If anything, Paris lived one of the most prestigious lifestyles Rome had to offer. Being born a prince himself, he knew what it felt like to be raised as royalty, and he knew what it meant to be treated higher than others. He was never one to look down upon the poor and underprivileged, however. His heart was far kinder than most, and he did not seek power. This could have been due to the fact that the throne was to be bestowed upon him when he reached the proper age, but for now, he did not spend countless nights plotting for revenge, or spend much of his free time thinking of ways to rid of those he did not like. Most of his time, contrary to the belief of many who knew him, was spent in this very room near the heart of Rome.

And all day, instead of plotting, conniving, or thinking of his future as the heir to the throne…

He waited.

Sitting in the absence of his desired company, Paris flipped through the aged book he held in his hands aimlessly. He wished for the servant to leave, but he knew she was bound by her duties. She straightened up about the room, cleaning things and putting them in their right place. On numerous occasion, she had asked Paris of what he wished to eat, but he declined every time. He did not desire to eat, but wished more than anything to fulfill his appetite. Taking a slow breath, he fingered the corner of one page, eyes bored and expression nearly blank, save for the traces of distant thought. Thoughts of how long he'd waited already, wonder as to how much longer he had to sit on this bed, and thoughts of the man he waited for.

If only Claudius would not depart for so long. Perhaps then, Paris would have something to do.

Finally giving up on reading the book, he closed it rather loudly, frustration taking control of his actions as he growled beneath his breath. He fell back into the bed he rests upon, the all too familiar scent rising as if moved by his presence… he blinked and turned his head towards the sheets - away from the servant - with a content smile upon his face. That scent… he inhaled it deeply, burying his nose into the soft fabric. It still remained… the scent from the previous night. Absently, a hand pushed the book away, replaying the memories of last night. Even in the darkness of the late hours, they had moved so perfectly with one another. His hand found its way to the loose tie that bound his robe, pulling it apart swiftly. Desperation and awaiting desire was lit afire once more, and the smoldering kindles of the heated moments burned within him. Now coursing over his own flesh, fingers moves across his torso, almost as if under the illusion that Claudius were here, causing him this need once more, bringing about this wilder side of him that only he could awaken.

The servant - completely forgotten - watched curiously, but one soft moan was all it took and she quickly departed, giving him privacy. Paris gasped when his hand brushed against sensitive wounds. Not that he minded them; it added to a deeper passion that they shared. Something that gave him excitement, thrill, and made him feel a far deeper emotion for Claudius that he could hardly comprehend anymore.

Another moan, and his hips bucked ever so gently towards the sheets. His free hand grasped the fabric tightly, a part of him unable to believe that he was going to resort to this. The hand that was once roaming his chest now drifted lower, past his abdomen, ignoring his own slender hips as the searched for a more desirable area… even on his own accord, he would torment himself. He gave soft whimpers and pleading moans, whispering his lover's name frantically as his breath was stolen away. He wanted this, needed this, for he was so desperate, his hand so close, and with a choked moan of Claudius Glaber's name-

A knock, just outside the door.

"Claudius Glaber! We require you at once!"Growling beneath his breath - these messengers needed to learn when he was and was not here; after months of delivering in the daytime, they may as well have called his own name instead! The door was pounded upon again, and Paris retracted his hand, untidily tying the sting in the common fashion of such robes once more. "A moment, if you will!" he called, annoyance obvious in his tone.

Forcing away his desires, he allowed the garment to make his personal problem less obvious, just enough to answer the demanding visitors. The door was swung open, Paris' intention to make them realize what a true bother they were.

"A scroll, for Claud-"

He snatched the scroll, eyes narrowed to slits. "Good day." The pure anger radiated off of him, and the messenger turned back, fear in his eyes. Paris shut the door, rolling his eyes. "Good riddance, indeed." He placed the scroll on his desk, his original intention to continue where he'd left off, but he couldn't find it within himself to continue.

Looking to the book that lie neglected on the bed, he sighed and sat upon the bed once more, reaching back and taking it into his hands. Fingers traced the golden letters imprinted on the front, eyes lazily following the creases in the leather. He found himself frowning, then, eyebrows turned upward. His sorrow and longing suddenly shifted, turning into a raging anger, and he grit his teeth, not even giving thought to his sudden infuriation. He stood and paced towards the bookshelf, hands gasping the withered binding tightly as he raised it to its rightful shelf - his intention to simply shove the book wherever it fit - before stopping himself abruptly. He closed his eyes, sighing slowly. He was never one to be angered so easily… Perhaps his dependence upon Claudius was making itself far too easily known. Looking up once more, he gently eased the book into its place, arm dropping to his side.

He turned, and now his attention was drawn to the desk that lie near the far wall of the room. He approached it with a gentle smile, knowing many shared moments had been spent on the very wood his fingers now grazed. Unknowingly, his smile grew to a wide grin, his eyes drifting to the chair. Feeling a sense of deviance, he smirked as he pulled the chair from beneath the desk, eyes scanning for Claudius' presence. He had made it known that he was the only one to sit in said chair, and even if someone made it appear as if they were to do so, he would make sure that it was not allowed. Even as Paris allowed the thought to pass his mind, he did not know why Claudius had such a grievance for it. Why did it bother him so? Even though he had never stated any sort of punishment for sitting in the chair, Paris would not mind taking his chances.

Taking another breath, he bit his lip as to contain the excitement as he slowly lowered himself into the seat. Feeling absolutely defiant, yet somehow stronger, he grinned, bringing his hands to rest face-down on the wood. Smooth, gentle palms followed the grains of the wood. His toes curled at this seemingly insignificant experience. His eyes fell closed and he sighed, content. The rush was fading already… How sad, he mused. His one hope of prolonged excitement, and it was gone already.

Perhaps there was a way to keep himself entertained for some time longer…? Surely, there was something he could think of. Opening his eyes, he scanned the desk. Papers, documents, scrolls of contracts… nothing that interested him in the least. However, the drawers seemed a good place to start. Giving another wary look around the barren room - the servant had left at one point or another; Paris couldn't find it in himself to care of when exactly - he opened the first drawer, on the left side, disappointed with more documents. The next drawer beneath it? Papers.

He grew frustrated, but he would not stop until he'd searched each one. Now turning to the right, he opened the top drawer, this time finding various scrolls, some - as he dug through them - dating back many years… However, his interest was not held for more than a few moments. Sighing and moving to the lower drawer, it was safe to say similar results were found.

Now, he was faced with one drawer. One - he calculated rather quickly - would not keep him entertained. Nonetheless, the knowledge of regret was a greater burden than the knowledge of disappointment, and slowly, his fingers curled around the single knob, pulling it open slowly…

"You have yet to learn patience, Paris."

He slammed the drawer shut with a sharp gasp before he found the chance to look inside, turning quickly and standing from the chair. His body was rigid, but relaxed once he met the commander's gaze. His initial fear disappeared and replaced itself with a displeased expression, one eyebrow raised. "I believe it is you who must learn how to return in a timely manner."

"Bold words for one being caught in such an act." His voice, smooth yet assertive, made Paris shiver.

"Are you able to find it in yourself to forgive me?"

"That is perhaps too far from reach." he stepped towards Paris, eyes darker, sinister, but not angry. Paris knew his wide array of looks, and one way or another, he was going to be punished for his disobedience. "You've defied me, gone against my word, and most of all, looked through documents that did not belong to you. Catching you, indeed, is something I am grateful for." By now, he was directly in front of the younger man, their breaths intermingling. "You would not have spoken of this to me," he whispered, a the voice making nearly making him tremble… with terror or eagerness, he wasn't sure, "for you could not have found it in yourself to have been honest with me."

"You assume this based on what? I would have told you-"

"You would not have!" His tone rose sharply, intensified from the once-silent room. Paris had only flinched briefly from such an outburst. Not that it didn't scare him - indeed, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from yelping in surprise - but it gave him a sense of desire… There was something unexplainable about Claudius' demeanor when he was angered. Something Paris admired, and wanted to hear more often. Only when he heard the chair he was sitting in not moment ago scrape against the floor did he break their gazes, looking back to see that he'd reached around him to push it into his proper place. "Until we are sure where your loyalties lie," his voice was lowered once more, "you are to prove to me that I can trust you once more."

He couldn't help but feel a faint smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You have lost faith in me?" He sighed, feigning disappointment, as he eyes were drawn to the binds and straps, fastens and clasps that kept Claudius' armor around him. Slowly, he raised his hands, taking his stillness as a sign to continue, and began taking apart the obstructions. "Surely I can make you see otherwise… I am loyal to you. To your every command."

A hand - rough against the prince's skin, but its intentions were gentle - found its way behind the curve of his neck. Paris had grown to know this touch, memorize it, and cherish it. A thumb stroked beneath the curve of Paris' jaw, but he did not stop his removal of the armor. If anything, he moved faster, practiced hands undoing the straps and pulling them away. The hand grazed his skin, traveling around his neck to the front, his fingers now coursing downwards, and he couldn't help but remember how he had done this to himself, not even ten minutes ago.

He was faltering, Claudius noted, and his own smirk graced his features. His chest gear was removed and set aside, but Paris didn't allow himself time to marvel at the perfect sculpted chest that lie beneath, the toned abdomen and strong shoulders. The belt was gone, followed by any other hindering attire that Paris cursed beneath his breath. In the midst of this, Claudius had removed his boots and bracers, his sword discarded to the floor.

Now, both dressed in mere robes, all movement seemed to stop, Paris looking for anything else that would need to be taken away, hands skimming his figure and feeling for anything… but there was nothing left.

Of course, that didn't stop his hands.

Claudius' curious fingers pulled at the messily tied sting holding Paris' robes, and the prince mirrored his actions, simultaneously pulling him towards the bed. "You desire me, prince?" He tunic was pulled over him, and he removed Paris' not a moment later."Do not ask foolish questions, Claudius." And without a moment's hesitation, Paris leans in and brings their lips together in a crashing kiss, hands roaming the bare torso he'd come to learn so well. The commander's hands are on his as well, moving swiftly and diving into his hair, tugging harshly and eliciting sharp gasps from the prince. Their bodies fit into one another's perfect, as they'd always done. It takes little time at all for them both to fall back onto the bed, Claudius crawling slowly over the prince, their lips never breaking apart.

Paris threads his hands through the commander's short hair, moaning loudly as he grinds down into him, his body reacting as it always would. He lifts his hips, rolling them up into his. Claudius growls against his lips, biting at them and now moving down his jaw, towards his neck, latching his teeth into the sensitive skin. Moaning his name, Paris, clutches at the sheets beneath him, obviously desperate. He needed him terribly, and he couldn't wait much longer…

Not taking the time he used to for preparing the prince - he'd stopped needing it much time ago, and neither of them were complaining - he positioned himself before his entrance, bringing his forehead to rest on his as he pushed into him. Paris gasped and moaned even louder still, his back arching as he moved closer to him, forcing him deeper, crying out for him to move faster, harder, needing so much more… Claudius' hand found the prince's, doing as he wished, groaning as he was taken in my him… Paris cherished these sounds, knowing he didn't give them too often.

Suddenly, Paris' vision is blinded, Claudius hitting his prostate directly. He nearly screamed, his hand grasping the commander's as tightly as he possible… of course, as needy as they both were, Claudius found it within himself to keep the prince begging for more; he avoided his prostate, only brushing past it occasionally, ignoring Paris' frantic pleas, telling him he needed to feel it again, to hit the same spot… he only grins wickedly, breathing heavily as he nears his own release.

Bodies uniting, lips brushing against one another's, hearts racing madly, he finally gives in to the prince's demands, aiming for his prostate, moaning louder than he normally would. His pace increases and he tightens his hold on him, just as he feels Paris' legs wrap securely around his waist. It is hardly any time at all it seems for Paris to cry out his name, releasing powerfully, and taking the commander over the edge with him, bringing him to his climax as well.

Their panting breaths are the only sounds to be heard, their hearts calming as the intensely gratifying sensations die with the fall of their orgasm. Claudius pulls out of Paris, collapsing beside him. Lithe arms are around him as the smaller body curls into his side. Smiling to himself as he closes his eyes, Claurdius speaks, quietly, "I will swear something to you, from this day forth, my prince."

Opening his eyes, Paris' gaze could only be described as confused. Looking up curiously, he silently asks what he will swear.

"I will never return home later than I normally should. Ever again." He grinned down at Paris, who only buried his face into his neck, grinning widely.

"A promise you must keep until your dying breath." He even feels Claudius' hold on him tighten, just slightly.

"It will not be anytime soon, then, I swear."