Troy/Iliad fanfiction

Hector/Paris, NC-17

Summary: One week later. Follows from Paris In Love.

~*~

It was dark in the temple chamber. Paris sat on the window sill, facing the inner courtyard of Aphrodite’s temple, and looked up at the heavens.

There was a moon, and nothing else. It gave off enough light so he could see the gleam of pillars in the courtyard.

Inside his chamber, he could see his pulled up knee as a sliver shape in front of him. There was no other source of light, as he had shaken his head at the acolytes’ offer to light the torches. There was nothing he wanted to see in here.

Sitting in the gloom near the door was one of the temple priests. He had come in a while ago and Paris lost track of how long the old man had been sitting there. The man had not said anything to him the entire time, but there were platters of food and goblets of wine on a low table near him. He simply sat and patiently waited for Paris to come and eat.

Paris had not eaten, or spoken, for two days. And he had not seen Hector for seven.

When last Paris had seen him, Hector had been apologizing in this very room, and Paris had still been too incensed to accept it. He had told him to stay out of his sight for a week.

Well, the week was now over and he should feel better, because his anger had passed. But he did not. His dissipated anger had left in its stead a profound numbness, so that since his ordeal with Hector his mind had all but shut down, weary of their perpetual struggle against each other.

He had been sitting in this room since that night, and he had no desire to leave it.

Paris closed his eyes. He had no desires left in his body, and because of that the realms of the goddess lay beyond his reach, and she left him alone.

He was tired and vulnerable, and nothing but himself. A man who by the gifts of a goddess lived the life of a blessed child, protected from a world that was otherwise entirely made up of one unattainable other.

Then, in the silence of the chamber, the door began to creak open.

Despite the pounding of his heart, Paris held himself still and didn’t turn his head. When the door stopped opening he heard a shuffle of robes as the priest stood up and left.

After that, the silence stretched for a long time. His mind floundered, overwhelmed under the weight of countless unspoken fears.

At last he said hoarsely, “I know you wish I had never been born.” He kept his eyes on the stone pillars outside. “Often you have whispered so while I lost myself in your arms. ”

He stopped and breathed to cool the fire in his head. After a few moments he continued. “But as you blame me, so I blame my goddess. Yet if I had to do it all over again…”

Hector began to walk into the room.

Paris silently cursed himself as his body began to shake. His head pounded with the effort it was taking to hold himself together, and feeling Hector stalking towards him was…

He swiftly stood up and turned to him in the gloom.

Hector kept coming towards him, until he was right up against Paris, and Paris had to take a step backwards.

It seemed to be what Hector wanted, as he took another step forward. Paris placed his hands on Hector’s bare arms under the sleeves of his robe and, despite moving backwards, pushed gently against him.

“No, Hector,” he whispered thickly, shaking his head. But Hector would not stop. Paris felt the wall press up behind him, and still Hector did not stop his forward momentum. He pushed into Paris, pressing him into the wall.

His heady scent permeated the warm space between them, and Paris heard himself whimper. His fingers tightened on Hector’s arms.

Hector lifted his arm and rested it against the wall above Paris’s head. His other arm did not move. He leaned into Paris, his face a dark shadow staring down, soft breaths escaping from it. But he said nothing.

“What in the name of Aphrodite do you want from me,” Paris cried. He squeezed his eyes shut at the nakedness in his voice. Aphrodite’s presence was precisely what he needed the most at this moment. But as it was, it was just his oldest brother and himself, and he felt young and afraid.

Hector’s arm above him lowered and his fingers trailed slowly in the curls at the crown of his head. Hector’s eyes continued to burn into him and his face heated with the intensity of the scrutiny. He was thankful no light shone in the room.

He wanted to shout at Hector, to yell and pound him into the ground. But there was absolutely nothing left in him with which to fight.

“You do and say as you please,” he choked, shaking Hector hard by the arm he was gripping too tightly. “And that is the problem. No one controls you but yourself.” He shook him again. “That is the problem.”

Hector’s fingers sank lower into his hair, twisting, and Paris squeezed his eyes shut against scalding tears. Alone or no, he would not shed tears like a child.

Hector’s face sank closer to his, and Paris thought he meant to speak. But he still said nothing, only stared at him in the darkness.

What did he look for? Why would he not speak? Why would he not open his mouth and relinquish a part of himself to Paris. Just a small part of him that would belong to Paris. That Paris could touch when he desired, look at for as long as he pleased, understand completely, and keep forever in his bed.

His chest heaved, and he cursed himself, swallowing every sob that tried to force its way out of him. “Have I not— Do I not deserve more— I need more—”

“You are dangerous, Alexandros,” Hector finally said softly. “I do not trust you, nor do I understand you. Yet, here I am with you. Always ending up with you. You do not deserve anything in this life, for the wrongs you have done. Yet I stand here, holding you, needing you…”

“But I want—”

“It does not matter what you want. You have something, if you want it.”

Paris raised his eyes to his brother’s stern face. “I do not want something,” he whispered fiercely, “I want everything.”

“Yes, you do,” Hector shook his head resignedly. “You have no control, and no mercy. You chase me everywhere. You come after me, ready to raze Troy to get me.”

“And anyone else that stands in my way.”

“And that is your problem,” Hector whispered back just as fiercely. “Must everyone suffer forever because of you?”

Paris pressed his lips together and dropped his head. His breaths hitched. “I do not care if the whole world suffers because of me.”

“Ah, of course you d—”

His grip tightened on Hector’s sleeve, and he twisted it. “You are not in that world, Hector. You are in mine. Ours is a world of two. And I will come after you, any way I can.”

Paris stopped talking as Hector very lightly placed his thumb over his mouth. He raised his eyes to find Hector staring down at him.

“But that you were never born to Troy,” Hector whispered.

Paris frowned fiercely in an effort to stave off his tears, but it was no use. He sobbed hard, once, and before he could will himself under control, buried his face in Hector’s shoulder and wept his heart out. Hector silently held him.

He clutched Hector’s sleeve. “I accept that I only dream that you are here with me,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “Hector is actually on the battlefield, where he always is, at war to save his city. What I clutch here is a dream I want for myself…”

Hector’s fingers in his hair clenched painfully tight. “I am certainly real, Xandros,” he said in a strained voice. “And you have something.”

Paris moaned and dropped his head, and shook it.

Hector placed his hand on Paris’s hip, and Paris stilled, refusing to move into his hand. Hector’s hand squeezed, gently but firmly pulling him forward, but Paris pressed back against the wall.

For long moments it was just the sound of their breathing.

“I want to kiss you,” Hector finally rasped, saying the words as if telling his deepest, darkest secret. It was enough to stop Paris’s heart.

Hector had never expressed a desire to kiss him, and Paris understood that it was an offer. Of the things that Hector could give.

Hector slowly leaned down and pressed his lips into Paris’s forehead, and Paris's tears leaked out of his eyes.

Then Hector moved his face, rubbing its side against Paris’s wet one. Paris’s thigh muscles quivered, and he was afraid he would slide to the floor.

Hector began to move his mouth slowly forward across Paris’s cheek. Inch, by reluctant inch. Paris breathed, and waited. Finally Hector’s mouth was right against the side of his. Paris turned his head slightly, opening his mouth, and Hector slid his tongue inside.

Paris’s arms rushed up and clamped around Hector’s neck and squeezed, and then he was forced to break the kiss because he sobbed so hard. He bent his head until his chin was buried in his chest, and tried to sniff as quietly as he could.

Hector lowered his head until he caught Paris’s mouth with his own, and kissed him deeply. Not as a preamble to a fight, and not as an epilogue to defeat, but for its own sake, as everything they had.

Paris gasped into his mouth, knowing the difference, realizing he was sobbing pitifully, but Hector only kissed him deeper.

He tried to turn his head aside, to catch his breath, but still Hector wouldn’t let him break the kiss.

So Paris kissed him back. He pushed his fingers into Hector’s curls and dug his blunt nails into his scalp. Hector groaned deep in his chest and ground slowly against him, and the ache in Paris’s chest inflamed.

Suddenly, forcefully, Hector’s arm pushed in behind him and he clenched a fistful of Paris’s robe. Then he pushed Paris so hard up against the wall that Paris’s feet lifted off the floor and he was forced to wrap his legs around Hector’s waist.

Hector ground into him, then began to bump against him. Paris choked his gasps into Hector’s mouth as Hector’s stomach muscles bumped against his stiff erection. Hector finally let his mouth slide away, and Paris moaned into his neck, clutching at his robe hard enough to rip it.

Hector pulled back from the wall, taking Paris with him, and walked blindly to the bed. Hector was pulling on the belt of his own robe, pulling his robe off around Paris’s clinging limbs and then Paris felt himself being lowered. Hector’s weight press down on top of him and Hector undressed Paris from beneath his body.

When they were both naked and burning against each other, Paris slid his hands down the length of his brother’s body, trying not to cry all over again at the familiar crush of hard muscles above him.

But when his hand stroked past Hector’s stomach, Hector froze. He lifted himself slightly off Paris, away from his hand.

Paris’s heart contracted, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he laid there quietly. Finally, he heaved a deep breath, which came out as nothing more than a soft exhale.

He withdrew his hand, and opened his eyes. Hector was looking down into his face.

For a painful eternity, Paris stared back into his deep, dark eyes, wanting.

Then he smiled slowly, shyly, and ran his calf over the back of Hector’s warm leg.

Hector did not smile back, his face taut with contemplation, and slight awe. Paris watched, his smile widening. Hector was right to be worried.

He kept watching, and saw the exact moment Hector reached a decision.

Hector lowered his head, just as Paris lifted his.

Hector pressed warm, wet kisses on his mouth, his eyes, his jaw, his neck, everywhere, supporting himself on his elbows and grinding into Paris with a confidence that melted Paris into the bed.

He slid one hand into Paris’s hair and used the other one to pull up Paris’s leg and drape it around his waist, swallowing every gasp of submission that escaped Paris’s mouth.

And Paris was gasping alarmingly, moaning so plaintively he fought burning tears. He knew what Hector was doing, even though he had never done it before.

Here were assurances, promises that words could never convey. That while he was with him, Hector was his completely.

Paris clutched back, tightened his legs around Hector’s waist, pushed up into him, showed him he understood.

Hector reared up unto his hands, and Paris clung to his chest, rising with him as he pushed forward on the bed, until Paris’s head bumped the wall. Hector dropped his face into Paris’s neck and began to ride him hard. Assurances. Paris closed his eyes and wailed into Hector’s ear.

Hector was slamming him into the wall, and when Paris tried to shift slightly, Hector snarled and swung him away from the wall.

Paris was now flat on his back, legs hooked over Hector’s thighs, with Hector’s arms braced on either side him. But Hector was driving into him so hard that they were in danger of falling out of the bed. He scrambled for purchase but Hector was relentless.

“Hector, wait...!” he gasped, and Hector pushed his arm under him, and lifted him off the bed. Paris kept his legs tight around him, flustered, as Hector lowered them both to the floor, trailing silk sheets and pillows.

Hector pulled at Paris’s leg and turned him over, unto his knees. Paris braced himself on his elbows, his chest low to the floor, head turned to the side. Hector knelt behind him and did the same, covering his body completely.

His breaths came in short gasps as Hector’s heated chest pressed into his back. But he barely had time to circle his arms around Hector’s and grip his forearms to anchor himself before Hector started riding him in sinuous waves.

Hector ground into him, forward and up, lifting Paris’s knees off the floor with each thrust but holding him down with his forearms. Paris keened helplessly, his body undulating under Hector’s assault like a boat battered by heavy waves.

His hand slipped off Hector’s slick forearm and he tried to regain his grip, but Hector growled feverishly into his ear and tightened his arms around him, pulling Paris harder into his body.

Paris moaned low in his throat, liking these assurances, and was beginning to float. He tried again to hold on to Hector’s arm, but Hector would not slow down long enough for him to orient himself. Hector surged on top of him, his forehead sweeping against Paris’s temple, his body forcing Paris’s to move with his, his rhythm flawless and incessant, until Paris began to wail deliriously.

Then Hector was reaching under him and holding his hand still, letting Paris’s throbbing erection beat against his palm as he rode him. Without warning his fist clamped and squeezed, and Paris erupted screaming his name.

*****

Much later, as Paris laid stretched out on the bed on top of Hector’s hard back, shifting and settling into him, he pressed his lips into his brother’s warm nape, and whispered.

He spoke too softly for Hector to hear his words, and Hector, his head turned to the side and resting on his crossed arms, only blinked steadily into the silver gloom.

But Paris whispered that he loved him. And that he would take him anyway he could get him.

And when tomorrow came he would once again set about getting Hector. Anyway he could.

~*~