Troy/Iliad fanfiction

Hector/Paris, NC-17

Summary: Hector loves Paris, but Hector also despises Paris. Paris makes Hector… frustrated. And Hector is going to take it out on Paris. A portrait of a relationship.

~*~

Hector held on to Paris’s arm and firmly steered him into the room, ahead of him. Slamming the door behind them, he flung his shield across the room, sending it smashing against the far wall. Paris cringed, gingerly retreating behind a stone pillar.

“Everything is a game to you!” Hector roared, and a stout wooden chair flew after the shield, splintering in turn.

“That is not true!” Paris’s voice was steadier than it should have been seeing his brother’s condition. He peered from around the pillar even though he was trying not to seem as if he was hiding.

Hector grabbed another chair, but stood bent over it instead, gripping it so hard its thick wooden legs rattled against the floor. He tried to calm himself, his nostrils flaring and his muscles flexing under his armor. Why did he let Paris always work him up into such a state that he could not even see straight. He breathed through his mouth, fighting for control.

“What were you— why do you do this, Alexandros?” Hector heard himself pleading, slamming the chair to punctuate his words. “Why do you not see your part in this carnage?”

“I- I see my part,” Paris stammered, remaining behind the pillar. “But as I told you, and you refuse to accept, I was on my way out to join the battle when you came in.”

Hector looked at Paris with eyes that were hooded and dark and unreadable. “You were surrounded by your waiting women, you were drinking and eating. With her.”

“She is called Helen,” Paris braved, pushing his chin up slightly. “And in fact—”

Hector’s nostrils flared and Paris stopped talking. That was fine, because Hector was going to meet him where he stood, like it or not. He stalked slowly toward the pillar, moving a little to his left, to cover any exit Paris thought he might have. His brother was not above simply bolting from the room to avoid confronting his responsibilities.

“How many days have you been out on the fields?” Hector began slowly, watching Paris. In his brother’s eyes he could see Paris’s sharp mind spinning, looking for a way out. Eyes that were dark like his own, but empty of thought, and full of vanity.

It was incredible to Hector that they were of the same father and of the same mother. That his own brother could be so mindless with cowardice, while he himself was considered the greatest warrior in all of Troy.

And Hector was indeed great, great in all deeds and thoughts and manner… Except…

Hector was now standing not a foot from Paris, and Paris to his credit, had not moved, but instead stood there, shaking.

Hector’s eyes swept over his brother’s flushed face, the russet curls of his hair, the pulse racing at the base of his throat. Slowly, he felt it happening once more. What was it about his brother’s endless cowardice that drove him nearly to insanity? For yet again, even as he raged at Paris, or maybe in spite of his rage, he was rock hard with lust. What was it about his brother’s cowardice that demanded his supplication like this?

“You deserve nothing in this life,” Hector whispered, and slowly leaned forward, gripping the pillar between them.

His eyes dropped to Paris’s mouth curved and red, and he licked lips. He meant his words. He truly did. But they did not seem to offer him protection against the beauty of the man before him. And Hector had looked for protection from his brother anywhere he could find it. But there was none to be had. He was enslaved.

His hand moved forward without his permission, and slipped around Paris’s neck, and pulled him toward him. Hector tried breathing slower. He had to stop himself. Why did he always end up here? Exactly here. He hated Paris. Paris who was loved by the gods, Paris who was a danger to Troy, Paris who was merciless to him.

But nothing he incanted was potent enough to stop him from covering his brother’s mouth with his own. He plunged his tongue into Paris’s mouth and licked him, and sucked his lips and bit him and silently begged him not to move away.

Everything about Paris was made to torment him, and his body was pounding, demanding release. Hector wrestled internally and finally broke the kiss he had started, and pulled back, breathing harshly.

Paris’s eyes were still closed, but as Hector watched he opened them, and desire seeped in like ink in twin pools. Hector did not want to be in this room with Paris. He did not want to be in the same city, or in the same war, or in the same family.

But once again, those incantations did not protect him. He was not the one who was loved by the goddess Aphrodite. He was just helpless.

He slid his hands to Paris’s shoulder, and gently, but firmly, pushed him down to his knees. Paris knelt.

In a daze, Hector unbuckled his armor plate and dropped it to the floor. Then his tunic followed, for he would not have anything hinder his view. He stood over six foot four inches in nothing but his arm guards, his boots, his shin and knee plates, and his muscled thighs flexed in anticipation.

With one hand gripping the back of Paris’s head, he reached down and grabbed himself, and began his veneration.

“Why do you— unh…” He shook his head hard, trying to last, his hand alternately gripping and stroking the back of his brother’s head. “Why must I— ahh…!”

He desperately squeezed himself, trying, trying to stave off his climax, but he was looking down, and Paris was watching him with those eyes. With that naive look of wonder that belied the terror he had caused in his wake.

“Xandros,” he panted, his hand sliding forward to his brother’s face. He held Paris by the jaw, running his calloused thumb over his lips. “Open your mouth…”

Paris’s eyes widened but he did as he was told, and Hector’s hard thumb slid into the hot wet depth, anchoring Paris’s mouth open. Hector pumped his fist over his cock, once, twice, and then stilled, and with a cry of defeat, emptied himself into his brother’s mouth.

~*~