#when your friends send you silly memes and you just have to write 4.5k in two days about it

[johaerys-writes]

A Helping Hand

Patrochilles | Modern AU | E | PWP | 4.5k

Patroclus isn’t horny for his best friend. He really isn't. It's just that the hoodie Achilles lent him a few days ago smells so good...

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Patroclus is not horny for his best friend. He absolutely isn’t.  

He has always liked girls. The few relationships he’s had, however brief, were for the most part positive experiences that ended on a more or less mutual and friendly understanding. Any interest he has ever felt for men has always been fleeting, easily forgotten or ignored. Patroclus just isn’t into guys all that much.

But Achilles is hot. He is unarguably, undoubtedly, overwhelmingly hot, perhaps the hottest man Patroclus has ever met, a truth universally acknowledged and that has remained uncontested since they became friends some twenty years back. His hair is the richest of golds and his eyes the most fetching of greens, and the fact that whenever they go to the gym together he can easily squat 100kg without breaking a sweat while wearing the sluttiest, tightest sports shorts known to man doesn’t help matters. 

Perhaps that is why Patroclus finds himself on his bed one evening, half dressed, jerking off like his life depends on it while pressing Achilles’ hoodie to his nose.

It isn’t entirely Patroclus’ fault. That should be noted somewhere, for posterity’s sake. Not to get weird on his homie of twenty years, but as good as Achilles’ looks, he smells even better. It doesn’t even have to do with his shampoo or his body wash or his deodorant or his after shave, as pleasant as those are. It is the smell of his body, his skin itself, that drives Patroclus crazy. It’s warm and musky and sweet, just a little spicy; even his sweat has a fresh, vibrant note to it, like taking a stroll through a spring garden. Patroclus can never help but linger a little too long when they hug, or secretly press his nose to his hair whenever Achilles falls asleep on his shoulder when they watch movies together. Achilles smells like heaven, and Patroclus could get drunk on that scent every day if he let himself. 

And he’s also just… such a great guy. Achilles is amazing. He’s Patroclus’ best friend and his foster brother and Patroclus loves him more than anyone he knows. He’s smart as hell, kind and generous and quirky, and Patroclus could listen to him talk for hours and never get bored. No one Patroclus knows has a bond like theirs, and it’s been quite exclusive for all the years they’ve known each other. No one knows Patroclus like Achilles knows him, and Patroclus is honoured that he can say the same for him. His smile could light up Patroclus’ entire day no matter how shitty it’s been—some days, all that keeps him sane is knowing that he’ll finish work and go back to his flat and find Achilles there, waiting for him. 

God, Achilles. Achilles. 

Patroclus squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath of the fabric that’s pressed to his face as he strokes himself faster, imagining it’s Achilles’ hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. 

He’s so lost in the fantasy that he barely even hears Achilles’ bedroom door opening, and his footsteps down the hall. 

“Pat, did you take my phone charger again? I told you I needed it for—”

Patroclus’ door is flung open and then there’s Achilles’ standing at the doorway, staring at Patroclus wide-eyed.

Staring at Patroclus’ dick, which is currently hard and leaking and in full view between them.  

Words would not be able to describe Patroclus’ mortification. He hurriedly shoves the hoodie under his pillow and tucks himself in, but he can do nothing about the giant fucking hard-on that’s still visible through the fabric, nor the way he’s panting as if he’s run a mile.

“What,” he asks breathlessly, “what is it?”

Achilles’ eyes snap up to his face. They’re still wide and startled, but there’s a sort of hunger there Patroclus has never seen before. “Was that… my hoodie?” 

“No. I mean, yes. Um.” Patroclus pushes the hoodie a little deeper under the pillow, a pathetic attempt at hiding what they both very clearly see. “Sorry, I was just… I’ve been meaning to return it to you since I borrowed it a few days ago, but, uh…” 

He swallows thickly. His face is on fire. Patroclus hopes Achilles will get the message and walk away, leaving Patroclus to his miserable and shameful business, but instead Achilles closes the door and leans against it with the smuggest of smiles on his lips. 

“Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Patroclus gapes at him. Achilles' words don’t make sense to his brain, but they do make sense to his dick, apparently, as it gives a little jolt of interest. “Wh—what?”

“Keep going. Or do you need help with that?” He glances down at Patroclus and wets his lips. 

No, his brain screams at him. “Sure,” his treacherous mouth replies. 

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