Troy/Iliad fanfiction

Hector/Paris, NC-17

Summary: Hector fights Ajax. Paris is left to wonder if he is dead on the field.

A/N: Special Valentine’s Day story.

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“Oh, Hector,” Paris waved his hands dismissively. “You are such a brute. Always talking of war.”

His waiting women giggled into their hands. The corner of Paris’s mouth lifted.

“Gods above, you are the most dreary thing in my life. Everyday, I have to seek out something wondrous just to counter the effect of your mind-numbing tedium!”

Hector looked as though he was trying to control his temper. He stood stiffly and his nostrils flared wildly. Paris popped a grape in his mouth and hoped Hector would at least get angry enough to do something… exciting.

He sighed in disappointment as Hector put on his helmet instead.

“I am sorry you think war is a mind-numbing tedium,” Hector said in a low voice.

Paris was even more disappointed to realize that he had misjudged, that Hector wasn’t furious at him at all. He seemed… resigned. Paris scowled to himself. And there was no telling how long again before Hector would be able to return to the city. Perhaps he would just go out and look for him later…

Hector began to leave, then said almost sadly over his shoulder, “But you had better hope against your own judgment that it never does anything to truly engage your interest.”

Paris watched him leave and then turned over to his side, contemplating a nap. Hector need not fear. There was no danger of anything ever happening in a war to engage his interest, truly or otherwise.

And he couldn’t understand why Hector could not simply relax and try and pass one full day in the city. He yawned. Later he would go into the fields and visit Hector, he decided. He would take him sweet wine and fruits. And he would think of a way of engaging his interest in something other than war.

When Paris awoke it was nearly sunset and after a few moments it struck him that the silence in the palace was eerie. It was so quiet that it seemed as though he was the only one in the entire place. He got off his recliner and made his way to the door, and stepped into the hallway. At the far end, he saw a servant sitting in a corner, staring blindly ahead.

He approached carefully, trying not to startle her. “What is it?”

She didn’t respond in anyway. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. Then she looked up with unfocused eyes. Her mouth opened, and then shut, making no sounds.

Dread shrouded Paris’s mind. He left her and stumbled back down the hallway towards the main halls. He saw no one about. He rushed into his father’s throne room.

His father sat frozen, staring straight ahead of him while his elderly advisors stood before him. In their midst was a young soldier, bloodied and covered with dust. The man was weeping.

Paris frowned and moved into the cavernous room. He stayed to the side against one wall, trying to catch what the soldier was saying.

“We could not get to him, Your Majesty,” the man wept. “We were forced to retreat.”

“But what did you see!” one of the advisors yelled, and Paris started at the power of the old man’s voice.

“I saw Prince Hector go down,” the soldier replied in a small, tired voice. “Then Ajax fell on him with his axe.”

Paris’s blood froze. One part of his mind hurtled toward the conclusion the soldier wanted him to draw, but the rest began to shut down in denial. He struggled to think.

“H- Hector—” he struggle for breath. “My brother fought a duel this morning?” But he couldn’t take deep breaths and began to feel faint. “W- with Ajax?”

Everyone in the room except his father turned and faced him. No one spoke.

“Why was I not told?!” he shouted, startling the men. They looked at him with wide eyes, speechless at his display. Never in all his life had Paris felt such fear, such sick dread.

“Is he dead?!” he shrieked. There was silence. Then one of the advisors spoke.

“No one knows, dear Prince. We await more news from the fields.”

***************

Paris’s knees ached, but he would not move. The goddess must answer his prayers. He gripped his arms tighter around his chest, and his head remained bowed.

What more could he offer Aphrodite that he had not already? What gifts of hers would he not ransom for the news he clung to her to bring? For he refused to believe the one that had already reached the palace. And he refused to believe that it had ended like this.

That Hector was—

Paris sank onto his haunches and slipped his hands around the goddess’s feet. He held on, and kept on praying.

“Please, please, please,” he whispered, sick with fear. “Take anything from me… except him…”

“My Prince!”

It was a fierce whisper from one of the temple priests. Paris slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. He tried to focus on the man, already feeling his irritation rising.

But the old man’s eyes were so wide that Paris’s curiosity also rose. The man seemed to be shaking.

“Th- the men a- are saying—”

Gradually Paris’s mind returned to his surrounds and he realized men were shouting everywhere. Before he could demand an explanation, three young acolytes rushed in loaded down with fruit baskets, which they somewhat unceremoniously dumped at the foot of the goddess, and then rushed out again.

Paris’s heart stopped. He could not hear the words to any of the shouting around the temple, but an offering of fruits to the goddess was one of thanks…

Like a hurled spear, Paris was suddenly on his feet and racing in the direction of the shouts. Then he abruptly stopped, spun around and ran back to the statue of Aphrodite. He looked up into her beauty and silently petitioned, This night is mine and his, alone.

Then he sped away, and the goddess remained behind.

The shouts were coming from the back of the temple and by the time he reached that section, there was already a group of men standing in a wide shaft of setting sunlight.

And in the middle of the men, head and shoulders above them all, stood Hector. The warm light glinted off his skin and armor and turned him into a golden statue.

Paris’s eyes took in all the blood and dust streaked on him, and his dented armor, and the bruises. And all he could see was the man he loved.

He stood immobilized, and his eyes squeezed shut. For an eternity he could not get his mind to work. He tried to force his eyes back open and brace himself against the truth that he had merely dreamt Hector standing there.

“Alexandros…”

His brother was standing not an inch from him. Paris didn’t need to open his eyes, didn’t need to feel his breath on his face to know this. Hector was alive.

Still with his eyes closed, Paris’s hands crept up and gripped Hector’s arms, then slid up his neck, up to his face, his fingers digging into flesh. And as if Hector knew what he was going to do, right there before the priests and the acolytes and whatever men remained watching, he grabbed Paris’s arm and steered him away from the small crowd.

Hector was saying something to the priests, but Paris did not understand what it was. He anchored his hand around the back of Hector’s head and pulled his head down. Hector resisted until he was able to get them out of the hall and into a passage way. Even then Hector continued propelling Paris down the hall, trying to get him into one of the rooms. Paris locked his knees and grabbed a fistful of Hector’s hair. Hector gasped in surprise and Paris pushed down his head until he covered Hector’s lips with his.

When their tongues touched Paris felt it in his toes, and his moan of utter submission was lost in Hector’s mouth. Hector’s tongue rolled slowly around and around his own, warm and fitted against every inch. Paris stroked his lips against Hector’s, not wanting to lose the feel of their tongues together. The kiss deepened and Hector’s grip on the back of his tunic tightened, and Paris lifted his leg and hooked it around Hector’s hip. Hector pushed him back into the stone wall, and Paris lifted his other leg and clasped both legs around Hector’s hips.

Lifting his chest higher, he slid his entire arm around Hector’s neck and grabbed his forearm with is other hand. Now Hector’s head rested completely locked in the crook of his arms. Hector groaned and ground into him and Paris could feel the armor pressing in, but he did not care. Hector moaned low in his throat and tried to break the kiss, but Paris kept sucking and kissing.

“Paris… Xandros… stop for a moment… my armor… and I am covered in… we must…”

Paris pulled himself even tighter against Hector and would have covered his mouth again, but Hector slipped his hand between their mouths, covering Paris’s.

“Paris,” he laughed deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We must get into a room!”

Paris stared in a daze. “I- I have one I use. Down there.”

Hector pulled back and Paris let out a sound of irritation. But Hector was already pushing Paris in front of him, striding down to the room at the end of the hallway.

Paris walked on unsteady legs, and as soon as Hector entered the room behind him, turned around and tried to imprint Hector against the door. Hector let him, smiling broadly and slightly sheepishly.

“It seems you care somewhat,” he stroked his thumb over Paris’s lips, “whether I live or die.”

Paris scowled at Hector, disliking his joke. “Did you kill him?” he asked with such venom that he surprised even himself.

“Yes,” Hector replied, smiling at his brother.

“And all he did was cover you with dust,” Paris scoffed. Then he added shakily, “And blood…”

“I’m all right. It’s just scratches.”

Paris captured Hector’s roving thumb between his lips and held it there. Hector gasped softly, and Paris looked up into his eyes. Hector’s eyes were half closed as his fingers stroked gently against Paris’s cheek.

Paris sucked his thumb into his mouth and Hector’s breath left him. After a few moments Paris pulled out Hector’s thumb and slowly brought it to Hector’s lips. Hector opened his mouth, but Paris shook his head.

“Just lick it,” he whispered.

Hector licked its entire length, and then Paris pulled the hand around him, and placed it on his cheek. Hector needed no further guidance, as he reached further around and pressed his warm, wet thumb into Paris’s cleft.

Paris wrapped his leg around Hector’s, and laid his head on his shoulder. Hector stroked into his cleft and Paris stroked the back of Hector’s muscled arms, and sighed with satisfaction.

“Is that better?” Hector chuckled softly. Paris nodded, feeling his face heating up. “Now, we will take our time.”

Paris nodded again without really comprehending anything Hector was saying, until he became aware that Hector was moving toward the bed.

“Wait,” he managed. He pulled out of his brother’s embrace and stopped at a large chest at the foot of the bed. He opened it and pulled out an expanse of bedding.

“Fur?” Hector grinned. “These priests see to your every comfort, do they not.”

The goddess would have it no other way, Paris wanted to respond. But he would not say anything like that this night.

Hector reached into the chest and pulled out several more layers of fur and silk covered pillows and together they laid them over the bed.

They stood next to the bed and Hector patiently watched as Paris unbuckled his breastplate. He lifted his arm to unbuckle his arm guards, but Paris’s hand halted his actions. Hector looked at him. Paris smiled self-consciously.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Hector grinned, obviously trying not to laugh.

Then his eyes glinted, and he bent down and retrieved his scabbard. He unfastened the length of stiff leather that belted his sword around his waist, and pulled it free of the scabbard. While he did so, Paris tugged at all his bindings and let his robe fall off him. He made to step closer, but Hector placed a hand on his chest to stop him. He instead turned him around over the bed.

“On your hands and knees, Paris,” he instructed. Paris’s heart slammed and the soft brown fur caressed his palms and knees as he complied. Paris felt Hector standing behind him. Even without being touched by him, he could feel him all over his back, and his swollen cock wagged slightly in response, wrenching a moan from him.

“Touch me, Hector,” he pleaded.

“At this moment?” Hector teased.

Before Paris could threaten him, he felt Hector’s hands on his waist. Then warm leather, then his hands against his inner thigh, around his cheeks, more leather. Paris bent his head and looked under him, and saw Hector’s hands working. His cock was pumping out drop after drop of hot seed, and his mind was fast unraveling.

“Touch me…”

While Paris’s mind obsessed with that need, Hector’s hand slipped into the harness he had strapped around Paris’s groin, and with one powerful haul pulled Paris up into his lap as he positioned his back against the headboard.

Paris looked down in confusion and surprise, to see that Hector had firmly fastened the strip of leather around his hips, looped it around one thigh and then the other, right up against his groin. His mouth dropped open and he looked up to see Hector grinning unrepentantly.

Paris found his voice. “What—?”

“Like this,” Hector growled, and pulled, and Paris was drawn the rest of the way up his lap, and his cock and balls pushed right up against Hector’s. Paris wailed deliriously, and Hector shook with laughter.

Hector slipped his other hand over Paris’s cheek and cupped him firmly, pressing him, and sliding his fingers into Paris’s cleft. Suddenly Paris felt the scrape of Hector’s arm guards against his cheeks, and his hands clamped down on Hector’s shoulders.

“Hector! Hector!” he gasped.

Hector grinned, and ignored him. “Now,” he began. “Do you take back what you said to me this morning?”

Paris pushed back into Hector’s hand cupping his cheek. “Yes, Hector,” he howled softly.

“And I am the most wondrous thing in your life?”

Paris moaned painfully, “Yesss.”

“And do you promise never to talk to me like that again?”

“I promise…” Paris whimpered.

Hector grabbed Paris’s other cheek and spread him, and with his thumbs hooked into the harness, stroked his fingers deeper into Paris. “What will you say instead?”

Paris mewled, and his head fell back, and his fingers tightened on Hector’s curls, flipping them idiotically. “That you are the biggest…” he gasped, grinding his dripping cock against Hector’s, “strongest, most beautiful man in the world…”

“And…?”

Paris brought his head forward and opened his eyes and looked into Hector’s eyes. Hector was smiling sweetly, his dimples showing through his beard. “And that I love you,” Paris sighed.

Hector blinked. If Paris wasn’t burning with desire he would have laughed. As it was, all he managed was a weak smile.

“I love you, Hector. And after what happened today, I do not wish you to go another day without knowing.”

Hector’s eyes squeezed closed. “Alexandros,” he finally rasped, and slid down the bed, taking Paris with him. He turned over so that Paris was now buried under him, and reached down and deftly unfastened the harness around Paris.

Paris moaned at the loss, and watched as Hector unfastened and discarded his arm and shin guards also. Then he sighed when he felt Hector’s unencumbered flesh make complete contact with his, pressing him into the thick layers of fur.

He had never before felt Hector’s full weight on him like this, and the sensation was terrifying in its eroticism. His heart tripped in chaos and his fingers tightened on Hector’s arms.

Hector stared down into Paris’s face and Paris stared back. Hector was not breathing, and his eyes burned into Paris. Paris whimpered, fingers twisting mindlessly over the back of Hector’s arms, knowing he was losing awareness, losing everything in the depths of Hector’s eyes. And he did not want that so soon.

Restlessly, he constricted his arms around Hector’s broad back, and moaned when he felt the huge muscles flexing against his arms. His legs slid just as restlessly over Hector’s, but Hector only caressed his hair from his face, and stared at him, at his eyes, his lips.

Paris moaned plaintively, scowling and writhing under him, trying to make him move.

Finally Hector lowered his head and tenderly kissed every inch of Paris’s face. Paris made sounds he could not recognize, and Hector’s lips lingered. He pressed tiny open mouthed kisses over heated flesh, in utter silence, while Paris tried to rub every part of his face against Hector’s mouth. He wanted to feel, to remember every kiss.

Then Hector moved lower and gently kissed his collarbone, then his neck, then the hollow at the base of his throat. Paris pushed his fingers into Hector’s curls, and held on.

Hector descended even lower and kissed, and then licked, each of Paris’s nipples, and Paris quivered under him. He was trying with everything in him to stay on the edge and not tumble over, and as if realizing he would not survive anything lower than that, Hector pulled back up.

He slid his arms completely around Paris and pulled him tight into his full embrace. Tracing his lips against Paris’s ear, he whispered, “Do you want to beg for it…”

“No…!” Paris howled, his eyes flying to his brother’s. Then he saw that Hector only wanted his pleasure. “Not this time…” Paris flushed deeply, pulling Hector tighter against him. “Don’t make me— I could not take it…”

Hector licked his middle finger and slid his arm down Paris’s sweaty stomach, past his pulsing cock, pressing gently at the nub below his balls. Paris shuddered and his limbs contracted violently. But Hector didn’t stop. He found Paris’s entrance and gently pushed his finger in. Paris blindly felt for Hector’s arm with his hand, and loosely held on to it as it pumped him. His eyes closed as he savored the movement, twisting and gasping under Hector’s hot weight.

Hector licked the sweat off his ear. “How does that feel?” he whispered.

Paris deeply moaned his pleasure, recounting all the things that could not compare.

Hector’s soft laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “You spoke gibberish just now, Xandros.”

Paris’s head fell back and he fought to control his heightening pleasure. But Hector’s arm moved inexorably, pumping him smoothly, and now both of Paris’s hands held helplessly unto that arm, and this time there was no escaping the release he sought. “Get inside me, Hector,” he demanded fiercely, and Hector knew when not to defy.

Hector pulled his finger out and slipped his hand under Paris, tilting him up and supporting him. Then a few moments later Paris felt Hector’s cock against in his cleft. It was pounding, and so hot Paris was certain it would leave burn marks.

He gasped every inch of the way as Hector pushed into him, lifting him under his knee. He tilted his head back and stared up into Hector’s face, his vision rapidly glazing over. Hector looked down at him with half closed eyes, and licked his lips. He slammed into him a few times, and then stopped and growled, trying to last. Paris dug his fingers into Hector’s chest and raked down slightly. Hector’s breath caught in a deep gasp and he shuddered.

Never taking his eyes off Paris, he lowered his head and they breathed into each other’s mouths, watching each other’s faces. Then Hector began to slowly, deeply thrust into Paris. Paris reached up and hooked his arms around Hector’s neck. Then he slid them down Hector’s chest and stomach, gasping as he felt the taut, huge muscles contract and flex. Finally he simply gripped Hector’s forearms and held on.

Hector's eyes devoured Paris as he watched him rocking under him. Paris felt himself smiling shyly through his gasps, despite himself. Hector’s eyes flashed, and Paris averted his own, for one moment unable to bare their intensity. But he looked again, and Hector licked his lips before lowering his head and taking Paris’s tongue in his mouth. Then they fell into a long, deep kiss, during which neither could form any thought.

Soon Hector’s endless thrusts began generating an equally endless wail from Paris, and Hector gave a long, low moan in response. He slid his fingers into Paris’s thick curls and anchored his hand on top of his head. Then he began to push down on Paris’s head with every thrust into him, and Paris screamed as he came.

Hector was in no condition to cover Paris’s mouth and in a few moments, began shuddering in response. “Oh, my sweet love…” he groaned deeply, and locked Paris in his embrace. A moment later he joined Paris in rapture.

That night they spent entirely in each other’s arms doing many secret things, for which there was no accounting, and many hours later, and far too soon, the morning came and found them.

~*~