Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue
Dedication: Maia
Author's note: Warning! This piece of fiction involves severe historical inaccuracy, liberal twisting of facts and gratuitous Paris-worshipping.
"Please?"
Shimmering pools of darkness pleaded with Hector, melted his resolve mercilessly.
"Fine."
Hector's long-suffering sigh was interrupted when his brother flung himself on him in excitement, pressing a far too brief kiss on his cheeks.
Long after his brother had bounced out of the room, Hector stood still, the memory of the kiss searing itself into his burning skin.
He could not believe he had just promised to accompany Paris to a tavern in Thessaly, especially one that was expressly specified to be filled with good drinks, pretty wenches and exciting brawls.
Then again, he could not believe he had allowed Paris to accompany him to Thessaly, on a mission to secure peace.
Leisurely following Paris, Hector surreptitiously adjusted the hood of his cloak, thanking the gods that most of the people jostling in the streets were similarly clad in cloaks, due to the biting cold that whipped at them.
Seeing Paris eagerly enter the smoke-filled, dingy surroundings of the tavern, he grinned, remembering how excited he had been on his first visit to one.
"I'm going to go get a drink!" Paris yelled over the deafening noise emanating from the crowd. "Do you want anything?"
Hector shook his head, casually positioning himself against a pillar, keen eyes picking out any possible signs of trouble.
Achilles was bored.
There were no enticing wenches that night. It appeared the only entertainment for him would be the company of a drink.
"Get out of my way, woman," Achilles muttered impatiently to the grey cloaked, slender figure in front of him, blocking his path to a drink.
The figure swung round indignantly, fiery sparks igniting in his eyes.
Achilles was momentarily struck senseless, mesmerized by the face that was still partially shrouded within the soft, woolen hood.
Even hidden, shielded behind the soft folds of the cloth, the lovely features of the figure were luminescent, glowing in an ethereal light.
"I am no woman," the cloaked figure scowled, unconsciously pouting, emphasizing his luminous, petal soft lips.
"No, you certainly aren't," Achilles agreed, drawling as he appraisingly walked around the figure.
"Like what you see?" The boy challenged him, a hint of flirtation shining in his eyes.
"I'll like to see more," Achilles remarked, his hand swiftly moving up to lower the hood.
His hand was promptly stopped by a surprisingly strong grip and even though he could have easily thrown the boy across the room, he allowed the boy to push down his hand.
"Not here," the boy hissed, his eyes darting, furtive.
"Come on," Achilles urged him. Clasping the boy's slender hand, he led the way through the crowd, his imposing build automatically opening a path for them.
Hector frowned.
His eyes following his brother's path intently, they narrowed in concern when he saw Paris being halted and accosted by a well-built stranger with gleaming golden hair.
Smoothly weaving through the crowd, he followed the pair.
Striding, almost swaggering, Achilles went up a flight of dingy, crumbly stairs, finally escorting the boy into a shabby, begrimed room filled with the lingering smell of smoke and sex.
"Is this where you live?" The boy asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
For that ill-mannered remark alone, Achilles would usually have shown the offender the error of his words by slamming him against the most convenient wall.
However, at that moment, he was distracted by the vision that had just slipped off the cloak.
Wild, unruly curls framed the boy's lovely face and when he smiled, a shy, tentative smile lit up his dark eyes, created a dazzling glow around him.
He was exquisite and Achilles was enthralled, entranced.
Stepping slowly towards him, Achilles pressed him against the wall, gazing deep into his eyes that were darkening in desire.
The boy's trembling hands sent shivers down Achilles's anticipating body, which hardened at his feather touches.
Hector watched silently, blending into the shadows.
He understood.
He knew why the wide-eyed stranger was staring at Paris, drinking in his fragile features, memorizing every facet of his face.
Hector too had been spellbound when he first set eyes on this wondrous creature, amazed at his sheer beauty, overwhelmed by the tragedy of their relationship, the misfortune of being a brother to this celestial being.
Achilles pressed urgently against the boy, his eyes fervent with longing, lust.
Gently seeking a path between those luscious lips, Achilles's kisses became more probing, urgent.
A warm tongue explored his mouth thoroughly and Achilles moaned, his hands tangled in the boy's hair.
His hands grabbed the layers of clothing, impatiently ripping them off and revealed, explored the firm, muscled body hidden within.
Crimson blushing his cheeks, the boy whimpered faintly into his mouth and Achilles grinned.
The smile soon slid off his face as the boy's hands put themselves to good use, expertly, effortlessly arousing him.
Hector tried to breathe as he focused on the slightly gaping mouth of Paris, his hair tousled wildly, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
Paris shone in the moonlight and everybody, everything surrounding him was cast into the deepest shadows.
Closing his eyes, Hector tried to imagine that it was him pressing Paris against the wall, that it was him Paris was pleasuring.
And the entire time, he cursed the gods for toying with him so.
Heady delirium enveloped Achilles as he shuddered, deep in the throes of a raging climax.
The haze of his release encased him in a cloud of bliss, warmth and he reached for the boy, to repay the favour.
Unexpectedly, disconcertedly, the boy slipped out from under his hold and languidly placed his clothes back on.
The great Achilles was struck dumb, unable to raise a single finger as the boy simply smiled regretfully at him, an impish twinkle in his eyes, before leaving the room.
"Ready to go?" Hector asked indulgently, only a hint of gruffness around his words.
"Always." Paris grinned, affectionately clasping his brother's arm.
Gazing at Paris's kissed-rouged lips, Hector impulsively leant in towards his brother, distractedly noting how naturally Paris melted into his arms, how effortlessly their lips melded together.
Angrily berating himself inwardly, Hector brutally tore himself from the yearning kiss.
"This will never happen again." He said bitterly, frigidly, detaching himself from the warm arms of a bewildered Paris.
Steeling himself, his heart, Hector ignored Paris and stalked down the stairs.
Stepping into the streets, Hector reveled in the frigid wind that whipped at his face... and distracted him from the stabbing wounds in his heart.