Chapter Text
It’s a wonder that so much evil can be contained in such a small box. Pandora knew it, and now Telemachus did too.
Penelope had presented her son with the small wooden container with a pleasant smile and the best of intentions. “A gift from Eurymachus,” she’d said when he took it.
“You accepted it?” Telemachus frowned, turning it over in his hands with unmasked suspicion. The box was finely crafted, the kind of extravagance the suitors were too eager to flaunt.
“He said it was from his home. Insisted it would be a great offence to the hard-working farmers if I did not accept it,” she said with a humorous edge, as if she almost admired the play.
Telemachus made a face that showed he did not admire it and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in soft folds of linen, were six swollen dates, glossy with syrup and decorated with small, purple flowers. The thought of any suitor giving his mother such a gift was nauseating, but he couldn’t deny that they looked delicious.
That night, illuminated by the warm glow of an oil lamp and with a book in hand, he lay on his bed and feasted. The first bite sent a wave of sweetness across his tongue,
That night he lay with his stomach pressed against his mattress, the light of a single oil lamp jumping from page to page as he flipped through his favourite book. It was an aging volume filled with illustrations of mythological beasts and stories of how they were bested. He traced the lines of a fearsome chimera with one finger as he plucked the first date from the box.
The fruit was soft and lush as his teeth sank into it, the syrup coating his tongue with an almost intoxicating sweetness. Telemachus allowed himself a sigh, head tilted as he wondered where exactly Eurymachus acquired such fruits. He reached for a second, flipping the page to an entry about the sea serpents of distant isles.
By the time he reached the third date, the sweetness had begun to settle warmly in his chest, spreading out like the comforting embrace of a hearthfire. It was pleasant, the way his limbs felt looser, his head lighter. He reached for the fourth date absentmindedly, engrossed in the description of a harpy’s talon, sharp as bronze blades and twice as deadly.
The fifth date was more indulgence than hunger, his lips sticky now as he savoured the cloying syrup. The words on the page started to blur slightly, though he attributed it to the dimming light. It wasn’t until the sixth and final date that he began to notice the heat creeping through his body, slow and insistent, like coals being stoked beneath his skin.
He blinked, suddenly aware of how tight his chiton felt where it was tied, how his heartbeat seemed to echo in his ears. A strange haze clouded his mind, and his focus wavered, the once-crisp lines of the monstrous illustrations now shimmying in and out of clarity. He rubbed his forehead, only to realise his hand was damp with sweat.
Something was wrong. The warmth in his chest had grown to a searing heat, an ache twisting in his gut that was immediately and unbearably uncomfortable. Panic flickered at the edges of his thoughts, his breath coming quicker now as the sensation spread lower, tightening like a vice and making his face flush a brilliant red.
He stumbled to his feet, the book slipping forgotten to the floor. His thoughts spiralled into chaos, latching onto a single, maddening possibility. Poison. Eurymachus had tried to poison Penelope and it was only her aversion to overly sweet foods that had saved her life.
Instead, Telemachus received the first strike, aimed at his father’s household.
That coward.
Grabbing a dagger from beside his bed, he stumbled into the halls, determined to find the suitors and confront them before they made their next move.
The world tilted as he walked, every step a struggle against the haze overtaking him. His body burned; a strange, insistent heat made every nerve too tender. His breaths grew ragged, his grip on the dagger slick with sweat.
Before he could reach the suitors’ chambers, a voice sliced through the fog.
"Just where do you think you are, Little Wolf?"
The words were deep, smooth, and laced with derision. Telemachus barely had time to turn before a hand clamped down on his wrist, twisting it with ease until the dagger clattered to the floor. A second hand gripped the back of his neck, steadying him even as his knees threatened to buckle. "You look like you’ve had a bit too much of your own wine. Or perhaps something stronger?"
Telemachus tried to protest, but Antinous silenced him with a firm squeeze to his neck. “Not a word,” Antinous said, his tone commanding, almost amused. He effortlessly steered Telemachus toward a side corridor, manoeuvring him with a precision that brooked no argument.
When they reached a door, Antinous pushed it open and all but shoved Telemachus inside. He stumbled, catching himself against the edge of a table, immediately bracing his forearms and elbows against it as he tried to regain control of his legs. Antinous leaned casually against the closed door, blocking it and crossing his arms.
"Now," he drawled, "care to tell me why you’re stumbling through the halls like a drunk with Ithica’s most pathetic dagger? Or shall I just assume it’s another one of your family’s dramatic tendencies?"
Telemachus glared at him, the ache in his body making words difficult to form. Antinous raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he took in Telemachus’ dishevelled state.
“Did you know they were poisoned?” Telemachus asked, laboured.
“Poisoned?” Antinous’ brow dipped, but Telemachus didn’t buy his confusion.
“Eurymachus… That monster tried to poison my mother with these dates but-.”
Antinous cut him off with a bark of laughter, almost doubling over as some grand realisation struck him suddenly. “Oh, you little idiot,” Antinous straightened after a moment, and Telemachus thought he could see tears in his eyes. "Those weren't poisoned. Your mother gave them to you, did she? And said they were from Eurymachus?"
Telemachus tried to push himself upright, but his arms trembled. "She... said they were a gift. From his hometown."
"And your mother, bless her heart, likely thought they were just dates." Antinous pushed off from the door, stalking closer. "But Eurymachus isn't known for gestures of goodwill, is he? Tell me, did she try any herself?"
The thought made Telemachus' stomach lurch. "No, she didn’t want them. She offered them to me instead."
"How fortunate for her," Antinous circled the table like a predator, toying with its kill. "What you've consumed, Little Wolf, is an aphrodisiac. " He paused behind Telemachus, close enough that his breath stirred the hair at the nape of his neck. "Eurymachus must be beside himself… his carefully laid trap for your mother foiled, and here you are instead, hard as a rock and sweating like a concubine in a queen’s court.”
Telemachus felt his face flame hotter, if that were possible. "You mean he intended..."
"To compromise your mother's virtue? Of course. Though I doubt he expected her dutiful son to be the one affected." Antinous' voice dropped lower, thick with amusement. “Very unlucky.”
He tried to force himself to stand upright, but his body felt too heavy. Too hot.
“You’re burning up,” Antinous said, his voice low and almost curious. He leaned in, tilting his head slightly as his gaze lingered on Telemachus’ flushed face. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to accept gifts from men like Eurymachus?”
Telemachus flinched but didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he tried to steady himself again. His vision swam, the room a whirl of shadow and light. Antinous’ touch was about as wanted as a forest fire on a summer’s day, his fingers brushing the side of Telemachus’ neck and trailing down to where his chiton folded damply against his skin. The touch was gentle, almost idle, yet it sent a searing jolt through Telemachus’ overheated body.
Telemachus shuddered, his knees threatening to give way. He tried to shift away, but his strength was stolen, his limbs trembling with the effort.
“Ah,” Antinous murmured, catching Telemachus by the arm before he could collapse. His grip was firm but not rough, steadying him with ease. “You’ll end up on the floor if you’re not careful.”
“Don’t…” Telemachus managed, though his voice was barely a whisper, strained and weak.
“Don’t what?” Antinous teased as he guided Telemachus closer, supporting his weight easily. “Touch you?” He chuckled, the sound dark and rich. “You’re practically melting into my hands, puppy. Should I let you fall?”
Telemachus grit his teeth, his pride warring with the desperation that twisted in his chest. His body betrayed him, leaning heavily against Antinous, his knees too weak to hold himself upright.
Despite the excruciating heat and his disdain for the suitor, the press of his body made him shiver with pleasure. It took the entire reserves of his willpower to not rut against his leg.
Antinous hummed, his fingers grazing Telemachus’ collarbone, feather-light but unbearable. “What to do with you? Shall I return you to the halls? I’m sure Eurymachus would be interested in seeing the effects of his gift, as would the others.”
Telemachus whimpered, a soft broken sound, and despite the horror of what Antinous was implying, his cock twitched, hopelessly hard against Antinous’ thigh. “Antinous…” He tried, the pain coming through in a desperate gasp.
Telemachus was shaking violently now, and Antinous’ teasing hands stilled, his expression becoming unusually serious as his eyes swept over him again.
“Am I going to die?” Telemachus choked around the question, his eyes stinging, but Antinous just chuckled, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead.
“No, Little Wolf.” He promised, and before Telemachus could ask any more stupid questions, he closed the distance between them, claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss. Telemachus made a strangled sound, his hands flying up to grip Antinous' shoulders, whether to push him away or pull him closer, he wasn't sure. The potion sang in his blood, making every point of contact feel like fire.
Antinous drew back just enough to study Telemachus' face, tracking the war of emotions there, anger, shame, and desperation all fighting for dominance. Telemachus tried to look away, but Antinous' grip on his jaw held firm.
“The longer you ignore it, the worse you will feel.” He tilted his head to brush his lips over the shell of his ear. “We both know what you need right now." He pressed closer, using his larger frame to pin Telemachus more firmly against the table. "And I'm the only one who can give it to you."
The next kiss was slower, deeper, and this time Telemachus couldn't hold back a desperate sound. His fingers curled into Antinous' tunic as the last of his resistance melted away like snow in the summer heat. The fire in his veins made his thoughts slippery, his body reacting on instinct. His legs parted eagerly when Antinous pressed between them, his body arching into each touch.
He rocked his hips forward and gasped at the almost painful rush of pleasure. Antinous was merciless, shifting his angle and refusing to relinquish his mouth. The scrape of teeth, the slide of tongue, the shared breath between them, it was overwhelming, devastating, perfect.
Antinous kissed like a man laying claim, like a victor seizing his prize, and when he pulled away it was only to snarl. “I should make you beg for it.”
“Please…” Telemachus whimpered, his breath catching at how pathetic he sounded. His pride was tattered, his humiliation guaranteed, but all of that was pale and faded against the hunger that flowed molten under his skin. “Please,” he cried again, a small desperate sound cracking in his throat
Antinous' eyes lit up with predatory satisfaction and he pulled back, then, in one fluid motion, he hoisted Telemachus up and over his shoulder, ignoring the startled yelp.
Telemachus' world spun, his protests muffled against Antinous' back as he carried him over to his bed, depositing him in a sweaty heap onto the unmade sheets. Telemachus winched himself up onto his elbows, but Antinouss gripped his calves and pushed them apart, crawling between his legs like a lion cornering its prey. His dark eyes held Telemachus captive, eager and possessive.
“I’ll help you, Little wolf.” He promised, his teeth caught Telemachus’ lower lip, drawing a shuddering gasp. “I’ll make you come until there’s nothing left.”
One strong hand gripped his hip with bruising force, as he slotted against him and Telemachus, overwhelmed by the sensation, moaned loudly. The weight holding him down, the feeling of Antinous, erect and unabashedly pressing into him fed the fire in his blood.
Telemachus captured his face, pulling him into another needy kiss, but Antinous, gripped his jaw and yanked his head up, his throat bared now to the beast before him. Antinous dipped his head, pressing his mouth to the side of his neck.
The first kiss was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, but it was quickly followed by the scrape of teeth and the faint sting of a bite. Telemachus whimpered, the sound soft and broken, and it sent a thrill through Antinous.
“Eurymachus should have done this months ago,” Antinous murmured against his skin, his lips curling into a grin. “Who knew you could sound so sweet?” He bit down again, harder this time, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh just above Telemachus’ pulse point.
Telemachus let out a strangled cry, his hips jerked up and, without warning, he came forcefully against the linen of his robe. His hands clutched at Antinous’ shoulders, his chest rose and fell rapidly as heat surged through him in a fervid rush that left him dizzy. “A-Antinous,” his voice was a trembling whisper.
Antinous pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork, a dark blooming mark on his neck and the damp stain on his stomach. “I suppose it’s to be expected,” he said with that wide, white grin, sharp as a blade and just as punishing. “You’ve stained my favourite chiton.”
Antinous sat up with a coy look, broad and sculpted as a statue, but Telemachus had no capacity for admiration. He was staring at him wildly, panicked. “It’s-.” He choked and Antinous’ grin waned.
“Use your words,” he commanded.
“It’s coming back…” Telemachus whimpered, and Antinous deflated, his eyes rolling up.
He gestured with one hand, flicking it impatiently. “Lift your arms.” Telemachus did, and with a little bit of wriggling and one strong yank, Antinous pulled the chiton from Telemachus and tossed it over his shoulder before removing his own.
Naked and flushed, Telemachus looked like a lamb led to the altar, trembling and uncertain.
“Relax, would you?” Antinous teased, “I’m just getting started. I haven’t even fucked you yet.” Telemachus whimpered, his dick practically jumping at the promise. Antinous loomed over him again, watching him with eyes as dark as a storm about to break. “And I will not let any part go to waste…”