a good natured beat down, just to let Achilleas blow off some steam and anger. By Ares, the man kept himself wound so tightly he was liable to snap at any second. That this was that second wasn’t incredible to Stephanos. The shock came from the violence to himself. He who had done nothing but save his cousin’s reputation. Screw him. Harmless punching was one thing, broken bones was another.
He managed to get out from under Achilleas and slammed his fist against his cousin. This wasn’t a practice fight. It had become real and Stephanos didn’t hold back. All humor was gone and he threw a volley of punches straight back, fully intending to break one of his cousin’s ribs in return. Broken bone for broken trust. All Stephanos was looking for was some give in Achilleas’s side. He hooked his elbow upwards in an uppercut to catch Achilleas’s nose, trying to break it, but doing that earned him another punch from Achilleas. He sprawled, panting, ignoring his screaming ribs, glaring as Achilleas growled at him.
“You don’t get to fucking judge me. You don’t look at me like that.”
Stephanos didn’t answer. He didn’t care. There wasn’t room in his rage to process what his cousin was saying. His understanding stopped at “You don’t get to-” and from there, his overriding impulse was Yes. I. Can. Achilleas had it the wrong way around. It was Achilleas who didn’t get to do things. It was Achilleas who stood in his own way.
Leaping at Achilleas again, the two of them battled it out more viciously than they’d ever done. Sand flew, skin tore, and fingers dug at each other’s in an attempt to harm and maim. If Stephanos could have ripped Achilleas’s face off, he’d have done it. Stephanos was so intent on breaking whatever he could get his hands on of his cousin that he didn’t hear the crunch of rock and sand under fast moving sandals. Nor did he hear shouting, nor understand his name being bellowed over and over. What he did see was Achilleas’s sudden shock as arms came up under the man’s armpits and then Achilleas was gone.
“Hey!” he roared when someone hauled him to his feet. He ignored the stinging all over his body, did not notice blood seeping from his arm. His whole focus was on Achilleas and he strained against the men who held him, trying to get at his cousin. The same bark that drew up his cousin’s notice made Stephanos blink and momentarily still as well. Breath rushed in and out of his nose as he clenched his jaw shut, glaring at the interruption. His heart hammered and he shot a daggered look at Achilleas, who was blinking around with an expression of dawning understanding.
Stephanos’s blood boiled in his veins as he curled his fists at his sides. Only once he’d stopped struggling did the men holding him let go. His eyes bored into his cousin as Achilleas explained that this was a bit of horseplay. So that was how this was going to be, hmm? Lies upon lies upon lies. And then Achilleas was trying to leave. The ring of Taengeans were not really keen on staying and the ones who did try to pull on Stephanos’s clothes as he started toward Achilleas found the prince snarling into their faces. “Get. Off. Me,” he growled, and took off after Achilleas.
“Horseplay?” he snapped, holding his ribs. Every breath he took was a fun little bit of agony. “What was that? Achilleas? You know what?” Stephanos shook his head and retreated two steps away from Achilleas. “If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore.” He turned his back to go to the medical tent to get cleaned up, all traces of previous humor completely gone.
Achilleas was trembling as he stalked away, some overflow of aggression or energy that would not release its hold on him, even as his thoughts began to clear and hammer him with the knowledge that he had just so thoroughly lost control. He needed to get away from the audience, and from his cousin whom he couldn’t make himself look at fully. Stephanos who he held as dear as his own brother. What in Hades had just happened?
He didn’t know where he was going even, couldn’t go back to where Damocles would have a handful of questions, and he found himself hating the confines of the camp, hating this stupid war that kept them there. Stephanos’ voice had him halt, but Achilleas didn’t turn, letting the heat of the other’s words fall across the set line of his shoulders.
Horseplay. No, it had not been that. Far from it, in fact, the man was hard-pressed to think of a time when he had ever fought with his cousin so recklessly, with such intent. And Stephanos knew it too, it seemed, for there was no humour in his tone, and Achilleas let his head fall forward, blowing out a long breath when he heard the Prince.
“You know what? If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore."
And he waited until he heard Stephanos’ footsteps depart before he turned and looked after him, an uneasy, hollow feeling settling in where only moments before he’d felt blind fury. Was that what he was doing? Fucking everything up through some silly attraction that he should have known better than to act on?
He didn’t fight like this with his cousin. Their squabbles were just that, brief moments of disagreement usually settled by a scuffle and then done. Whatever had just happened had crossed into something else, and Achilleas didn't know what to think about it. Blankly, he stared at his knuckles, reddened and swollen and flexed his fingers to see if he could feel the ache that would surely be there. Other hurts too, he was certain, would make themselves known because Steph was no weakling, and he was sure that by the end of it his cousin had been aiming to inflict as much damage as he was able.
And why?
Achilleas couldn’t make sense of it then, and so he let Stephanos go, headed in the opposite direction to find Krysto because the man could patch him up as well as any camp physician. He had some thinking to do.
***
It was three days before Achilleas made a point of seeking out his cousin. Plenty of time for the bruises to bloom and for the dust to settle enough for him to see that he was the one who needed to make an apology. Probably. Still he bristled a little at the words Stephanos had chosen to use, but his initial outrage had been tempered by a healthy dose of realism, Krysto’s counsel not straying too far from the same sentiment, and from the fears that Achilleas had - he could now see- been choosing to ignore.
It was just...one of those things where he would bend himself a little out of shape to be what was expected of him, and now Achilleas kept reminding himself that really it was a blessing that this had happened here, away from court, away from his father and anything that would really tarnish his good name. His cousin was like a much-needed bucket of cold water, jarring him back to his senses.
And now, as he walked out to the horse lines where he knew Stephanos to be, Achilleas just had to set things right between them. He hated the discord, unused to it, and it needed to be done with. Particularly as he was leaving.
It had not taken much to convince his Commander that the Taengean Lions would be better employed as a flanking force, that perhaps they should move camps further North where they could join up with the other Taengean forces who held that ground. And Achilleas felt some relief at being able to make a clean break away from… from the mess he’d made here.
He found Stephanos looking over the chariot team who were being led up, the sand was uneven and unkind to the horse’s legs, and there was no room for lame animals if he were to take to the battlefield. Achilleas cleared his throat and waited for his cousin to turn and see him before offering a bow.
He came in peace.
There was an awkward pause before Achilleas realised he needed to speak, and he glanced around before finally addressing the Taengean Prince, voice quiet and only just audible over the sounds of the animals that surrounded them.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.” it felt oddly formal, but they were in unchartered waters, and Achilleas didn’t know how to put things right. Only that he couldn’t bear to part from his cousin without having fixed this. “I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
It was horribly uncomfortable and stilted as far as apologies went, and the latter part rushed because really, Achilleas would rather Stephanos just punched him in the face and then they go back to being how things had always been. Not that he wasn’t already bearing the marks of his cousin’s fists, so numerous that Achilleas didn't understand how on earth he could have ignored them when they fell. But if he had to take another to break this stupid deadlock between them then he would.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.” He didn’t say it, but he hoped that Stephanos would discern the rest. The Colchian soldiers would remain here. Damocles would..remain here. “It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here”.
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Jan 11, 2020 17:21:21 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Jan 11, 2020 17:21:21 GMT
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Achilleas was trembling as he stalked away, some overflow of aggression or energy that would not release its hold on him, even as his thoughts began to clear and hammer him with the knowledge that he had just so thoroughly lost control. He needed to get away from the audience, and from his cousin whom he couldn’t make himself look at fully. Stephanos who he held as dear as his own brother. What in Hades had just happened?
He didn’t know where he was going even, couldn’t go back to where Damocles would have a handful of questions, and he found himself hating the confines of the camp, hating this stupid war that kept them there. Stephanos’ voice had him halt, but Achilleas didn’t turn, letting the heat of the other’s words fall across the set line of his shoulders.
Horseplay. No, it had not been that. Far from it, in fact, the man was hard-pressed to think of a time when he had ever fought with his cousin so recklessly, with such intent. And Stephanos knew it too, it seemed, for there was no humour in his tone, and Achilleas let his head fall forward, blowing out a long breath when he heard the Prince.
“You know what? If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore."
And he waited until he heard Stephanos’ footsteps depart before he turned and looked after him, an uneasy, hollow feeling settling in where only moments before he’d felt blind fury. Was that what he was doing? Fucking everything up through some silly attraction that he should have known better than to act on?
He didn’t fight like this with his cousin. Their squabbles were just that, brief moments of disagreement usually settled by a scuffle and then done. Whatever had just happened had crossed into something else, and Achilleas didn't know what to think about it. Blankly, he stared at his knuckles, reddened and swollen and flexed his fingers to see if he could feel the ache that would surely be there. Other hurts too, he was certain, would make themselves known because Steph was no weakling, and he was sure that by the end of it his cousin had been aiming to inflict as much damage as he was able.
And why?
Achilleas couldn’t make sense of it then, and so he let Stephanos go, headed in the opposite direction to find Krysto because the man could patch him up as well as any camp physician. He had some thinking to do.
***
It was three days before Achilleas made a point of seeking out his cousin. Plenty of time for the bruises to bloom and for the dust to settle enough for him to see that he was the one who needed to make an apology. Probably. Still he bristled a little at the words Stephanos had chosen to use, but his initial outrage had been tempered by a healthy dose of realism, Krysto’s counsel not straying too far from the same sentiment, and from the fears that Achilleas had - he could now see- been choosing to ignore.
It was just...one of those things where he would bend himself a little out of shape to be what was expected of him, and now Achilleas kept reminding himself that really it was a blessing that this had happened here, away from court, away from his father and anything that would really tarnish his good name. His cousin was like a much-needed bucket of cold water, jarring him back to his senses.
And now, as he walked out to the horse lines where he knew Stephanos to be, Achilleas just had to set things right between them. He hated the discord, unused to it, and it needed to be done with. Particularly as he was leaving.
It had not taken much to convince his Commander that the Taengean Lions would be better employed as a flanking force, that perhaps they should move camps further North where they could join up with the other Taengean forces who held that ground. And Achilleas felt some relief at being able to make a clean break away from… from the mess he’d made here.
He found Stephanos looking over the chariot team who were being led up, the sand was uneven and unkind to the horse’s legs, and there was no room for lame animals if he were to take to the battlefield. Achilleas cleared his throat and waited for his cousin to turn and see him before offering a bow.
He came in peace.
There was an awkward pause before Achilleas realised he needed to speak, and he glanced around before finally addressing the Taengean Prince, voice quiet and only just audible over the sounds of the animals that surrounded them.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.” it felt oddly formal, but they were in unchartered waters, and Achilleas didn’t know how to put things right. Only that he couldn’t bear to part from his cousin without having fixed this. “I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
It was horribly uncomfortable and stilted as far as apologies went, and the latter part rushed because really, Achilleas would rather Stephanos just punched him in the face and then they go back to being how things had always been. Not that he wasn’t already bearing the marks of his cousin’s fists, so numerous that Achilleas didn't understand how on earth he could have ignored them when they fell. But if he had to take another to break this stupid deadlock between them then he would.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.” He didn’t say it, but he hoped that Stephanos would discern the rest. The Colchian soldiers would remain here. Damocles would..remain here. “It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here”.
Achilleas was trembling as he stalked away, some overflow of aggression or energy that would not release its hold on him, even as his thoughts began to clear and hammer him with the knowledge that he had just so thoroughly lost control. He needed to get away from the audience, and from his cousin whom he couldn’t make himself look at fully. Stephanos who he held as dear as his own brother. What in Hades had just happened?
He didn’t know where he was going even, couldn’t go back to where Damocles would have a handful of questions, and he found himself hating the confines of the camp, hating this stupid war that kept them there. Stephanos’ voice had him halt, but Achilleas didn’t turn, letting the heat of the other’s words fall across the set line of his shoulders.
Horseplay. No, it had not been that. Far from it, in fact, the man was hard-pressed to think of a time when he had ever fought with his cousin so recklessly, with such intent. And Stephanos knew it too, it seemed, for there was no humour in his tone, and Achilleas let his head fall forward, blowing out a long breath when he heard the Prince.
“You know what? If you want to fuck over your own life, do it. I don’t care anymore."
And he waited until he heard Stephanos’ footsteps depart before he turned and looked after him, an uneasy, hollow feeling settling in where only moments before he’d felt blind fury. Was that what he was doing? Fucking everything up through some silly attraction that he should have known better than to act on?
He didn’t fight like this with his cousin. Their squabbles were just that, brief moments of disagreement usually settled by a scuffle and then done. Whatever had just happened had crossed into something else, and Achilleas didn't know what to think about it. Blankly, he stared at his knuckles, reddened and swollen and flexed his fingers to see if he could feel the ache that would surely be there. Other hurts too, he was certain, would make themselves known because Steph was no weakling, and he was sure that by the end of it his cousin had been aiming to inflict as much damage as he was able.
And why?
Achilleas couldn’t make sense of it then, and so he let Stephanos go, headed in the opposite direction to find Krysto because the man could patch him up as well as any camp physician. He had some thinking to do.
***
It was three days before Achilleas made a point of seeking out his cousin. Plenty of time for the bruises to bloom and for the dust to settle enough for him to see that he was the one who needed to make an apology. Probably. Still he bristled a little at the words Stephanos had chosen to use, but his initial outrage had been tempered by a healthy dose of realism, Krysto’s counsel not straying too far from the same sentiment, and from the fears that Achilleas had - he could now see- been choosing to ignore.
It was just...one of those things where he would bend himself a little out of shape to be what was expected of him, and now Achilleas kept reminding himself that really it was a blessing that this had happened here, away from court, away from his father and anything that would really tarnish his good name. His cousin was like a much-needed bucket of cold water, jarring him back to his senses.
And now, as he walked out to the horse lines where he knew Stephanos to be, Achilleas just had to set things right between them. He hated the discord, unused to it, and it needed to be done with. Particularly as he was leaving.
It had not taken much to convince his Commander that the Taengean Lions would be better employed as a flanking force, that perhaps they should move camps further North where they could join up with the other Taengean forces who held that ground. And Achilleas felt some relief at being able to make a clean break away from… from the mess he’d made here.
He found Stephanos looking over the chariot team who were being led up, the sand was uneven and unkind to the horse’s legs, and there was no room for lame animals if he were to take to the battlefield. Achilleas cleared his throat and waited for his cousin to turn and see him before offering a bow.
He came in peace.
There was an awkward pause before Achilleas realised he needed to speak, and he glanced around before finally addressing the Taengean Prince, voice quiet and only just audible over the sounds of the animals that surrounded them.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.” it felt oddly formal, but they were in unchartered waters, and Achilleas didn’t know how to put things right. Only that he couldn’t bear to part from his cousin without having fixed this. “I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
It was horribly uncomfortable and stilted as far as apologies went, and the latter part rushed because really, Achilleas would rather Stephanos just punched him in the face and then they go back to being how things had always been. Not that he wasn’t already bearing the marks of his cousin’s fists, so numerous that Achilleas didn't understand how on earth he could have ignored them when they fell. But if he had to take another to break this stupid deadlock between them then he would.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.” He didn’t say it, but he hoped that Stephanos would discern the rest. The Colchian soldiers would remain here. Damocles would..remain here. “It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here”.
“That wheel needs tightened,” Stephanos looked up at the man following him down the line of chariots. None of the horses were in their light armor. This was routine inspection prior to battle and though all of this had been gone over before the last battle, things could and obviously had changed since. Every routine needed done and re-done, over and over and over until the troops, the horses, the chariots, were all perfect. Stephanos moved the wheel again, testing it on its axle. He watched the scribe scribbling down the notes and the chariot which needed addressed. Thus far, thankfully, there wasn’t a lot to fix, because Stephanos wasn’t the first man to test this. He was supposed to be the last, but, as often happened, someone, somewhere, had sped through the task and not seen it done properly. When off the battlefield, Stephanos wasn’t known for being terribly responsible, but having the lives of men in his hands tended to make him a bit more careful than he would otherwise be.
He did not look up when the sliding hiss of footsteps in sand reached him. Nor did he pause in the litany of errors he found in the horse he next checked. Whoever had passed this animal ought to be whipped. The horse wasn’t lame yet but more strain on the hooves and it would be. “This one needs put down,” Stephanos said through tight lips, patting the brute’s neck. “Have it given to the cooks.” If there was one thing they weren’t going to do in this infernal desert, it was waste food. If the horse couldn’t be counted upon not to give out mid-battle, then the kindest thing to do would be to put it down humanely, and then use the meat to feed the soldiers. Everything and everyone had to have their use in this military.
“Yes, sir,” the scribe’s quill scratched and Stephanos wiped beads of sweat off his brow, only looking up when he saw a tall, broad, unwelcome shadow on the ground. He waved the scribe away and immediately turned back to the horse he’d just ordered to be killed. It was more palatable to give comfort to an animal who wouldn’t draw breath for very much longer than to give Achilleas the time of day.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.”
Stephanos patted the horse’s neck loudly with his palm and then smoothed his hand over the horse’s fur, muttering compliments of ‘good boy’ and ‘pretty boy’ as though Achilleas wasn’t there.
“I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Achilleas went on. Stephanos finally cut his cold blue gaze toward his cousin. The anxiety etched into Achilleas’s features nearly made him smile, but he frowned instead, not ready to forgive him. Let him be anxious. He deserved to be.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.”
Stephanos’s hand stilled on the horse and his expression went flat. A few seconds passed, and then he took up petting the horse again, looking at the animal this time as Achilleas went on.
“It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here.”
“The resources are much better utilized elsewhere,” he said stiffly, though his eyes slid back to Achilleas. “I will only accept your apology on one condition.” He waited until Achilleas acknowledged this and then said, as the smallest hint of a smile emerged at the furthest corners of his lips. “Say, ‘I was a twat, Stephanos and you are my favorite cousin and I understand you were acting in my best interests’.”
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“That wheel needs tightened,” Stephanos looked up at the man following him down the line of chariots. None of the horses were in their light armor. This was routine inspection prior to battle and though all of this had been gone over before the last battle, things could and obviously had changed since. Every routine needed done and re-done, over and over and over until the troops, the horses, the chariots, were all perfect. Stephanos moved the wheel again, testing it on its axle. He watched the scribe scribbling down the notes and the chariot which needed addressed. Thus far, thankfully, there wasn’t a lot to fix, because Stephanos wasn’t the first man to test this. He was supposed to be the last, but, as often happened, someone, somewhere, had sped through the task and not seen it done properly. When off the battlefield, Stephanos wasn’t known for being terribly responsible, but having the lives of men in his hands tended to make him a bit more careful than he would otherwise be.
He did not look up when the sliding hiss of footsteps in sand reached him. Nor did he pause in the litany of errors he found in the horse he next checked. Whoever had passed this animal ought to be whipped. The horse wasn’t lame yet but more strain on the hooves and it would be. “This one needs put down,” Stephanos said through tight lips, patting the brute’s neck. “Have it given to the cooks.” If there was one thing they weren’t going to do in this infernal desert, it was waste food. If the horse couldn’t be counted upon not to give out mid-battle, then the kindest thing to do would be to put it down humanely, and then use the meat to feed the soldiers. Everything and everyone had to have their use in this military.
“Yes, sir,” the scribe’s quill scratched and Stephanos wiped beads of sweat off his brow, only looking up when he saw a tall, broad, unwelcome shadow on the ground. He waved the scribe away and immediately turned back to the horse he’d just ordered to be killed. It was more palatable to give comfort to an animal who wouldn’t draw breath for very much longer than to give Achilleas the time of day.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.”
Stephanos patted the horse’s neck loudly with his palm and then smoothed his hand over the horse’s fur, muttering compliments of ‘good boy’ and ‘pretty boy’ as though Achilleas wasn’t there.
“I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Achilleas went on. Stephanos finally cut his cold blue gaze toward his cousin. The anxiety etched into Achilleas’s features nearly made him smile, but he frowned instead, not ready to forgive him. Let him be anxious. He deserved to be.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.”
Stephanos’s hand stilled on the horse and his expression went flat. A few seconds passed, and then he took up petting the horse again, looking at the animal this time as Achilleas went on.
“It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here.”
“The resources are much better utilized elsewhere,” he said stiffly, though his eyes slid back to Achilleas. “I will only accept your apology on one condition.” He waited until Achilleas acknowledged this and then said, as the smallest hint of a smile emerged at the furthest corners of his lips. “Say, ‘I was a twat, Stephanos and you are my favorite cousin and I understand you were acting in my best interests’.”
“That wheel needs tightened,” Stephanos looked up at the man following him down the line of chariots. None of the horses were in their light armor. This was routine inspection prior to battle and though all of this had been gone over before the last battle, things could and obviously had changed since. Every routine needed done and re-done, over and over and over until the troops, the horses, the chariots, were all perfect. Stephanos moved the wheel again, testing it on its axle. He watched the scribe scribbling down the notes and the chariot which needed addressed. Thus far, thankfully, there wasn’t a lot to fix, because Stephanos wasn’t the first man to test this. He was supposed to be the last, but, as often happened, someone, somewhere, had sped through the task and not seen it done properly. When off the battlefield, Stephanos wasn’t known for being terribly responsible, but having the lives of men in his hands tended to make him a bit more careful than he would otherwise be.
He did not look up when the sliding hiss of footsteps in sand reached him. Nor did he pause in the litany of errors he found in the horse he next checked. Whoever had passed this animal ought to be whipped. The horse wasn’t lame yet but more strain on the hooves and it would be. “This one needs put down,” Stephanos said through tight lips, patting the brute’s neck. “Have it given to the cooks.” If there was one thing they weren’t going to do in this infernal desert, it was waste food. If the horse couldn’t be counted upon not to give out mid-battle, then the kindest thing to do would be to put it down humanely, and then use the meat to feed the soldiers. Everything and everyone had to have their use in this military.
“Yes, sir,” the scribe’s quill scratched and Stephanos wiped beads of sweat off his brow, only looking up when he saw a tall, broad, unwelcome shadow on the ground. He waved the scribe away and immediately turned back to the horse he’d just ordered to be killed. It was more palatable to give comfort to an animal who wouldn’t draw breath for very much longer than to give Achilleas the time of day.
“I owe you an apology, Stephanos.”
Stephanos patted the horse’s neck loudly with his palm and then smoothed his hand over the horse’s fur, muttering compliments of ‘good boy’ and ‘pretty boy’ as though Achilleas wasn’t there.
“I...reacted. I wasn’t ready to deal with my...with it. But I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Achilleas went on. Stephanos finally cut his cold blue gaze toward his cousin. The anxiety etched into Achilleas’s features nearly made him smile, but he frowned instead, not ready to forgive him. Let him be anxious. He deserved to be.
“I’m taking the Lions North tomorrow. To join with Aegeus’ forces. We break camp at first light.”
Stephanos’s hand stilled on the horse and his expression went flat. A few seconds passed, and then he took up petting the horse again, looking at the animal this time as Achilleas went on.
“It was decided it wasn’t the best use of resources, here.”
“The resources are much better utilized elsewhere,” he said stiffly, though his eyes slid back to Achilleas. “I will only accept your apology on one condition.” He waited until Achilleas acknowledged this and then said, as the smallest hint of a smile emerged at the furthest corners of his lips. “Say, ‘I was a twat, Stephanos and you are my favorite cousin and I understand you were acting in my best interests’.”
It was not that he had expected the conversation to be anything other than intensely uncomfortable, but despite having prepared himself for it, Achilleas could not help but cringe when Stephanos made no acknowledgement of his presence, nor of his words as he stood there extending an olive branch.
His cousin was not usually one to bear a grudge, but then nothing about their…disagreement had been usual. Would his apology be enough? The fact that he was removing himself from the situation that had caused such tension between the Mikaelidas men?
Still, it was not encouraging to be addressing the man’s back, and it was a show of how much Achilleas wanted to make amends that he kept his voice level and persevered regardless, in spite of Stephanos making a show of ignoring him.
It was never an easy thing, humbling himself and admitting that he had been wrong, particularly when the subject matter was so private, but if he forced himself to be objective about it, Achilleas could see that his cousin meant well, and that his aggression had been...Disproportionate. Losing control like that was nothing he was proud of and the fact that he had? Well that in itself was enough to make him think long and hard about what had provoked it, even without the very real arguments both his cousin and Krysto had made.
When Stephanos finally cut his eyes toward him, Achilleas tried not to be discouraged by the ice in his gaze, pushed on and told that he would be leaving the next day. It was as decisive a gesture as he could make, and he hoped it would go some way to build bridges between them.
‘The resources are much better utilised elsewhere’ Stephanos agreed, his voice still curt, and Achilleas paused and bowed his head, because he supposed his cousin deserved to be displeased still. He had said what he could to make reparations between them. If it was not enough, then he did not know what to do.
Taking a deep breath, he was considering that maybe it would be just that, that he would have to reconcile the fact that it would take his cousin longer to forgive him, when Steph spoke again, and this time there was something of his usual flippancy in his words. Looking up to catch the edge of a smirk, Achilleas was quick to nod his assertion, only to fix Stephanos with a hard look in the next moment. His nostrils flared a little at the insult, but the young man swallowed it, because it was worth it to draw a line under all of this, which he desperately wanted to do.
“Fine. I’m a twat, you’re my favourite and maybe you were acting in my best interests even if you didn’t have to be so judgemental about it.” He shook his head. “ Can we just..forget it now, please. Tomorrow I’ll be gone and it won’t be an issue. Ever.”
There was a determination that Stephanos would recognise in his cousin, who could be entirely pig-headed and stubborn when he wished it. Now he had made his decision, Achilleas just wanted to close the door upon it. It was, after all, as his cousin had said, he was the son of Taengea’s greatest General, and there could be no other resolution.
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Jan 29, 2020 13:48:35 GMT
Posted In I Can Explain on Jan 29, 2020 13:48:35 GMT
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It was not that he had expected the conversation to be anything other than intensely uncomfortable, but despite having prepared himself for it, Achilleas could not help but cringe when Stephanos made no acknowledgement of his presence, nor of his words as he stood there extending an olive branch.
His cousin was not usually one to bear a grudge, but then nothing about their…disagreement had been usual. Would his apology be enough? The fact that he was removing himself from the situation that had caused such tension between the Mikaelidas men?
Still, it was not encouraging to be addressing the man’s back, and it was a show of how much Achilleas wanted to make amends that he kept his voice level and persevered regardless, in spite of Stephanos making a show of ignoring him.
It was never an easy thing, humbling himself and admitting that he had been wrong, particularly when the subject matter was so private, but if he forced himself to be objective about it, Achilleas could see that his cousin meant well, and that his aggression had been...Disproportionate. Losing control like that was nothing he was proud of and the fact that he had? Well that in itself was enough to make him think long and hard about what had provoked it, even without the very real arguments both his cousin and Krysto had made.
When Stephanos finally cut his eyes toward him, Achilleas tried not to be discouraged by the ice in his gaze, pushed on and told that he would be leaving the next day. It was as decisive a gesture as he could make, and he hoped it would go some way to build bridges between them.
‘The resources are much better utilised elsewhere’ Stephanos agreed, his voice still curt, and Achilleas paused and bowed his head, because he supposed his cousin deserved to be displeased still. He had said what he could to make reparations between them. If it was not enough, then he did not know what to do.
Taking a deep breath, he was considering that maybe it would be just that, that he would have to reconcile the fact that it would take his cousin longer to forgive him, when Steph spoke again, and this time there was something of his usual flippancy in his words. Looking up to catch the edge of a smirk, Achilleas was quick to nod his assertion, only to fix Stephanos with a hard look in the next moment. His nostrils flared a little at the insult, but the young man swallowed it, because it was worth it to draw a line under all of this, which he desperately wanted to do.
“Fine. I’m a twat, you’re my favourite and maybe you were acting in my best interests even if you didn’t have to be so judgemental about it.” He shook his head. “ Can we just..forget it now, please. Tomorrow I’ll be gone and it won’t be an issue. Ever.”
There was a determination that Stephanos would recognise in his cousin, who could be entirely pig-headed and stubborn when he wished it. Now he had made his decision, Achilleas just wanted to close the door upon it. It was, after all, as his cousin had said, he was the son of Taengea’s greatest General, and there could be no other resolution.
It was not that he had expected the conversation to be anything other than intensely uncomfortable, but despite having prepared himself for it, Achilleas could not help but cringe when Stephanos made no acknowledgement of his presence, nor of his words as he stood there extending an olive branch.
His cousin was not usually one to bear a grudge, but then nothing about their…disagreement had been usual. Would his apology be enough? The fact that he was removing himself from the situation that had caused such tension between the Mikaelidas men?
Still, it was not encouraging to be addressing the man’s back, and it was a show of how much Achilleas wanted to make amends that he kept his voice level and persevered regardless, in spite of Stephanos making a show of ignoring him.
It was never an easy thing, humbling himself and admitting that he had been wrong, particularly when the subject matter was so private, but if he forced himself to be objective about it, Achilleas could see that his cousin meant well, and that his aggression had been...Disproportionate. Losing control like that was nothing he was proud of and the fact that he had? Well that in itself was enough to make him think long and hard about what had provoked it, even without the very real arguments both his cousin and Krysto had made.
When Stephanos finally cut his eyes toward him, Achilleas tried not to be discouraged by the ice in his gaze, pushed on and told that he would be leaving the next day. It was as decisive a gesture as he could make, and he hoped it would go some way to build bridges between them.
‘The resources are much better utilised elsewhere’ Stephanos agreed, his voice still curt, and Achilleas paused and bowed his head, because he supposed his cousin deserved to be displeased still. He had said what he could to make reparations between them. If it was not enough, then he did not know what to do.
Taking a deep breath, he was considering that maybe it would be just that, that he would have to reconcile the fact that it would take his cousin longer to forgive him, when Steph spoke again, and this time there was something of his usual flippancy in his words. Looking up to catch the edge of a smirk, Achilleas was quick to nod his assertion, only to fix Stephanos with a hard look in the next moment. His nostrils flared a little at the insult, but the young man swallowed it, because it was worth it to draw a line under all of this, which he desperately wanted to do.
“Fine. I’m a twat, you’re my favourite and maybe you were acting in my best interests even if you didn’t have to be so judgemental about it.” He shook his head. “ Can we just..forget it now, please. Tomorrow I’ll be gone and it won’t be an issue. Ever.”
There was a determination that Stephanos would recognise in his cousin, who could be entirely pig-headed and stubborn when he wished it. Now he had made his decision, Achilleas just wanted to close the door upon it. It was, after all, as his cousin had said, he was the son of Taengea’s greatest General, and there could be no other resolution.
Stephanos knew that his begrudging olive branch was insulting, but inside the insult, the familiar teasing laced itself. The same barbed comments were also meant to soothe Achilleas, and even though his cousin’s nostrils flared and his entire being stated firmly that he’d rather do without this portion, he said the words. Not cruel enough to push it further, at the word ‘twat’, Stephanos forgave the berserker way Achilleas had beat on him a few days prior. Achilleas’s stiff plea for their altercation to never be mentioned again received a nod from Stephanos and an “Absolutely,” that he mostly planned to keep. Depending on their future situations, he may mention it, with the understanding that he’d probably get punched again. But that was the price of friendship. Sometimes you had to rub your friend’s face in the dirt, and then get hit. That’s how it worked.
The light hearted moment passed after a few seconds and Stephanos’s smile faded. He looked back to the horse, patting it a few more times before stepping away from it entirely. “I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me.” He almost added a jesting ‘but I’m perfect’ at the end, but opted not to. He didn’t want to lighten the mood. This was a conversation that needed having right now and it would not be had again. Achilleas was hard enough to pin down when talking about emotion and the nature of their friendship, not to mention family connection, did not often offer opportunities to square up with one another and see where they stood. They’d been born the same year and had simply existed together...forever. And, until a few days ago, Stephanos had never thought deeply about the connection at all. It simply was. Achilleas would be in his life and would never leave it, and he would be the same way for his cousin.
This sort of childish thinking sometimes carried to adulthood if it was never challenged, but now it had been. Stephanos had been thinking on the nature of not only his relationship with Achilleas, but with Emilios, with Zacharias, with his sisters, his parents, his other friends, his lovers. All people he’d taken for granted, all people he’d assumed would never change. He’d been an idiot but he would not be again. Though he and Achilleas were ‘good’ again, the fracture remained. The distance that Achilleas would be at tomorrow would compound it. They could ignore it, but at this point, Stephanos did not think he would ever actually forget it. He was so much less bothered by Achilleas having slept with a man than to have had Achilleas turn his rage on him.
“Good luck tomorrow, cousin. I need to see to the rest of these chariots,” he pointed to the line he still had to get through. “Write to me when you get there, yeah?” he nodded to himself, hands on his hips, one eye squinted shut against the sun, looking at Achilleas. Then, he turned his back and continued his work, content to leave their argument right here in the desert.
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Stephanos knew that his begrudging olive branch was insulting, but inside the insult, the familiar teasing laced itself. The same barbed comments were also meant to soothe Achilleas, and even though his cousin’s nostrils flared and his entire being stated firmly that he’d rather do without this portion, he said the words. Not cruel enough to push it further, at the word ‘twat’, Stephanos forgave the berserker way Achilleas had beat on him a few days prior. Achilleas’s stiff plea for their altercation to never be mentioned again received a nod from Stephanos and an “Absolutely,” that he mostly planned to keep. Depending on their future situations, he may mention it, with the understanding that he’d probably get punched again. But that was the price of friendship. Sometimes you had to rub your friend’s face in the dirt, and then get hit. That’s how it worked.
The light hearted moment passed after a few seconds and Stephanos’s smile faded. He looked back to the horse, patting it a few more times before stepping away from it entirely. “I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me.” He almost added a jesting ‘but I’m perfect’ at the end, but opted not to. He didn’t want to lighten the mood. This was a conversation that needed having right now and it would not be had again. Achilleas was hard enough to pin down when talking about emotion and the nature of their friendship, not to mention family connection, did not often offer opportunities to square up with one another and see where they stood. They’d been born the same year and had simply existed together...forever. And, until a few days ago, Stephanos had never thought deeply about the connection at all. It simply was. Achilleas would be in his life and would never leave it, and he would be the same way for his cousin.
This sort of childish thinking sometimes carried to adulthood if it was never challenged, but now it had been. Stephanos had been thinking on the nature of not only his relationship with Achilleas, but with Emilios, with Zacharias, with his sisters, his parents, his other friends, his lovers. All people he’d taken for granted, all people he’d assumed would never change. He’d been an idiot but he would not be again. Though he and Achilleas were ‘good’ again, the fracture remained. The distance that Achilleas would be at tomorrow would compound it. They could ignore it, but at this point, Stephanos did not think he would ever actually forget it. He was so much less bothered by Achilleas having slept with a man than to have had Achilleas turn his rage on him.
“Good luck tomorrow, cousin. I need to see to the rest of these chariots,” he pointed to the line he still had to get through. “Write to me when you get there, yeah?” he nodded to himself, hands on his hips, one eye squinted shut against the sun, looking at Achilleas. Then, he turned his back and continued his work, content to leave their argument right here in the desert.
Stephanos knew that his begrudging olive branch was insulting, but inside the insult, the familiar teasing laced itself. The same barbed comments were also meant to soothe Achilleas, and even though his cousin’s nostrils flared and his entire being stated firmly that he’d rather do without this portion, he said the words. Not cruel enough to push it further, at the word ‘twat’, Stephanos forgave the berserker way Achilleas had beat on him a few days prior. Achilleas’s stiff plea for their altercation to never be mentioned again received a nod from Stephanos and an “Absolutely,” that he mostly planned to keep. Depending on their future situations, he may mention it, with the understanding that he’d probably get punched again. But that was the price of friendship. Sometimes you had to rub your friend’s face in the dirt, and then get hit. That’s how it worked.
The light hearted moment passed after a few seconds and Stephanos’s smile faded. He looked back to the horse, patting it a few more times before stepping away from it entirely. “I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me.” He almost added a jesting ‘but I’m perfect’ at the end, but opted not to. He didn’t want to lighten the mood. This was a conversation that needed having right now and it would not be had again. Achilleas was hard enough to pin down when talking about emotion and the nature of their friendship, not to mention family connection, did not often offer opportunities to square up with one another and see where they stood. They’d been born the same year and had simply existed together...forever. And, until a few days ago, Stephanos had never thought deeply about the connection at all. It simply was. Achilleas would be in his life and would never leave it, and he would be the same way for his cousin.
This sort of childish thinking sometimes carried to adulthood if it was never challenged, but now it had been. Stephanos had been thinking on the nature of not only his relationship with Achilleas, but with Emilios, with Zacharias, with his sisters, his parents, his other friends, his lovers. All people he’d taken for granted, all people he’d assumed would never change. He’d been an idiot but he would not be again. Though he and Achilleas were ‘good’ again, the fracture remained. The distance that Achilleas would be at tomorrow would compound it. They could ignore it, but at this point, Stephanos did not think he would ever actually forget it. He was so much less bothered by Achilleas having slept with a man than to have had Achilleas turn his rage on him.
“Good luck tomorrow, cousin. I need to see to the rest of these chariots,” he pointed to the line he still had to get through. “Write to me when you get there, yeah?” he nodded to himself, hands on his hips, one eye squinted shut against the sun, looking at Achilleas. Then, he turned his back and continued his work, content to leave their argument right here in the desert.
Whatever Achilleas might have not enjoyed about swallowing his pride, the thawing in his cousin’s attitude was worth it a thousand times over He was fervent in his promise that it wouldn’t be a conversation they would need to have again, reaffirming it to himself as much as to Stephanos, and he felt a little of the tension in his shoulders relent, the relief that it was not irreparable damage done too great to ignore.
But damage had been done nonetheless, far above and beyond any previous squabble that might have divided them, and Achilleas was made only more keenly aware of that when Stephanos turned serious again. It was a far from usual occurrence for it to be the prince who was the somber one of the pair, and so rarely did Stephanos speak so seriously that it made it impossible to ignore him when he did.
"I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me."
Achilleas looked at his cousin and then away again, because it was still raw, and whilst he knew Stephanos was right, it would take a little while before he could pretend to be glad of the interference. Usually so good at being exactly what was expected, it had been rather a brutal introduction to breaking the rules. Or rather, breaking them and being found out. But, as Krysto had impressed upon him over the past days, just because something was unpleasant to hear didn’t mean that one should refuse to hear it, and he was trying to convince himself that it was a good thing, in the grand scheme of things.
“I know” he eventually offered in reply. “And I would.”
And he wanted to apologise again, because he could see in the way Stephanos held himself that he’d hurt him, but thought it might just make it weird again, so didn’t. There was an odd sort of standoff where he thought perhaps they might do something terrible and awkward like shake hands, but instead just stood and looked across at one another until Stephanos broke the silence with what felt like a dismissal.
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I hope that the Gods are kind” Achilleas said, wondering when it would be that he would see his cousin again. “If they are smiling on us then let us soon be home from this pit of Hades and frustratingly enduring conflict.” He gave a nod. “I will send word when we have made camp.” He would make sure too, feeling there was still some way to go to mend this rift. Mayhaps the distance would help solidify their fractious peace then, against this backdrop of war.
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Whatever Achilleas might have not enjoyed about swallowing his pride, the thawing in his cousin’s attitude was worth it a thousand times over He was fervent in his promise that it wouldn’t be a conversation they would need to have again, reaffirming it to himself as much as to Stephanos, and he felt a little of the tension in his shoulders relent, the relief that it was not irreparable damage done too great to ignore.
But damage had been done nonetheless, far above and beyond any previous squabble that might have divided them, and Achilleas was made only more keenly aware of that when Stephanos turned serious again. It was a far from usual occurrence for it to be the prince who was the somber one of the pair, and so rarely did Stephanos speak so seriously that it made it impossible to ignore him when he did.
"I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me."
Achilleas looked at his cousin and then away again, because it was still raw, and whilst he knew Stephanos was right, it would take a little while before he could pretend to be glad of the interference. Usually so good at being exactly what was expected, it had been rather a brutal introduction to breaking the rules. Or rather, breaking them and being found out. But, as Krysto had impressed upon him over the past days, just because something was unpleasant to hear didn’t mean that one should refuse to hear it, and he was trying to convince himself that it was a good thing, in the grand scheme of things.
“I know” he eventually offered in reply. “And I would.”
And he wanted to apologise again, because he could see in the way Stephanos held himself that he’d hurt him, but thought it might just make it weird again, so didn’t. There was an odd sort of standoff where he thought perhaps they might do something terrible and awkward like shake hands, but instead just stood and looked across at one another until Stephanos broke the silence with what felt like a dismissal.
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I hope that the Gods are kind” Achilleas said, wondering when it would be that he would see his cousin again. “If they are smiling on us then let us soon be home from this pit of Hades and frustratingly enduring conflict.” He gave a nod. “I will send word when we have made camp.” He would make sure too, feeling there was still some way to go to mend this rift. Mayhaps the distance would help solidify their fractious peace then, against this backdrop of war.
Whatever Achilleas might have not enjoyed about swallowing his pride, the thawing in his cousin’s attitude was worth it a thousand times over He was fervent in his promise that it wouldn’t be a conversation they would need to have again, reaffirming it to himself as much as to Stephanos, and he felt a little of the tension in his shoulders relent, the relief that it was not irreparable damage done too great to ignore.
But damage had been done nonetheless, far above and beyond any previous squabble that might have divided them, and Achilleas was made only more keenly aware of that when Stephanos turned serious again. It was a far from usual occurrence for it to be the prince who was the somber one of the pair, and so rarely did Stephanos speak so seriously that it made it impossible to ignore him when he did.
"I said it to get through to you. Believe me, pain is the last thing I want to cause you, but I will do it if it’s for your own good. Just as I hope you would do for me."
Achilleas looked at his cousin and then away again, because it was still raw, and whilst he knew Stephanos was right, it would take a little while before he could pretend to be glad of the interference. Usually so good at being exactly what was expected, it had been rather a brutal introduction to breaking the rules. Or rather, breaking them and being found out. But, as Krysto had impressed upon him over the past days, just because something was unpleasant to hear didn’t mean that one should refuse to hear it, and he was trying to convince himself that it was a good thing, in the grand scheme of things.
“I know” he eventually offered in reply. “And I would.”
And he wanted to apologise again, because he could see in the way Stephanos held himself that he’d hurt him, but thought it might just make it weird again, so didn’t. There was an odd sort of standoff where he thought perhaps they might do something terrible and awkward like shake hands, but instead just stood and looked across at one another until Stephanos broke the silence with what felt like a dismissal.
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I hope that the Gods are kind” Achilleas said, wondering when it would be that he would see his cousin again. “If they are smiling on us then let us soon be home from this pit of Hades and frustratingly enduring conflict.” He gave a nod. “I will send word when we have made camp.” He would make sure too, feeling there was still some way to go to mend this rift. Mayhaps the distance would help solidify their fractious peace then, against this backdrop of war.