
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4810175.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      The_Flash_(TV_2014)
  Relationship:
      Barry_Allen/Leonard_Snart, Cisco_Ramon/Lisa_Snart, background_mention_of
      Iris_West/Eddie_Thawne
  Character:
      Barry_Allen, Leonard_Snart, Lisa_Snart, Cisco_Ramon, Mick_Rory
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Ancient_Greece,
      Pederasty, Barry_is_seventeen, and_they're_both_idiots, Pirate_Mick,
      Eventual_Smut, Intercrural_Sex
  Collections:
      Coldflash_Week
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-16 Words: 10954
****** leap into the waves ******
by Liu
Summary
     Barry has given up hope for obtaining an older lover, the way boys
     from good families should; he's not expecting Leonard, an older,
     wealthy warrior, to show up and offer for him.
     [Ancient Greece AU]
Notes
     Gifted to coldflashtrash because of the scream-fest we had on tumblr
     about historical AUs :D hope you'll enjoy this one :)
     All my knowledge of Ancient Greece, especially Minoan Crete and how
     these boy/man relationships work, comes from a lot of googling. My
     greatest thanks goes to lisellevelvet for beta work and fact-
     checking; any possible remaining mistakes and historical screw-ups
     are my own and I'll be grateful if you let me know :)
     I'll put a short description of what I learned about these rituals,
     as well as a short glossary, to end notes, if anyone's confused or
     interested.
See the end of the work for more notes
“Traitor,” Barry hisses at Cisco. He should’ve seen this coming, really:
Cisco’s idea that they should take a walk away from all the excitement of the
bull-leaping was transparent, at best. Barry should learn not to trust even the
closest of his friends – since they apparently deemed it appropriate to help
older men with ulterior motives.
 
Leonard is smiling, but there’s something predatory in the seemingly innocent
expression: he reminds Barry of a large cat, basking in the afternoon sun but
always ready to pounce, shall a mouse pass by.
 
Barry does not particularly enjoy feeling like a mouse, no matter how handsome,
rich and respected his captor is.

“Does my father know about this?” Barry snaps, his last line of defense.
 
“Of course. I have his permission.” Leonard looks slightly affronted, but Barry
had to ask: Leonard is not known for following rules he believes unnecessary
and outdated, and gaining paternal approval for pursuing Barry might not have
been high on his list of priorities. Barry swallows, feeling even more
betrayed: how come his father knew about Leonard’s intentions and never said a
word to Barry? It would have been nice to be prepared for the ambush.
 
Leonard takes a step closer: even in the sweltering heat of the summer day,
Barry can feel his proximity like a brand against his skin. Surprisingly
enough, Leonard’s fingers are almost cool as they close around Barry’s wrist,
lightly, carefully – an offer, not a command.
 
“If you are opposed to coming with me, just say a word, and I am gone,” Leonard
murmurs, his unusual, blue eyes intense as he stares right into Barry’s soul.
This is not how things are supposed to go: if Leonard truly has Henry’s
approval, then Barry does not get much say. And yet, here Leonard stands,
offering Barry an out – the first instinct of his jack-rabbiting heart is to
decline, to turn and run and never look back.
 
But Barry’s nearly seventeen; he has given up any thoughts of attracting
someone’s attention, and he has made his peace with never experiencing a
relationship with an older man, never knowing what he could have learned and
discovered that way. The mocking that comes for a boy past his prime who’s
never had an erastes is just another unpleasant side-effect, but not an easily
dismissed one. And here Barry is, thinking of declining a chance that will
never come his way again.
 
“I’ll go with you,” Barry decides, quietly and shakily. He doesn’t know what he
can expect from Leonard: he has heard stories about erastai, about the things
they request as payment for their teaching. He has heard stories about Leonard,
about the swift brutality with which he protects the Cretan fleet from pirates:
people are grateful, but also a little bit scared of him, and Barry fears to
think how such fierce temperament will translate into their relationship. But
during the feasts in the andreion, Leonard is never aggressive or otherwise
improper: gruff, maybe, at times, smug in his knowledge of lands beyond the
sea. On the very few occasions that Leonard was present in the andreion instead
of being away on business during the feasts, Barry has found him intriguing and
infuriating in equal measure, but never downright scary. So Barry wants to try,
wants to hear the stories Leonard can tell, and if things don’t work out, Barry
can still say ‘no’. He is expected to, at any rate, to not agree to certain
parts of this kind of a relationship – Barry thinks that may be the reason why
his father has given Leonard his consent: Henry would expect his son not to
give himself up so easily.
 
If only his father knew about Barry’s secret propensity for inappropriate
dreams, he might have not agreed at all. But Barry is glad that his father
knows nothing about the carefully concealed desires of his son; and when
Leonard’s full lips stretch in a slow, satisfied smile, Barry is not sure
whether he’ll be able to ever say ‘no’ to the man for real.
 
…...
 
It does not take them too long to reach Leonard’s villa in Amnissos. Their
horses trot along the dirt road at a comfortable pace – Cisco comes with, as
custom dictates, but he keeps his distance, correctly reading Barry’s
expression as ‘stay away’. He’s still a little mad at his father and at his
friends, for not giving him even a sliver of warning, but as he watches
Leonard, moving graciously with the horse’s steps, Barry can’t bring himself to
feel this is entirely bad. Leonard is older, of course – based on the stories
of him, Barry would say he’s just shy of thirty. He does not seem old, though:
his shoulders and cheeks are a little bit burnt, no doubt from all the time he
spends at sea, and his hair is curly, close-cropped, military in fashion just
like the stern, self-assured way he holds his muscular body, revealed down to
his narrow waist. His kilt doesn’t betray his wealth, simple in design, pale
linen with a traditional pattern and colorful lining, and Barry’s glad that
Leonard does not parade his status around like expensive jewelry.
 
And he’s wealthy, alright: Barry lets out an awed breath when they approach
Leonard’s home – or is this just one of many? The villa is built on a slope,
the rocky mountain behind it making it very difficult, if not impossible, to
approach from the back. The front of the house overlooks the sea, which makes
sense with Leonard’s occupation, but Barry is glad for the view. He always
found the sea fascinating, dreaming of boarding a ship and seeing places other
than Crete. That his potential erastes has done just that fills Barry with even
more longing for travel, and insatiable curiosity for Leonard’s tales.
 
Barry half-expects a servant to come out to meet them, to take the horses, but
when they dismount, Leonard waves them towards the house and leads all three
horses to the back, where the stables must be. Barry gives Cisco a look that is
both excitement and forgiveness, because in a place he does not know, it is
good to have a friend with him, even if it’s a friend who has backstabbed him
just an hour ago. They instinctively walk closer to each other as they ascend
the three terracotta steps, as they pass bright red columns and duck through
the front gate to find themselves in a square-shaped courtyard. A woman walks
out to greet them: something about her amused smirk reminds Barry of Leonard.
Her light, flowing dress is far more elaborate than Leonard’s clothing, though,
and her jewelry glints gold and luxurious against her neck, between her full
breasts, against her long hands when she steps out of the shade.

“You must be Barry. I am Leonard’s sister – you may call me Lisa… and this is
Cisco, isn’t it,” she smiles. Barry can hear Cisco next to him make a strangled
sound.
 
“You must forgive me for intruding on your time with my brother,” she
continues, and something about the way she says it, all innocent and sweet,
makes Barry believe that she is not sorry at all. “I couldn’t pass up an
opportunity to meet his chosen boy – I do hope you won’t reject him after all.”
 
Barry wonders what she would do to him if he does; it should be funny that he’s
more scared of his potential erastes’ sister than he is of the man himself, but
it’s really, really not. Cisco, however, does not seem terrified at all – or
maybe he just discovered in himself an attraction to danger, because he smiles
dopily at Lisa; she returns the smile with a somewhat smug undercurrent.

“Come,” she turns, the motion fluid and smooth, her shiny curls brushing
against her tiny waist. “You must be thirsty from the road.”
 
The wine is mild and nicely flavored with herbs and some honey: Cisco groans in
pleasure at the taste and Barry chuckles at him, but has to agree. They get
some fresh bread and salty cheese to go with it, as well as grapes, huge and
shiny and deliciously strong. They’re both content and rested by the time
Leonard shows up: he steals a grape from the plate and pops it in his mouth,
smiling at Barry a little bit, which makes Barry blush.

“Lisa will show you your room,” Leonard turns to Cisco, and Barry’s stomach
momentarily tightens, because he honestly expected to share with his friend…
but it does make sense to separate them. After all, their visit here is
supposed to be about Leonard seducing Barry – a little difficult to do that
with a chaperoning friend present at all times.
 
Cisco follows Lisa out of the kitchen, eyes practically glazed over and Leonard
laughs at the sight, settles at the table near Barry. Their elbows brush by
accident: Barry pulls away minutely, not wanting to offend but uncomfortable
with physical closeness just yet.
 
Leonard notices, no matter how subtle Barry tries to be about it. His blue eyes
look at the point where their skin was touching just a moment ago, then slide
up Barry’s arm, his shoulder, over Barry’s face like a physical caress.

“I need you to understand one thing,” Leonard’s voice is soft – Barry hates
being treated like a startled animal, but his heart is almost hurting itself,
slamming against his ribcage, so maybe Leonard is on to something there. “I
will never do anything you don’t want from me. While you’re here, I will show
you what your life would be like, should you allow me in it – but all the
decisions are yours.”

Barry knows that; refusing an erastes’ advances altogether is uncommon but not
unheard of, and all the boys Barry knows have been taught the subtle rules of
the game. There are always power struggles to be played out, stringing the
older man along, taking advantage, even using falsehood and seduction to keep
an older man’s interest. Barry has never wanted that, though – one reason why
he refused Harrison back when he was thirteen. That man’s eyes shone with sharp
intelligence, just like Leonard’s, but it felt like Harrison was hiding
everything, preparing for a battle of wits, preparing to dominate instead of
teach, and Barry still does not regret rejecting him, even after all the
teasing he had to endure for not having acquired a mentor for himself.
 
Leonard’s eyes are calculating, as if he’s trying to read Barry’s moves in
advance, but it does not feel like he’s gearing up for an attack. Hearing him
put the power of decision in Barry’s hands so firmly is relaxing, and Barry
finds himself nodding with a tentative smile.

“How about we take a walk?” Leonard asks – Barry laughs, but it’s mostly at the
ridiculousness of hearing the same words twice in one day. Cisco offered him a
walk not two hours earlier, and now Barry’s here, having Leonard ask the same.

“Why not,” he agrees anyway: it’s not like Leonard will lead him to another
erastes, so Barry should be relatively safe.
 
The sun is close to setting when they walk out, the late afternoon bathing the
rocks in soft, warm light and making the sea glitter like a precious stone.
Barry takes a deep breath – the air is full of salt and Barry’s eyes fall
closed for a moment as he imagines breathing the scent of the waves while on a
ship set to anywhere. He wonders if that will ever happen, if it could, with
Leonard.
 
“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Leonard nods – his eyes are on Barry as if there is nothing more
important in the world at this moment. It makes Barry feel young, inadequate,
but he forces himself to ask.
 
“Would you take me with you? When you leave Crete again.”

“Where would you want to go?” Leonard’s smile is soft and understanding, not at
all amused at Barry’s expense like he feared it would be. It’s not an outright
‘no’, at the very least… he does not have a good answer for Leonard’s question,
though.
 
“Anywhere. Athens and Thebes, of course… Mycenae, and Sparta and Troy…”
 
They sit down on a stone bench not far from the villa, waiting for the sun’s
disc to touch the horizon; Leonard laughs quietly and shakes his head. It makes
his short curls stir in the cooling breeze, and Barry can’t look away. Leonard
is so handsome like this, with his eyes lit up in the sunset, his features
softened through a smile – Barry feels shame burn within him like a flame. He
is not supposed to pick his erastes based on looks, boys are not the ones
supposed to like their older men like that. He is supposed to want knowledge
and status and honor, and he does, he does, but he also wants things he cannot
name or describe, and that want is a constant dull pressure in his stomach,
pushing him to recognize his hunger and sate it.
 
He stomps that hunger down, swallows to ease the pressure in his stomach as
Leonard looks at him again.
 
“It might take a while to get you to all those places. How do you feel about
Cyprus, or Egypt?”
 
Barry immediately forgets all of his unease and almost jumps up on the bench,
half-twisting to his side in excitement.

“Have you been to Egypt?”
 
He barely even registers the night falling around them – Leonard paints the
picture of the great Egyptian kingdom in vivid colors, shaping the streets and
palaces and statues out of thin air with his words, then finds a bit of a
broken-off branch and draws strange pictures in the sand, showing Barry the
Egyptian writing, or what he remembers of it. Barry is mesmerized, and that
night, he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.
 
……
 
“You’re so lucky,” Cisco groans over the most luxurious breakfast they ever had
the pleasure of having.
 
“Only the best for Barry,” Leonard smiles, and Barry blushes, unused to such
attentions. But he has to admit that Cisco is right. There are several types of
delicious cheese and cold meats, five kinds of olives, some of them bitter and
strong, some sweet and so big it’s difficult to eat them in one bite. There’s
crispy, fragrant bread that Lisa must have baked because there is no way they
could ride back to Knossos and get the bread back here still hot. Some of the
fruit has likely been brought from Leonard’s recent trip because Barry doesn’t
recognize it all, but he makes it a point to try at least a little of
everything. His head is nearly spinning with all the flavors – is this
Leonard’s idea of an everyday meal, or is the man showing off just a bit? Barry
doesn’t mind either way. If he can eat like this at least once in a while, he
wouldn’t mind becoming Leonard’s eromenos at all.
 
He is ashamed of himself for that thought almost immediately; the herb-flavored
milk helps wash the bitter taste down, but the shame lingers in the back of his
mind. Barry has never liked hearing other boys talk about their erastai as if
the only thing that connected them was a business transaction, as if an older
mentor was only good for providing luxuries. He knows that the material side of
it is a part of the deal, but he’s always wanted more.
 
They end up too full to move after breakfast – Lisa offers to show Cisco the
beach and the boy agrees with flushed eagerness. Barry shows interest as well,
and they end up taking the rocky path downhill towards the shore, with Cisco
and Lisa walking first and Leonard and Barry behind them, far enough not to
hear each other’s dialogues easily, close enough to have the safety of numbers,
should anything happen. Barry doesn’t feel particularly threatened – this part
of the island is mostly deserted, apart from a few villas not unlike Leonard’s,
but Barry can’t help and notice that Leonard is alert, eyes darting to one side
and then another from time to time, aware of their surroundings even if his
face is calm. It makes Barry feel safer, somehow, and he shouldn’t be putting
this much trust in a man he only truly knows through gossip, but it is
increasingly difficult to be wary of Leonard. He’s attentive in the smallest
ways, taking the rockier side of the path when possible, holding low-hanging
branches out of Barry’s way; Barry thanks him when Leonard reaches up and picks
a ripe orange for Barry off a lonely tree, and Leonard’s responding smile makes
Barry’s heart beat a tiny bit faster.
 
Warm waves lick over their bare feet as they tread the untouched sand, and
Barry smiles when he sees Cisco get all flustered and flailing every now and
then in the distance. Leonard’s voice is a pleasant lull against the sound of
the sea when he talks some more about other places he’s seen, prompted by
Barry’s insatiable curiosity. Travel talk dips into history and politics;
Leonard is vastly knowledgeable about everything and Barry enjoys swapping
ideas, even if they’re ridiculous. They end up laughing several times and Barry
has honestly not expected someone Leonard’s age to be so easy to rise to the
simplest jokes.
 
They walk back to the house once the sun is high and hot in the sky, and the
boys go to the bathroom to clean the sand off their bodies.

“I really mean it,” Cisco says once they’re alone, pouring fresh water over
their salt-crusted feet.

“Huh?” Barry raises an eyebrow, his mind still mostly caught up on what Leonard
said earlier about some Egyptian pharaoh.
 
“About Leonard,” Cisco shrugs. “That you’re lucky. Wasn’t this supposed to be
about ‘living in wilderness’ with him? Not that I’m complaining, this is a lot
more comfortable, but he must really want to impress you.”

The idea of anyone wanting to impress him makes Barry laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe he just wants an eromenos who won’t be stolen away
by some other man while he’s away at sea,” he says, and the thought makes his
heart clench painfully. Could that be it? Leonard has to know that Barry has no
other suitors – Barry is also almost too old to have an erastes, so his chances
of finding someone else are practically non-existent.
 
But Cisco snorts at the idea and waves his hand dismissively, making tiny
grains of sand fly through the air.
“Have you seen the guy when he looks at you, Barry? Stop thinking of yourself
so badly. He wants you alright… just don’t be too easy, huh?” Cisco winks and
washes the last of the sand off himself, then walks away, leaving Barry
standing still in the bathroom, his throat tight and dry, stomach quivering in
excitement at the thought of Leonard truly, honestly wanting him.
 
Barry craves that more than is proper. He has a feeling that ‘not being too
easy’ could become a problem, and fast.
 
……
 
Days flow past in languid contentment and stretch into weeks; Leonard does take
them hunting a couple of times and Barry always ends up watching him more than
the prey. The man is strong, yet agile, efficient and quiet and deadly, and
it’s getting harder and harder for Barry to stop his intrusive thoughts while
he watches Leonard’s back ripple with muscles as he stretches for something,
his powerful calves revealed by the edges of his kilt. Barry finds himself
looking anywhere but at Leonard, most of the time – he cannot allow himself to
feel this inappropriate attraction any deeper.
 
But of course, nothing escapes Leonard’s searching gaze. Barry is lulled
halfway to sleep by the honeyed wine and the warm summer night, peacefully
studying the colors on the villa’s beautiful wall frescos, when Leonard decides
to confront him about it.
 
“Have I done something to offend you?” Leonard sits on the bench across from
Barry, his clasped hands on the table. Barry lazily traces the ridges of his
muscled forearms with his eyes, his brain slow to catch up.

“What…?” he mutters. Leonard’s eyes are intense for a moment, and Barry has
never seen him look as out of his depth as when he stands up from the table
again, paces the kitchen a little bit, turns his back on Barry before speaking
again.
 
“In the last few days… you have been avoiding me. You look to the side before
meeting my eyes, pull your hand further away when in danger of touching me.
Have I not made myself clear? I will never force you, Barry. You do not need to
startle when I am near.”
 
He sounds anguished, confused, and Barry wants to tell him – but how can he put
into words what he has been pushing away as firmly as he can? How can he
explain it is not Leonard he’s afraid of, but himself and his dark, improper
want for the man; how can he say it’s not that he doesn’t wish for Leonard’s
touch, but the exact opposite?
 
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Barry forces out, and Leonard’s sharp inhale tells
him he has not put the other man at ease.

“But have I done nothing right?”

“You have,” Barry’s words ring hollow even to himself and Leonard is suddenly
straddling Barry’s bench, leaning into Barry’s space, making his breath catch
in his throat. He’s dimly aware of Leonard’s knee barely brushing his under the
table, his kilt riding up just a little to reveal the skin of his upper thighs.
Nothing has ever been as hard as not leaning into Leonard in return. Barry
can’t look at him for the world.
 
“Do you want me to take you back to Knossos?”
 
“No,” a sigh, against his will; he doesn’t want to admit just how much he
wishes to stay – and how much he needs to run away at the same time.

“Then tell me… what is it that you want?”
 
Barry makes the mistake of glancing up from his wine – Leonard’s eyes are dark
in the shadows, his brow drawn tight in concern as he searches Barry’s face for
clues. Barry feels naked under that inquisitive gaze, unable to hold it long
for fear of Leonard finding the answers Barry is unwilling to give; he looks
away, heart in his throat, and Leonard’s disappointed sigh tugs at something in
Barry’s chest.

A laugh cuts through the air, followed by what can only be described as a happy
groan: one of those is Lisa, the other Cisco. They’ve been getting closer, not-
so-slowly but steadily, and Barry would bet that Cisco has not spent his last
few nights alone. Jealously and selfishly, Barry wishes it could be that easy
for him, that he could just… have this, whatever this is, easy and laughing and
not having to think about what the society will think of him, what his
loverwould think of him if Barry gave in. Because he’s not supposed to feel
this – he’s supposed to be there for Leonard to use, to trade his thighs for
knowledge and experience and social standing, not to crave the man’s closeness
so fervently that even sharing a bench with him makes Barry clench his fingers
around his goblet to stop them from shaking.
 
Leonard sees Barry’s hand tighten against the cup, and he interprets it on his
own, because the next thing Barry knows, Leonard is leaning back. It makes
breathing easier but Barry wishes he wasn’t afraid to reach out and catch the
older man’s hand, stop him from widening the distance between them.

“I see,” the man says, clipped and cold as he pushes away from the table, off
the bench. For Barry, it’s a tie between fearing that Leonard understands and
fearing that he doesn’t. He has never learned to navigate the thin line between
revealing not enough and too much, and he doesn’t know how to tell Leonard to
stay without letting on how much he wants it.  He’s terrified Leonard will
leave him for good if he learns of Barry’s inappropriate affection (of his
lust, base, unrefined and raw) – at the same time, the fear of Leonard leaving
because he thinks Barry doesn’t want him as his erastes is becoming much more
real every second.
 
“Don’t-“ Barry yelps: the sound of Leonard’s feet on the terracotta floor
quietens down. He waits for Barry to speak, and Barry tries, he really does,
but he still cannot lie and the truth does not get any easier to voice. Not
even seventeen and terrified, he’s lost in the storm of his own want he has yet
to learn how to brave. The crickets cry their monotonous melody and not too far
off, Lisa laughs – the silence stretches thin with passing seconds, tears in
the middle and breaks.

“We’ll go back in the morning,” Leonard sounds weary, defeated. Barry rises to
his feet before he knows it, nearly falls over the bench but he’s standing,
eyes firmly on the older man’s back and fists clenched at his sides, wanting,
wanting-

“No,” he nearly sobs and Leonard turns to face him, finally.  Barry’s eyes burn
but he forces himself not to look away, need crashing within him like waves,
breaking against the sharp rocks of his fear. Leonard stalks to him, silent and
deadly and his eyes burn too, lit with anger and frustration.
 
“Then tell me what it is you want from me, Barry!” he hisses up close, so
close. “I never demanded anything of you and yet you look at me like- like
that, like it hurts you just to see me. I’ve kept my distance, I haven’t even
touched you, but I don’t know how to stop wanting you and it’s clearly making
you uncomfortable, so what should I do? You don’t mean to stay and you choose
not to go – what is it you want?!”
 
He’s breathing heavily by the time he’s done, they both are, breathing each
other’s space and it makes Barry dizzy. He sways a little – Leonard’s hand
immediately shoots up to steady him, his fingers burning brands against the
night-cool skin of Barry’s arm, making him shiver and choke on a quiet cry.

“Barry?!” Cisco’s voice, no, no, the friend who is supposed to be Barry’s
chaperone, his safeguard, but not now- “Everything alright?”
 
Leonard’s eyes flicker against Barry’s and he’s letting go – Barry’s world
twists uncomfortably without the steadying touch of Leonard’s hand on him. He
has to step forward a little to keep his precarious balance, but Leonard’s the
one taking a step back now, his face drawn before he turns it away into the
night.

“Good night, kid,” he mutters, and it hurts, to be so clearly pushed away with
a single word. But he is a kid, isn’t he, if he weren’t, he could answer
Leonard’s simple question with all the half-formed, embarrassed wants in his
heart instead of standing in the middle of Leonard’s courtyard, feeling
abandoned and lost and broken.
 
Cisco trails closer and Barry wishes he would just go away. The thought is
unkind, uncharacteristic of him, and Barry wonders just how much did wanting
Leonard break him already.

“Barry?” Cisco asks again, uncertain, quiet – Barry shakes his head.

“Everything’s fine,” he lies, and why is it so easy now that he doesn’t even
really need it?

It’s not like Cisco believes him, anyway.
 
“You don’t seem fine,” he reaches slowly to touch Barry’s shoulder: but Barry
can still feel Leonard’s hand on him and he pulls away, side-steps Cisco to
head for his room.

“I just had a bit too much to drink. See you in the morning.”
 
Truth be told, he’s dreading morning already; he spends the rest of the night
staring up into the darkness and wishing he could stop the sun from rising.
 
…….
 
Getting out of bed is harder than ever before. There’s a steady, pulsing
pressure in Barry’s head and he would like to ascribe it to the wine, but he
knows he would be lying to himself. His gut is twisted into a thousand tangled
knots, and just imagining breakfast makes him a little sick, but Barry has to
admit it’s got more to do with his fear that Leonard is going to tell him to
leave than with the food.
 
Splashing water on his face helps with the headache just a little bit and he
drags himself to the table where they all usually have breakfast together. Lisa
and Cisco are already there, exchanging bright smiles, just a little star-
struck in Cisco’s case, a tiny bit smug in Lisa’s. Cisco’s eyes widen when
Barry sits across from them, but Barry gives him an almost imperceptible head-
shake – he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to be asked if he’s
fine, because he’s not, but there’s nothing Cisco can do to help. And he
specifically doesn’t want to talk about it in front of Lisa, who still scares
him just a little.
 
His hands shake just a little bit when he hears footsteps in the courtyard.
 
“Good morning,” Leonard says, and Barry musters up the courage to look at him:
he wants to make things better, he does, but Leonard’s not looking at him. He
sits down next to Barry, but there’s not even a glance Barry’s way, no smiles,
no inquiries about how Barry has slept. Barry’s heart clenches and he turns
back to his food. It feels like betrayal, for his tongue to still enjoy the
exquisite flavors when his whole chest hurts.
 
“I have to leave,” Leonard announces and Barry fumbles with the grapes in his
hand. He looks to the side, but Leonard’s profile is hard, unreadable. All
Barry can think of is ‘he’s leaving because of me’.
 
Lisa is the one to ask for the reason: Leonard talks about a messenger who came
before sunrise, about some urgent business at the dock, a shipment of saffron
going one place or another. Barry listens half-heartedly, but their exchange
from yesterday keeps playing before his eyes and he hears Leonard’s frustration
all over again. You don’t mean to stay and you choose not to go. This is
Leonard choosing because Barry can’t, Leonard leaving where Barry doesn’t want
to. He doesn’t believe in convenient messengers – Leonard can’t stand to be
around Barry anymore, around his indecision and rejection. Barry’s heart is
hollow and dry through the breakfast as Leonard chats with Lisa and Cisco about
trade; by the time Leonard stands up from the table and bids them goodbye
(never touching Barry, never even looking at him), a decision is surging up in
Barry’s mind, pushing him into action.

It’s not even a decision, really, just panic surging up at the thought of
Leonard leaving and never coming back, of Barry being sent back to Knossos the
next day, or the day after, without ever having had the chance to be brave and
fight for what he wants. If Leonard is leaving, Barry has nothing to lose:
Leonard is not going to want him back and that means it won’t matter whether
Leonard thinks Barry’s shameful and improper and wrong.
 
He runs after Leonard, out of the kitchen, down the courtyard and through the
gate, back around the house to the stables, heart beating so fast in his chest
it’s making him dizzy, again.

“Wait!”
 
His cry stops Leonard at the stable entrance, his horse ready for the road. The
man turns to Barry and his expression is blank, nothing like the storm from
yesterday, no rage, no pain, no hope.
Barry still has no words for what he feels, no words he could speak without
choking on them, so he does the only thing he can: he surges forward and his
hand shoots up to wrap around the back of Leonard’s neck as he crashes into the
older man in a desperate kiss.
 
The force of impact sends Leonard backwards: his back collides with a red
column behind him and it makes their teeth clash together painfully, but Barry
still almost sobs at the contact. He’s never kissed anyone before, even though
he spent most of his youth thinking about kissing Iris and marrying her one
day. But that was before she was married to someone else, before Barry
discovered that shameful part of him that wanted an erastes for reasons other
than the politics of it. Leonard is strong and solid against Barry, his mouth a
slow burn and a soothing dampness all at once. Barry trembles with the force of
his feelings, and he hopes Leonard understands through the kiss what Barry
can’t voice: he hopes that Leonard won’t run away now, that maybe, he won’t
mind Barry wanting him more than is proper.
 
And then Leonard is pushing him away, his long fingers wrapped around Barry’s
arms gently, but firmly, and his eyes are the same blank emptiness as before.

“I have to go.”
 
Barry wants to ask him not to, wants to plead and beg, but there’s nothing more
he can add: he tried to show Leonard the feelings he was afraid to speak of,
and Leonard has made his choice. He watches the man mount his horse and ride
off, and he can’t bring himself to go back to the house and face Lisa or Cisco,
so he ends up sitting right there, back against the stable’s wall, breathing in
the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. He doesn’t even know what to think –
yesterday, Leonard accused Barry of not knowing what he wanted, and today, when
he tried to reach out… it was too late.
 
Cisco finds him eventually, sits down next to Barry quietly and hands him a cup
of wine. Barry knows he shouldn’t be drinking this early, but he can’t find it
in himself to care; he’s halfway through the cup when Cisco finally speaks.

“Lisa says there was no messenger. She checked for hoof-prints.”
 
“I know,” Barry says – he didn’t, not for sure, but he had a feeling that
Leonard’s disappearance has nothing to do with duties. It’s just a way to spare
them both more pain, and Barry should move, say goodbye to Lisa and go, but he
still can’t bring himself to move. It feels like leaving this house would be
too final, too definite, like there’s no end until he walks away. It’s stupid,
because he’s managed to break everything in sight with his inaction, with his
action, and Leonard isn’t coming back.
 
“Lisa also says that we should stay,” Cisco shrugs, and Barry raises an eyebrow
at him: he doesn’t want to go, but they have to, it’s over, what does Lisa
mean- “There’s still two weeks left of your harpagmos and… I think we should
stay, too. You’ll have more time to yourself, you know? You won’t have to
explain anything to anyone for now.”
 
Barry wants to groan at the suggestion, both in pain and in relief. He has a
feeling that Lisa asked them to stay more because of Cisco than for Barry’s
benefit, but he’ll take it: not having to explain why Leonard is not interested
in him anymore to his father or to his other friends sounds like a good deal.
Barry nods and finishes his wine, then gathers himself up from the ground.

“Thanks,” he smiles at Cisco a little – smiling is difficult for now, but
Barry’s going to take Lisa’s offer. Not having to talk to anyone for two more
weeks sounds like a great idea… and if a tiny little part of Barry pipes up
that maybe Leonard will come back, Barry pushes it down with brutal force.
 
……
 
It barely takes Leonard an hour to reach the port: concealed by tall, white
cliffs, nobody would guess it was there unless they knew where to look. Leonard
knows because he’s used that port before, along with the deep underground caves
accessible from the thin strip of sand that cannot be honestly called a beach.
 
He is not sure he needs what the ship is carrying anymore, but it would be both
unfair and dangerous to keep Mick waiting. Dangerous because someone could
accidentally spot Mick’s ship, question how exactly is Leonard related to a
pirate vessel, unmistakable with its uniquely painted sides; dangerous because
Mick could decide to simply walk up to Leonard’s villa, revealing that their
connection from Leonard’s ex-pirate days is not as strictly severed as Lisa
would like to think.
 
“Took you long enough,” Mick calls as he jumps off the hull into shallow water.
Leonard dismounts and waits, watches his friend wade through the waves to the
shore. Mick’s an imposing figure even with his kilt wet halfway up his thighs
and sticking to his legs: it would be funny on anyone else, but nobody would
dare laugh at Mick where the man can see, unless that person has a death wish.
Leonard has learned that lesson long ago… and he could take Mick, probably, but
a scuffle in the sand is not what he’s here for, not today.
 
“Hope ‘twas fuckin’ worth it,” Mick grumbles and hands Leonard a cloth-wrapped
package: Leonard pushes the rags away mostly out of habit, inspection of goods
ingrained in him like second nature. It’s a beautiful cup, well worth what he’s
paid to have it made – solid gold and crafted by the best master Leonard could
find. The bull twisting around the cup is roaring, angry and exquisite, but
it’s not what catches Leonard’s eye. The figure of a young man flying above the
bull’s horns, body caught in flowing motion, tugs at Leonard’s heart painfully
and he pulls the cloth over the gold in haste.

“Sell it,” he barks, tossing the cup back to Mick – the man catches it mid-air
and bares his teeth in a snarl:

“What?! You got me runnin’ your errands like a slave and then ya don’t even
want the fuckin’ thing?!”

“I don’t need it anymore,” Leonard turns away, but Mick is having none of that:
he is very much like Lisa, in a way, and Leonard dreads the day when they both
realize that and start working in unison rather than against each other. The
cup is pushed almost in Leonard’s face – the lithe carving of Barry’s golden
body mocks his defeat.

“Ya been obsessed with that boy since ya first saw him leap over a bull,” Mick
growls. “How come ya don’t ‘need’ this, huh? Time’s not up, last I checked. Two
months, that’s the deal.”

“So I keep him for two more weeks, and then he’s gone anyway-”

“How d’ya know that? Two weeks is a fucking long time.”
 
“Not long enough.”
 
“For what?” Mick sneers, mocking and caustic. “Making him fall in love with ya?
Ya knew the odds when ya started this, Len.”
 
His old pirate name echoes in all the hollow places inside of him, and he longs
to be at sea again, unbound to anyone, anything. He gave that life up when
their father died, Lisa too young for marriage – but from time to time, he
looks at the vast horizon and remembers.
 
“He couldn’t even look at me for days,” he tries to explain, but it creaks like
an excuse even in his own ears. “Then, when I said I had to go away this
morning he just…”
 
Leonard winces at the memory, swallows as his mouth brings back the taste of
Barry’s lips. Mick is frowning at him, long and hard.

“What?”
 
“He kissed me,” Leonard sighs. “He’s so desperate for anerastes that he’s
willing to surrender, would you believe it…”
 
He trails off into a humorless chuckle, and Mick grunts, speculative,
reluctant. To someone who doesn’t know him, Mick might appear slow, but Leonard
has seen the man think before and he knows Mick can be sharp like a dagger,
even though he prefers to burn bright and wild and deadly. That’s why he’s
always valued his advice - that’s a little why he’s come today, apart from the
obvious.
 
“Not really,” Mick replies in the end. “Ya sure it’s just that? He’s young,
pretty, we’ve seen him leap. He coulda had men before ya, if he wanted.”
 
“He’s not like that,” Leonard frowns. Whispering, lying waves reach for his
feet. “Not like me.”
 
Nobody knows that side of him, not even Lisa – nobody but Mick, because Mick
has learned all the awful parts of Len, Mick remembers Len at sixteen, angry
and wild and unapologetic in his lust. Mick was the age Leonard is now: they
used to be pirates, outlaws, running from the world. Len was eager, so damn
eager, brash and in-your-face about his desires, brave to the point of
recklessness about everything else. Ironically enough, he learned control with
Mick – not from him, never from him, but Mick’s fire needed to be contained and
Len learned how to do that for the older man, and later on, for himself. But
through all that, he never kept pulling away like Barry did.
 
“Thank gods for that,” Mick guffaws. “One o’ you is enough for the whole damn
world. Don’t mean he can’t like ya.”
 
“Doesn’t mean he will, either. Not the way I want him to, anyway.”
 
“Ya knew he liked that girl. Just ‘coz she got married won’t make it go away so
fast.”
 
“I thought I could handle it,” Leonard smirks self-deprecatingly – he has
vastly underestimated what it would feel like to have Barry close for so long,
to know how he thought, how he laughed, how his lips looked wrapped around
juicy pieces of fruit. He thought he could have his fun and give something back
to the boy in return, no strings attached – he did not expect that ‘something’
to be his heart.
 
Mick sneers at him, as always unsympathetic to deeper emotional plight.
 
“So what? Gonna give up before ya have to? Enjoy what ya have with him, full
time, then let him decide. That’s the proper way. Made your choice, now let him
have his. Ya can always sulk ‘bout it later, if he don’t want ya.”
 
Mick tosses him the cup and Leonard catches it, remembering yesterday’s
exchange, how he talked to Barry, accused him of all the faults that lay solely
within Leonard’s heart. Hissed his feelings in Barry’s face, half-mad with
frustration and thoughts he could not control, and expected the sixteen-year-
old boy to know how to answer.

“I might have yelled at him,” he admits, grudgingly, scowling at the glinting
edges of the cup that peek out from the rags. Mick snorts.
 
“Yer a dick.”
 
“I remember you yelling at me plenty,” Leonard huffs defensively. Mick simply
cackles. Leonard is starting to detest the amount of sheer amusement Mick draws
from his personal tragedy.
 
“Ya were a troublemakin’ piece o’shit, always gettin’ yourself near killed.
‘Course I yelled at ya. Now go make good with the boy.”
 
Mick is sniggering under his breath on his way back to the ship: it’s the same
one they built together, the same one that carried Len to vast distances, to
riches and danger and adventure. Three years of his life are soaked into the
cedar of that ship; and Leonard finds himself looking back, to the winding path
that holds his freedom now.
 
He stands on the shore and watches the ship’s sail disappear around the cliffs.
He stands there and makes peace with the sea that will never have him like it
used to, and when the waves start curling around his ankles, he mounts his
horse and heads home.
 
…….
 
The steps of the house are warm from the sun – it’s burning gold and red in the
sky, nearly touching the sea. Barry leans back on his hands, palms digging into
the terracotta, and he wonders if he will ever feel whole again. It has become
impossible to stay in the house: Cisco casts him apologetic glances from time
to time, but his attention is on Lisa. Barry doesn’t blame his friend, not at
all. Lisa is beautiful and a little intimidating, quick and lively and above
simple boys like them in her priestess status. But she’s focused on Cisco in a
way that reminds Barry of Leonard and he can’t take it, not yet, can’t have the
memories of what was almost within his grasp thrust back at him.
 
He takes his wine outside – he does not try to drown it all out, not really. He
thinks of Iris, his other unrequited love (and how easy it is to connect
Leonard and love now that he’s lost him). She’s perfect: beautiful and smart,
with laughter that kept echoing in Barry’s heart for days, with kindness that
made him long for a future with her. His fault is being too young – she was
ready for marriage when he was still just a boy, no way to provide for her and
nothing to offer. Eddie is a great man and he loves her, but Barry still
wonders whether things would have been different if he’d been born earlier.
Would she have seen him as a man, not a brother then? There’s no use in
thinking about that, of course. Barry knows, because he spent the four months
since Iris’ wedding thinking up all the what-ifs in the world. And it’s only
now that he’s alone that he realizes he hasn’t been thinking as much about Iris
while with Leonard as he used to. The change was gradual, slow: he didn’t stop
thinking about her in a blink of an eye. But Leonard was an entertaining
companion, and Barry’s eyes kept surreptitiously drinking in all that tanned
skin together with the stories of Egypt and Mycenae and Thebes, and there was
simply too much to allow the sadness about Iris’ wedding to resurface too
often.
 
Now, his mind is blank, and the pain of losing them both keeps slamming into
him full-force. Maybe that’s why he does not register a rider appear on the
path, far in the distance; it takes the sound of a horse’s hooves clamoring
close, the ground under Barry’s feet vibrating with the weight of the galloping
animal, for Barry to notice that someone’s approaching.
 
He’s on his feet, his wine forgotten, as he spots the rider and his heart
stops.
 
“Leonard,” he whispers, the name carried off his lips in the wind, but
Leonard’s looking right at him anyway, all focused intent and for a moment,
Barry thinks Leonard is still mad at him because he jumps off the horse more
than dismounts and stalks to Barry with long, purposeful strides. But then he’s
stopping at a comfortable distance and he looks… uncertain? Barry has never
seen the older man project anything less than complete confidence, but now his
mouth is just a little too tight, his shoulders slightly too rigid, and Barry
swallows, pushes his hopes down, afraid to let them grow.

The world blurs a little, his eyes stinging, and Leonard steps forward, but
doesn’t touch.
 
“I’m sorry,” they say, at once. Leonard frowns.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Barry. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday
the way I did. Can we talk?”
 
“You left,” Barry blurts out – it’s not what he intended to say, but it comes
out, urgent and important. Leonard looks earnestly sorry about it.
 
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Barry adds, and he doesn’t even know what
it is he wants to hear, but he understands when Leonard motions with his hand
towards the house gate. This is not a conversation they should have on the
front steps – not when they’re both flight risks, anyway.
 
He let himself be led to Leonard’s room: it’s smaller, simpler than Barry
would’ve expected. The frescos on the walls are as beautiful as the rest of the
house, but other than that, nothing betrays that a wealthy man lives here.
Barry likes it, and he almost becomes caught in the study of the walls, but
Leonard coughs, and when Barry turns to him, Leonard offers a small package.
Barry blinks and untangles the strips of cloth; what he finds makes him draw a
sharp breath.
 
“This is-“
 
“A drinking cup,” Leonard confirms, easy and cool about it as if it doesn’t
change anything, as if he didn’t just hand Barry the world concealed in simple
rags. “I had it made for you – it was delivered today.”
 
The bull strains against the gold as Barry turns the cup this way and that. Is
he really worth this much to Leonard? The man must have had it planned, a cup
like that could not be acquired overnight and Barry is not sure that after the
last night, after this morning, Leonard would even want to.
 
He glimpses the figure of a boy over the bull’s back, long and lean and
familiar, and his eyes widen as he looks up at Leonard in disbelief.
 
“Is this… me?”
 
A gentle hand wraps around his fingers, around the cup.

“I first saw you a year ago,” Leonard speaks, so soft that Barry has to strain
his ears to hear. Looking at the older man mortifies him but he forces his eyes
never to stray, afraid that if he keeps looking away too much, Leonard is going
to disappear. “You were at the ceremony, in the central courtyard at Knossos,
and I couldn’t look away. I knew then that I wanted you to be mine – but as I
watched, I saw you looking at a girl.”
 
“Iris,” Barry breathes – there was no one else then he would look at. He
wonders if people will notice him looking at Leonard one day: he’s afraid of
that future, but not enough to avert his eyes in the now.

Leonard simply nods: it should be disconcerting how much he knows about Barry’s
life, but then, there’s not that much privacy on the island and it’s not so
difficult to know anything, if one’s interested. Barry has never seen any
reason to hide: the thought that it might change soon gives him both chills and
a strange thrill.
 
“When I heard she got married… I thought I had a chance with you. I know,”
Leonard’s voice turns rushed, insistent, “it was an assumption I shouldn’t have
made. You need to understand something about me, Barry – I’m never going to
marry a woman, have a family. I am… I don’t feel the same things for women that
I do for men. It was wrong of me to expect more of you than friendship. I told
you I won’t make you do things that you don’t want, and I still pushed you to
do just that. I would still like to stay by your side, maybe take you to see
the places we talked about – but know that you will never have to pay me back
or try to keep me with you like you did this morning.”
 
Barry watches Leonard struggle through the words, and his racing heart is a
spiderweb of tiny cracks. The words don’t come easy, but with Leonard stumbling
down this painful path, Barry can’t let him walk alone.

“I… I wanted to,” he starts, and Leonard gives him a small smile that doesn’t
reach his eyes.
 
“You wanted to stop me from leaving. And I won’t, not anymore. But-“

“I wanted to,” Barry insists, and repeating the words is easier than saying
them for the first time. “I wanted to. Not just… you were leaving, and I was
scared, but… it wasn’t just that. I wanted…”
 
He can feel heat rising to his cheeks as he speaks, but he has to let Leonard
know: because not knowing is what made Leonard leave the first time. Barry has
been so worried that if Leonard knew how Barry felt, he wouldn’t want him
anymore, and to hear it was exactly the opposite, that Leonard is like… that,
like him, a little bit, that he does not want Barry only until he finds a
suitable wife, it’s a heady rush of relief and want in Barry’s head.
 
Leonard leans a little closer and his eyes are impossibly blue even in the
dark, but Barry’s gaze strays to his lips without him knowing.

“You wanted to kiss me?” Leonard’s question ghosts over Barry’s cheek, barely
there. Barry finds himself drawing a deep breath to capture it.

“I’ve wanted… for a while.”
 
He half-expects Leonard to close the distance, but the man is a warm statue in
Barry’s space, and Barry understands. He is given all the power again, all the
decisions – Leonard, beautiful, powerful Leonard, is at a disadvantage, allowed
to take but never sure if what he’s taking is given or sold. Barry understand
the urgency to know for sure and he leans in first, his whole body on fire and
trembling so hard he can barely stand still.
 
Their noses brush, tenderly and slowly, and Barry focused on the sound of
Leonard’s breathing before he closes his eyes. The first touch of their lips is
so soft Barry almost misses it, but then their mouths align and there’s no
pain, no taste of blood this time around, just a strange sort of energy
tingling under Barry’s skin. Leonard’s hand comes up to cup his cheek and Barry
giggles, inappropriate and nervous and heady from just this. And then wet
tongue is dragging across Barry’s lip and his half-choked laugh becomes a
strangled groan, the sound licked out of his mouth.
 
He doesn’t know how much time passes: he’s never learned how to kiss and
Leonard is teaching him with slow insistency until Barry repeats the licks, the
nips, daring and hungry for everything. Somewhere along the way, Leonard has
pulled the half-wrapped cup out of Barry’s grip and tossed it onto the bed: his
arm is a perfect fit around Barry’s waist, his hand splayed against Barry’s
back and drawing unrecognizable patterns into his skin. Barry feels himself
react and he pushes away, hands against Leonard’s chest and heart skipping a
beat. Leonard said he was the same, that he only wanted this if Barry did – but
Barry is still afraid of wanting too much, too soon, too boldly.
 
Leonard’s hand covers his and squeezes, and every fear Barry had of making
Leonard mad again dissolves when the man’s red-kissed lips stretch in a smile.

“There’s nothing more we need to do. It’s alright.”
 
And Barry’s a little bit glad to be treated with such care, but at the same
time, he’s back to the vicious circle of wanting things he doesn’t know how to
ask for.

“The thing,” he starts and his cheeks blaze up, “the thing that… you… that an
erastes does, to his boy.”
 
Leonard’s eyebrow arches up high.

“You want that?”

Barry nods, hoping it will be enough, and maybe it is: Leonard kisses him
again, draws him close and Barry forgets to be ashamed of the fact that his
loincloth is getting tighter with every passing moment. He’s pulled down to the
bed, straddling Leonard’s lap and his arms find a way around the man’s
shoulders. He can’t get enough of skin-on-skin, not knowing what else he can
do, so he groans into the kiss and brushes up against Leonard. The first time
his hard member makes contact with Leonard’s taut stomach, Barry keens out
loud: Leonard laughs, and his lips slide to Barry’s neck, mouthing at his
collarbone.
 
Leonard pushes the tips of his fingers past the waistband of Barry’s loincloth.
Barry can feel his hands trembling slightly against his skin when the man
unravels the long strip of fabric, and it somehow makes Barry feel like they’re
on more equal footing. He doesn’t know if Leonard’s nervous or if he just wants
him too much: the first thought eases Barry’s own nerves a little, but the
second leaves him breathless as he bites Leonard’s lips, trying to keep a
semblance of control over himself. He tries to return the favor, but his
fingers are too clumsy all of a sudden. Leonard comes to rescue, helping with a
small smile on his lips while Barry focuses on his kilt; he tries to swallow
through the dryness in his throat as he sees proof that Leonard is just as
aroused as Barry. It’s not that naked bodies, male or female, are new to Barry
– but it feels like this moment is a lot more intimate than just seeing someone
without their clothes. Leonard is allowing Barry to see his desire, and Barry
knows that their positions are different, that the older man is allowed what is
shameful in the younger, but after seeing Leonard first, he feels a little less
ashamed when the loincloth finally falls from his hips.
 
He’s grateful when Leonard doesn’t keep his focus on Barry’s cock – the older
man brings his hand up to cradle Barry’s neck and draws him into another kiss,
slow, deep and teasing. Barry’s hips move on their own, grinding erratically
against Leonard’s stomach: he tries to pull away and sit back, ashamed of
causing his sticky mess to smear over Leonard’s skin, but long fingers cup his
buttock and pull him closer. A groan tears out of Barry’s throat at the contact
and his hips stutter when Leonard’s hand finds a way between his cheeks: for a
split second, Barry freezes, because he does want to do this with his erastes,
so, so much, but there are lines he’s not ready to cross, a part of his dignity
he’s not ready to give up. But the firm fingertips trail down, tease at the
inner side of Barry’s thigh instead, and the thought of what’s coming next
makes Barry stupid with lust. He has never imagined it would be like this,
impossible to resist and good, so good – Hartley, who ended up taking Barry’s
place as Harrison’s eromenos, spoke of it as vexing, too long, mildly boring.
Barry cannot see how things with Leonard could ever be boring – if he survives
this, that is, if his heart does not give out from the sheer speed, if he does
not pass out from the lack of air in his lungs because he can’t stop kissing
Leonard.

“Turn over,” Leonard whispers into the skin of his neck and Barry shivers. He’s
not quite sure how to obey without toppling to the ground, but the moment he
swings one unsteady leg back from Leonard’s lap, a strong arm is wrapped around
his waist to lift him. Barry whimpers at the sensation of being manhandled so
easily, like he weighs nothing: he’s never been particularly heavy, but he is
almost as tall as Leonard, even if his body is leaner.
 
They end up on their sides, Leonard behind him, the rise and fall of his chest
brushing against Barry’s back. He feels exposed, inexplicably more naked like
this, facing the whole room instead of just the narrow space between them, but
Leonard’s lips press into his shoulder and his hand comes to rub soothing
circles into Barry’s stomach and he lets the embarrassment fade into the
background.
 
It’s back full-force when Leonard’s hand slips low and curls around his leaking
cock; he yelps and twists in Leonard’s arms, his shoulder bumping hard into the
man’s chest as Barry turns to stare at him, wide eyed, pushing the hand around
him away even though it feels- gods, Barry can’t even name the feeling.

“Don’t-“ he starts, but Leonard kisses the rest of the panicked protest away.

“I know what you were taught,” he whispers against Barry’s lips, then pulls
back just enough to look at him – there’s no trace of condescension in
Leonard’s face, no sign that he thinks less of Barry for feeling this so much.
“There’s nothing shameful in taking your pleasure as well as giving it. I want
you, Barry,” and the way his voice catches, gravelly and rough, is proof enough
of that, “but if we do this… I want to do this with you, not to you. Do you
understand?”

“Yes,” Barry breathes before he surges up to kiss Leonard’s lips again, fingers
tangling in Leonard’s short curls and drawing him in. He wants this, so much,
and it’s hard to forget everything he’s ever been told about what he’s allowed,
but he tries to replace all the old notions of propriety with Leonard’s
assurances, with his kisses and touches and his heat, and it doesn’t take long
before it starts working. He smiles when he draws back from the kiss, gasping
for air just a little, and twists back around, pressing his back into Leonard’s
chest. One of Leonard’s arms snakes under his head like a pillow, settles over
his breastbone and Barry feels like his heart is trying to meet Leonard’s palm.
It’s so fitting, he thinks, that his heart would physically try to reach the
man who’s figuratively holding it: it’s a humbling thought that he could give
so much of himself to one person. He still fears it, but he has a feeling it
will pass in time.
 
And then he can’t think of much else, because Leonard’s free hand is back
around his cock, giving it a languid tug, and Barry feels something hot press
against his thighs. Instinctively, he raises one leg for better access; Leonard
brushes down his hip, to his thigh, pressing it gently back down.
 
“Keep your legs together,” he instructs, and Barry does: Leonard’s cock, longer
and thicker than Barry’s, slips through the narrow gap between his thighs and
Barry bites his cheek hard to stop himself from crying out at the sensation of
the slick head pushing against his balls. It feels so strange, like nothing
Barry could ever imagine, but he finds his hips pushing back, seeking more of
the heat. Leonard teases, his fingers curled only loosely around Barry, but
Barry’s almost gone anyway, his vision blurry as he squeezes his eyes tight,
unprepared for so much sensation at once.
 
“Does it feel good?” Leonard asks – Barry’s not coherent, and he wants to be
angry at the man for asking questions now when there’s so much else to do, to
feel. He nods; Leonard licks up his neck, lips tickling against his ear and
Barry’s jaw goes slack, releasing a strangled whine.

“I take it as a ‘yes’,” Leonard chuckles and his breath is hot and damp against
Barry’s ear. His teeth graze Barry’s neck just as his hand tightens around
Barry – and then he’s throwing one leg over Barry’s knees and he’s moving,
pushing against Barry, slick and slow and good and Barry cries again, unable to
get his jaw to work enough to clench and keep the sounds from spilling out.
 
He’s making a lot of noise, and he’s aware that he will be horribly embarrassed
of it once they’re done, but for now, Leonard’s hand around him, Leonard’s cock
sliding against his cheeks, thighs, balls, it all burns hotter than shame. His
body is torn between pushing forward into his lover’s slick palm or straining
backwards to meet Leonard’s shallow thrusts, and Barry reaches back, his hand
reaching for Leonard’s hip to keep him close.

“Leon…ard,” he groans, and the older man’s teeth graze up his neck, his breath
hot and loud so close to Barry’s ear.

“Len,” his erastes corrects shakily, “call me Len.”

Barry tries the name through another high-pitched moan when Leonard’s – Len’s –
thrusts speed up and his thumb swipes over the head of Barry’s cock: he’s past
caring about shame. His whole body draws up tight, making him tense in Len’s
arms, and he grabs the hand over his chest and twines their fingers together as
he finds his release with a drawn-out, strangled cry.
 
His body is still shuddering in aftershocks when Leonard’s cock pulses hot
between Barry’s legs and twitches, spilling all over Barry’s thighs, sticky and
searing like a brand against Barry’s skin. He sighs at the sensation, odd, yet
not unpleasant, and Leonard’s choked-off sob is enough to make Barry’s lips
stretch in a lazy smile. He doesn’t even remember sweating so much, but
Leonard’s chest is heaving against his back, skin damp and quickly cooling, and
Barry lets out a quiet chuckle.
 
“You find this… funny, huh,” Len’s voice is mostly just gasping for air, and
Barry laughs again, contentment more than amusement bubbling up, impossible to
stop. He twists in the sloppy hold of Len’s strong arms as he smiles at the
man. Len smiles back, eyes half-lidded and bright, and Barry would never
believe that ‘sated’ could be such a beautiful look on someone, that it could
make his whole chest light up like a night sky, a myriad of tiny, warm sparks
all along his ribs.

“Are you two done yet?!” Lisa’s voice carries loud and strong through the
courtyard. “By the godsyou’re loud!”
 
Len releases a painful, heartfelt groan and Barry can’t help but do the same,
turning completely to his other side as he buries his face in Len’s damp chest,
too embarrassed to ever face the world again. He doesn’t mind, though – doesn’t
mind the mess sticking his thighs together, either, even if it’s becoming maybe
a tiny bit gross. But Len’s there, arms around Barry and muttering sweetly into
his hair about all the ways he’s going to murder his sister, and Barry thinks
that maybe he can work with a little shame after all.
 
Days later, at the temple, with Len by his side for their sacrifice to the
gods, Barry walks with his head held high.
 
End Notes
     Erastes = the lover; the older man in the relationship. (plural
     'erastai')
     Eromenos = the loved one; the young man/boy.
     Harpagmos = the ritual abduction of the loved one, practiced on the
     island of Crete. The older man acquired permission to pursue the boy
     from the boy's father, then with the help of the boy's friends,
     'abducted' the boy to take him to the wilderness, where they hunted
     and feasted for two months together with the boy's friends. The
     couple made some sort of an offering to an altar somewhere during
     that period, and after the two months were up, the boy was gifted
     with an ox, a drinking cup and a set of armor, and he also had the
     right to reject the older man.
     As far as I found out, sex was not a requirement for an erastes/
     eromenos relationship. It was viewed as a bit of a 'payment', for the
     work of the older man as a mentor and teacher. The older man often
     physically desired the younger, but it was up to the boy to decide
     whether he did or did not agree to sexual activities. Some people saw
     it as more honorable and 'pure' if the relationship was kept
     platonic, while some said it was all okay as long as the boy did not
     get any pleasure himself from the act - he wasn't even supposed to
     get aroused. Anal was a big no-no since that was seen as unmanly and
     shameful, and if word got out that the boy allowed that, he could
     even have trouble getting some high-status political positions.
     Come find me on tumblr :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
