Troy/Iliad fanfiction

Hector/Paris, NC-17

Summary: A truce has been called in the fighting. Priam wants his Trojans to reaffirm life. Paris knows just how. Hector just wants some peace and quiet.

~*~

The temple of the goddess was overflowing with tokens and Trojans.

Along every wall and around every stone altar were heaps of roses, fruits and pomegranates, and sweet fragrances emanated from everywhere. Silk and satin cloths adorned nearly every available space.

The amorous laughter of Trojans could be heard even from far away. Priests and beautifully adorned acolytes rushed about collecting and placing gifts anywhere they could put them. In doing so they had to avoid stumbling over Trojans locked in all manner of compromising embraces.

It was the start of the festival of Aphrodite.

From his room in the temple, Paris could hear the noise clearly. Despite everything going on outside its walls, Troy lived.

Excitement tingled through him at the thought of all the celebrating that was being planned for.

He turned back to the man lying next to him, and moved over him, smiling down.

“And where was he standing when he said it?” he asked.

“He was standing not two feet from Sarpedon. Sarpedon took a step back.” Asius laughed and slid his leg over Paris’s hip.

“And then what did he say?” Paris breathed slowly to control his rising heat, which was not being caused by Asius’s leg on his.

“He said, ‘Do not make me repeat myself.’”

Paris propped himself on his hands and looked down. “Was he… angry when he said it?”

Asius nodded. Paris moaned and closed his eyes, slowly grinding his rapidly heating groin into Asius’s. Asius ran his hands over Paris’s backside.

“How close were you to him?” he whispered.

“I stood right behind him.”

Asius lifted his chest and pressed against Paris, licking his neck.

Paris pulled his knees up, spreading the other man wide. He reached down and grabbed himself.

“Could you smell him,” he asked softly.

Asius laughed and said instead, “He bellowed at Sarpedon after that.”

Paris’s hips bucked and Asius rolled him over and looked down at him. Paris closed his eyes, panting quietly, ready for their game to intensify.

“Hector,” Paris whispered. “You belong to me. You fight for Troy, but you are mine.”

“Yes, Alexandros,” Asius said. “You, before Troy.”

“Yes,” Paris groaned. Asius pushed and entered him, and began to move. Paris clutched at the other man, and called out for his brother until he could no longer form words.

“Why do you not simply say these things to him?” Asius asked quietly much later, stroking Paris’s hair.

Paris looked at him. “Simply?”

Asius was quiet for a while. Finally he said, “I would.”

Paris laughed. “Dear Asius, if I do not, have no doubt that you, or anyone else, cannot.”

“Even at this time of year, when the whole world sits at the feet of the goddess?”

Paris stared at Asius for a long time, and then a radiant smile slowly spread over his face. Asius’s face flushed and his mouth opened. He licked his lips. “You are beautiful, Prince Paris,” he whispered, moving over Paris’s body.

Paris laid on his back and stretched his arms over his head to give Asius unfettered access to his body.

“And you, Asius, are a godsend.”

*****

Hector was not in a good mood.

It was early evening, the fighting done for the day, and he sat in a sturdy wooden chair listening to Sarpedon complaining endlessly about everything they had done wrong that day.

Most of the other captains looked irritated, except for Acamas and a few other Thracians, who were all trying to suppress their grins.

There must be something in the blood of Thracians that allowed them to keep their humor when Sarpedon carried on interminably like this. He, however, found nothing even vaguely amusing in the situation.

“Even old Nestor thrashed our warriors out there today,” Sarpedon was ranting. “I say again that the gods are displeased with Troy.”

Hector managed to keep his expression neutral. Sometimes he had no doubt that Sarpedon was intentionally baiting him.

“Let us send word to King Priam and call a break in the fighting,” he went on. “We must make sacrifice to the gods.”

Hector pressed his hand to his forehead so that he wouldn’t tear his hair out. “You want us to stop the war because you think we’re suffering from bad luck.”

Sarpedon opened his mouth, but before he could speak the entrance to the tent flapped open, and in stepped the last person Hector wanted to see while he suffered through a meeting like this. One of his father’s heralds, Idaeus.

Hector ground his teeth while dread and anticipation warred in him. His father had decided on something and this man was here to deliver it. Knowing his luck, Hector was sure he already knew what it was. Just not why.

Well, least Sarpedon had stopped talking in the face of a more seasoned griper than he.

Idaeus bowed briefly at Hector. “My prince,” he said curtly. “I would speak with you and your generals.”

Hector nodded.

The herald snapped his cloak smartly about his body and intoned, “Your King commands that you declare a two-day truce with the Achaeans.”

Hector let out the breath he was holding. There it was. Sarpedon was wearing an irritating look of smug condescension.

“During this truce,” Idaeus continued officiously, “we are to burn our dead, and we are to give the enemy the same courtesy.”

There were murmurs in the tent. Hector didn’t need to look around to see that the sounds were coming from their allies. His Trojan lieutenants gave no reaction.

“The King also commands that there be no sounds of mourning in Troy or outside its walls. No one is to cry aloud, for Troy still stands.”

Hector dropped his head. That would not be so easy for the Trojan women who had lost their husbands and sons and brothers. But it was a good move, nevertheless.

“And lastly—”

Hector looked up. He still wasn’t finished?

“For the next two days, we will celebrate in affirmation of life and thanks to the deathless gods.”

The level of murmuring increased. Hector looked around him, and then back at Idaeus.

“What in Apollo’s name does that mean?”

“It is the time of the Aphrodisiac,” he said shortly.

Hector felt his body suddenly tighten all over as he became lightheaded. He controlled every part of his body to not show a response. Only his nostrils flared.

“Prince Paris is arranging the festival?” one of the Thracians asked. Hector didn’t look to see who.

“Yes,” Idaeus replied dryly. “Since he seems to not have any other function.”

Hector stood up. Idaeus stumbled one step back. Hector smiled grimly at him. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

He walked out of the tent and headed for the sentries at the wall. They would need to organize patrols around the wall during the truce. He must also send for carts and wood for burning the dead.

Only a few Trojans should be allowed to come out to attend the burning. They as soldiers saw the dead everyday and lived with it. But if his father wanted no sounds of mourning, they would have to monitor who came out for it.

He heard his name being called and turned to see Acamas walking up to him. He fell in stride.

“You Trojans certainly take civility very seriously. You give the sons of your enemy the same courtesy you give your own.”

“We are not barbarians.”

His friend smiled. “I came to send you into the city. I and the others can take care of the arrangements.”

Hector frowned at him. “You want me to leave Troy’s business to her allies?”

“No, I want you, Hector, to go inside the city and forget about this war for one day.”

“I am not going into Troy.”

“Alright,” Acamas clasped his shoulder. “I will permit you to help me with the arrangements.” He grinned. “But as soon as they are set, you should go.”

“I meant, I am not going at all.”

Acamas stopped walking, and looked at him. “You’re going to stay out here during the entire truce?”

Hector turned and looked toward the wall. He said nothing.

“Don’t you think your father, your mother, your wife, your entire family would want to see you?”

“They see me seldom enough. They’ll be able to wait a while longer.”

“But this is different. Troy is having a festival of life. It will not look good if you aren’t there.”

Hector sighed. “All of Troy will be intoxicated by the time the stars rise out of the ocean tonight. No one will miss my presence.”

Acamas shook his head. They resumed walking. “I think you are asking for trouble,” he said.

Hector ignored him, and his own instincts.

*****

Troy was like a reluctant lover. A portion of the city celebrated in a subdued manner, preferring to offer quiet sacrifice around the city temples and then retiring to their homes. Others refrained from public drinking but smiled in the streets and generally shared in the spirit of the festival.

But the largest portion of the city was reeling drunk, and trying to find somewhere private to celebrate as they were meant to.

Aphrodite’s temple was almost impassable. Paris made his way from his room to a small room down a dim corridor, following one of the priestesses. He pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face and hoped no one noticed his progress, or he would not make it to his destination for another few hours.

It was mid morning on the first day of the truce, and the temple was brimming over with soldiers in from the fields, who were wearing out even the acolytes.

Paris’s body was in a constant state of need.

Last evening, after the announcement of the truce and the official festival, he had rushed to the palace expecting to see Hector come in with the rest of his guard, only to be shocked on discovering that Hector had chosen to stay in the fields for the duration of the truce.

He had returned to the temple, and between then and now had nearly burned the temple to the ground taking out his desires on anyone within reach. But it wasn’t enough.

They arrived at the door to the small altar room and Paris dropped his cloak as they walked in. The altar was already set out for offering and prayer.

Paris knelt before it and unrepentantly asked the goddess to drive Hector mad with desire.

*****

Hector stood in the back of his tent, washing his bare chest with a linen cloth. He had on just the skirt and shin guards of his armor, having taken off everything else.

He had sent word to Andromache that he would be staying out here, promising to return to the city when the crush of the festival was over.

It was quiet on the fields, nearly deserted. He had patrols at the walls, but nearly everyone had gone into Troy. He only had a dozen soldiers of his guard out with him. He knew they were not happy about that, but they seemed to be dealing well enough.

Although he had been irritated by the calling of the truce, he was pleased now because he heard news of the happy mood permeating the city, and he was afforded peace and quiet.

He reigned in his thoughts, trying to keep them focused on the basin of water before him and not wander too far. He didn’t want to start thinking about…

He cursed and threw the cloth back into the basin and leaned on his hands, staring unseeing down into the water. Heat slowly suffused his groin and spread all over him. He had managed to avoid thinking about Paris for so long. Why was it happening now!

His breathing became shallower and shallower as images of his brother floated into his vision. All that golden skin, those long, lean limbs that could wrap around him and grip so tight…

Hector growled as his cock swelled mercilessly, and his hand shook with the effort it was taking not to reach under his skirt—

Someone called from outside his tent. He took a massive breath, experienced a measure of calm, and picked up the wash cloth. He called for them to enter.

One of his lieutenants held open the tent flap and Hector watched in silent amazement as two young temple acolytes carried in a very large tray overflowing with fruits, and smelling faintly of roses.

The acolytes entered, his lieutenant entered, three soldiers of his guard entered.

While the lieutenant and the soldiers stood around curious and hopeful, one of the acolytes straightened and said, “We have a message from Prince Paris.”

Hector nodded once, wordlessly.

“He sends these gifts in celebration of the goddess,” the acolyte recited. “We are to tell you that these are but a sampling of the pleasures that await you if you chose to come into our beloved city. He said that you may rely on him to satisfy every desire in your heart and body.”

Hector felt cold sweat break out over his body. He thought he might be slipping into a state of shock.

“For he has set aside lovely delights for you, and there are many more, if only you would—”

Hector stiffly lifted his hand and waved it back and forth in front of him.

“Uh- uh…” said his lieutenant. The acolyte mercifully stopped talking. “Prince Hector is far too noble a man to, uh, to indulge in such wanton frivolity. Away with you.”

*****

Hector refused to touch himself.

He got up from his bed and walked outside his tent, and stood staring out towards the sea. Behind him he could hear very faintly the revelry that was going on in Troy. He kept his back to it.

It was the first night of the truce, and this time tomorrow it would be over, and he would be able to relax again. Or at least, his body would be able to relax again.

He cursed Paris. Sending that alarming message to him had been uncalled for, and his body refused to forget the words. At this point, his constant state of arousal was on the verge of driving him insane.

And he was worried about what such games might be doing to the minds of his men.

Suddenly, in the stillness of the night air he could hear two soldiers talking heatedly. At first he thought they were fighting. But after a few moments it was painfully clear that they were not.

He cursed silently and was about to go back into his tent when he heard his name. He stood completely still, even his breathing stilled, and strained to hear over the panting.

“—while we’re stuck out here. I thought to chain myself to Prince Paris’s bed,” the first soldier panted, “for the duration of the truce!”

The other man grunted, breathing harshly. “Have you met him—” gasps “—before?”

“Yes—” deep groans this time “—and I’ve never forgotten. Such— such—”

“Was he as good as they—”

“More!”

The other soldier was trying to respond but their words were breaking into little pieces, and Hector had heard more than enough.

He turned and walked not in the direction of his tent, but farther out into the fields. He had no destination in mind. In fact, he barely had a mind left.

*****

Paris lifted his knee and planted his foot on the rug. He held the young soldier by his hips and pounded a brutal rhythm into his body. Under the rug was the hard stone floor, and their knees were going to bruise and ache when they were done. But this soldier liked it like this, and Paris was going to give it to him, and give him even more to take with him to Hector.

*****

It took Hector a while to notice that the soldiers on patrol against the wall were taking turns sneaking into the city.

They switched off flawlessly, and it wasn’t their fault that he was coming up on the sentry post and watching when one of them returned.

The soldier was walking oddly, like a duck, with his knees slightly bent. He could have been drunk, though it was only mid morning, but Hector didn’t think so.

Two others stepped out of the stone enclosure and slapped him on the back, grinning. Hector decided against saying anything since, at least, they had not simply abandoned their patrol.

He turned around to head back in the direction he’d come from, when he heard his name. He stood completely still.

“No, I tell you,” the truant was saying, “to have Prince Paris merely lay his hands on you is worth a hundred of these wars.”

“A thousand, I hear,” one of the others said.

Hector was going to go in there and bellow at them.

“His body,” the man was insisting, “like nothing this side of Olympus. He whispers into your ear and you cannot understand the words, but you obey, for they are the words of the goddess herself.” There were hushed murmurs.

The man continued, “He makes a fire in you, and fans the flames. And brothers, I tell you, if you were to let that fire consume you, nothing else would ever matter again. Nothing.”

There was silence, inside the stone enclosure and outside. Hector frowned down at his feet, his teeth grinding slowly. He concentrated on breathing evenly.

He should move outside hearing distance, but he was stuck there, as though waiting to hear something more.

“And this I swear on Zeus's name, I heard.” The soldier’s whisper was laced with awe. “When he cried out in completion it was merely a whisper, but…” Hector unconsciously leaned forward where he stood as the solder’s voice dropped even lower, “but without a doubt, he cried out Prince Hector’s name.”

*****

Hector walked his horse out towards the plains behind their city so that he would not sit in his tent and think about Paris and relieve himself every hour.

He was having waking nightmares.

He could feel Paris’s hands on his body, could taste his mouth. He shuddered at times with no warning, feeling Paris’s breath blowing warmly in his ear. His tongue tingled to push into any opening in Paris’s body.

Suddenly he looked around him and remembered when last he had run into Paris out here. He dropped his head and kept walking.

Paris, Paris, Paris. That was all his mind could groan.

*****

It was getting to be early evening, and Hector still had not come into Troy.

Paris kept his bed full, kept his patience simmering, and sent for a messenger to take word to his father.

*****

Both of his captains stood with their arms crossed over their chests, their lips pursed. Though they tried to keep their expressions under control, they looked pained.

Hector glanced at them at intervals as he tested the heft of his javelin spears for the third time that evening.

“Have the spies returned from the beaches?” he asked. He looked over at them and they nodded slowly. “What is the enemy engaged in? Do they prepare for the truce’s end tomorrow?”

The two lieutenants exchanged glances. “The enemy engages in… revelry,” one muttered through clenched teeth. His expression didn’t change.

The other nodded. “Ships from Lemnos have arrived with wine and women. Fine wine. And fine women.”

Hector frowned at them, but they only stared back expressionlessly.

He looked down at the ash spear in his grip. It was firm, and smooth, and warm to the touch. He ran his hands from one end to the other, and swallowed when his mouth flooded with saliva.

If he closed his eyes his palms tingled because he could feel Paris’s firm, smooth, warm body under his hands. The spear held, unbending. But Paris would bend for him… he would yield and move slowly, giving Hector time to burn the feel of that golden body into his hands.

His situation had become absurd. With no fighting to direct, no troops to watch out here in the fields, his mind had become almost empty of all thought, except one: that inside those walls there was nectar and ambrosia waiting for him.

And his body was all but crippled with need for his brother, now constantly pounding its demands.

But there was only this night left to wait out. “Is that everything?”

The man shook his head slowly, heat rising up his neck. Hector watched with dread.

“We also have a message from Prince Paris to you.”

He looked back down at the spear in his grip. “Yes?” he said calmly.

“He says to tell you he has told your father, the King, why you will not come into the city.”

Hector refused to panic.

“And he says the King commands that you put all else aside and let your brother, that is, him, Prince Paris, show you his hospitality at this special time.”

Hector shook his head, understanding the man’s discomfort at being in the middle of family intrigue.

But one thing was now clear to him: if he didn’t go into the city, Paris was going to make certain all of Troy knew why.

Hector put the spear back into its rack and released the breath he had been holding for two days. He looked at the blank faced men.

“To Troy, then?”

“Yes, my prince,” his lieutenants said in unison, and stepped aside, managing to control their eagerness enough to allow him exit from the tent ahead of them.

Once inside the city gates, the first thing that struck Hector was the realization that half of Troy was drunk.

Acamas came to meet him as he rode in, grinning widely. Hector dismounted and held up his hand. “Not a word, Acamas.”

“Why not? You nearly missed the entire celebration. That would have been unforgivable.”

Before he could respond his eye caught Paris approaching. His body stiffened as he turned to face him. Acamas turned with him.

“By the goddess, what perfection,” he heard Acamas say under his breath.

Hector looked at his friend. Acamas flushed, and shrugged self consciously. “It has been a glorious truce. For some.” He cleared his throat. “But surely, even as his brother you must see him godlike.”

Acamas watched Paris smiling alluringly at everyone he walked by. “Such a smile would enchant even a lifeless stone.”

Hector followed Acamas’s gaze. “It is beyond my reasoning why we do not simply put him in the frontline. Perhaps if he smiled at Agamemnon and his kings they would simply lay down their weapons and go home. Perhaps we have been approaching this war the wrong way.”

Acamas twisted his lips to suppress his smile, and said, “And why haven’t we?”

Hector made an impolite sound in his throat.

“For once leave your anger towards him aside,” Acamas said out of the corner of his mouth. “He looks overjoyed to see you.”

Hector said nothing, as Paris had already reached them. Paris casually bowed to Acamas, then straightened and smiled.

“Acamas,” he smiled beguilingly. “Why are you on your feet, and not lying in the arms of some divine creature?”

Hector turned his face away and looked into the distance, giving Acamas some privacy as he tried to stammer something in response.

When Paris turned to him, he brought his gaze back. Paris’s smile was so blissfully happy that in addition to everything else Hector was feeling, guilt suffused his head.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Hector,” he said disarmingly, stepping forward to hold Hector’s arms. He pushed up on his toes, and Hector bent his head and received a kiss on his forehead.

Then Paris bowed to them again, and walked away. Hector blinked after him, trying to think, about anything, and unable. It felt like Paris had taken with him what was left of his senses.

So it look a little while for him to realize Acamas was laughing quietly at him.

“I think I kept my composure better than you did, Prince Hector.”

*****

Hector walked into the large space of the main altar room, and Paris stood up when he saw him approaching. Paris smiled at him.

Without stopping to acknowledge anyone else, Hector walked over to him and placed his hand on the small of Paris’s back. He gently moved him as he made his way to the hallway he knew led to Paris’s room.

“Is there anyone in there?” he whispered into Paris’s ear.

“No,” Paris whispered back.

He let Paris step into the room ahead of him, and threw the bolt to the door after himself.

The torches were already lit in Paris’s chamber. It was dim, but he could see Paris well by their light.

Paris stood a hair’s breath from him, leaning forward into his body. He moved his face closer into Hector’s neck, and inhaled deeply.

“Alexandros,” Hector finally let himself sigh. He silently marveled that his sigh was one of relief.

“What persuaded you to come, O stubborn son of Priam,” Paris said softly. “Was it the innocence and childlike wonder of that soldier with the sadly weak knees?”

Hector’s embarrassed laughter burst out of him. Paris pulled back and grinned up at him. He slid his arms around Hector’s neck and crushed his body to him. Hector’s heart slammed in his chest because Paris’s eyes frightened and exhilarated him.

Hector felt a faint clamoring in his mind, but held Paris tight to his body and breathed slowly. He wanted to take Acamas’s advice; he wanted to try. Paris was behaving, was controlling himself, and he could do the same.

Paris pulled back and took him by the hand, leading him to the center of the room. He followed silently and began to relax. He might even be slipping into a trance.

He stood still when Paris placed both hands on his arms to stop his movement.

As he watched, Paris stepped backwards until he was five feet away. Then he stopped, and stood staring at Hector. Hector stared back. In the dimness his body radiated golden desire.

“You look beautiful, Hector,” he said.

Hector felt himself flushing like a maiden.

Paris pulled at the rope around his waist and disrobed slowly, as if giving Hector time to adjust.

Hector watched the beauty of his face, his strong features and gleaming curls, then slid his eyes down to his chest, to the ridges of his lean muscles emerging from under his robe. At last Paris’s robe dropped to the floor.

“Gods,” Hector breathed.

Paris looked at him from under his lashes, then slowly knelt. “Will you come to me now?”

Hector shed his robe, and went. He stood before his brother and looked down at the crown of his dark head, knowing which of them was actually on his knees.

With slow movements, Paris cupped first one, then the other hip. His hands slid around to Hector’s buttocks, and cupped him. Hector moaned pitifully as he finally, finally felt the tight heat in his body uncoil and spread all over his body. The pain he had been feeling over the last two days eased under his brother’s hands.

Paris leaned forward until his face was buried in Hector’s groin. He inhaled long and slow. Hector groaned louder, keeping his eyes on Paris’s head. He wondered why Paris was moving so slowly, wondered what he was supposed to do…

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Paris whispered, and moaned in approval when Hector did so.

He turned his head and placed small hot kisses on the warm flesh of Hector’s inner thigh, up, and then down its length. The huge muscles in Hector’s thighs flexed in response, and Paris closed his mouth over the skin, sucking on the muscles as they moved. Hector pulled his tongue back into his mouth and swallowed.

Paris moved his mouth across Hector’s agitated arousal, all the way to his other thigh, and did the same there.

Hector heard himself whimpering. His legs were losing the ability to hold him up. He leaned down on Paris’s shoulders.

Paris moved, kissing around Hector’s hip to his buttocks. Hector let out a quiet gasp and felt his body tighten as Paris ran his hands over the swell of his cheeks, up the muscles of his back as far as he could reach.

Hector had nothing to lean on. He swayed, and Paris slid one arm around his waist to hold him. Hector gripped his forearm.

“I can feel the strength inside you,” Paris whispered against his burning skin. He tightened his arm around Hector’s waist. “Why would you deny me this?”

Hector twisted slowly, making Paris’s lips move across his back. He reached behind him with his free arm and slid his hand between their bodies until his fingers ran over Paris’s nipple. Paris cried out into his back and brushed his chest back and forth against his hand.

Hector caressed him, measuring his own breathing.

“Why do you deny me, Hector?” Paris insisted.

“Because you do not know the meaning of restraint,” he said through his teeth.

Paris was silent, and Hector knew he didn’t understand what he meant, what his unrestrained need meant to Hector’s life. But he didn’t explain. Already he was walking a fine line. His mind was vulnerable from days of stress, and he was afraid to say things that would leave him open to Paris’s control.

For long moments the silence continued, and all that could be heard in the room was Hector’s flawed breathing, and the sound of Paris’s lips endlessly kissing his body.

Paris’s tongue flicked out and lapped him. “Is that why you bind me?” he asked quietly. “To teach me restraint?”

“I would be a fool if I believed I could.”

Paris ran his hand up Hector’s arm, then back down until it covered Hector’s hand over his nipple. He caressed Hector’s hand as it stroked over him. When Hector gently squeezed the tight bud Paris closed his teeth over Hector’s flesh. Hector dropped his head forward, gasping as he stared down at his leaking erection. It was going to shoot…

“Then why?”

Hector groaned. “Why what?”

Paris bit him slowly. “Why do you restrain me?”

“To temper that fire in you,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Paris pulled back and gripped Hector’s arm. “But why?!”

Hector pulled on Paris’s arm, and Paris stood up and came around to his front.

“You are trying my patience, Alexandros,” Hector chastised, shaking him slightly.

Paris nodded his understanding, and placed his hands on Hector’s shoulders. Hector slipped his arms around his waist and pulled him close.

“No more questions,” he whispered, and Paris nodded again.

Paris began moving backwards, pulling Hector with him. Hector followed him to the bed and allowed himself to be lowered onto his back. He groaned in satisfaction as Paris’s naked warmth finally molded into his body.

Paris moved up higher and opened his mouth over Hector’s. He held still for a moment but Hector didn’t move, so he slid his tongue inside Hector’s mouth. And just as Hector’s tongue slid out to meet his, Paris inhaled sharply.

For an instant it felt as if Paris had sucked his essence out of him, and Hector groaned almost sorrowfully. Paris sucked in his groan.

Hector jerked his head up and tried to capture Paris’s mouth. But Paris angled his lips aside, and instead licked the side of Hector’s mouth.

Hector growled but it was a terribly weak sound. Paris slid his tongue into the corner of his mouth, but slid it back out before Hector could react. Then he started to bite Hector’s lower lip.

Slowly, deliberately, one bite at a time, Paris made his way to the other side of Hector’s mouth. Hector gripped Paris’s torso as short desperate groans pushed out of his throat while he laid there and prayed Paris would stop teasing him. The words he was aching to say weighed down his chest and he could barely breathe around them. He began to pant.

Paris breathed against his mouth, “What is it?”

Hector opened his eyes and through his daze saw Paris’s dark curls against his face. He closed his eyes and tried again to turn his head into Paris’s mouth. Paris didn’t let him.

Hector opened his mouth and for a long time the words would not come out. Then finally he groaned, “Kiss me, Xandros.”

Paris reared up and stared down at him, but only for a heartbeat before he lowered his head and thoroughly kissed Hector’s mouth.

Hector’s arms moved fast and contracted around Paris’s neck, his hands pushing into his hair. Paris swirled his tongue slowly around his, the touch so intimate Hector felt his cock sway to its rhythm. He gently bit Paris’s tongue.

Paris moaned into his mouth and slid his arm down Hector’s body until his hand gripped under Hector’s thigh. He slid his leg between Hector’s and pulled Hector’s leg over the back of his. He ground their wet arousals together.

Hector writhed under him, trying to get everything from him at the same time. He sucked on his tongue, constricted his leg over Paris’s, not caring that his body was so much bigger and it might be uncomfortable for Paris.

Paris pushed his arms under Hector’s body and gripped him by his shoulders. Then he pulled Hector up closer, and fused into him.

The goddess consumed Hector’s mind. His fear, his self, his world, all disappeared. And he could not have broken the kiss to even draw air into his lungs. When Paris slid his mouth from his and buried his face in his neck, Hector could scarcely remember his name.

“Tonight you let me touch you, look at you… kiss you,” Paris whispered, sucking on his neck. “Why.”

Hector closed his eyes. “And tonight you ask too many questions. I said no more.” There was silence. Then despite knowing he courted trouble, he found himself asking, “What does it matter whether you touch me?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why should it?” Hector’s heart pounded harder by the moment, trying to drum his fear into submission. “You get me, however it happens.”

Paris reached behind and pushed Hector’s leg off his, spreading it. Hector spread both his legs and Paris shifted into the space between them. He propped himself on his forearms on either side of Hector’s body and began to rotate his hips. Their cocks pressed and feathered against each other’s, bumped and pushed, covered in sweat and sticky need.

Paris looked down at him with bottomless black eyes. Hector stared up at him with his mouth open, fighting to keep from… fainting, he supposed.

“I am in love with you, Hector,” Paris whispered.

Hector’s heart stilled and his mind tried to shut down, but his cock swelled until it was too stiff to move. He wasn’t breathing.

Paris ran one hand across Hector’s shoulders, down to his chest, caressed his stomach between their bodies. “I want you like this always,” he said. “Then I would have everything, for I would have you completely.”

Hector still wasn’t breathing.

Paris’s eyes had never left his. “For I know I already have your love.”

Hector’s breath left him in a loud rush. His heart kicked and tripled in pace, but it had Paris’s in tandem.

He swallowed again and again, trying to find his voice. Finally he said thickly, “I and the rest of the Trojan men fight because of you, while you laze about all day long.” He tried to speak more firmly. “I do not belong to you.”

Paris stilled, then he dropped his head into the crook of Hector’s neck. Hector closed his eyes in relief. Paris had given up.

Then he felt the tip of Paris’s tongue snaking in leisurely patterns up the side of his neck, and heard him whisper “Yes you do,” slowly, softly, and with absolute confidence.

Hector snarled and Paris slipped down and clamped his teeth over Hector’s nipple. As he cried out Paris sealed his lips over the surrounding skin and worried the nipple between his teeth.

Paris reached down and swirled his hand around and around Hector’s cock, sucking harder on his nipple as Hector pushed his hips off the bed over and over.

He moved his head down Hector’s side and pushed his whole tongue out and smeared its wetness on him. Then he chewed on the slicked skin and made it even wetter before he moved to another patch, squeezed Hector’s cock, and moved again. Hector felt as though he was trying to make a meal out of him.

Paris moved across to his stomach and spent an eternity pushing his tongue in and out of Hector’s navel, swirling it when he felt like it. Hector grew dizzy and his head thrashed from side to side and he was saying something, begging Paris to suck him into his mouth.

Paris lifted his chest and Hector felt the leaking tip of his cock press against Paris’s nipple, felt its tiny ridges scrape on his cock-head as Paris slowly rubbed back and forth.

“I have to go back into the fields when the sun rises,” he whispered fiercely into the room, as it asking it not to let him forget.

Paris wrapped his arm around Hector’s thigh and massaged his chest into his groin. “Leave the fighting to other men, Hector,” Hector heard him whisper.

Hector growled, frustrated. He wanted to believe he was frustrated at Paris’s words, but his body was burning to a cinder, and he wanted to be inside Paris more than he wanted to breathe, to live. He tried to move, but Paris held him firm and was now trying to eat the other half of his body.

Hector gripped his arms with hands that shook and whispered, “Please, please, let me…”

Paris released his leg and slid up his body. Hector slid from under him and turned him on his stomach. He pushed a pillow under his groin, and laid on top of him. Paris pushed up against him and Hector pushed his arms around his brother’s chest.

He tightened his arms around Paris, too tight, he could hear Paris gasping. He slackened his hold, but only slightly, and Paris reached under himself and wrapped his arms around Hector’s arms. Hector spread his legs, his thighs on either side of Paris’s, his body completely covering the loved form beneath his.

He moaned, whimpered, and they shifted together, Paris pushing up, him from side to side. He reached between them and pressed his stiff erection against Paris’s entrance. They pushed against each other until he was inside.

While Paris’s cries drowned out his own, he pulled Paris up, propping himself on his forearms, and dropped his head to kiss Paris’s heated temple. Paris frantically reached up and pulled Hector’s head down farther, fusing their lips together.

Hector began to move, felt his thighs tighten around Paris’s to squeeze his legs, his entrance, tighter around his cock. It made it more difficult to move, but not for long, as his cock got wetter and slid faster in and out of Paris.

He was wailing into Paris’s mouth. He sounded as if he was dying. Paris was whispering to him, but he couldn’t understand what. It sounded like assurances.

His head, his body felt so hot he was afraid of his climax. Paris writhed fiercely under him, rubbing every part of their bodies together. Paris spread his legs and Hector reached under him and gripped his cock.

He rode him hard, holding him slightly off the bed with his arm braced under him. Paris thrust into his hand and he thrust into Paris's body. Their rhythm became flawless, their breathing almost painful. He let his forehead rest on the pillow beside Paris’s head, and Paris’s teeth clamped on his ear lobe.

He gasped breathlessly and jerked hard into Paris. Paris thrashed, then his body seized, and he let out an ear splitting scream as he spurted into Hector's hand.

Hector groaned long and low, then began to convulse as his world disintergrated and caught fire inside his brother's heat.

*****

When Paris opened his eyes from sleep, the sun had risen and was in the middle of the sky.

He blinked at the bright light and tried to think, and then realized that yesterday had been the last day of the truce, and this day the fighting had begun again. He glanced at Hector.

His mind immediately flooded with countless thoughts. He stared at Hector’s magnificent, naked form, and tried to understand what they had experienced.

Had they found each other, at last?

He took a deep breath.

He had no idea what Hector had meant last night in bringing up going back into the fields today. Paris knew he had to, as he did each day.

Yet Hector was right here beside him, still sleeping. Sleeping right through the fighting.

Because of him.

The feeling of triumph that flooded Paris made his head spin. He carefully lifted his head from the pillow and checked the door. He could no longer remember whether he had thrown the bolt last night. Yes, he remembered now, Hector had thrown it.

He laid back down and inhaled deeply of his brother’s scent. Hector was laid out on his stomach, and Paris carefully moved closer, his arm and leg tightening over Hector’s body.

The light in the room had been changing the last time they had strove to completion, indication the arrival of dawn. So it was hours ago since they had fallen asleep, but Paris’s heart still raced.

Here was Hector. With him. His, in defiance of the fighting outside the walls.

He tightened his arm around Hector, and Hector shifted under him. Paris slackened his hold.

But when he looked up, Hector’s eyes were open. His heart raced faster, but he smiled. Hector turned himself over and laid on his back, staring up at him.

Paris propped himself up on his elbow and slowly extended his hand and covered the side of Hector's face. When Hector didn’t move he pushed his hand into Hector's hair. Paris closed his eyes.

“I have stayed long enough,” Hector said. Paris opened his eyes and looked down at him. His voice was flat, and… defeated.

“It is already half the day gone. Let someone else do the fighting for a change.”

Hector slowly shook his head.

“Stay here with me,” Paris said firmly.

Again, Hector shook his head. “No, Paris,” he rasped. “Never with you.”

Paris scrambled to his knees but kept his hold on Hector’s hair. “Why, Hector?” he pulled gently. “Yes, I know I am selfish and cowardly, but no more than most men. And at least I am more true to myself than most men.”

“You burn with the fire of a goddess, Alexandros,” Hector said quietly.

“That is not a bad thing.”

“And when you want something,” Hector continued as is uninterrupted, “you want to consume it. No mortal man can live in your world.”

“But why! What do you fear so much!”

Hector lifted his eyes and looked straight at Paris. Paris’s heart stopped racing, but it was worse, because it stopped completely. He was going to get the truth.

“I fear to lose my will to fight,” Hector said in a dead voice. “I fear wanting to lie here with you for the rest of my life.”

A long time later, after Hector had pushed himself out of the bed and put on his robe and his sandals, had run his hand through his hair, and had walked out the door without looking at him again, Paris was still kneeling on the bed, stunned.

~*~