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uselessnocturnal · 6 years

Text

Lifeline

olivarry week 2018 | day two | mythology

summary; Oliver would argue that Barry is no ordinary soldier. He is not a minor character. He is not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He is compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserves better than what life throws at him. He is Oliver’s whole world. His lifeline.

Seduced by the promise of a glorious victory, Oliver chooses to fight against the Trojans to rescue Helen of Sparta. Barry, out of love and fear for his friend, follows Oliver into war; little knowing that the following years would test their steadfast friendship and their deepening bond.

notes; it’s seven am in the morning i have not slept and i got way too into this and i feel like i’m going to be at least a day late every day now ughh. I actually had so much fun writing this? It’s so long though you might be better off reading it on ao3. It’s heavily inspired by the song of achilles with touches of percy jackson.

read here on ao3!

In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.

It’s not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I can’t do this without you. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.

The gods are busy. Or they don’t care.

If anyone paid closer attention to the greatest demigod of the ages, they’d be surprised. Why this desperate grief? Why mourn a man with such a shocking intensity? Whose death must it have been to undo the mighty Oliver?

Oliver would argue that the man was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.

He was Oliver’s whole world. His anchor.

Barry.

In the age of Heroes, there is always one that seems to draw the short end of the stick. Barry was a disappointment to both his father and his kingdom. When other boys were going on their first hunt, Barry could barely raise a spear. Whilst other boys were adorned with laurel wreaths, Barry stood away from the competition. At the age of eleven, he had been taken in by King Robert of Starling Kingdom and lives there, an unwanted shamed prince, under the shadow of the king’s golden son, Oliver.

Oliver, just a year older than Barry, is everything that Barry is not – strong, beautiful, the son of the goddess Thetis – and under normal circumstances their paths would never have crossed. Turns out, this wasn’t normal and for reasons still unknown to Barry, Oliver takes an interest in him.

When he finds out Barry skips training, Oliver starts bringing him to his classes as an excuse. Turns out, Barry can’t carry a tune on the lyre to save his life. When Oliver’s tutor offers him a lyre and he attempts to play it, Oliver’s electric blue eyes stare at the younger boy with a mix of confusion and laughter, “I never thought anyone could make the lyre sound bad.” Oliver confesses, faux-wonder in his tone.

It’s a different feeling to the burning humiliation when he’s teased during training and, though he can feel his cheeks warm, laughter bubbles out of his throat and before long they’re just two boys giggling uncontrollably with an exasperated teacher sitting by helplessly.

Their tentative connection falls into a steadfast friendship. Barry starts spending a lot of time with Oliver, often invited to events that would usually be exclusive to the royal family. Throughout the years, they only grow closer, spending almost every waking moment with each other.

They lie together on the floor by King Robert’s feet as he weaves a tale of gods and creatures for them. At fifteen, Barry’s reached that stage where everything is growing and now he’s just a bundle of awkward limbs that seem to stretch out everywhere. Oliver, on the other hand, has grown into his body extraordinarily well all broad-shouldered and tanned muscle. Barry would complain that it was incredibly unfair if he didn’t secretly think that Oliver was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

Barely listening to the king’s stories anymore, Oliver nudges Barry with his foot grinning like he’s just played the perfect joke. Barry rolls his eyes, hoping the darkness of the candle-lit room conceals his quiet blush, returning the smile with one of his own, kicking Oliver back eliciting a short laugh from him.

Robert, sensing their fidgeting, sits up straighter in his chair and lets a fond expression (albeit slightly disgruntled at the interruption) cross his face. He rises, gesturing the two to follow as they leave the room to the corridor. Barry stands to the side as they share a quick, private conversation. Robert points at one of the slave girls down the corridor and he’s not quite sure why but his heart drops to his stomach and an uneasy feeling overcomes him.

It’s around this age that both the boys would be starting to bring girls back to their bedrooms. Barry knows for a fact that the other boys Robert fosters have as they brag about their conquest the next day. As far as he was aware, though, Oliver hasn’t had anyone in his room and it seems that the king was getting concerned.

Having finished his conversation, Robert bids the two goodnight and returns to his chambers. The two stand silently for a moment, two silhouettes in the darkness.

Barry plays with his fingers for a moment before meeting Oliver’s striking eyes (even though he’s a year younger, he’s fairly sure he’ll be taller than the demigod) before asking quietly, “What did your father say?”

He can just about detect movement as Oliver shakes his head and responds in a low voice, “He told me that the girl has been staring at me the past few days. He says she’s intrigued.”

“Are you- are you going to bring her to bed?” Barry chooses his words carefully, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He almost can’t hold back a sigh of relief when Oliver shakes his head again.

“My father…” Oliver starts hesitantly, “he said my mother wants me to go and train with Chiron the Centaur and…I want you to come with me.”

Barry’s head spins. This conversation has just taken a complete one-eighty and though the thrill of going somewhere – leaving the palace – with Oliver (!) instructed by a goddess is overwhelming, there’s something about the statement that makes the whole situation seem almost forbidden.

He nods numbly, eagerly and still he asks, “Will your father be okay with it?”

A mischievous grin lights up his face, “Definitely not. You’re going to have to sneak out.”

“You’re joking.” Barry splutters, “I can’t do that!"

Oliver places his hands reassuringly on Barry’s shoulders, “You can,” he takes a step forward so they’re only an inch away from each other and he’s back to staring at those beautiful blue eyes, “I believe in you.”

The idea excites Barry more than it should. He’s barely prepared and he’s doubtful he’ll be able to pull it off but Oliver believes in him.

It fills him with a hope and pride that he’s never actually experienced. He spent the night going over a plan in Oliver’s room until they were pretty sure it was foolproof and he feels almost prepared.

He stands next to the king as Oliver kneels in a goodbye, his father looking on in pride. As Oliver rises and comes over to Barry, Barry can feel his heart clench at the mere thought of Oliver leaving. It’s a ridiculous reaction, especially since he knows he’s literally going to be chasing after than man in a few hours.

“I- I’m going to miss you,” Barry admits as Robert leaves the two alone in the courtyard.

“Me too, Barr,” Oliver confesses, unaware of the butterflies he had released in Barry’s stomach with the new nickname – how much of it was for show, Barry wasn’t sure. He’s not sure where the instinct comes from but he moves in to the man, arms outstretched for a hug. He can see the hesitance in Oliver’s eyes before something like screw it crosses his mind and they embrace each other tightly.

“I’ll see you around.” Oliver breath tickles Barry’s ear, his voice holding a secret only the two of them understand. He pulls away from the hug, cheeks dusted pink, turning sharply with his pouch over his shoulder, sword at his waist and venturing out of the castle and towards Mount Pelion.

King Robert seems to pity Barry, giving him the rest of the day off, leaving Barry with nothing to do until he sets his plan into action. The few hours without Oliver is harder than he’d thought it would have been. Without his company, there isn’t much Barry could do…it had honestly been a while since he felt this lost.

The plan starts after nightfall. It’s a simple plan really – the two had just decided to complicate it to entertain themselves. All Barry really had to do was take his weapons (of which he had little to no skill in using) and just run out of the gate. The hardest part is memorizing where to go. Thankfully this plan harnessed Barry’s few and greatest talents – speed and memory – so it really isn’t too much of a problem.

Running away from the palace is exhilarating. Ignoring the calls of guards who he knows will give up soon enough, this is the best feeling in the world. He can feel the air, the wind on his face and the ground beneath his feet, lifting him up and pushing him forward. The adrenaline pumps through his veins and he’s never felt more powerful before – running towards Oliver.

In the blanket of night, Barry’s hurtling through the jungle at the speed of light until he crashes into Oliver. The two of them fall to the ground and somehow they both know it’s each other. There’s no resistance as they tumble together across the dirt and leaves. Barry laughs breathlessly, flushing, as they roll to a stop, Oliver on top, a small but exasperated smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Barry breathes, “I was just…running.”

A small chuckle escapes Oliver, “It’s okay.”

Oliver’s weight eases off him and he offers a hand to Barry, “C’mon, we’ve got a long trip ahead.”

Barry grins and takes his hand.

It’s a few days until they reach where Chiron’s meant to be. They’re both exhausted and sweaty from the journey and all they want is to collapse. Because, yes, Oliver’s a demigod and he has a ridiculously high stamina and Barry can definitely hold his own but it’s more out of the comfort zone than they had both expected.

“We should be close.” Oliver announces, breathing heavily. Barry nods, a jerky motion, choosing to save his energy about ready to take a break. They both freeze as they hear a rustle in the trees. Oliver’s sword is out in a second and he shoves Barry behind him. A shadow looms over them and they’re met with a centaur…except he wasn’t quite.

Barry couldn’t help but stare, mouth slightly agape, at the human legs molding with the body of a horse. Chiron was different in that aspect, having two front legs that are human whilst other centaurs had the whole body of a horse. Though Barry had heard the rumours and seen the images, he was both fascinated and astonished by seeing the Great Chiron in real life. Chiron looked down on the duo, his dark eyes analytical and stern with a dusty grey beard that reminds Barry how old the centaur is and how much he must have seen. As the centaur towers over them Barry realises: This is what true power is.

“Son of Thetis, Prince Oliver of Starling,” Chiron’s voice, when he speaks, is rough and commanding, leaving no room for questions, “I have been expecting you.”

Oliver bows deeply and Barry scrambles to copy his movements, what were they to do in the presence of someone who has seen it all?

The centaur gestures them to rise and turns to Barry, “Bartholomew,” he starts, noting how Barry stiffens at the use of a name he hadn’t heard since he was exiled, “You are not supposed to be here.”

Quickly, Barry is reduced to nothing but a fumbling mess and crazy hand gestures, “Well- I –uh –just…” The words that leave his mouth are incoherent and he knows it, his cheeks flaming red.

He’s silenced by Oliver’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly and with the eloquence and confidence of a king responds for Barry, “He’s with me, Chiron.”

Chiron regards them silently, “and if I choose not to take him in?”

“We’re both coming,” Oliver’s confidence wavers at the question, “I –I’m not going without him.”

A knowing look crosses Chiron’s face, fleeting but definitely still there. Barry’s not sure if Oliver notices but puts it out of his mind as Chiron faces Barry once again bending down to him. “So, Bartholomew, this question is for you,” he directs, holding Barry’s gaze, “do you want to train with me?”

“Uh –it’s Barry,” he corrects without thinking, “and…yeah I’d be honoured to be trained by you.”

Chiron nods, seemingly pleased with Barry’s response. He gestures to his horse back, “Climb on and we will begin your training.”

Training with Chiron is hard, even for Oliver. Whilst they spend a lot of their time training with weapons like swords, spears and bows (a weapon which Oliver quickly grows attached to), they discover that Chiron has a lot more to offer than just combat training. The centaur pushes them to keep adapting and changing. He teaches the two simple medical practices – lessons that are not all that interesting to Oliver but something that Barry thrives at.

Often they’re left alone in the woods for a day. A test, Chiron explains, to practice adapting and survival skills. Together, they manage to make it through mostly unscathed, stretching Oliver’s hunting skills and Barry’s medical ones.

Even though they’ve both found something that they’re good at and want to practice further, Chiron forces them to keep up with all the training. Even if it means an exhausted Barry struggling to keep a bow in place and somehow hitting Chiron (who was behind him!) and if it means Oliver just accidentally killed his fake patient by giving him a poison instead of an herb.

It’s tough but together they endure it. They’re bond deepens until the word ‘friends’ can’t describe it. It’s more than that. They’re partners – they have each other’s backs, they understand the other without having to say a word. A connection like this, Chiron muses as he observes the boys (men – Oliver has just turned eighteen), it is something precious and rare and he hopes that the terrors of the future will not ruin that.

There’s a prophecy, you see, that Thetis revealed to Chiron a few months back. Oliver has two fates: to gain glory and die young or live a long and uneventful life of obscurity. Chiron barely had to take one look at the man and know which Oliver would choose. It isn’t that Oliver craves glory, but that he seeks to save his city. And Barry, Chiron is sure, will follow Oliver in a heartbeat wherever the man went. Regardless, they would both find themselves on a battlefield.

So when the announcement reaches the hills of Mount Pelion, Chiron doesn’t hide it from either of them.

“This is from King Menelaus?” Barry confirms brows furrowed in thought, though he knows that this is primarily Oliver’s decision.

“King Agamemnon of Greece, actually,” Oliver corrects distractedly, skimming the paper Chiron had passed to him, “Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped by the prince of Troy.”

Helen of Sparta. Now, there was a name Barry could remember from Robert’s stories. She is supposedly the daughter of Zeus and the most beautiful woman in the world. She had married Menelaus and now, for some reason, has been kidnapped by Paris, the younger prince of Troy. The situation itself seemed straightforward enough. Attack Troy. Rescue Helen. Do this by recruiting the greatest heroes of their time.

Barry can tell by the light in Oliver’s eyes that he’s intrigued or more likely, that he’s already decided he wants to go. Chiron had told Oliver in confidence about the prophecy and Oliver had of course told Barry (why did Chiron even attempt to keep it a secret he himself wasn’t sure). There was nothing more Barry wanted to do but just keep Oliver here – safe – at least for a little longer. At the time, as they rested in the comfort of Chiron’s cave upon a bed of emerald moss, the thought of war had seemed so distant.

“I’m going.” Oliver declares, leaving no room for argument, though he looks towards Barry slightly uncertainly.

Barry offers up a small smile and nods his encouragement, “I’m coming with you.” There’s an obvious relaxation in Oliver’s shoulders as he turns to retreat into the cave to pack, leaving Barry alone with Chiron.

“What troubles you, Bartholomew?” Barry supposes he shouldn’t be surprised by Chiron’s intuition or his persistent use of his full name, for that matter.

He shrugs, half-heartedly, “Is there any other way we can protect him?” he asks, letting a touch of desperation leak into his words, “I just-” Barry bites his lip, “I don’t want to lose him so soon.”

A despondent expression decorates Chiron’s aged face, “Fate has a funny way of working out…” he hesitates, “there is one way he can be better protected. But you should be warned it is a risky move for him.”

Barry swallows the lump in his throat but nods, waiting for Chiron to continue. To his surprise, he calls Oliver back. Barry looks at the centaur questioningly but is ignored.

“There is one more task I need you to fulfill.” Chiron instructs, “If you want to survive longer in this war, you need to bathe in the River Styx.”

Both pairs of eyes widen. “I thought the Styx was a myth.” Oliver states, questioningly, “Would I really become invincible?”

Chiron gives them both one of those I know all looks that they’ve grown accustomed to. “Maybe in a couple of millennial, people will think you’re myths,” his eyes sparkle for a moment but darken once again as he continues, “It will be a difficult journey. That you’ll have to take alone.”

Almost immediately, the men’s eyes jump to each other as they exchange a silent conversation until they reach an agreement. It’s almost amusing how they seem to instantly jump to each other for support, Chiron marvels; it has been a while since he has seen a love so strong.

“I’ll do it.” And with those three words, Oliver seals his fate.

Barry has to wait at Mount Pelion. It’s an agonising wait, especially since he doesn’t know whether Oliver is alive. He finds himself fretting about the man day and night. It’s almost like it physically pains him to be away from Oliver. He figures out early on the real reason why Oliver has to carry out the quest alone.

“You separated us on purpose, didn’t you?” Barry accuses Chiron on the cliff outside his cave, sounding more resigned than angry.

The wise centaur shrugs, facing the overlooking lake, “Why exactly would you think that?”

“Because we rely on each other too much. We’re too close?” Barry’s not entirely sure what the reason is, “Together we’re weak?”

At this suggestion, Chiron turns sharply towards Barry, “That is entirely false. I believe that together you are both stronger.”

He leans closer, his beard almost tickling Barry’s face “I also believe that you two have a loyalty towards each other that – if left uncontrolled – could lead either of you with a tough choice: to save the world or Oliver.”

Without sparing Barry an answer, the centaur gallops down the mountain and into the greens below. Logically, Barry knows he should save the world. That’s what a hero does after all. But in his heart, he realises that he would do anything to save Oliver even if it did mean bringing the world down in his wake.

He also realises that he loves Oliver. It’s a fierce love that Barry had never nurtured before but he had brushed it aside, thinking it may have just been a childhood crush. They had kissed and touched each other a few times whilst they were at Mount Pelion (usually when Chiron abandoned them for the night – it kept them warm!). Nothing more than that and although the feeling left both of them warm and buzzing with the heated touch of the other, it had never developed into something deeper.

Presumably, their love wasn’t just about the physical aspect. It was obvious in the way they move closer together when they were uncertain and confide everything in each other. It was obvious in the way they looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking and how they’re minds always jumped first to the protection of the other.

Barry doesn’t need to wonder if Oliver loves him. He knows that he does – it’s just that maybe Oliver hasn’t realised it yet. And even if he does, neither of them will know where to go from there. Although not frowned upon, most couples in Greece were of a different sex – and that was mainly for childbirth. If Oliver had been any other man in the city, it would not matter that he doesn’t have children. But as a prince, the eldest and only son of Robert no less, it was absolutely essential for him to bear a son to be the next in line to the throne.

He forces the thoughts out of his mind. There is no use in worrying about something that may not even happen, especially with the war coming up and the fact that Oliver still isn’t back yet.

Oliver returns a few days later, his strides are more confident and Barry can almost see a certain aura around him that screams powerful demigod. Yet, there’s a slight darkness to his eyes, a weight on his shoulders dragging him back. When he sees Barry though, his eyes brighten and he breaks into a jog towards the other man. Barry, grateful to every god and goddess that Oliver is alive, is already running towards Oliver for a very much longed for hug.

He gets something better.

Barry barely has his arms around Oliver when the stronger man picks him up so Barry ends up straddling Oliver, his legs wrapped around Oliver’s waist, he’s pressed up against his bare chest and his face is only a few inches apart.

“What was that–” He’s cut off as Oliver’s lips crash into his – it’s a desperate, hungry kiss mixed with blood and salt. A kiss more passionate than either of them had ever shared.

When they finally pull away from each other, lips red and swollen, Barry’s hazel-green eyes stare into Oliver’s a question evident.

“I’ll tell you later,” Oliver promises, “I just know that…I don’t want you to leave my side.” He mumbles, letting Barry slide down and pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead.

A flush spreads across Barry’s face, coupled with a smile, “I’d never leave your side, Ollie.” It’s not the first time Barry’s used that nickname and yet it sets Oliver’s heart on fire because it’s the first time it means something more.

Later doesn’t seem to come. As the two pack their sacks with their sparse belongings and some food for the journey, Oliver seems to delve into a spot of quiet consideration. Barry chooses not to push, trusting that Oliver will tell him when he wanted to, but worries silently by his side, hoping that no matter what happened, they would face it together.

When they reach Troy, the war has already gone on for five months and is in full chaos. There’s no way to tell which side is winning – there are high casualty counts on both. They’d like to believe that the Greeks are at an advantage with great heroes to help them like Heracles and Odysseus. And now, Oliver.

Barry feels like it’s obvious when Oliver joins the war. Even without prior experience, Oliver seems so…at ease with war. He makes fighting seem like a mesmerizing hacking art. His spear moves faster than the eye can follow, never stopping, ever-changing. It whirls, flashing forward, reverses, then flashes behind. On the battlefield, it is Oliver who leads men into victory, even though he is not the commander. It is Oliver who slays more of the Trojans than all the other Greeks do in total. He seems to be an unstoppable force and the Greeks love him for it.

They shower him in praises at the campsite; raise him on their shields as they return from their most recently won battle. The tent that Oliver shares with Barry soon becomes crowded with loot and other spoils of war. Everyone wants to talk to the greatest demigod of the ages.

Oliver, whilst civil in front of the soldiers, seeks solace after every battle with Barry. They keep their relationship quiet, sneaking kisses between battles and stealing touches every time their paths crossed. As the Greeks slept through the night, Barry and Oliver would bask in each other’s warmth, savouring each and every short moment they could share together.

At first, Barry is uncomfortable at the prospect of war, hesitant because there must be another way rather than killing. He had brought the worry up to Oliver once and the man had looked at him strangely. There is no other way, he’d said, not unkindly, he kidnapped a king’s wife. Oliver hadn’t laughed at him but he had been concerned and almost tried to stop Barry from going on the battlefield – worried that it would be too much for him to handle.

It took a lot in Barry not to snap back that he could handle himself. He may not be the most skilled, but gods help him if he sits by in Oliver’s tent as every other man goes out and fights for his country.

The war stretches on longer than they expect. What starts out as a couple of months turns into a year, which extends even longer to six years. There are heavy losses on both sides and yet neither side appears to give. At this point, Barry wonders if anyone actually knows what the Greeks had started out fighting for. If they still remembered Helen of Sparta who could be locked away in her ivory tower, watching as men still fought and died for her. It must be a difficult existence.

Barry spends his time either on the battle, barely scraping death, or in the Greeks’ temporary medical bay of the day. He does admit he likes it there more than he ever did on the battlefield. Here, he heals people with the skills Chiron taught him. He learns their names, faces and of their families back at home and listens to how much they misses them. This war has gone too long, men would often complain after thanking Barry, I just want to go home.

Home…Barry muses. Unlike these men, he has no connections outside of the battlefield. Yes, he misses Mount Pelion with its groves and rivers and Chiron always watching. But for him, home was wherever Oliver was.

Their relationship was still going strong over the course of six years. It was difficult to keep the façade, especially when King Menelaus keeps questioning why Oliver won’t take a slave girl for his pleasure when Oliver seems to capture so many of them. It wasn’t just because of Barry that Oliver wouldn’t keep the slaves.

He’d confided in Barry one night, “I feel powerful on the field…like I can do anything. But every life I take…I feel like I’m trading away…little pieces of myself…everything that makes me good.” He had hesitated as Barry squeezed his hand encouragingly, “I thought, if I didn’t keep the slaves…at least they wouldn’t have to look at the face that captured them in the first place.”

Barry had nodded in understanding, and drew the man into a kiss and capturing his cheeks with his hands as he pulled away. “You have nothing to compensate for,” he’d said, “You would not have come out the other side of this as a hero, if you didn’t have a light inside of you.”

The words had brought tears to Oliver’s eyes as he had let the younger man draw him close and rested in his protection.

A few weeks later, Oliver brings a girl to their tent. She’s dark-skinned with brown wavy hair and chocolate eyes. Barry and Oliver can barely communicate with her, only just getting across their names and receiving hers in turn – Iris.

Even with the communication barrier, Iris is incredibly talented with healing, making her useful in the med bay. As they treat the men, Barry manages to teach her little pieces of Greek and in turn she teaches him Latin, making it so that they could have basic conversations with each other.

They grow close. It’s a nice feeling to have an actual friend to talk to. They talk about anything they can, heavily avoiding the topic of war (to be fair it’s not in either of their vocabulary). Only after Oliver storms out of the tent upon seeing Barry and Iris laughing together does Iris bring it up.

“Oliver…uh…upset? Why?” She asks in her broken Greek though Barry gets the gist of her sentence even before she has to ask.

He hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, “I- He might be…jealous?” He tests the word, meeting her eyes to convey his message. He’s fairly sure she doesn’t understand the actual word but she already knows why Oliver’s upset.

“You two are…happy.” She states, smiling widely at him, “I go.” She points to the tent flap, as Barry stands up frantically, waving his hands in a panic.

Laughing at his concern that he’d hurt her feelings she puts her hands out to pacify him, “I help.” she punctuates her sentence with a wink, leaving Barry in a state of realisation as she leaves him alone in the tent.

Sure enough, Oliver returns seconds later, simmering with barely controlled rage.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?” Barry asks, concern colouring his tone.

Oliver shakes his head, “Look, I just… I need to clarify. Are you…doing anything with that girl?”

“Iris,” Barry corrects automatically, “and no, of course not!” I love you lingers on his tongue but it just seems too soon.

Oliver bites his lip and doesn’t meet Barry’s eyes, clearly not completely at ease.

“What else happened?” Barry pushes gently.

He sighs before delving into an explanation, “King Agamemnon captured a daughter of a priestess of Apollo and refuses to give her back even though Apollo has threatened,” Oliver clenches his fist, voice hardening, “to send a plague throughout our camps. I’ve tried to reason with him – to talk some sense into him – but he refuses unless-”

He hesitates, meeting Barry’s eyes carefully, “Unless I give him Iris.”

Barry’s world seems to stop for a second, glitch and then carry on, “I’m sorry –what?”

Oliver purses his lips and drops his gaze, nodding once more.

“No. No.” Barry repeats, coming up close to Oliver, “you can’t do this. There has to be something- ”

“There isn’t anything!” Oliver all but shouts in his face. Barry stares at him for a moment stunned as Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “The plague is already spreading. Soldiers are getting sick. They’re going to the medical tent. That’s where you are.”

He swallows and raises his eyes to the roof of the tent, closing them and then looking Barry straight in the eyes, “I can’t – I don’t want you to get infected.” Oliver’s eyes are glistening now and Barry understands now, why Oliver wants to do what he’s going to do.

“Look, the king promised he wouldn’t harm her and I just thought…”

Barry nods as Oliver pulls him into an embrace, “I understand…just let me talk to her.”

The conversation with Iris is a quick but tearful one. They convey their goodbyes in long hugs and he wishes her luck as Oliver takes her away to King Agamemnon.

Barry hoped everything would have been resolved in that moment. His heart plunges when Oliver strides back in to the tent and sits himself on their bed, fuming in quiet rage. Barry doesn’t ask questions this time. Instead he waits for Oliver to open up to him. There’s a long almost suffocating silence in the tent.

“I’m not fighting anymore.” Oliver states, his voice quiet and even. The proclamation startles Barry out of his spot on the cushions.

“What do you mean – What? Why?” Barry splutters. He can’t be serious. The Greeks – we – can’t win without him.

Oliver shakes his head stiffly, “Agamemnon – the king – he’s taken my honour.”

“You’re going to let the Greeks lose because the king wounded your pride?” Barry demands, infuriated. This is absolutely ridiculous.

“The Greeks aren’t going to lose.” Oliver growls, “He’s ruined my reputation! Everything I’ve built up over the years is overlooked now because he took my slave from me unwillingly!”

“You’re reputation?” Barry questions incredulously, “Oliver, you can easily get that back up within a battle. Nothing has been taken away from you! And Iris, she isn’t some object to be tossed around! She’s a person!”

“You can’t just abandon us because of something as petty as this. We need you.”

“When did it change from ‘the Greeks’ to ‘us’?” Oliver snaps, “When were you suddenly such a supportive member of their cause? You told me yourself: You didn’t think this was right.”

“And if you don’t help them, they’re going to die, Ollie. And you don’t want that on your conscience.” Barry’s voice breaks slightly as he stares into his lover’s beautiful, broken blue eyes. He can tell he’s gotten through to Oliver because of the flicker of regret that dances across his eyes.

A horn sounds in the distance – the signal for a battle about to come.

The two of them stare each other down in the doorway of the tent, Barry urging Oliver to go and Oliver wanting to go but hesitating to nurse his pride. Sighing Barry gathers Oliver’s armour.

“Just this once, I’ll go out in your armour,” he compromises, not letting Oliver speak, “we can’t let them lose any of the battles when we’re so close to defeating the Trojans.”

“Hopefully, just seeing your armour alone will scare people away.” Barry shrugs, “Even then, I should have enough skill to manage myself.”

Oliver looks doubtful at the idea, concern written across his face and yet, still too stubborn to take up the armour himself. One day, Barry swore, Oliver’s pride would be his downfall.

“I’ll lead them well,” Barry reassures Oliver, adjusting the straps of armour to fit him a bit better.

“I know you will.” Oliver murmurs, pulling the man into a final kiss before he left. It’s a soft and quick kiss before Barry moves away, smiling at his best friend and lover.

“Come back to me,” he pleads, “As soon as you beat the Trojans back to their ships bring the armour back and I’ll take over.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to.” Barry promises.

He takes to commanding with a surprising amount of ease. With people already believing he was Oliver, it isn’t difficult to have the sway he needs to convince them to attack. Though his technique is not as swift as Oliver’s, Barry is able to disarm and injure many of the Trojan army. He understands now, why Oliver is so involved in fighting. There’s a tiny taste of power every time a man falls, coupled with a bitter taste in his mouth that quickly diminishes the euphoria. It does give him that tiny boost of confidence, though.

Barry had been involved in enough battle plans to know a good strategy and he managed to push the Trojans back almost, dare he say it, easily. It makes a further attack all too tempting.

In a split second decision, he continues the fight, leading the Greeks towards the already weakened Trojans in an attack that Barry is almost sure they can win. He knows he’s smart enough to pull it off.

As they’re charging to attack, Barry stops suddenly. His mind completely blank – wiped clean – so that he can’t even remember what he’s doing, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. A single name sits on his lips as he tries to shake off the disorientation and remember what he is doing. It’s important. It’s a mission. I was doing it for…for… the Greeks no…for Oliver.

And it’s with Oliver’s name that the disorientation clears and his wits return to him. Barry can barely understand what just happens but he doesn’t have time. He needs to find Oliver and –

a sharp pain blossoms from the middle of his stomach. He clutches blindly at the shaft of a spear, searching for the end of it until – oh – it’s inside him. Barry stumbles backwards, for a battlefield it’s surprisingly empty until he realises he’s no longer on the field.

He must have chased the man – Hector, prince of Troy – around the walls unknowingly. But how did that happen? Surely, Barry couldn’t have been stupid enough – the gods. A god must have cursed him – taken his wits in that moment – weakened him so that Hector could finish him off.

Barry is no longer wearing Oliver’s armour. Hector must have taken it before he retreated. “Oliver,” he mumbles half-deliriously, “I need to get the armour to him.” A face hovers over his, blue-eyes but Not Oliver because this man does not have the same chiseled jaw as Oliver. Voices are swimming in his head, blending together so they don’t make sense.

There’s just one voice he wants to hear. “Oliver.”

The man, King Menelaus, protecting his body nods and in a moment of clarity Barry hears, “I’ve sent someone to get him.”

His body relaxes in relief. Oliver is coming.

The spear sends a last pulsing, shuddering throb throughout his body. Barry’s eyes close. A final, trembling breath leaves his lips. And then, as Oliver sprints across the field calling Barry’s name, Barry lets go.

In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.

He had run straight into the midst of all the chaos with only one man in mind – Barry. He finds him soon enough or rather his body, protected by King Menelaus and Ajax. Barry is laying so incredibly still, a spear buried in his stomach, a small pool of coppery blood watering the ground beneath him.

He gathers the man up in his arms. He’s so cold – nothing like the warmth Barry radiates the moment he steps into a room. It’s so rare to see Barry still – there had barely been a moment where the boy hadn’t been moving. He was always fidgeting with something or other or even when he was standing still… it felt like he was flittering.

It’s not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I’m sorry, Barry please, I can’t do this without you. Barry. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.

The gods are busy. Or they don’t care.

Oliver would argue that Barry was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.

He was Oliver’s whole world. His anchor.

Barry. He’s crying now, choking on his grief, tears mingling with the sweat on his face and dampening Barry’s tunic as he holds the man closer to his heart.

Barry was more than a lover. He was Oliver’s best friend and closest confidant. They were partners who held each other on a special level of trust. Barry had been the first person he had thought of when

the nymph of the river Styx had said, “You need a mortal point.”

“A what?” Oliver had asked. A mortal point for an invincible body? That sounded ridiculous.

Styx, had calmly uncreased the folds in her dress, sighing as though she had heard this kind of incredulity all before. “You need to stay anchored to your mortal life.”

When she’s met with even more confusion she rolls her eyes, “Imagine a spot on your body that will remain vulnerable. This is where your soul will anchor your body to the world. If you lose sight of what keeps you mortal, the River Styx will burn you to ashes. And you will cease to exist.”

Oliver had stared at her for a moment and then at the river. Thinking carefully before he chose, he concentrated on a small spot under his left armpit. It was unlikely that anyone would aim a weapon there and, with armour, it would be relatively well protected.

Closing his eyes to brace himself, he imagined a string like a bungee cord connecting him to the riverbank. Without thinking, he jumps.

It’s a terrifying moment when everything burns and he can’t control his muscles. Every nerve was dissolving, screaming in pain. This was one of his first real battles. And he was already losing.

Oliver could feel his soul literally burning away, being ripped from his body. His hands and feet felt like they were melting into the river. He wanted to give up.

But he couldn’t.

“Oliver! The cord!” Oliver could hear a voice through the murky water, “Remember your lifeline.”

Oliver focused on the cord, imagining it thicker and stronger, ignoring the pain and the oh gods, what’s my name. He felt a tug through the cord and looked up.

Barry stood on the bank, smiling down at Oliver, “Hold on, Ollie! I’ll give you a hand.”

Barry’s voice was clearer now. Oliver could feel himself stop dissolving.

“Come on,” Barry says, a light in those beautiful hazel-green eyes, “Take my hand.”

Memories came rushing back, sharper and clearer than before. Memories of him with Barry in the palace in Starling, plotting to escape together, tasting the sweet fruits of the forest Chiron offered. The current stopped pushing him down. His name was Oliver. He reached up and took Barry’s hand.

He had emerged from the river, gasping and spluttering, scanning the area for Barry even though Oliver knew he shouldn’t be there. It had seemed so real. No one was there but Styx, relaxing on a rock, looking only mildly impressed that he’d survived.

The pain had subsided. He wasn’t sure if it had worked but…at least he was alive.

“Thank you, Lady Styx.” Oliver bows, not entirely sure how to treat a river nymph.

Styx shrugs indifferently, “You’ve just committed yourself to a lifetime or hardships.” She hops off the rock and rises to his height. “I’ll give you a piece of advice though.”

“Whoever you saw…whoever pulled you out? He is your real lifeline. You have to protect him because without him, you’ll lose all sense of mortality. It won’t be a fast process but his death will weaken you. Do not, under any circumstances,

lose Barry. Oliver had lost Barry.

Barry, who on his journey back, Oliver had realised he loved with a burning passion.

Barry who only wanted the best for everyone.

Barry who Oliver had tried so hard to protect just for his arrogance to get in the way and now…

Barry was gone.

#olivarryweek2018 #ancient greece au #olivarry #oliver queen #barry allen #song of achilles #barry as patroclus #oliver as achilles #angst #lots of it #but also fluff #i hope for your sake that the line break works #lyss writes #arrowverse is whack #greek mythology au

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chusset · 7 years

Text

Boston Rain

omg so I’ve been sick as hell for a few days and have done literally nothing before and after work because I’ve been slowly dying. ANYWAY, I run a sneeze fetish blog (the url is @sf-galaxy if you’d ever wanna check it out!! No pressure. I just post a lot of....well, fetish shit lol) so I was really feeling In the Mood for some fetishy writing because my recent fics have been more mundane I guess---anyway I will always love Spencer and Tim and I just remember that summer when we stayed up til the buttcrack of dawn crying about them, and I just!! love sneezy Spencer so much!! We didn’t do a hell of a lot with him fetish-wise because I think we mostly focused on Klaus and Phin with a few other folks peppered in (peppered, get it, lol), and like---

okay so I know he HAD a cold when he was hanging out with Cassidy and then it just got worse as they went, but I tweaked it just a bit for this fic so that he had the beginnings of a cold, but didn’t really notice until he and Tim were in Boston. And we’ve mentioned here and there that Tim and Spencer would sort of ‘catch’ the fetish, and I guess this is sort of my take on how Tim would start to really get into it? Like....Idk if this makes sense, but before I was thinking that after hanging out with Dahlia and Eloise and then, he’d be like “Hey you’re right, this is pretty hot”, but now I guess I just think it’s sweeter if he is just SO enamored with Spence that he just starts feeling that on his own? And Tim’s still struggling with his Gay Panic so he like!! Reeeeally wants to hug and kiss and love Spencer at this point and it’s beginning to outweigh his constant DON’T BE GAY thoughts

Ughh what else---so I’m sort of tweaking Alchs so they have normal mouths, but their eyes are still sort of freaky---still working on it!! And this is sort of fucking long lol so let me know if you see this but have to wait til you get out of work or something to read it later or whatever---ALSO YEAH I KNOW I have like 3 things i still need to finish but this was killing me to get out!! @chillediplier @carolionel please tell me what you think!

ALSO WAIT so this post ( http://sf-galaxy.tumblr.com/post/156026087020/kalla-lily-i-am-weak-for-the-idea-of-a ) really sort of inspired me for this too? I’m sorry omg but the idea of Spencer just sneezing everywhere makes me weak!!!

also fuck!! idk why it keeps formatting it weird and putting needless spaces in different spots!! UGHHH anyway please continue

Tim didn't care if Spencer caught him staring. Well, it wasn't so much that he didn't care, but just that he....didn't acknowledge it. All he could do was feel his heart pound in his ears. "HihhHHH..." That shaky gasp of breath, that twitching pointed nose, the way his eyes rolled up just before sliding shut.... "HihhhHH--!! HEehhHHKKShuuHH!!" Spencer finally released, snapping at the waist as the sneeze barrelled out of him. He sniffled blearily and blinked, reaching to rub under his nose with a crooked index finger. "Sorry...." he breathed, though the soft exhale sounded like it was relieved more than anything. "Gesundheit...." Tim chuckled, fingers itching to place his hand on Spencer's back. Or his arm, or his shoulder, or anywhere at all. Tim wanted nothing more than to hold Spencer, no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself. "I told you, you should've brought a jacket...." Spencer sniffled again, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. "Ah, hell, I'm....fine, dude," he said, response delayed a beat when his nose twitched irritably again. He sniffled, giving the reddening appendage a wiggle. "I don't g-get sick that much...." "Well, you're gonna get sick in this weather..." Tim murmured, looking up as the light drizzle fell from the dreary clouds over Boston. It wasn’t enough to make him rust, but it would get worse. Maybe it was the feelings he was catching recently, but this felt like the perfect weather to curl up and---dare he say it?---cuddle in. His cheeks burned at the very thought. "Man, I spent the last two years bustin’ heads in 2-Fort. I think I can handle a little rain...." Spencer told him with a confident smile and a shiver that he couldn't quite hide. An instant later, he sniffled loudly and reached to palm the underside of his nose. "Nose just itches...." How was he allowed to be this cute? How was Tim allowed to feel so damn affectionate and soft after years of being anything but? "Here...." Tim murmured, unbuttoning his letter jacket as he spoke. The jacket was one that he won in a Game Stop raffle as a teenager, with the logo of the classic game The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wind sewn into the back. The jacket was a size or two too big, but it was one of the few things he brought with him when he first became an Alch, and even though he rarely grew cold anymore, he still kept it for nostalgia's sake. He offered it to Spencer with a firm hold, so the other man couldn't push his hand away. "Nah, nah, man, I-I'm not gonna take your---" "Take it. I'm not cold," Tim insisted with an easy shrug, as if his stomach wasn't full of butterflies and his heart wasn't aching with the desire to do far more than just offer Spencer his jacket. The ex-Scout took a long moment to consider this before he shivered again at a cold breeze. "Th-Thanks, B..." he said, taking the jacket to slip on. He quickly buttoned it up, sighing at how comfortable and warm it was. The jacket was too big for him, and he practically swam in it with the sleeves going an inch past his fingers. He sniffled again and reached to toy with one of the buttons. "It....smells like you," Spencer said after a moment, a light smile teasing at his lips. Tim flushed and shoved his hands in his pockets, gaze falling to the ground shyly. "I-I'm guessing that's good?" he chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, yeah, real good...." Spencer nodded, taking another deep inhale of the sleeves. "Like....motor oil, but just a little bit. And also like...apple cider, sorta." Tim couldn't help but laugh. "Motor oil and apple cider, huh? Well, I do like chugging cider when it's cold like this....and I did have to change my oil last--..." he paused when Spencer stepped closer to him as the walked, their shoulders pressed together. "....month," he finished weakly, wondering if Spencer could hear his heart pounding. Spencer looked down so the collar of the jacket hid his shy smile. "Whatcha wanna do for dinner?" Tim thought about how easy it would be just to link his arm with Spencer's. Or maybe put his arm around Spencer's waist, or his shoulders. Even just placing his hand on the small of his back was far more than Tim was brave enough to do. "I dunno....room service?" Tim suggested, slipping his hand down to gingerly tuck his pinky finger into Spencer's jean pocket. It was a small move, but it had Spencer moving closer. Spencer sniffled again, looking to his nose with irritation. "R-Room service is....ehHHHxpensive...." he said airily, determined to try and shake off the building sneeze. "Don't worry about it....You let me take care of that." "Nghh...fine, b-but I'll p--hihHHH--pay you b-back...." Spencer hitched, his lashes falling shut as he had to completely stop walking, his body momentarily distracted with the maddening tickling in his nose. He absently raised both sleeves to his face, nose scrunching with a final shuddering hitch. God. I love him. "HeeIIKKchhUUHH!!" Spencer sneezed, buckling into the sleeves before his breath immediately hitched again, brows drawing up with the shaky inhale. "IhhHKcheeUUHHH!! Ohhh, fuck..." he breathed, lashes still shut as he rubbed his nose with the oversized sleeve. "That was buggin' the h-hell out of...me...." he exhaled, looking to be on the cusp of another sneeze. The strangers on the streets of Boston didn't matter to Tim in that moment. Nothing, nothing at all mattered except for Spencer. What was ever important to him before Spencer? "Oh--shit, man, sorry...." Spencer winced a moment later, drawing back from the sleeves he'd just sneezed into. "I didn't---I didn't notice I..." He froze, blinking in surprise when he was pulled close to Tim's side, an arm wrapped around his waist. "....B?" Tim smiled warmly, holding Spencer close as they walked. "Gesundheit...." Spencer only paused briefly before melting into Tim's embrace, his temple lulling against the other man's. "Sorry for sneezin' all over your jacket...." "Don't be," Tim chuckled. "You're not classy like Klaus and carry a handkerchief, so you really don't have many options," he teased. Spencer snorted, rubbing under his nose once more. "Hey, I probably would if I had a water faucet for a schnoz like him. And I'm plenty classy! I was voted Sharpest Dresser in high school." "You were not!" "Well, another kid named Spencer was, and the yearbook committee screwed up and put my picture in instead of his-- but it's my face attached to it!" This had Tim laughing out loud. "Hell, I'd tell people that, too, if that happened to me..." he snorted, reaching with his free hand to dry his eyes. "You’re funny!” Spencer's nose crinkled with a laugh of his own, and Tim felt his heart swell all over again. "Man, I was like Charlie Brown in school! Always trippin' over something or screwin' somethin' up....Took me a while to grow into my legs, I guess...Guess I've always been sorta....I dunno, awkward and annoyin', though...." "Shut up," Tim ordered with a frown. "You're not annoying." Spencer sighed, giving him a light, half-hearted smile. "I know you don't think I am...But I always feel like I get real....loud, ya know, a-and obnoxious....And I don't try to be, b-but I can just....feel myself getting annoying. Especially around Klaus and Eloise and Leon and them... They're my friends, yeah, but they're so chill...." "Eloise started crying yesterday because there was an old man sitting by himself at the diner.”

“Well, yeah, but that was sorta sad...”

“And Leon cuts people open with his psycho girlfriend. And Klaus went batshit on Lionel when he was flirting with Eloise. I mean, I'd probably go batshit if someone was flirting with you," Tim said with a shrug, cheeks reddening a bit, "But I guess my point is that they're far from chill, and so are everyone else we hang out with....I still love Eloise, even if she cries at the drop of a hat. And hell, I'm starting to love Klaus and Leon, too, even if they can get a little nutty...." He met Spencer's eyes and smiled warmly. "And they love you, even if you get a little excited. Hell, I love it when you get excited!" he couldn't help but gush.

Spencer blushed himself, sniffling and holding the jacket closer around himself. "R-Really....?"

"Yeah!" Tim grinned. "When you talk about baseball or video games or something you're pumped about, your eyes get so bright and you talk a mile a minute and...and you're so damn cute," he said quietly, his expression softening. "I've thought that since the moment we came home after busting you out of 2-Fort. That you were cute. 'Course, I wouldn't let myself think about it much....Didn't wanna think I was.....ya know...." Spencer's gaze fell, looking down and away from Tim. "Y-Yeah, I getcha...." he murmured. Tim swallowed and gave Spencer a ginger hug with his arm. "....B-But I am," he clarified quietly, knowing his cheeks had to be burning. "I'm....ya know....with you...." It took a moment, but Spencer finally returned Tim's fond look. "...I-I'm...ya know....with you, too, man..." he said softly with a growing grin. The both of them just smiled to each other, their faces close and their bodies closer as they made their way down the busy Boston sidewalk. A moment later, Spencer yanked his sleeves up to his face again, buckling into them fiercely. "HeEEHHKshhhUUU!!" "Woah,bless you...." Tim exclaimed, feeling Spencer's forehead once he straightened. His Alch tech didn't detect a fever, but that didn't ease his fears any. "You might be coming down with something...." "'M fine....just cold," Spencer sniffled loudly, twitching his nose back and forth. "Ugh! Let's just hurry up to the hotel. You said it’s close, right? I gotta grab a tissue..." "Oh?" Tim hummed before slowing his pace dramatically. "Well, we should put some speed on it...." "You're a dick!" Spencer laughed, trying to keep going faster while Tim slunk behind him. "Doooon't....goooo....alooooooone....." Tim drawled out as if he were in slow motion, taking sluggish and dramatic steps, clinging to Spencer’s arm. "You do know you're grabbin' the arm I just sneezed into, right?" "Oh. That explains why it's wet." "Shut up! It's not--" Spencer only paused in his laughter when thunder clapped overhead. A few people on the sidewalk took out umbrellas, clearly anticipating this in the weather forecast. This had Tim straightening. He took Spencer's hand and scurried along, feeling the previous drizzle become a fine sprinkle. "Come on, it's just another block...." Spencer flushed when Tim held his hand, hurrying along beside the Alch. "What? You gonna rust or something?" "I might..." Tim murmured, seeing the lights of the hotel ahead. "There! That's the place I made the reservation...." Spencer followed his gaze and gaped. "Dude...You got the Sheraton? I love this place!" "I know! You told me!" Tim couldn't help but grin, despite their predicament. He desperately loved the look of joy on Spencer's face. "I mean, I remember mentioning it a bit, but..." Spencer beamed ear to ear to Tim. "You just remember everything, don't ya?" Tim stopped at the corner as cars zoomed by, not noting any passersby. "Nah. I just pay special attention to you in particular." He gave Spencer a swift, adoring kiss, and continued across the street an instant later. Spencer blinked in surprise, but kept moving alongside Tim. He seemed dazed, and Tim worried that he didn't appreciate the surprising (and public) kiss. But his worries were eased a moment later when that dazed look lead to Spencer yanking up the collar of the jacket over his nose, buckling into it with two sudden sneezes. "IhHHZHHUU!! HiHH-!! HeeEEKCHUU!!" "Woah! Bless you, bless you--" HiiIIHHCHHuUUHH!!" "Bless you..." Tim finished fondly, kissing Spencer's cheek before he could help himself. Spencer visibly blushed, collar still over his nose. His eyes crinkled with a hidden smile as Tim guiding him into the automatic front doors of the Sheraton. The rain was coming down harder now, and they slipped into the safety of the hotel lobby just in time to avoid the brunt of it. The both of them panted after that mad dash, fingers still entwined together. They were silent, until Tim reached to smooth Spencer's wet hair from his forehead. "I'm gonna check in..." he said softly, rubbing his thumb over Spencer's. "You have a seat, huh?" "'Kay..." Spencer nodded, his voice low as well. They parted, and Tim resisted looking back to Spencer as he strode to the front desk to check in. As he waited for the concierge, he glanced back at the ex-Scout, who stood by the roaring fireplace. Spencer plucked tissue after tissue from a box on the coffee table, blowing his nose again and again. His third blow was interrupted by a muffled sneeze into the tissues, and Spencer sighed exhaustedly before blowing his nose once more. "Poor baby...." Tim couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "I'm sorry, sir?" He jumped and looked to the gentleman behind the counter, fumbling with his wallet. Once he got the room keys, Tim went back to find Spencer in the same position by the fire, though he was now shivering. Before Tim could ask, Spencer said, "I'm soaking....d-didn't wanna sit down...." he sniffled, clutching the tissues in his fist. Tim nodded in understanding, slipping an arm around Spencer's shoulders to start for the elevator. "Aww, babes, you're freezing...." Spencer shook his head, hugging Tim's jacket tighter around himself. "N-Nah, I'm alright..." he murmured, letting his head lull on Tim's shoulder as they waited for the elevator. Barely a moment passed before he took in a shaky breath. Spencer rose a sleeve to his face, but didn't make it before sneezing wetly down towards his chest. "HIiiKKCHUUU!! Ughh...." he breathed, lashes sliding shut with a sniffle. "S-Sorry, B....I think I've sneezed on every inch of your jacket by now..." "Quit being sorry...." Spencer didn't answer that, but gave Tim a small smirk. "I....liked you callin' me 'babes', though...." Tim rose his eyebrows and chuckled. "You did? Heh, well, now you're permanently 'babes' in my book..." He lead Spencer into the elevator once the doors opened, his arm still protectively around the other man. "...What changed your mind?" "Huh?" "I mean...y-you weren't real interested in....PDA, or....I dunno....bein' in a relationship before..." Spencer shrugged. The words 'in a relationship' sent a strike of fear into Tim's heart, but it also warmed it. "...I'm interested in you," he finally decided on, placing a kiss on Spencer's temple. "And that's all I care about. Our friends....Well, hell, they don't need to know...." Spencer was quiet a moment before meeting Tim's eyes. "Well....m-maybe I want them to know. N-Not right now, but....I mean....I know this is sort of our 'first date' and all, but....I mean, we're real into each other...and if we want to keep this up...then I would want to tell them after a while...." Tim nodded, shame tugging at his soul as he knew he never wanted another soul that they knew to know about this. He wasn't gay. Spencer wasn't gay. Well, hell, maybe Spencer was, but Tim wasn't and he refused to entertain the idea. This was....not a mistake, but more like a one-time thing. Maybe these feelings would pass? The thought hurt the hell out of his heart, though. He felt a stab of panic at the thought of being without Spencer, but he also panicked at the thought of telling another soul about this. "We can talk about it more as we go....Alright?" Tim finally said, hoping Spencer didn't note how completely freaked he was. A small smile pulled at Spencer's lips. "Alright...Thanks, B..." Before the elevator reached their stop, he turned and fully embraced Tim, who took a step back in surprise. They were soon both melted in the warm, affectionate hug, holding each other silently. Until Spencer sneezed, anyway. He didn't release Tim all the way; Just pulled back so he could reach up with one hand, burying his nose in the huge jacket sleeve. "HuuUHHCHHUUU!! Ohhhh---sorry...." Tim didn't let Spencer pull back, yanking him back into the hug. His mind raced with thoughts of Spencer keeping hold of him while he sneezed, Spencer shuddering against him, Spencer letting out that weak little moan afterward, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer..... "....B?" Spencer quirked his head, looking down between the both of them. "You....You hard?" The elevator let out a pleasant little 'ding' when it stopped on their floor. Tim knew he wasn't able to blush much, but he felt like his face was six shades of red. "S-Sorry! Sorry, man, I--- I didn't---I wasn't---"

Before he could continue, Spencer kissed him hard, hands slipping to hold his waist. Tim didn't see any reason to reject the kiss, despite his embarrassment, and leaned closer into Spencer's embrace. The elevator doors began to close, and Spencer jabbed at the button to keep them open. "What's our room number?" he asked against Tim's lips. "1031...." "Let's go." Without another word, they hurried out of the elevator like there was a blazing fire in there. 1000, 1001, 1002.... "B....." Spencer said, eyes wide as he looked to the Alch. "Do you--- ah, I mean--- you got anything to...put on?" 1009, 1010, 1011.... "What? Like a condom?" "W-Well, yeah...." "Why the fuck would we need a condom? As if I'm gonna get pregnant!...Can you? If you can, I mean, it's totally cool, man, I don't care and I still wanna---" "No! I mean, cause--- well, haven't you been with a lotta girls?" Tim couldn't help but laugh. "Well, yeah! But my tech won't let me catch anything! You're safe! I promise!" 1016, 1017.... "A-And, I mean....look, dude, I-I ain't ever...." "Fucked a man? Shit, you think I have?" "N-Not that, but I mean--like---any...." Tim tried not to laugh, resulting in a strangled cough. "You're a virgin? That's so cute!" 1026, 1027.... "Sh-Shut up!" Spencer exclaimed, cheeks burning red. "I mean, I'm just not...I-I dunno if I...W-With a dude, anyway, c-cause I've never had anything---ya know, there...." 1031. "Don't worry about it..." Tim breathed, melting back into a kiss before he opened the door with a pleasing little 'click'. He pulled Spencer in, kicking the door shut behind them. He went for the jacket that had been serving as Spencer's well-loved warmth til them, beginning to unbutton it. He couldn't even admire the fancy hotel room. "I'll take care of you...." Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but the protest died in his throat as Tim moved their hips together, the both of them stiff by now. He went for Tim's buttons, practically having the shirt off before he buckled down towards both of their chests. "---GhHHSHHUUHHH!! S-SorrreeHHH--- HeEEKSHUUU!!" "God, bless you...." Tim panted, pressing a hungry kiss to Spencer's lips. He fumbled with the button of Spencer's jeans, but succeeded in no time. Once the jeans were off, Tim wasted no time in yanking down Spencer's boxers to expose his stiff, heated member. "Fuck....." came his breathless gasp as Tim sank to his knees. Spencer sniffled quickly, palming the underside of his nose to keep a runny nose at bay. He looked like he wanted to protest, but could only let out a shaky exhale as Tim took him into his mouth. Spencer leaned against the wall, hips giving an involuntary buck. "B-Baron..." he pleaded, head lulling against the wall. Tim himself was still stiff as a board, and he wondered if Spencer had ever pleased himself before. Surely, he had?

“F-Fuck, B, I’m....I-I’m gonna...”

Tim closed his eyes and thought about Spencer in his bed at 2-Fort, back arching, fingers curled around his cock--- "HhihhHHHH--" As orgasm and a sneeze both built up so intensely, until he finally had to--- "HeEHHHGSHHUUU!!" Spencer snapped down towards Tim, the sneeze sneaking up on him while he was so consumed with being pleasured. At the same time, Tim couldn't help but moan around Spencer's member, his eyes rolling up as the best orgasm of his life ripped through him. "Ohhhh--- f-fuck----sorry...." Spencer panted, thighs shaking as his fingers wound in Tim's hair. He didn't even notice the other man's climax, far too distracted as he neared his own peak. Tim struggled to continue working at Spencer's member, his mind seemingly traipsing through time and space after that intense result. He had never come without having his cock in something or being touched by someone. He got ahold of himself soon enough, holding Spencer's thighs still as they trembled. Spencer let out a weak moan a few moments later, cumming with another buck of his hips. Tim took his release in full before giving Spencer’s member a few more finalizing licks. “Bless you....” he said softly before kissing Spencer’s tip. "B...." Spencer breathed, drawing Tim out of his previous thoughts. He flashed a tired grin, and despite the obvious delight in his face, Tim noted how he still shivered. "Th-That was--! God!" "Oh, I think God's sort of shaking His head at us right now..." Tim snorted, rising to smooth Spencer's hair from his heated forehead. He took his hand to lead him to the bed, but Spencer stopped them just before reaching it. "Wait. I wanna get you off, too...." Spencer hummed, reaching down for Tim's cock, only to find it limp. "Huh--?" "I....sorta already came," Tim shrugged sheepishly, noting the splattered wall. "I'll clean that up before we go....I'm sure they charge extra for cummin' on the wall...." Spencer blinked in surprise but couldn't help snorting. "You couldn't really have been that turned on by me sneezin' on you?" "What--!? Of course not! I was just-- excited---and---" "Calm down, I was just kiddin'...." Spencer chuckled a bit hoarsely. "As if you're like Elle with that kink a’her’s....B-But, heh, sorry about that...Couldn't really help it, I was so..." "Enthralled with my cocksucking abilities? Yeah, they're pretty great. Thank you for noticing." Spencer rolled his eyes and smirked, giving him a light shove before pulling back to cough against his fist. "Sorry..." he winced, palming the underside of his nose. "Cold weather still gettin' to me...." Tim's expression softened as he sighed. He gingerly lowered Spencer's hand so he could kiss his nose. "You've just got a cold, Spence...." Spencer flushed and looked down. "....M-Maybe....Just don't tell Leon, huh? Or Jo! God, she's even freakier than Sasquatch....Or Eloise, cause then she’d just worry...” Tim chuckled and nodded, rubbing his thumb over Spencer's. "I won't breathe a word. Now, you get in bed, and I'll run downstairs and grab something to eat." "Let's just stay here for now, huh? I just want....” Tim nodded, pulling back the blankets on the bed. "I just want you, too..." he said with a fond smile, bringing Spencer to burrow under the covers with him. He blushed as the ex-Scout nestled cozily against his chest and asked, "I-I'm not too cold for you, am I?" "Nah, nah....you're actually pretty warm for once, dude...." Spencer sniffled, rubbing his nose with his wrist. He stifled a yawn against a curled knuckle, lashes sliding shut. "I'm....I'm real happy...th-that we're tryin' this out....you 'n me..." Another pang of fear struck Tim's heart. He swiftly swallowed back the panic and kissed Spencer's hair. "I....I am, too...." And they stayed curled that way, listening to the rain tap against the windows, walls, and the cloudy Boston streets.

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