Page 41 of Elysium

THE MORNING FOLLOWING THE INCIDENT, Penelope woke before him, his grey dusted hair splayed loosely on the pillow, the muscles in his face finally at ease. She turned on her side, admiring the man that lay next to her, the man that had finally made it home to her.

They had been through so much together, even in the short time that he had been back. She wanted to hide him away from it all, wanted to take the gods, the suitors, the turmoils of kingship, and lock it away, give him the rest he deserved.

But time was not kind, the gods were not kind. But this small thing, this brief moment that she was allowed, she was going to treasure it. Even in the wake of Eupeithes’ death, of the commotion and the unrest that continued to lurk in the halls, she would take the time she had been granted.

Slowly, cautiously, Penelope propped herself up on an elbow, taking in the god of a man before her.

Even after twenty years, he had not lost his definition.

They both were not as young as they once were, but he aged like a fine wine.

Each wrinkle in his smile, each line on his face, did nothing but deepen the love she had for him.

With a touch as light as a feather, she traced the arch of his nose, committing each plane of his face to her memory. He stirred beneath her touch, causing Penelope to freeze. He did not wake, but his arm found her waist instinctively, pulling her into him.

It was with a quiet sigh that she allowed herself to be held, to hear the sound of his heart against her ear, the even rhythm of his breath with the rise and fall of his chest.

Tears pricked at her eyes. They would not always have this. The gods were watching. This piece of the world was theirs alone, and she would pray to whatever god to extend their time.

Her eyes were drawn to a scar that was engraved upon the curve of his shoulder. The area was puckered, the white a stark contrast to the olive hue of his skin.

She stretched up, dragging a finger down the scar. She knew there were more, faded injuries from memories he hadn’t shared.

Once more, Penelope found herself biting back tears.

This man, this man, this man.

Never had there been someone so worthy of rest, so worthy of a kingdom of devotion, so worthy of peace.

Her hand laid gently on his cheek as she watched him. Gods help the soul, mortal or no, that tried to interrupt them now.

He was hers to watch over, hers to protect.

She would not let another harm him.

Odysseus drew in a quicker breath, his lips quirking up into a smile before his eyes even opened. The arm that was wrapped about his wife tightened, pulling her closer. He hummed a note of contentment in the back of his throat, nuzzling his face into the swath of her hair that clung to her neck.

“My heart,” he whispered, as though the volume of his voice could shatter the moment, “my wife.”

He wore no tunic that she could clutch, nothing that would anchor her to this moment, so she settled for the scar at his throat, tracing over it delicately.

“Where is this from?” She breathed, his eyes still not open to the rising sun yet.

His hand moved quickly, snatching hers up. He held their hands there, touching the scar, twined together. “Troy,” he replied, voice still thick with sleep. “You should have seen how they boasted about felling the Ithacan King.”

Penelope’s heart swelled as she heard the pride in his voice, the mischief she had fallen in love with. “They were agog when I rose, barely nicked by their poor aim.”

“And this one?” She asked, fingers untangling from his and returning to the scar on his shoulder. She felt his skin bristle underneath her touch.

“The cyclops, Polyphemus.” His voice sounded harder, tired. “Another failed attempt, wife.” His lips found her pulse point, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of her neck.

“So many scars,” she whispered, running her fingers down one across his chest. “So many stories.”

“All of it, I would do again,” he replied, lips brushing her ear now. “All of it led me here.”

“No,” her voice thick with tears. She couldn’t imagine him enduring even a second of it, not in this moment they had carved out.

“But I would, Penelope,” he tilted her chin up, pulling back to meet her eyes. “Over and over and over again. If it meant I could hold you. Even for a single minute.

She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t find the words to respond, so she just shook her head, doing everything she could to keep her tears from falling.

“This one?” She asked, once she could finally speak, but her voice was still only a whisper. Her fingers skirted the small scar that stretched across his wrist, invisible to most.

Never to her.

“Ah,” he uttered, closing his eyes and breathing in deep. “I angered Calypso.”

“Ody-”

“Shh, don’t fret, my queen.” He freed his hand from her grasp and rested it on her cheek. “I would do that again, too.”

“What did she do?” She swallowed her pain, her guilt. He shook his head, offering her a small shrug. “Odysseus,” she didn’t mean to beg, to plead with him, but her chest ached with the need to close his wounds, to fill his hurts.

“I…” he paused, brows furrowing as he searched for the word. “I wasn’t compliant. Tried to fight back when she-”

She shuddered, unable to compose herself before it escaped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling the tears finally win out, feeling embarrassed by her lack of control as he spoke.

He shushed her again, pressing his lips to her forehead. After a moment of silence, his hand drifted lower, settling on her collarbone. His thumb brushed across the front of her throat. “And you, wife? Where is this from?”

It would have been easy to mistake his words, for he spoke them so quietly. But as his thumb continued softly skimming her own scar, his question was unavoidable.

“Antinous,” she answered him, barely able to speak around the welt of emotion that was rising in her throat. “I wasn’t compliant, either. Not enough for him, at least.”

She felt him tense beside her, felt his entire body go rigid in her arms. “Odysseus,” she whispered, “don’t leave. Stay here, stay with me.”

“He held you, put a weapon to your throat?” His voice was louder, pupils dilated as she felt his heart begin to race.

“Odysseus,” she pleaded again, tears finally escaping down her cheeks. She took his face in her hands, pulling him down to meet her. She pressed her lips against his, the taste of him mixing with the salt that coated her lips now.

He stilled against her kiss, the tension in his limbs refusing to give way. As she clung to him, a quiet sob escaped her, and try as she might to withhold her climbing emotions, her husband was suddenly so distant, she was crumbling.

Penelope pulled back from him, tears falling in rivulets now. This moment, the one moment they could have spent together, forgetting all the pressure of the world, and she had tarnished it.

His eyes moved rapidly, as if searching her face for an answer to an unasked question. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to match his gaze, but she was rapidly coming undone.

The man before her took in a sharp breath, the color returning to his eyes as they settled on hers. His hand, where he held her, where he had traced her scar, tightened.

His grip didn’t hurt, but it elicited a return gasp from Penelope.

That was all he needed.

Odysseus let go of his own sob, a dam breaking before her.

His hands shifted, clutching at her as his lips met hers.

Penelope whimpered against him, and suddenly, they weren’t just two people weighed down by grief, by gods, by fate.

They were Odysseus and Penelope, the storm and the shore, two halves of a whole finally crashing together.

His movements were erratic, he was a man unrestrained. He pushed her shoulders, pressing her into the mattress. His chest heaved as he positioned himself over her, never breaking the kiss.

It wasn’t desire that Penelope felt coursing through her body, not that she didn't want to be here, wrapped up in his arms. But this felt bigger than lust, bigger than passion.

This was healing her, healing them.

His lips left hers, trailing down to her neck. He nipped gently at the spot where her heart hammered before continuing lower. Briefly, he paused, his lips hovering over the scar on her throat.

Penelope arched up into him, lacing her fingers through his unkempt hair, anchoring herself, anchoring him . Odysseus shifted, lips still featherlight on her throat. “Penelope,” he purred against her skin, hand pressing gently into her hip. “Penelope.”

It was a plea, a promise, permission.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “We are here.”

For the second time, he stilled, frozen in time. She could hear his labored breaths, feel his hands trembling against her skin. She untangled her hands from his hair, cupping his cheek. Penelope forced him to meet her gaze, her own eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“Odysseus,” she brushed a lock of his hair off of his face, inhaling sharply as she saw his own cheeks stained with tears. “Let us be whole.” She whispered into the morning air, clinging to him as if he were the only raft in a turbulent ocean.

“I-” he stumbled over his words, eyes searching her face, hesitating.

“No thrones,” she breathed, pulling him down to meet her. She brushed her lips against his. “No gods.”

Her husband, her king, smiled gently against her. “No kingdoms.”

They came together. His lips captured hers, sharing messy kisses, frantic touches. Penelope couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t get enough of him.

As Odysseus shifted, aligned, he took one of her hands in his, pressing it to the mattress above them. “Odysseus,” she sighed, body aflame, hers once more.

Her thumb dragged down his wrist, finding the scar, his own reminder of everything they had sacrificed.

Everything they had given up to be whole again.

He clutched at her hand, at her hip, rooting himself, rooting her.

“Penelope, I-” his breathing was ragged, his voice raw with the warmth, the passion that had ignited between them.

“I love you.” His words were not soft, they were not the words spoken by a gentle lover.

They were desperate, a plea into the world around him.

Like she might vanish underneath him before he could finish his declaration.

Her heart was racing in her chest, pulse climbing higher with every touch, every shift. Tears pricked at her eyes. She clung to his arm. "Odysseus," she whimpered, overcome with need, with the sheer, unbearable ache of him.

Of this.

Of now.

Her body, their bodies, wound tighter and tighter. Arrows waiting to be loosed, chords waiting to be strung. They teetered, standing on the precipice. “Odysseus,” she breathed, “Odysseus,”

The only god she would pray to.

The only one she would worship.

For a moment, the entirety of the world stilled. There was only him, only this. The way he moved against her, the way his lips captured her own.

The way his breath sounded in the silence, the way their whispered pleas echoed off of the walls.

And then…

Nothing.

Silence.

Nothing but him.

As her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, she felt him burying his face into her neck, holding her closer still. His body relaxed, pressing into hers. She held him, hands in his hair, on his arms, across his back.

“My wife,” he whispered. She could still hear the thickness around his words, the tightness in his voice.

Penelope hummed a gentle note in response, in contentment.

Odysseus let out a gentle laugh, the sound warming the queen to her very bones. He lifted his head, gazing down at her. His eyes were filled with so much reverence, Penelope almost shied away from it. “I don’t want to move,” he murmured, a gentle grin gracing his features.

“Then don’t,” she replied softly, running a hand through his hair. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm. “The world can wait, husband, just for a little while.”