#with hints of frasic

[breitzbachbea]

Drabble #60

Triggerwarning for: Implied Child Abuse, Past Trauma

The following drabble talks about/alludes to physical & mental child abuse and its possible consequences. There is no graphic description of abuse. If any of these topics trigger you, please prepare yourself accordingly or don't read this drabble.

Please take care of yourself and if you decide to read the drabble, enjoy it!

Just two bros being dudes, chilling zero feet apart and overusing ancient Greek mythology references because they’re gay.

Drabble Collection on Ao3 Ship: GreSic Human AU/Organized Crime AU

 “Isn't it just like two shipwrecked men clinging to one another?” Michele asked after they were done and laid together.

 What a cruel question it was, to talk right about the reason for why they were seeking solace in each other's arms. But since he apparently felt such a tremendous need to talk about it, he must have hurt and so vetoing him from speaking would have been cruel as well.

 “Mhm,” was all the answer Herakles could muster. He didn't want to philosophize for once, not about his own pain. He didn't want to think of this as convenience.

 Michele laughed, head still against his chest and Herakles arm wrapped around him. His hair was sweaty and messy and he welcomed that a lot more than his usual neat look.

 “We've clung to each other because we both needed someone to understand our pain and ask no questions.”

 There was a hickie on his neck. A big one. He liked it but didn't dare to reach out and run the back of his fingers over it. To cause pain while other wounds still and clearly were open wasn't a good idea.

Trauma. Greek for wound. The blood from the hickey only seeped into his skin, but a far deeper trauma sputtered from his mouth. Maybe all the blood from the bruises that his father had caused him, he had swallowed and now vomited it back out.

 “Even now they're dead, we're clinging to each other because we want to forget and we need distraction. Even now I feel like I have to hide from them and find a way to make something lovely to hide all the pain.” He laughed again and buried his face into his chest. For a moment, Herakles feared that he'd began to sob any second now.

 So he took his hand and caressed his side with the other.

 “Focus on the lovely,” he said when Michele looked at him. “They're gone. For good. There's nothing we have to hide now.”

 Michele gave him a pained smile at first, but it turned more and more genuine as time passed.

 He lowered his voice and softly, added: “Do you really see this as nothing more than a distraction?”

 “No, no, no” he said, looked up and sat up. He didn't let go or shook off Herakles' hand. “Of course not, my dearest friend. It's not just distraction, you're not just anyone to me.” He looked him straight in the eyes and they ended up staring at each other for a while.

 What a man he had become, with what authority in his face. Not that he could see any of it right now, for the kind but tired and scared boy he used to know was all too evident in his features. If he was a Trojan Prince somehow gone too far ashore, he was Paris and not Hector in this moment.

 He caressed his cheek with the hand that was not held and Michele leaned into the touch.

 “I think we shouldn't think of this as distraction, but as celebration of our freedom,” he said and Michele's pretty eyes fluttered open again. “We can do whatever we want.” He realized what he just had said and sat up himself, with an electrified grin on his face and now cupped Michele's face with both of his hands. “We can do whatever we want,” he repeated, his voice no more than an excited whisper, because any louder and it would break. “No more restraints, there's nothing that could ever hold us back now.”

 Michele smiled at him, but it was more of a tired and derisive smile.

 “Sure, we can look at it like this,” he said.

 “Are you not thrilled?” Herakles asked. He leant in closer to him and cocked his head as if he searched in his face. “Where did your enthusiasm go? Where's the Michele again who, just months ago, sat in this bed with enough enthusiasm to conquer the world? Where did my Alexander go?” To know that Alexander had been an insulting nickname for his own father by Funda Adnan still stung a little, but his father never had wanted the title and not deserved it, anyways.

 Michele snorted. “I think he might have died in Paris. Or, if I'd rather say that I'm Achilles, I died through Paris.” He sighed and rubbed his cheek against one of his hands with closed eyes. “I'll have to go back there tomorrow.”

 “Do you really have to?”

 “I'll have to end what I started. I'm not going to draw my horns in and live it down, that'd be even more cowardly than what François is trying to do.”

 Herakles looked at him with a soft smile before he kissed his forehead. “Don't get killed up there,” he said. “I'd much rather have you safe at home with your loved ones without glory than dying for your ego. Don't be an Achilles.”

 Michele sighed and it might have been a failed snort. Throughout it all, he hadn't opened his eyes once until now. “Bold words to come from an Alexander like you. Are you going to Ankara again soon? Or Istanbul?”

 His smile was still soft. “I might,” he said. “If you're going to leave me for Paris.”

 “Oh, believe me, I'm not going to have half the fun in Paris that you and he are going to have.” He kissed the palm of his hand and then left a trail of kisses down his arms. “Even if I want to sleep with François out of frustration, just so that I don't have to talk with him, for god's sake.” Michele had briefly talked himself into a rage, but it was gone with a sigh and his next words: “I'll only remember how good this night was and be disappointed.”

 Herakles chuckled about this and Michele shot him a roguish smile before Herakles kissed him.

 During the kiss, one hand wandered down to the hickie and he stroked it with his thumb. He could feel Michele shiver underneath his hands.