WHO: Aphrodite & Patroclus WHEN: Sometime during the later years of the Trojan War WHERE: The Greek camps, Troy WHAT: All is fair in love and war (Originally posted by Aphrodite)
If anyone said that Love had no place in battle then they had never met Aphrodite. She may not have been mighty Athena or blood-soaked Ares, but she understood the mechanisms of war well enough. Her allegiance in this war was firmly on the side of the Trojans and it had taken only a little work to seduce Ares to also join her there and forsake the side of the Greeks.
After one of the Greeks had tried to strike her down in the early years, her godly blood sprayed across the fields of war, Zeus had told her that her place was not in war and that she should leave it to those better suited. Perhaps she might have retreated had he not been so commanding, or had her own mortal son not been among the Trojans.
So there the goddess of love remained, and while her swordhand lacked the ability of so many others, there were things she was better at than any other. She walked now through the camp of the Greeks, her dark curls cloaked and her perfect form hidden, unseen by the soldiers around her.
The tent she found didn't belong to that blond warrior she had come to despise, but to his older friend, his second in command who was to him a loyal dog as his feet. Tonight Aphrodite would test that loyalty, and she drew back the flap of his tent and entered.
Patroclus had been polishing his helmet when his tent opened. He raised his eyes to greet the person who entered and he found a person concealed by a cloak.
"Who are you?" Patroclus asked, though he did his best not to sound aggravated. It had been a rough couple of days and they had taken their toll on him.
Aphrodite moved further into the tent, the cloak pooling around her body as she did, revealing only touches of the voluptuous curves beneath.
"A humble stranger," Aphrodite purred, still concealed. She wanted to be right in front of him when he saw her properly. She wanted her full glory to stun him. "If that would please you."
The stranger was a woman, and thus she suddenly had Patroclus' undivided attention. It had been a while since he had had time to spend in the company of a woman. If he could bed her, he would.
He swallowed roughly, and still assuming she was a messenger, he put his helmet down and he faced her properly. "Do you have a message for me?"
She was not leaving this tent without giving him something.
"Perhaps," Aphrodite said, turning her back on him and casting her gaze across his tent. It wasn't much. These children were all living in filth. (Although Aphrodite found even the most lavish palaces of man to be little more than trifles compared to her home on Olympus.)
"Is there a message that you have been waiting to hear?" she asked him.
Not a messenger. Which meant it didn't matter if she was detained.
Slowly, Patroclus stood up and he put himself between the woman and the tent's exit. His smile was wide, but there was something predatory in it. He was a soldier and she was a woman. And she would show him her appreciation for the sacrifices he made on the battlefield every day.
"No," Patroclus replied, now that there was no escape but through him. "But there is something I will have from you."
Aphrodite smirked beneath her hood. Boys, all the same, all so predictable.
She turned, still cowled, and walked over towards him. "And what if I choose to deny you?" she asked, the honeyed words tripping from rouged lips.
Patroclus could have laughed, but he wasn't as cruel as some of his fellow soldiers. He was simply a Greek soldier who knew his due. And he would have it.
"I'm a war hero," he reminded her, taking a step forward. "And I will have my spoils."
He reached up to remove her hood so he could look upon his trophy, at least for tonight. When the cloth fell away from her face, Patroclus was left staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, and she was clearly not a mortal.
Patroclus fell to his knees without hesitation. As a soldier, he knew his place. His superiority had suddenly been ripped out from under him. He didn't know who the goddess was, but she deserved his respect. And his apologies. And even then, if she chose to take his pitiful life, he wouldn't fight it. He had insulted a goddess.
"Dear goddess, forgive my foolish pride. I did not know."
Aphrodite looked down upon him from under long lashes. She was pleased to see that he understood his position when it came to her and she reached up to undo the clasp of her cloak, letting it slid from her body and into a puddle at her feet.
She was giving him time to absorb it all, the behold the most beautiful creature in the world standing in his dingy, smelly little tent. Let him take in the black curls that fell to her waist, the dress of sky blue that held to each curve, the golden eyes and the perfect olive skin.
"Surely you know that the Goddess of Love does not forgive such slights against her pride easily," Aphrodite told him clearly. Then, not unkindly, she bent just enough to brush his cheek with her fingertips. "But rise now, Patroclus. You are forgiven."
The Goddess of Love. Aphrodite. In his tent!?
Patroclus couldn't bring himself to look at her at first. He wasn't worthy. But when she brushed his cheek with her fingers and told him to rise, he did as she asked, slowly taking in the sight of her.
She was the most exquisite creature he had ever laid eyes upon. Her beauty was such that he actually could not fathom it with his mortal mind. It overwhelmed him and threatened to consume him.
"I am not worthy to stand in front of you, Lady," he said, his voice conveying his awe. "You honor me." And while he did not think kneeling again was a good idea since she had told him to rise, he bowed his head to her.
While he may have been experiencing that awe for the first time, Aphrodite had seen it on the face of a thousand men and this time was no different. Patroclus was but a tool to her.
"Worthy or not," Aphrodite spoke, "here is where you stand." She smiled then, an expression like sunrise after a night of storms. She reached out and cupped his cheek with her soft palm.
When she touched him, Patroclus could feel himself going weak in the knees. His knees weren't truly where his mind was, at the moment, but he tried to concentrate on his knees rather than the area between this legs.
"What would you ask of me, Kythereia? I will do anything." The need to please her was suddenly the most important thing to him.
Aphrodite leaned in close to him so that when she spoke, her breath was warm on his cheek. "I need you," she whispered. "Patroclus, my Patroclus."
Patroclus closed his eyes as she whispered his name; on her lips it sounded more beautiful and lyrical than anything ever had. "I am yours," he whispered, willing to sacrifice anything for her at that moment.
"I need a champion," the goddess told him as she drew even closer, the heat of her body against his. "Oh, Patroclus, will you be that champion for me?" She was twisting the claws of lust and obsession into him, making him hers. It was as easy as Aphrodite as breathing. "Will you do anything for me?"
Having no idea what she meant by champion, Patroclus faced her and he nodded as her body pressed against his. How could he say no?
"I will be your champion," he promised quickly. "I will do anything for you."
She kissed him then, her tongue slipping into the mortals mouth as she drew Patroclus closer. Aphrodite broke the kiss far before the boy would have wanted her too - of course - and then, while he was still reeling she whispered against his lips.
"Kill," she purred, "Achilles."
Patroclus was with her until the name spoken was the name of his cousin. Patroclus killed. He had no trouble with killing. If he did, a soldier wouldn't be an appropriate career-path for him. And he was quite ready to kill whomever she sent him after. The son of Thetis, however, Patroclus could never betray him.
Achilles was his best friend. His brother-in-arms. His general.
And, even with the kiss of the Love Goddess herself still lingering on his lips, the managed to form the words, weak as they were, "not Achilles."
"Patroclus," she whispered with her lips brushing his still. She would break him down, make him nothing but clay for her to shape. "Patroclus, Patroclus, I need you to do it for me."
His body was betraying him. Every inch of him wanted to say yes, but he couldn't. He absolutely could not kill Achilles.
"I can't-" Patroclus whispered, sounding for all the world like he regretted it. And part of him did.
The part between his legs.
Aphrodite's hand drifted down to his crotch, gentle, feather-light. "Please, my Patroclus, my hero."
Patroclus actually let out a whimper when her hand strayed Southward. He had never whimpered like that before, but she was a Goddess and her thrall was all encompassing.
Almost.
Patroclus was a product of his time. Women were commodities and life meant little. The debt for wars was paid in blood. None of these things were of high value to Patroclus. What was of high value was his loyalty to the people he loved; Achilles and Briseis.
He would not pay this goddess with their blood.
"I cannot do what you ask," Patroclus grunted, turning his face away from her.
Aphrodite stopped touching him and stepped away, her lips curling into a mask of annoyance. "You would deny me when I offer my very body to you?" To be denied was not something Aphrodite took lightly and she reached out and wrapped her hand around his throat tightly, all softness and pleasure gone from her now. He may have been a soldier, strong and fit, but she was an Olympian. "Foolish boy," she snapped and then threw him to the ground.
When she spoke her next words they were venomous and invested with all of her powers. "Let you hear these words then, and let them be your doom. You will find no rest from this night, son of Menoetius. Have your fill of a thousand concubines but none shall slake your lust, nor shall any touch soothe your torment, the very air around will inflame your desires but nothing shall quench it. Forty days and nights I curse you thus to burn in pleasurable agony."
Patroclus felt the air around him burn, just as she promised. As he fell to his knees, he felt his entire body begin to shake with desire and unrequited lust.
He looked up at her in horror as his manhood began to ache and throb.
He wanted to beg her to make it stop. He knew only she could sate him; could take away the burning desire, but it would come at a price.
Achilles.
Patroclus gritted his teeth and he stared up at her, not defiant but remaining as resolved as he could against her newest torment.
Still the boy remained unmoved and Aphrodite glared down at him. She crouched to kiss him roughly, longer than it needed to be, just to remind him of what he'd said no to. He could have had everything, but now he would have nothing at all.
With a growl she stood and swept from the tent in a rage.
Patroclus was left then with his torment.
And while he had actually been polishing his helmet when she had walked into his tent, the second she left, Patroclus turned away and he set to work polishing an entirely different helmet.