Archive of Our Own ^beta

Telemachus was used to sleeping in his father’s bed.  He couldn’t remember ever not sleeping there, held in Odysseus’ arms as if his father were using him as a cuddle toy the way Telemachus liked to hug Little Argos when he was younger.

He was getting a little too old to be sleeping in his father’s room, Telemachus knew that.  He was eleven now; he should be in his own bed.

But Odysseus never insisted he leave, and it was nice to have a few hours of uninterrupted time with his dad.  As the King, Odysseus was always busy during the day.  With Penelope, Telemachus’ mother, away fighting the Trojans for her cousin Helen, Odysseus had to take care of everything himself.

Telemachus tried to help, and he was learning, but he was also just a prince.  He didn’t really have much power yet.  He couldn’t make important decisions.

But he could let Odysseus hold him in his sleep.  Telemachus was pretty sure it was helpful.  His father cried in his sleep if he didn’t have someone to hold.  Knowing that he was letting Odysseus sleep happily was enough to excuse the… bad nights.

Odysseus didn’t do it intentionally, Telemachus was sure.  He was never awake, anyway.  It was just that… Some nights, his father’s... penis would get hard.  It would stick out of his nightclothes and wake Telemachus up by poking him in whatever happened to be pressed to Odysseus’ hips.

It wasn’t… it was weird.  Odysseus would make sounds and shuffle around, trying to poke Telemachus harder with his hard penis until he eventually settled down again.  He wouldn’t mention it in the morning.

Telemachus was used to it.  It wasn’t like it happened every night, after all.  If his dad needed to do that in his sleep sometimes, Telemachus would put up with it.  It was preferable to having Odysseus wake up crying because his arms were empty.

This night, though, he was being more insistent than usual.  Telemachus sighed quietly in irritation as Odysseus poked his penis into the back of Telemachus’ thigh.  He was mumbling something that sounded like “Elopee”, but Telemachus wasn’t certain what he meant.

Telemachus glanced up at Odysseus’ face.  He was very asleep.  Telemachus didn’t really want to wake him just yet…

Telemachus slowly pulled up his nightgown and lifted his leg, feeling Odysseus’ hard penis slide down until it was resting on top of Telemachus’ other thigh, rather than poking into his top one.  It sat there and twitched a little, pulsing like a heartbeat.

With a satisfied grin, Telemachus lowered his leg again, trapping his father’s troublesome penis between his legs.  It throbbed there even as Odysseus shifted his hips and mumbled some more, unable to move much as Telemachus snuggled back against his father, pleased with his solution.

That smugness faded when he felt liquid drip onto his thigh.

He forgot about that part.

Sometimes Odysseus’ penis would leak something that Telemachus was only mostly sure wasn’t pee.  It happened rarely enough that Telemachus ignored it whenever it did happen, but now it was actively dripping onto his thighs, not just escaping in single little dots of fluid.

Telemachus reached down his front until he found the tip of Odysseus’ penis poking out from between his legs.  It was leaking, alright, and Odysseus moaned in his ear when he slid his fingers over it, trying to pinch it shut.

He couldn’t, and it was making Odysseus move more, hips twitching back and forth like he was trying to escape Telemachus’ fingers.

Telemachus immediately felt bad.  He knew penises were really sensitive.  It probably didn’t feel good to have Telemachus pinching at the tip of it.

He brought his hand away from Odysseus’ penis and winced when Odysseus moaned again, sounding unhappy.  Telemachus had hurt him.  What could he-

Telemachus remembered, suddenly, something Odysseus used to do to his small cuts and bruises that made him feel better.  But he didn’t want to leave Odysseus’ arms.

With a grin, Telemachus kissed his fingers and pressed them to the tip of Odysseus’ penis again, rubbing little circles into it to make sure the kiss transferred.  The noise Odysseus made when he did that certainly sounded nicer than the one he’d made before.

His penis was leaking even more now, though.  Telemachus wiped his other hand across his thigh and, with a huff, reached behind him and smeared it down Odysseus’ clothed belly, all the way to the throbbing root of his stupid penis.

Telemachus, despite the awkward angle, squeezed it tight, mostly to see if that would stop the leaking.

Odysseus bucked his hips against him, making Telemachus release him in shock.  He quickly looked up to see if his father had woken up, but no, Odysseus was still asleep.  His brow was furrowed, though, made worse by the contrast of their single candle, and his breathing was heavy.

Telemachus frowned and glanced down at the hard penis between his thighs.  Holding it like he was made Telemachus’ own soft penis look small and shriveled in comparison.  Maybe keeping it hard was uncomfortable?  How could Telemachus convince Odysseus to make it soft again without waking him up?

Telemachus kept rubbing the tip of his father’s penis as he thought, helping keep all the leakage from dripping onto his thighs or worse, the bed beneath them.  It also let him smear it back onto Odysseus’ penis, which made the tug of his movements smoother and less painful.

Suddenly, Odysseus lurched toward Telemachus, half-trapping him under his body weight as one of his massive legs flopped over Telemachus’, pressing his thighs together even more.  Telemachus let out a muffled shriek before freezing as Odysseus moaned in his ear again and a thick, cloying wetness began to spread over Telemachus’ thighs.

Telemachus whined a little.  That was almost certainly pee.  He’d made his father wet the bed.  That wasn’t what he meant to do at all.

Odysseus let out a satisfied sigh, and Telemachus decided that was… probably okay.  Anything that made his father smile in his sleep for once was a good thing.

“P’nel’pe,” Odysseus murmured, and Telemachus smiled a little.

It was definitely okay.  Odysseus was remembering his wife with happiness.  That was so rare nowadays.

Telemachus snaked a hand down to where Odysseus’ penis was shrinking down, going soft again.  He patted it.  If it was able to make his father this happy, Telemachus would forgive it the mess it made.

It wasn’t easy to fall asleep in the mess, but Telemachus managed it.

He would help clean it up in the morning.