A/N: Welcome to the product of a deluded imagination. I hereby surrender my slash virginity to my Classics buddies, Alix and Fliss. But mainly Alix, who introduced me to the wonderful world of fanfiction. I suppose I should be grateful for that. This will make a hell of a lot more sense if you've read the Aeneid, but if you haven't I wouldn't recommend it. It's a boring pile of tripe.
Aeneas rested his elbows on the bow as his fleet drifted along, waiting for Pallanteum to float into view. Everything seemed to be going wrong since he had landed in Italy and he had so wished to make a fresh start, to put all his previous mistakes behind him. And here he was, rowing the wrong way up a river after some strange hallucination trying to get allies for a pointless war to fight over some girl he'd accidentally got engaged to. The Fates, it would seem, were against him. He didn't even want Lavinia, she was bloody minging, and she wore too much blusher to boot. Still, at least she didn't talk. He had a feeling she'd have a really high-pitched annoying voice if she did.
Aeneas sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He never seemed to have much luck with the ladies. Although, to be fair, that may not entirely be their fault.
He could hear footsteps approaching him and prepared for the worst. It came.
'Hey big guy,' a breathy voice practically drooled in his ear, 'what you pouting about? Need some cheering up?'
Aeneas turned round to see Achates looking hopeful; his left eyebrow raised in what he presumed was supposed to be a seductive manner. The Trojan hero shuddered. His self-titled 'right hand man' had been hounding him ever since that drunken night in Actium. Aeneas had blamed the oil of course. Olive oil can make even the most pious man...eager to try out alternative uses.
'I was just thinking about my love life. It never seems to go right, y'know? Maybe the Fates have marked me out to be alone. I was thinking of becoming a Catholic priest. What do you reckon?'
Father Aeneas rolled his eyes at the mildly confused expression on Achates' face. The joke was lost on him. He'd obviously never heard of that little underground cult. Oh well, it probably wasn't that important; it wasn't as if it would ever catch on.
He sighed again and went back to scanning the horizon. A thick plume of smoke wafted towards them bringing with it a faint hint of barbecue beef. Now this was more like it. Under Aeneas' orders, Achates skipped off like an over-excited puppy dog to find an amphora of tomato ketchup for a hostess gift.
Aeneas watched in amusement as the Arcadians ran about in blind panic when they saw the ships. 'Perhaps I should have taken the armour off first,' he mused, although considering his summer 'wardrobe', that may have shocked them more. He silently fought down a dirty grin as a figure to his left caught his eye.
A lone young man was climbing the hill next to the ship. Whatever it was that Aeneas had been thinking about previously was quickly forgotten as his eyes were drawn towards the strong thighs striding purposefully towards him. A wave of lust swept over him as his gaze travelled up to the ceremonial lion skin, which skimmed over the boy's perfect bronzed shoulders.
'What is it, warriors, that has driven you to try these new paths...'
The youth's words washed over Aeneas as his insides melted at the bold, confident voice, which somehow belied a sense of innocence. He could not have been more than 17 years old. Unable to tear himself away from those beautiful dark blue eyes, he suddenly realised why the Fates had taken his wife away from him. Aeneas broke into a wide smile as he reached for his olive branch. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.