Chapter Text
Who knew a home could feel like a prison?
Telemachus couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night's rest. Probably 3 years ago, before 108 men slept, ate, and shit within their palace walls. Before that, it was easier to believe his father would come home at any moment. Now…each day that passed he grew more hopeless. While the suitors grew more eager.
His mother’s plan to keep them at bay would only last for so long. Telemachus dreaded what would come to follow when the men found out they were stalling. One day he’d asked his mother what she would do when that day came, and despite her best efforts, he could see there was something she wasn’t telling him.
“There’s no need to worry, Telemachus,” she’d said to him with a sad smile. “Even if that day were to come, I will never marry another.”
The answer was meant to reassure him, but it only struck fear in his heart. With their power in numbers, these men could force his mother to choose a new husband, but if she refused… Nothing good would come after. He had always thought the dagger she carried in secret was for her safety, but recently…he’d been having nightmares of other secrets his mother may be hiding for his sake.
Sometimes his mother’s devotion made him resent his absent father. It wasn’t that he didn’t take pride in being the son of Odysseus, but the way his mother suffered day and night, never losing faith… He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive the man.
20 years without a King can put a heavy toll on a kingdom. His grandfather wasn’t the same after his wife died, keeping to himself and leaving all the duties of the palace to the Queen. There was no one to keep the suitors in check, so they went about doing as they pleased. Including beating the living shit out of him each day.
Telemachus spit blood spitefully onto the feet of the suitor standing before him. Two others held him in place, as the angered man scoffed at him before landing another hard punch into his stomach. He hissed in pain, refusing to give these men the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Taking a beating was something he’d gotten used to ever since he stood up for himself. The day he dared to defend his mother’s name. It had been over a month since then, and unlike before he no longer had Athena in his corner. Telemachus hadn’t seen her since that day, but he didn’t hold a grudge over her disappearance. He couldn’t expect a goddess to waste all their time on him. She’d return one day and train him like she promised. At least…he hoped so.
Hope was something he had little of these days. Especially when the man standing idly against the pillar nearby made it his personal entertainment to put him through hell. Antinous, that bastard. His plan was simple: break the Queen’s son. If he could do that, then he could force his mother’s hand. The hand that may one day be forced to reach for that dagger.
Telemachus couldn’t let that happen, so he refused to break. If the King of Ithaca wasn’t there to protect his mother, then the task would have to fall to him. Even though he was young and his lack of strength put the odds against him, this was how he’d protect her. He could shield her from the truth. She would never hear of the torture these men put him through day after day. He would cry his sorrows and pains to no one. Hide the bruises, heal the fractured bones. Anything to assure no guilt would fall on her already burdened shoulders.
“Had enough yet, little wolf?” Antinous asked slyly, “All you gotta do is say it, and we’ll stop.”
“Never,” Telemachus growled, all fear abandoned. All that was left was adrenaline and stubborn pride.
Antinous laughed softly, deep and low. The man smirked at him, the one eye not covered by an eyepatch watching him closely. It was a deep, endless dark brown that held no trace of sympathy. A month ago, the man would only look at him with contempt, like a weakling not worth his time. Then at some point that changed, and Telemachus noticed Antinous was always watching him. Less like a plaything and more like prey. He enjoyed seeing him suffer. Telemachus bet he got a hard-on from it.
The brute of a man left the pillar, sauntering his way over to Telemachus. Antinous loomed over him, grabbing his chin to force his attention. “‘My. Daddy’s. Dead’. Is that really so hard to say, champ?” he taunted him.
Telemachus glared up at him. “The only person that’s going to be dead is you when my father gets back hom-” One of the suitor’s holding him rammed their fist into his gut, making him cough from the pain.
“Enough,” Antinous snapped, glaring at the suitors. “He thinks he’s so tough, let him fight.”
They did as they were told and released him. It took everything for Telemachus not to fall to his knees. When he looked up to see Antinous’ challenging gaze and sadistic smile, anger sparked in the young prince. With every ounce of strength he had left, he charged the man. The way he laughed as he dodged each of his attempts to hit him, made it really feel like there was no point in trying. The only time he’d managed to land punches on him was thanks to Athena’s quick-thought. No matter how much he trained himself, his effort amounted to nothing.
“Ooh~, such fight left in you, little wolf,” Antinous said with amusement. “Makes me think you’re not gettin’ the lesson here.”
Without warning, Antinous slammed a heavy punch across his cheek, and Telemachus could swear he saw stars. The man punched him again across the other cheek. His ears were ringing and eyes going blurry, but he refused to give in as he continued to glare daggers at the man. Antinous’ smile grew, and his eye lit up with excitement. Nothing but pure will power was keeping the prince on his feet at this point, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. Luckily, Telemachus didn’t have to worry long as Antinous grabbed him by the throat, thrusting him up against a nearby pillar.
Telemachus choked for air, grasping at the man’s hand with every bit of fight he had left in his aching body. He clawed and kicked, but nothing made the beast of a man budge. Was this it? Was this how he would die? He couldn’t leave his mother like this. Who would protect her?
“Seems like such a waste,” whispered Antinous dauntingly. “There’s still so much I want to teach you.”
Head dizzy and eyes heavy, Telemachus began to lose consciousness. It was all so hopeless. As hard as he tried to protect this palace and his mother, he suddenly felt so lonely in what may be his dying moments. There was no one to protect him.
Antinous leaned in uncomfortably close, his hot breath invading his ear. “Three. Little. Words.”
Telemachus would be damned if he gave this man anything he wanted. “Go. Fuck. Yourself,” he choked obstinately with what air was left in his lungs, flashing the asshole a pained smile. Then everything went dark.
It was sundown when Telemachus finally awoke, chest burning and body aching. Nothing felt broken yet, but his whole face felt sore. Regrettably, there would probably be bruising that would be difficult to hide from his mother. He didn’t like lying to her, but if she asked he would simply say with a smile he just hurt himself from training.
How much longer, though, until these men actually killed him? It was seeming inevitable at this point. Even if one of the suitors managed to claim the throne, they surely would find a way to be rid of him to secure their rule. Telemachus was completely powerless to whatever future was to come. A deep rooted hopelessness twisted in his gut yet again. Everything made him feel so very tired.
Getting up he made his way to the baths, thankfully finding no one else there. The men were likely all off feasting greedily on his father’s food and wine, as they did every night at sundown. Telemachus relaxed in the warm waters, trying his hardest not to fall asleep. After washing away the blood and grime, he got comfortable in a small corner of the bath, leaning over the edge to watch the full moon outside light up the night sky. He leaned his body against the wall on his side, the cold tiles feeling good against his bruised skin.
There was a splash and ripples behind him as someone else entered the large bath. Twisting around instinctively like an animal on the defense, he froze when he locked eyes with none other than Antinous.
Telemachus’ body went rigid, no longer relaxed by the warm bath. He braced himself for some kind of attack, sitting anxiously opposite the man. However, Antinous simply sat back, stretching his insanely toned arms along the bath’s edge behind him. Then he just watched him with a cunning grin. Why was he always watching him? It didn’t go unmissed when that eye of his scanned over his body slowly, making Telemachus suddenly feel exposed. His first instinct was to leave, but for some reason he dreaded the thought of the man seeing him completely naked, so he remained, silently avoiding eye contact.
Antinous was of course not a silent man. “Nice bruise you got there,” he finally commented, a smile playing at his lips.
“Which one?” Telemachus replied sarcastically, gritting his teeth in irritation.
“The one around your neck,” he answered, sounding almost proud of the fact he was the one that put it there.
Telemachus swallowed involuntarily, the action causing him to flinch at the pain.
“Aren’t you tired of this yet?” Antinous asked, the comment resonating within Telemachus’ soul.
He met the man’s gaze, whose expression was now completely serious. There was no aggression or ridicule behind his question. Yes, Telemachus was very tired of all of this, but he wasn’t about to show vulnerability to this asshole.
“Tired of what exactly?” he retorted.
Antinous tilted his head, continuing to watch him. “The games. Like the one your mother plays for your father, and you’re left to pick up the pieces.”
The statement made Telemachus uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t describe. Game? There was no game, this was just survival. So what if he got hurt in the process.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The sly smile returned to Antinous’ face. “Oh, I think you do. In a game everyone thinks they're a player, but sometimes, they’re a pawn. Collateral damage. For instance…playing the dutiful son must be taking a toll on you.”
Telemachus narrowed his eyes on the man. “I’m not playing at anything. I know you’re trying to force my mother’s hand, and I won’t have any part in it.”
Antinous raised one brow, squinting at him doubtfully. His overconfident smile never once wavering. “Your father’s abandoned you and your mother chases his ghost. Where does that leave you? Suffering at the hands of 108 men whose bitterness and resentment have only multiplied over 3 years.”
“What’s your point?” Telemachus snapped, glaring at him.
Antinous chuckled low, standing up suddenly from the bath and moving towards him. His chest and lower torso were now completely visible and it was clear this man’s body was built like an absolute monster. Every inch was covered in toned muscle with battle scars littering his skin. Telemachus was so distracted that he didn’t realize how close the man had moved towards him. He was about to jump out of the water, but his chance to escape had already passed as the man caged him with his arms, cornering him before he could react.
He leaned in close and Telemachus was crudely reminded of their encounter from earlier that day. There was little he could do as he stood backed against the bath’s wall, heart racing and paralyzed by fear. Antinous was watching him again silently with a knowing smile.
“My point is, little wolf,” he finally replied, the man’s hot breath chilling his wet skin. “Wouldn't you like a taste of the power? A chance to join in the game?”
“What?” Telemachus breathed, a bit more unsteady than he preferred.
Antinous caught his chin in his hand, just as he had before, but this time more gently. It struck him as odd that such a violent hand could somehow also be capable of such soft touch. “Aren’t you tired of being your mother’s shield and our punching bag? When you’re able to offer so much more…”
What did he mean by that? Telemachus forced down another strained swallow, unable to take his eyes away from the dark pit of the man’s eye. With how close they were, he could see now that there were in fact flecks of gold in his dark hazel iris.
The man’s hand left his chin, wandering to the base of his neck where he dragged his fingers lightly across the sore area where the bruising was. Telemachus said nothing as Antinous wrapped his fingers around his neck, but this time applying very little pressure. They simply rested there until Antinous’ thumb began to massage the irritated skin. Telemachus hissed, but the man continued to rub soothing circles. The prince was having trouble understanding what exactly Antinous was playing at. Was this another way of showing him how little he could do to stop him? To remind him of how powerless he was?
“You know why I call you little wolf?” he then asked, and Telemachus realized he’d been holding his breath.
Was his heart racing because of fear or something else? What was this sudden tension in the air? His silence prompted Antinous to continue.
“For some time I thought to myself, ‘I can break this pup and make him heel to me’,” he shared, smiling sadistically. “But I realized you’re no obedient dog. You’re alone and untamed, just like…a wolf.”
Telemachus didn’t know when his body started craving something it never had before, but it chose the worst possible moment as he stood trapped by this man’s presence and words. He needed to flee, escape from whatever this feeling was. Nothing good would come from whatever was about to happen.
“It’s always fight, little wolf, fight,” Antinous whispered, “But you can’t win this game as a lone wolf.”
Then with the smooth shift of Antinous’ hand, he moved his fingers along the young prince’s neck up behind his head, raking them through his wet hair. When he tightened his grip, Telemachus’ head bent backward at the strain, once again alert to the danger he’d found himself in. What if the man planned to drown him? It would be so easy to cover up his death. The prince must have fallen asleep and drowned, he could already hear them say.
“Just let me tame you, little wolf.”
Antinous drew closer and just as Telemachus was sure his life was about to end…the man kissed him.