The heat of the battle

Cow-t 10. NSFW. M2. Prompt: Mitologia Greca e Romana.

Achille was a name whispered in terror or in respect depending from what side of Troia’s battle one belonged.
Or both more often than otherwise.
He won countless battles in so many countries that it was hard to keep counting. His invulnerable body was celebrated in ballads, his history meant to be remembered forever.
But for Patroclo he wasn’t any of this.
The warrior, the demigod, the hero, all of them were forgotten in their den. When Achille became only the man he loved.
He could command an army but he would never order him around, he didn’t fear to diminish himself in front of the boy which held his heart.
The fury and the heat of the battle forgotten leaving only the burning heat of Patroclo’s skin on his, as he held him with care like he was something precious that would break.
That was exactly like he felt when the built body of Achille shielded him from the world.
They were laying in furs naked.
Achille lifted himself on towering over him, his cock nudging Patroclo’s entrance, He loved looking the boy squirming as he entered him, he was hot like Tartarus soft like the cloud. Always clinging on him like he wanted to trap him inside. Not that Achille would complain. Being gifted of that man love was his greatest accomplishment. He may have occasionally other lovers, but they were a mere satisfaction which would never really sated him. Only Patroclo could fill the thirstiness of his heart.
The boy was also watching him as he took his girth; his chiselled physique had worthy cause to be the envy and pride of all the gods, and Achille carried it well. And he was all his: the greatest hero Greece ever knew, was his to love and cheer.
He arched on the furs when his big manhood finally bottomed out deep inside his body. He wouldn’t be surprised if pressing down his stomach he could feel it moving inside him. He ducked his head to nip sharply at Patroclo’s neck, then he gently sucked at the same spot letting go only when a purple bruise painted his skin.
He grabbed his lovers hips to roll them. He loved watching him painting as he raised, pushing his hand on his chest as leverage just to fall back on his erection. Patrclo’s moans grow in volume when Achille’s big cock was pressed even deeper inside of him. The hero may be laying on his back but he wasn’t going to let him handle all the work: he wrapped his arms around Patroclo’s back, clasping them just above the curve of his round bottom thrusting up firmly, landing his prostate on every thrust. Hands braced on either side of Achille’s head for balance, while Patroclo’s flexible legs tightened around his body, he moved deeply and reverently, picking up speed as the intensity in their bodies grew. He was close, Achille could tell by the way he was growing more frantic and restless. He sat bringing their chest together as he gave some long hard push and Patroclo arched screaming as he came. Achille grunted reaching his own orgasm, buried deep in the pliant body.
He let them fall on the side still inside his lover, it felt so good he wished he could just stay like that forever.
“You’re still hard,” he observes, clenching down around Achille’s dick.
“Can you blame me?” Siad the hero kissing his head. “Have you seen yourself recently?” They giggled drunk in the afterglow.
“Take A little sleep, I’ll wake you.” He flexed his stiff arms, then wrapped them around his sleeping lover. Sticky and cuddled up to Patroclo. He could happily live the rest of his life like that.

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