#theclassicistwrites

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

yarrow {theo/bradley}

Yarrow- cure for a broken heart

It should’ve been easy.  It should’ve been easy to turn and walk away from Theo.  After all, he’d known that they couldn’t be together forever.  Not if Theo wanted to stay human.  Bradley knew he couldn’t watch Theo age and die in front of him, especially after- after- 

Not after his mother.

Father had been right, hadn’t he?  It was stupid to fall for a human, for someone whose life would pass by in the blink of an eye, who’d die too fast for an immortal creature like himself.  A monster like himself.  Theo deserved better, more human.  And Bradley was neither of those things.  He’d killed, he’d maimed, he’d done despicable things to slake the insatiable thirst for blood that ran through his veins now.  He thought back to the moment Theo had seen his fangs - the fear that had flashed in the other male’s eyes - and sighed.  

It was for the best, he told himself.  Theo would move on, he told his aching heart.

But here he was, years later, sitting in a café forgetting about his coffee in favor of staring at the one person he’d never thought he’d see again.  At Theo.  And his heart ached.  Wanted.  It ached for the other man’s arms around him again, like nothing had ever happened.  Like they were undergrads again, laughing and splashing each other at that creek that one cloudy summer day.  

Like they were lovers again.

He sighed, passing a hand over his face as if to dispel the vision of their past, only to reopen his eyes and meet Theo’s.  

Here he was again, months after that meeting in the café.  Months after having to chase Theo down and tell him about what George had done.  How he’d finally stood up to his father after hundreds of years, had told him he’d had enough of the unreachable expectations.  How he’d been disowned and left without a penny to his name.  

He’d eked out a life for himself as an associate professor since then.  A tiny flat.  Threadbare clothes.  He always chuckled when it came to having to pay for groceries - luckily for him, being immortal and sustained by blood meant he’d never really had to eat to live.  He survived.

But now he had Theo again.

And his heart had stopped aching.

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

"We can't keep doing this." Luke/Calum

Luke froze, glancing over at Calum with wide, shocked eyes, brow furrowing slightly.  “Wh- Calum, what do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew.  On some level, he knew exactly what his mentor meant.  He knew that, since his capture and torture and the message they’d sent Calum, they couldn’t do this.  They couldn’t do lazy mornings tangled together in bed, or quiet evenings spent pressing soft kisses to each other’s skin.  They couldn’t do the affectionate glances or nicknames Luke often threw Calum’s way.  Not anymore.  

He crossed the room to reach for Calum’s hands, pausing halfway through the movement and pulling his hands back, suddenly too nervous to finish.  “Please, Cal, don’t-”

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

"It's about the baby. It's yours." Pat/Achilles

Pat’s stomach dropped when he heard Achilles say that, freezing and nearly dropping the glass he’d been sipping from.  As it was, he found himself setting it on the counter so he could prop himself up against it - he could feel his knees going weak.  He barely remembered that night, that awful night, but it seemed Deidameia wasn’t quite done torturing him.  “Achilles, I-” Pat gasped out, wanting to both turn and look the other male in the face and to slide to the floor and hide his face in his knees.  In the end, the latter won out, and he sank with an exhaled breath that rode out of him on a dry sob.  “A- are you sure?”

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

ALSO “Just because that’s mistletoe hanging above us doesn’t mean I’m going to kiss you.” for hamlet/horatio

Conor laughed, letting his fingers play with the belt loops adorning the other male’s pants.  “It’s tradition, Andrew,” he murmured, gently tugging Andrew closer.  “You can’t go against tradition, it’d be absolutely scandalous.”  Before the brunet could open his mouth to object, Conor leaned in and pressed his lips to Andrew’s in a soft, gentle kiss.  The kiss lasted for a long moment - perhaps a minute - and when he pulled away, he was smiling.  “Besides, no one said anything about me kissing you,” Conor pointed out, pressing a quick kiss to Andrew’s forehead before laughing and pulling away to go check on his family’s progress in the kitchen.