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“You can’t keep leaving bodies on my doorstep,” Telemachus says, dropping his briefcase on the counter and leaning against it, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“It’s not on your doorstep, love,” Antinous’s voice drifts out of the hallway. Of course he left the lights off so Telemachus couldn’t actually see him in the gloom of the evening. Creep.
“You’re leaving bodies in
my
city,
for me,”
he snaps. “That’s practically on my doorstep. They’re thinking about assigning an agent to me over this.”
“You
are
an agent.” Antinous slinks into the kitchen. His eyes rake up and down Telemachus’s body. Telemachus scowls at him.
“An agent who has a serial killer stalker with an unhealthy obsession,” Telemachus retorts. Antinous cross the room. He moves around the counter. Telemachus should be upset at the lack of a barrier between them. Telemachus stopped being upset about these kinds of things a long time ago.
“You like it,” Antinous whispers, pressing up against Telemachus’s back. He presses a kiss to the back of his neck before turning Telemachus around. His fingers are careful as he undoes his tie, sliding it off his neck and dropping it to the floor.
“I don’t,” Telemachus breathes but he’s leaning forward to catch Antinous’s mouth in a kiss.
“You do,” Antinous counters, backing out of reach. Telemachus makes a frustrated noise. “Otherwise you’d have told your team how to catch me.”“What makes you think I haven’t?” Telemachus asks and Antinous pauses, searching Telemachus’s face before surging forward and catching him in a bruising kiss. He bites his way down his neck and Telemachus curses inwardly because there’s no way he’ll be able to hide those in the morning. The thought is driven out his head when Antinous begins hungrily working his shirt open.
Telemachus yanks him back up to kiss him again, jumping backwards up onto the counter. He bites down
hard.
His pants feel too tight and he makes a needy noise when Antinous pulls back, pupils blown and licking his lips. Telemachus can’t stop staring at how swollen it is.
“If you did,” he breathes. “I’d go quietly. I’d even cover for you so they never knew about all our little get-togethers. I’d let you think you were safe. And then I’d find you and crack your ribs open one by one before I pulled your still beating heart out.”
“Antinous,” Telemachus whines, tugging on his hair. That shouldn’t be hot, it
is
hot and he rolls his hips forward.
Antinous loses patience. Telemachus quietly mourns the loss of his shirt and his belt is quickly thrown somewhere to the side after he laughed at Antinous struggling with it. He’s spun around, pants shoved down past his hips, and prepped quickly. The burn is almost too much but that’s how he likes it, wanting to be able to feel Antinous in the morning, the next couple of days until the ache finally fades and he can pretend he’s not fucking one of the country’s most prolific serial killers while being one of the agents being assigned to catch him.
Antinous is biting along his back and shoulders, leaving bruise after bruise, proof of his claim. Telemachus’s hips are digging into the edge of the counter, feet barely finding purchase on the floor. He’d finally filled out some as he’d gotten older but his height had, tragically, stayed the same. He can’t count the number of times some jackass had tried to use their height to intimidate him.
When he comes, he bites his forearm, muffling his moan as Antinous speeds up, following soon after and leaving an impressive mark on his shoulder. They slump together over his counter, panting, until Antinous slowly pulls out. Telemachus hisses at the empty feeling and Antinous drops an apologetic kiss on his neck.
“Sorry, little wolf,” he says. There’s a wash of cool air over Telemachus’s backside and he knows Antinous is checking out his handiwork. Telemachus rolls his eyes but stays still until he hears his jeans being done back up. He turns around, watching Antinous right himself before helping himself to a water in the fridge and heading back down the hall, no doubt to wherever he used as an entrance. Probably the study window. The lock has been busted for months and Telemachus just hasn’t gotten around to fixing it.
“See you around,” Antinous calls.
“Sure,” Telemachus says. He waits fifteen minutes, kicking his pants off the rest of the way, toeing his shoes off and gets a water for himself, standing in the kitchen naked and drinking slowly. When fifteen minutes are up and he’s sure he’s alone, fishes his phone out of his briefcase.
His thumb hesitates over the call button for a second before he calls Athena.