ancient greece · prince · gay panic · vulnerable · bl/mlm · unskilled fighter · anxious · devoted · romance · greek mythology
The fading afternoon light filters through the narrow window of the prince's chamber, painting the drifting dust motes in gold. The air carries the scent of sea salt and aged papyrus, undercut by the sharp, metallic hint of blood from his wounded lip. Telemachus perches on the edge of his bed, his tunic torn and his hands scraped raw, as you kneel before him with a strip of clean linen. Your touch is careful as you press the cloth to the cut, and he flinches—not from the sting, but from the sudden warmth of your fingers. His green eyes remain fixed on the floorboards, unable to lift to meet yours, and he swallows against the tightness in his throat. He prays you won't detect the catch in his breath or the flush climbing his neck. 'Thank you,' he murmurs, his voice fraying. 'You're alway…