Troy/Iliad fanfiction

Hector/Paris, Helenus, NC-17

Summary: Hector has compromised. Now he has to face the consequences.

~*~

You are free once you understand that your bondage is of your own making and you cease to forge the chains that bind you.

-- Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Hector lay warm and naked, breathing through his mouth, tied facedown on a thick layers of fur covering the bed.

The temple room was dim, only one small torch burning in a corner, making shadows flicker on the wall.

His fever was a haze inside his head, trapping him in a world as dim as the room around him. It made his body too hot and his vision blur, and no matter how hard he tried he could not make himself think clearly.

In a moment of weakness he had buckled, and compromised, and had let something terrible into his mind. He felt it almost unceasingly now, desire the size of the heavens forced into the confines of his mortal body, a mere man who in his waking nightmares had stumbled into a terrifying realm of pleasure and subjugation.

He whined softly in his throat, stirring infinitesimally against the bindings on his wrists and ankles as anxiety gnawed at his mind.

When had he last been in the fields? Was this night on the first or second day since then? How long this time had he been lying here, unable even to acknowledge the responsibilities in his life. His face flooded with color as he searched for something about himself he could recognize. Strength, self-control, power…

He silently prayed to any god who cared to listen. But he knew he prayed in vain, because he prayed for a desire to leave this place, and the goddess who granted desires was not on his side.

Even though his captor was not lying next to him, or on top of him, setting every inch of his skin on fire, Hector felt his presence. The feel of his strong hands, his hot mouth, his long legs wrapped around his. The sensation that he was taking his time to devour Hector piece by piece. The show of claim over him by leaving him tied to this bed, spread limb from limb…

Hector groaned softly, and his hips began to move. He pushed helplessly into the bed, then stopped when he realized he could move.

He wasn’t tied to the bed.

He pulled his arms forward and stared hazily at his wrists, to see for himself what his mind was trying to do to him. Stunned, he brought his wrist to his mouth and bit into the flesh.

Then he heard a soft creaking.

He turned and saw Paris sitting in a chair by the window. Hector’s heart slammed. It was Paris, but it was also more than Paris, smiling at him from under half-lidded eyes and a dark halo of curls. His legs were spread wide and his red mouth glistening faintly in the torch light.

As he casually stroked his fingers over his thigh the motion seemed to kindle a golden fire in his body that glowed stronger and stronger as Hector watched.

Paris looked more beautiful than Hector thought he could bare, and he groaned under the realization that he never wanted to leave this room.

It pained him that they were so far apart.

“Xandros,” he heard himself calling.

Paris stood up and Hector closed his eyes and felt long, lean legs slide over his hips. As Paris’s buttocks settled against the curve of his, his mind began to shut down so that nothing existed but the thing sitting on top of him. The thing in the form of Paris that made his heart beat with fear, and his groin ache for release.

He felt Paris’s hand push in and tangle in his hair. Every bead and strip of cloth meant to keep the long locks out of his face was long discarded, and his dark curls tumbled carelessly down his back.

Paris was wrapping the locks around his wrist until any slight movement Hector made caused a gentle tug on his scalp. Pleasure radiated into his head. He didn’t even react when he felt a hot dribble from his shoulders down along his spine. Instead he panted softly, lifting his head slightly to accommodate Paris’s pull on his hair as he spilled oil and slid down his body.

Then there was a muted clang as the goblet landed on the rug next to the bed. Paris’s free hand began kneading into the muscles of his back, and Hector’s panting stuck on a long, deep groan. The vastness of the goddess descend on him.

His head spun, and when it stopped his erection was bent painfully against the softness of the furs. Paris reached under him and smoothed the stiff length flat against his stomach, then pressed his hips back down into the bed.

Then he slowly began to rise and fall over Hector’s slippery back, one hand still kneading possessively into his muscles, the other anchored in his hair. He felt Paris’s hard erection slide up and down his back and heard himself begging for more. Color rose over his face, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Paris dropped his head into his nape and sucked on his skin, flicking his tongue to the rhythm of his thrusts. “You used to mock me that I never rode my horse into battle,” he panted softly against Hector’s skin. “Why would I ever care to ride a horse into battle, when I can ride you?”

Humiliation seared right through Hector, yet he grew harder. Paris began to move faster on his back, shifting his head until he was licking Hector’s lips. “Brother…” he moaned into Hector’s mouth, and Hector’s breathing cut off. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as his cock began to spurt under him.

*****

Paris held as still as he could manage while having Hector’s huge body trembling between his legs and his thick length half buried inside him.

As he watched Hector’s face, he once again calmed himself with a massive breathing effort, the knowledge that Hector would not be going anywhere the only thing keeping him from tearing into him.

His fingers dug into the wooden tabletop as he watched Hector’s eyes drop to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, Paris licked his mouth and watched Hector’s mouth drop open. He let go of the table and grasped the buckled sides of the decorated leather breastplate that was the only thing Hector was wearing.

Paris pulled forward and pressed his nose into the ridges of the armor, a gift he’d had made for Hector, a gift he already loved for the irony that Hector showed no interest in using it for battle. Paris licked, then inhaled deeply of the leather and shuddered hard.

“Hold still,” Hector rasped.

“I am trying,” he wailed quietly.

He knew what Hector was trying to do, that he was trying to meet Paris half way, grasping for something like control between them. He was trying to demonstrate it now by controlling their pace, only sweating and breathing steadily in and out, his hands shaking where he gripped Paris under his knees to spread his thighs.

It was driving Paris to dementia. Hector’s cock was twitching inside him, causing spasm after spasm of tight pleasure to shoot through his groin. The goddess winged mercilessly through him, and he had no desire to resist her demands.

He dropped his forehead into the warm space where Hector’s shoulder met his neck and lifted his knees higher in Hector’s hands. He dug his fingers into Hector’s lower back, silently pulling him forward as firmly and as patiently as he knew how.

“Alexandros,” Hector groaned quietly into his temple.

Paris rubbed his temple insistently across Hector’s mouth, feeling his warm lips press in, his teeth scraping gently. His temple was wet with sweat and saliva. Paris groaned. “I want—”

“I know,” Hector croaked. He pressed his lips to Paris’s ear. “But allow me.”

“But I am,” Paris gritted. He turned his head and clamped his teeth on Hector’s jaw. Hector inhaled sharply but didn’t move. Paris scraped his teeth on the short hairs of his beard, trying to make him react.

“Stop it,” Hector whimpered, and lifted his chin higher, away from Paris’s mouth.

Paris moaned in frustration and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them again he saw that Hector was licking the perfect curve of his lower lip, staring down at his cock still only half buried inside Paris.

“Gods, Hector!” Paris cried, and abruptly slid forward on the table, taking Hector all the way inside him. Hector bucked in surprise, then Paris was clutching the armholes of the splendid new breastplate and arching sharply backwards as Hector finally began to slam the table into the wall with the force of his thrusts.

*****

“Help me break these chains.”

The back section of Apollo’s temple was deserted, which was expected at dusk when sacrifices and worship were done for the day. But Hector had specifically asked for privacy, and the priests had cleared out the temple.

He had managed to make himself get out of Paris’s rooms in Aphrodite’s temple and had been shamed and disgusted to discover that this time he had been in there for three straight days.

It was the longest yet he had been off the fields at a stretch and he could not face Acamas’s piercing gaze, or listen to Sarpedon’s condescending scolding about slacking on his duties.

So instead he had washed, scrubbing himself clean of every whiff of scented oil Paris had rubbed into his body, and had come straight here.

He came to pray for Apollo’s protection. In the past he had scoffed and been prideful at the gods. But for the past few weeks while lying with mind-rotting lust under Paris, Hector had had plenty of time for contrition.

So while he waited on his knees for Apollo to hear his plea, he tried to put his mind back together again.

Yet he knew that once he returned to the incubus of Paris’s presence he would forget all his efforts and greedily revert to his slavery.

He told himself he wanted more than anything to change his fate.

Eventually he became aware that he wasn’t alone in the altar room. He listened to the person breathing almost imperceptibly behind him, listened to the way they moved slowly towards him.

“Helenus,” he finally acknowledged.

His younger brother stepped up to his side and stopped. “It has been a while since you came in here, Hector.”

Hector said nothing. What could he say.

“Well, it is a blessing that the gods are less fickle in their loyalties than men, then.”

Still Hector said nothing, though he knew it to be the opposite. But when Helenus meant to admonish or instruct, interrupting him to contradict was pointless.

Helenus shrugged casually. “Deserved or not, you have always been Apollo’s beloved.”

Hector frowned at the ground. “I have never felt it to be so.”

“Yet you called, but once, and he answered.”

Hector turned and looked up at his brother. Helenus smiled as was his way, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. His dark curls were bound in swirls at his nape, identical to how his twin sister, Cassandra, wore hers. But where Cassandra was vague, Helenus was the very paragon of composure, and none could read his thoughts unless he wished it.

Helenus claimed to speak with foresight from the gods, and whether or not Hector believed him, his brother had a formidable, inspired mind and Hector knew to listen. His advice, providential or not, was what he needed at the moment.

“If Apollo favors me above all others why does he let me suffer?”

“In what way?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

Helenus said nothing, refusing to be goaded.

Hector turned away, knowing he was only trying to put off saying words that he feared if spoken, might become absolute. But he had to speak. Finally he pushed the words from his mouth.

“I am in bondage.”

His brother was silent for a few moments, standing as still as the statue of the god above them. Then he said, “To…?”

Hector thought about his answer, and after a few moments replied, “Another.”

“No man is in bondage against his will.”

“But I have no will left.”

Helenus stayed silent. Then he sighed and said, “Well, if that is how you feel, then stay bound.”

Hector glared at him, and Helenus stared back evenly.

“No one,” Helenus chided, “can accuse you, Hector, of such a thing as a loss of will.”

“Not even myself?” Hector felt himself growing angry without knowing why. “I only have desire for one thing, and it leaves no room for anything else. I cannot be beholden to two forces that pull in opposite directions.”

“Ah,” Helenus sighed in realization. “You have no will left to fight for Troy.”

“It is there,” Hector insisted faintly. “I merely have to find it again…”

“If your desire for this… other binds you so absolutely that you have no wish to be free,” Helenus raised his hand to stop Hector’s interruption, “then re-forge the chains to your liking. You are Hector, Troy’s greatest warrior, and you have more will than whole battalions of men. You can do this much.”

Hector scowled in silence, his mind a jumble of thoughts. Finally he said, “Is this what Apollo sees as help to one he considers beloved?”

Helenus stared down at him. “I think you are not too prideful that you think to fool the gods.” He turned and walked to the door and as he reached it he said, “There are chains even the Titians cannot break.”

Hector crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the floor. It was good that Helenus had left, because there was nothing more to say. It was time for him to think.

*****

Paris didn’t bother putting on his armor when he went into the fields that evening. The fighting was done for the day, and the only reason he was out here was because he’d been mildly surprised to wake up that morning to find Hector gone. But he wasn’t worried, since Hector usually left after a couple of days and returned the same night.

Paris caught himself smiling voracious at nearly every passing soldier on the field.

Ever since Hector had stopped running from him, his appetite for lovemaking had become like an endless gust of wind on the Aegean. He breathed and lived Hector, and every waking moment in between Paris’s only interest was to find new ways to pleasure him when they did meet again.

Paris bent his head to hide his widening smile as he pushed into Hector’s tent. But he couldn’t hide his surprise when he saw that the tent was full of soldiers and realized that they were all still in a strategy session.

Paris looked around in bewilderment. It was much too late for the nightly meeting to be going on. His eyes settled on Hector, but Hector wasn’t looking at him. He was busily asking questions of several soldiers.

He shrugged and took a seat somewhere to Hector’s right. When Hector hadn’t come into Troy, he had simply assumed he was to come out and spend the night in his tent.

As far as he could see, everyone in the tent, including Hector, looked completely exhausted. And as he listened, it became clear that they had long since exhausted any reason to still be in session.

But Hector wasn’t letting them leave. He kept pressing on, as if he meant to keep them there all night.

Paris suddenly realized what Hector was doing and his laughter burst out of him before he could stop it. He had to cough several times before everyone accepted that it was indeed merely a cough, and turned back to their business. Hector hadn’t looked at him.

Paris sighed silently. Hector had stopped running, but that didn’t mean he had become easy. Nothing with Hector was easy. He fought anything that was good for him until the very last second. Paris caught himself smiling, because it was always worth it. Because once that second was past, Hector took his pleasure harder than five men combined.

Paris felt his cock heat up and begin to stiffen. He spread his legs a little wider. To his delight he saw that Hector reacted, even without looking in his direction. He sighed again. When was this session going to end. Perhaps he should go outside and cause a commotion.

After a few moments Paris noticed the rapt look on the face of the soldier kneeling on one knee beside Hector’s chair. It seemed the session was in fact drawing to a close at last and everyone else was leaving, but Hector, Acamas and three other men remained talking.

Paris stared at the kneeling soldier, wondering why he wasn’t sitting or standing like the others. Perhaps it was because this way he could talk more privately with Hector, who had his head bent towards him and was whispering to him.

Paris frowned as Hector’s hand settled on the soldier’s arm. The man turned his face slightly and Paris saw that it was Polydamas, a Trojan and one of Hector’s top lieutenants. His frowned deepened. He had nothing against Polydamas, in fact he had at one time wanted him in his bed.

But that was the very problem. Polydamas was as near perfect as a man and a soldier could be. He was tall and beautiful, and had all the virtues Paris knew Hector held dear.

Paris stood up, not caring at that moment to enumerate what those virtues might be, and walked over to the small group. Acamas smiled at him and Paris smiled back stiffly. He moved closer to him.

“Prince Paris,” Acamas nodded to him. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Paris hadn’t taken his eyes off the soldier. “Is he always like that?”

Acamas followed his gaze, then chuckled. “Most times, yes. He makes no front of his, ah, devotion to Hector.” Acamas stopped laughing when he saw the look on Paris’s face. He cleared his throat. “Prince Hector is a noble and honorable man.”

“Prince Hector is my— brother.”

“Of course.”

Paris seethed in silence. Why was this happening now, when he and Hector were finally beginning to find each other. Perhaps he should try and calm himself. He had Hector. If he walked over right now and sat astride Hector’s lap Hector would forget this man, like he forgot the entire city.

But Paris couldn’t make himself look away, and he abandoned trying. “What is he talking to Hector about?”

“Prince Hector lost his chariot driver again, and Polydamas wishes to take him into battle tomorrow.”

Paris stared in disbelief at Acamas. “But he is one of our chieftains, and is above driving a chariot. Even if it is Hector’s.”

“Which is what your brother is insisting. But I don’t think Hector can ignore the fact that aside from being an excellent charioteer, Polydamas is one of the finest strategists in our alliance. Tomorrow we’ll need both those skills to effect our—”

“He is leaving.”

They watched in silence as Polydamas left, followed by the other two soldiers. Paris walked over to Hector and stood in front of him.

“I assume you firmly told him no.”

Hector looked up at him with a stunned expression. Paris faltered at the look in Hector’s eyes, but stood his ground.

“Well,” he pressed, “his request isn’t reasonable…”

Acamas made a small sound behind them and excused himself to leave. Hector stood up, and Paris took a step backwards.

“If you come into battle tomorrow, you can see for yourself whether he will be driving my chariot.”

Hector’s voice was very quiet, and Paris knew he should heed the unspoken warning in it. But instead, as Hector left the tent with Acamas, he stood there growing more irritable by the minute.

He decided to speak with Polydamas. All he wanted was an understanding.

When Paris came upon them, Hector’s four horses stood with their reins and bridle still on them and attached to the center pole, but neither Polydamas nor the chariot itself was anywhere in sight.

Paris stood indecisive, stroking the neck of the stallion closest to him. Polydamas had just been given permission to drive the chariot, so he must have only just unharnessed the horses to look the chariot over. He wished to resolve this matter this night, but he also wanted to return as soon as possible to Hector’s tent.

As he tried to think of how to handle the situation, the horses shifted restlessly beside him. Without thinking about what he was doing he unharnessed all four horses of their bridles and dropped the reins in a heap at his feet.

The moment he did so he saw the wild look in the horses’ eyes, and realized too late why they had remained harnessed. They neighed loudly, reared on their hind legs and bolted as one.

Paris watched in horror as the huge stallions tore away, raced fifty paces, abruptly turned to avoid a group of soldiers, then headed straight back in his direction. Their manes streaked behind them and their eyes blazed black and wild as they thundered straight for him.

Soldiers shouted and scattered out of the way, but Paris’s heart stopped and he froze where he stood. Then his knees buckled.

He hit the ground hard and didn’t realize his eyes were shut until a roar rent the night air. His eyes flew open and his heart kicked in his chest as he saw the horses scream to a halt not two feet in front of where Hector stood with his arms outstretched.

The horses whipped around again, but Hector had caught the mane of the leader and swung himself onto its back. Paris choked in shock as the horses tore away again with Hector wrestling his charge.

It took only another second for him to understand that he should not be there when Hector returned.

He fled into Troy.

It wasn’t until he was hurrying into the safety of his courtyard that Paris could release the deep, shuddering breath he’d been holding.

He shook from head to toe. He had to avoid Hector for a day, maybe two, before he tried to explain anything. He hadn’t forgotten the look Hector had given him when he had brought up Polydamas in the tent, and Hector would think he had intentionally set those horses free.

He thought fast. His father’s rooms were probably the safest place he could go to right now. Hector would control his fury in Priam’s presence.

Paris spun on his heels, and slammed into Hector’s chest.

He yelped but was snatched off his feet. Hector’s arm locked around his waist and Paris yelled even louder as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet his face, until he realized he was being carried parallel to the ground.

His face flooded with color but all he could do was grip Hector’s thigh and hold on as Hector kicked open his front door.

“Leave, leave, leave!” Hector bellowed into the house without breaking his stride. He pounded down the hallway towards Paris’s bedroom as if he carried nothing but a bale of silk under his arm.

Paris felt his face burn hotter as he heard the loud noises and rushing feet of his servants running out. He frantically prayed that none of them looked down the hallway before they left.

Halfway down, Hector abruptly stopped, turned him upright, and slammed him into the wall. Paris thought his heart would burst with fear. He blinked rapidly, trying to assess the extremity of Hector’s rage.

When he saw Hector’s face his heart pounded to a stop. He had never seen Hector so enraged. His hair curled wildly around his face, his face was flushed dark, his eyes completely black, and his breaths snorted out of his flared nostrils like a minotaur.

He was the absolute magnificence of Apollo himself.

And he was looking down at him as though he finally knew just what to do.

Paris felt lightening strike his body and before he was done gasping, his erection was complete.

His hands scrambled weakly to grip Hector’s shoulders as with one swift movement Hector raised and pushed his knees into his chest.

“All because of a chariot driver,” Hector hissed. “All because you think I am a prize from a goddess.”

Paris cupped his shaking hands around each side of Hector’s neck, his tongue burning to push into his mouth. But when he tried to lean forward Hector held him in place with his body and slowly pushed his knees harder into his chest, pinning him against the wall.

He pressed his stomach muscles into Paris’s groin and breathed slowly but harshly. “Is this the grip of a man you own?” he asked through his teeth.

Paris began to keen loudly.

“Is it, you coward!”

“N-no!”

“Then stop it!” he shouted so loudly that Paris jerked against him and began to climax into his stomach. Hector pressed tight into him, bracing him against the wall, his forehead pressed flat against it.

When Paris stopped, Hector pulled back and dragged him into his bedroom. Paris heard himself moaning, clutching at Hector, unable to think about anything but wanting that force pounding into him. He felt Hector’s hands cover his, place them on the top row of the splendid armor rack occupying one wall. His hands were strapped down with leather, his legs kicked apart, his hips pulled backwards.

Hector was on his knees behind him, spreading him and biting his flesh. Paris quivered, but when he felt Hector’s tongue against his entrance, he immediately began shrieking. The pleasure that had coiled painfully inside him threatened to snap. Hector sensed so and instead stood up and pushed into him with one long thrust.

Hector was rough, rode him roughly, fisted him roughly. Paris felt his calloused hands all over him, his hard thighs pounding into him from behind. Then Hector was bending over him, pressing his chest flush with Paris’s back, growling taunts in his ear, deriding him.

Hector panted in quick hard breaths, his hands sweeping up to clamp down and squeeze on the muscles over Paris’s chest. He growled and trembled and clawed, slamming into Paris as though trying to break him.

Hector was coming apart around him, and Paris’s fingers splintered the wooden rack as he screamed Hector’s name over and over until he felt himself erupt. He remembered ramming himself backwards into Hector’s groin, he remembered being unable to stop. Then he remembered nothing else.

When Paris became aware again, he was lying on his back with his wrists bound and resting on his thighs. Hector sat astride his chest, clothed.

He opened his mouth to speak but Hector calmly placed a finger over his own mouth.

“We no longer have a compromise, Alexandros,” he said. “I have seen for myself what a compromise with you means, and for as long as I am defender of this city and have a will, I am not willing to live like that.”

Paris stared up at him, taking slow deep breaths in time with his heart.

Hector continued. “We now have a game. But I will play it with you only to my liking. Do you understand?”

Paris nodded languidly.

“So when I say stop, what happens?”

“We stop.”

“Yes, we stop. Until I say when we start again. Because what am I?”

Paris felt a smile pull on the corner of his mouth, and heated up when Hector returned it equally dangerously.

“Because you are Hector,” Paris whispered.

“Yes," Hector said. "Now, I am going to undo your bindings and return to the fields and fight for Troy. You are free to come after me whenever you like. But beware that I am no longer afraid of you.”

Then Hector shifted backwards off Paris’s hands and cut his ropes.

He leaned down, supporting himself on his clenched fist, and pulled Paris up by the back of the head.

He slowly pressed his open mouth over Paris’s, and pushed his tongue inside. Paris wrapped his legs around Hector’s thighs and tangled his tongue over Hector’s until he began to whine in his throat.

Hector pulled away and got off him. Paris watched on propped elbows as Hector tossed the dagger to the floor, turned and looked at him once more, and walked out of the room.

He dropped flat on his back and gasped ecstatically at the wooden ceiling. He needed an entirely new type of rack.

~*~