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Shattered, But the Prettiest Artworks are Often Mosaics by friendlyforrest
Fandoms: EPIC - Jorge Rivera-Herrans (Albums), The Odyssey - Homer
21 Jun 2025
Tags
Summary
Telemachus clenches his hands at his side and tries to take deep breaths, suddenly remembering that he does need to breathe. He can still feel them; their grips. He always does. Lingering like ghosts and haunting him like phantoms. He feels them even when he sleeps.
The breaths come as pants, stilted and he’s sure that none of it is going in his lungs. Or perhaps he’s breathing too fast? He can see the way his chest heaves. It’s too fast— or he’s in slow motion… he can’t think. Properly. Or at all. There a hand in his hair, pulling him back and—
Telemachus leaps away from the wall, looking wildly around the room. It felt real. Too real. Everything feels too real now. He thought that the realness would be a comfort. But it isn’t. It’s too much. It’s always too much and there’s laughter that’s real in his ears, hands on his waist, lips against his skin, and a cock in his—
He’s throwing open the door and running through the halls, the voices of the two guards calling out after him. Telemachus doesn’t heed them. His bare feet slap against the tiles as he runs.
Series
- Part 2 of Brighter Than the Stars Themselves