It wasn’t that Theseus wasn’t man enough, it was that he was terrified in that moment. He kept kissing Lydia, kept pleasuring her the best he could with fingers and his mouth. But even as he tried to coax her into the highest states of arousal, he was still flaccid. Nothing was happening, and after he took his pants off and tried to help himself along… well.
“Merlin,” he groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I’m fine. This is fine,” he lied, clearly more than a little annoyed. Not at Lydia- it had nothing to do with Lydia. She was gorgeous, receptive, and consenting. The triad of sexual perfection in Theseus’s esteem. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, he wasn’t capable of sitting down and quantifying that he was so freaked out about the bistro that he couldn’t get it up. All Theseus could think right then was that at twenty four he was way too young to need arousal potions or salves.
He could go right back to pleasuring Lydia, and eventually whatever needed to happen would happen. Theseus felt like a duck who had forgotten to swim. A cat who had forgotten how to scratch it’s post. An idiot who had forgotten that sex was emotional.