The way that you look to me

[gwenchan]

Fandom: Iliade

Prompt: Un personaggio si prende cura di un altro personaggio infortunato, malato, e/o bisognoso di conforto

Patroclus' hands were covered in fresh blisters and new burn, pink and wet flesh exposed.

Achilles couldn’t help a hissing breath at the sight. 

“Must have been a vivid flame.” He tried to melt his clear worry into a joke, pretending Patroclus’ half destroyed palms were no big deal. 

“It was.”

Letting his hands rest in his lap,  Patroclus glanced away. “It looked so... luminous. I couldn’t help it.”

His upper wings fluttered once, a tiny and quick movement but the vibration enough to blow a gust of air in Achilles’ face. 

In the penumbra, the light of the oil lamp turned them almost gold, the soft layer of fuzz only adding to the effect. 

“I know.”

He gently took Patroclus’ hands to better see the damage. Transparent blisters full of liquid had to be deflated and the wounded skin properly bandaged.

“Holding a sword will hurt for a while.” He spoke more to himself, checking for further damages also on the back. “But I guess it could be worse.”

At least it wasn’t Patroclus’ face. Achilles' eyes darted up instinctively to the patch of skin on the man’s left cheek, pinkish against otherwise dark skin and rough to the touch. Only by a miracle of the gods the fire hadn't left him blind that day.

“I am not that… distracted,” Patroclus snorted, wings flickering again, all hairs standing up. “And I can take care of it myself.” He spoke with a note of petulance 

”I know you can.  I didn't mean to diminish you or your worth. I don’t do this because I think you can’t. But you are in pain and I don't want you to aggravate that further. 

By the state of Patroclus' wounds touching anything must be agony, the situation only worsening the more time passed, but he was still a grown-up man and full-fledged warrior. Achilles rubbed gently on his knuckles.

By now, he had lost count of how many times he did this before, long before the war, since they were still kids in Phthia and hadn't shed yet their childhood wings 

There any flame, from the minuscule one of candles to the fire in the braziers during the rituals sung to Patroclus their siren call till he inevitably fell into their trap.

Achilles had spent countless nights awake till dawn to console him, cradling Patroclus in his arm as he sobbed because it hurt so much. Achilles would tell him stories and jokes and sing songs, anything to distract from the pain.

Crying, Patroclus had told him how his mother went increasingly mad from the fire till one day she jumped into the pyre as if into the arms of a waiting lover. 

Patroclus often stood behind  in training because his hands couldn’t grip any weapons properly. 

Soon holding Patroclus' hands to keep him away from the fire had become for Achilles a second nature, at least until Patroclus had learnt to better control his impulses.

Still, the habit persisted and even after years Achilles found himself to be truly at peace only when his fingers interlaced with Patroclus’. By the time King Peleus entrusted them both to Chiron, the two kids had become absolutely inseparable and threating burns had been a skill Achilles had since long acquired. The old mentor refined them, teaching how to limit the risk for infection and assure the skin grew back without scars.

He taught Patroclus how to control his breathing, had him meditate in the cave for hours, till the man could sit at a breath from the campfire without immediately feeling the urge to sink his whole body into the flame. 

But instincts  still lingered, the way Patroclus' whole body shuddered the moment Achilles rekindled the lamp, his pupils blowing with desire. 

“Maybe I should have blown this out too. I've patched you enough times I could do it blind.” As to confirm his words, Patroclus' jaw had a light spasm. 

"Well, you could try," he joked, but it was hollow. 

“I never say no to a challenge,” Achilles retorted, leaning forward to extinguish the flame with a pinch of his fingers. Patroclus grabbed his wrist, face twisting into a grimace.

"No," he hissed. "It's not the moment."

His flesh was so hot, radiating a sick warm that seeped into Achilles skin. 

"Fine,"Achilles yielded. "I suppose you are right."

Gathering what he needed was a quick affair, all medical equipment carefully kept in a wooden casket. He washed his hands first, mindful of Chiron’s teachings.  rubbing them with oily soap and going between his fingers and under his nails till he was sure no trace of dirt remained. When he was satisfied with the result he dried them to the last drop.

Patroclus' eyes followed his every movement, except when they glanced at the lantern and the shadow it projected on the wall of the tent. 

He gritted his teeth when Achilles brushed a fingertip  on the blisters.

“They all seem quite superficial,” Achilles said, taking a long needle from the medical kit. 

He kept it on the lantern flame for a good ten seconds, his stare locked onto Patroclus  whose body was shivering in an effort to keep still. His pupils were blown wide, one arm already sneaking toward the lamp as if with a life of its own. 

Rapidly, Achilles moved the flame out of reach, shifting to hide most of it with his body and his spread out wings.

Patroclus shook his head.

“Sorry. I don't know what's got into me today.”

“It's fine.”

It wasn’t a linear path. Some days the biggest bonfire in all its flaming glory did nothing to him and others the tiniest flame became an irresistible temptation. 

"Tell me if it hurts."

Patroclus snorted again. It turned into a small sigh of relief as the hot needle pierced easily through the blisters outer layer, letting out the liquid inside. Achilles made sure to pop even the tiniest ones. 

“You having fun?" Patroclus asked, with a bit more levity than before. 

“I admit I quite like it." Despite what others might think, he liked to spend time in the medical tent as much as he enjoyed being on the battlefield. 

“Then I should burn myself more often.”

”Don’t even joke about it. There. I think that’s all.”

Achilles dabbed at Patroclus’ palms gently with a piece of cloth to dry them as much as possible. 

"How do you feel?" 

"A bit better."

"Good. Hold still."

Quite a collection of vials lined up in the casket. Achilles took the fourth without a hint of hesitation. A strong herbal smell filled the air between them the moment he uncorked it. 

“It’s going to burn,” he warned out of habit. Patroclus didn’t reply. He knew it without having Achilles telling him and it couldn’t be worse than the pain he already felt. 

Only thing Achilles could do was to work as fast as possible. He double-checked to have properly rubbed the oil on every wound, careful not to use too much, and finally wrapped Patroclus’ hands in fresh bandages, assuring they wouldn’t hinder the movements. 

"There, all fixed," he said, a big and satisfied grin spreading from cheek to cheek. 

Patroclus didn’t reciprocate. He was biting his lips and his eyes were filled with tears. They got trapped in his dark eyelashes a moment before falling onto his lap.

"What's wrong with me?" It was a bitter mutter. "Why am I like this? I hate it. Just look at me."

“I like looking at you." Achilles met Patroclus' tiny sobs with a soft smile. "You are beautiful and you make for a very nice view. I could look at you for hours."

Patroclus huffed again, sniffling. "You don't count. You would tell me I am beautiful even if I were a monster. I mean, I couldn’t take after my father. It would have been too kind."

When the time to wrap himself into his cocoon had come, Patroclus had covered himself in layer of silk and prayed to the gods he would come out finally shedding his moth part. 

But after a whole week, he had emerged only to discover a new pair of brown and grey moth wings had sprouted from his back, and this time they were permanent. He had cried in anger and frustration for hours, upset like Achilles had never seen him.. 

One day Achilles had found him angrily trying to cover the wings in a thick paste in an attempt to change their colour. Patroclus had looked at Achilles’ own, shining new, mostly King Peleus’ glossy black with two big stripes of Thetis’ blue with such longing, such envy that Achilles would sooner rip them out of his back than having Patroclus look at him like that ever again.

“You would be beautiful even as a monster. And aside from that, I can assure you I am not the only one to think that. Should I summon Automedon? He will tell you the same.”

“Automedon counts even less than you. It’s just… look at these things.”

He spread his wings for emphasis, causing another puff of air. In the lamp light they glowed even more, shimmering in gold. Achilles wished Patroclus could see them, could see himself the way he sees him. 

“They are as beautiful as their owner,” he said firmly. “No, no but. They shine brighter than bronze, brighter than gold and silver. And they are also very nice to the touch, I may add.”

Shifting closer to Patroclus, he carefully brushed his knuckles on the fuzziness covering the wings, soft like silk under his fingers. He caressed them following the growth of the hairs, slowly, half-expecting Patroclus to move away and tell him to stop.

For Achilles’ joy, Patroclus didn’t. On the contrary, he relaxed under the touch, the tension gradually melting from his body. He made a sound quite akin to a purr when Achilles came to stroke a specific spot close to his shoulder blade.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he sighed. “A little higher.”

Smiling, Achilles complied. He traced every single line on Patroclus’ wings and the pattern they drew. “You’re beautiful,” he said, leaning in to press a light kiss on them, the thin bristles tickling his lips. 

“Every part of you.”

He kissed Patroclus upper left wing.

“Both inside and outside.”

A kiss on the upper right wing.

“From head to toe.”

Another for the lower left one.

“And there isn’t anything of you I don’t love.”

Lower right one. 

He perched his chin on Patroclus’ shoulder, tilting his head to see Patroclus’ face. A tiny, embarrassed smile was gracing his lips now. Despite the awkward angle, Achilles quickly kissed them as well.

“Thank you,” Patroclus murmured after a while. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” Achilles gave him another kiss for good measure. “Now, how about we go to bed? I know you’d rather stay awake till dawn, but you need some sleep.”

If given the chance, Patroclus would gladly invert the day with the night. It made him the perfect member to have during night raids, but also made him feel more and more sluggish on the battlefield if he spent too long without a chance to follow his more natural sleep-waking rhythm.

He still indulged Achilles when he offered him his hand. As he had often explained to Achilles, even when he couldn’t truly sleep, laying with his eyes closed and Achilles next to him helped in making him feel less tired.

“It sounds like a good idea,” he said, leaning back on his heels to use the momentum to get up.

They set for bed quickly, only shedding their clothes before dropping onto the furs, their bodies immediately searching one another. Snuggling against Patroclus’ chest, Achilles folded his wings so they wouldn't bother during his sleep. Patroclus did the same.

“Comfortable?” he asked, one side of his wings resting on top of them like a cover. Yawning, Achilles nodded. 

“What about you? Your hands?”

“They hurt a bit but I can manage.”

Achilles brought them to his lips, making sure to kiss each finger. “Better?”
“You are a sap, you know that?” 

“So you told me.” His mouth opened onto another yawn. He let his eyes close, tucking his head under Patroclus’ chin. “Wake me up if the pain increases. I mean it.”
Even though he knew Patroclus wouldn’t, too prideful for that to call Achilles like a child their mother after a nightmare. It didn’t matter. What mattered was to let him know he would always have a helping hand and a shelter in him.

“I love you,” he murmured, then, to let the message seep further into Patroclus’ brain.

“Love you too.”