AN: The last chapter was about Briseis, this one is about Achilles. I hope I've done a good job portraying him. I didn't want him to be sappy, he is still a warrior and bringer of death, but he can love and he knows that, so... well, I'll let you guys be the judjes of characterisation.

OoOoO

Beneath

"There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment." ― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

He slept late that night, gladly exchanging his nightly dreams for the sight of her sleeping in his bed. A smile, small, almost imperceptible, but visible to him who had learned to read her expressions, had settled on her lips as sleep took over her. He'd pushed himself off her entirely and now lay on his side, watching her, and the noise of his thoughts had settled, as it hardly ever did, into an ignorable rumble at the back of his consciousness.

That silence, the calm that was so precious but so elusive for him, that had been the last thing he remembered before he fell to sleep. He knew that at some point, he had fallen back to his dreams, but when he woke, he did not remember it, and for the first time in much too long a time, he did not feel the usual weight settle in his breast as soon as he opened his eyes… missing it was strange, so accustomed had he become to feeling the dead following him in his waking hours.

But instead of the heaviness of the underworld's call, he opened his eyes to see her face next to his and the smile came almost before he realized.

The lightness he felt was such that he almost laughed at the sight of her: she was splayed in his bed as if she owned it, sleeping on her back, one arm over her stomach, the other draped across his chest, head askew on the pillow, and legs stretched at an awkward-looking angle, his dark silk sheets - so tangled around those lean legs that it seemed as if she had been fighting a war with them - barely coming to cover her hips, leaving her small round breasts uncovered, the sight of them so pale and delicious, dusted with golden freckles, instantly stirring him in different ways…

And he still wanted to laugh, because it was so painfully obvious by the way she slept that she had never shared her bed with anyone before. His smile stretched and there was a hint of mischief there, as he thought of how much he would enjoy teaching her just how to do that. Beneath his closed eyelids he could see it as clearly as if it was happening, all the ways in which he wanted her…

"What are you smirking about?" her sleepy whisper made him snap his eyes open and he found her bare back to greet him. She was on her stomach now, her face half hidden under the tumble of unruly curls, one hand under the pillow, the other fisted close to her mouth, hiding her lips. But he could make out one sleepy eye watching him.

How had she moved without him feeling it?

His 'smirk' as she called it, stretched even wider as he stretched his limbs – perhaps, he answered himself, because his mind had been preoccupied otherwise. He reached out to push the curls off her face gently and tangle his fingers in her full hair, his thumb so softly brushing against her cheek… and the sleepiness in her eyes melted into something tender which reached, in turn, for something tender in him.

"I was thinking something pleasant." He said as his palm made its way down the slope of her back, eyes dancing with laughter even though his mouth was relaxed only barely showing his amusement.

Briseis huffed and turned her head the other way.

"I know what you were thinking." She said snippily, but the tremble of laughter was too close to the surface for him not to notice. His hand slipped lower still and she shoved the pillow in his face. This time, his laughter sprang freer than she'd ever heard it and it made her smile. When she felt his arms reach out and pull her to him she struggled and squealed and laughed, but there was no escape from his grip that, though gentle, was very much unbreakable.

Not that she was really trying.

Briseis found herself with the side of her face pressed against the soft furs and him lying on her back, hair gathered in his fist and away from her back as he pressed kisses against the back of her neck and shoulders, biting and sucking at her skin in such a way that made the laughter die in her throat and come out as a deep sigh. One of her hands found his hair and threaded through it, just as one of his found more interesting places…

"Don't you need me to turn around?" Briseis breathed out.

She felt his smile against the skin of lower back.

"No." He murmured against her flesh.

In a move so fluid he reminded her of water, his chest was pressed against her back again and his lips were at the skin just below her ear, leaving a kiss that was more tongue than lips as he shifted to his side and pulled her with him. He pulled her earlobe in his mouth and sucked (and Briseis thought she could not really be responsible for the sound she made or how her body reacted, because she'd realized he knew more things about her body than she did) just as his thigh - helped by his hand – pushed its way between hers and she could feel him against her, smooth and hard and hot, same way she'd felt him the night before (his breath hitched near her ear and his moan was as clear to her as the shiver that ran down her own spine. Such strange things they could do to each other…)

Briseis let go of his hair and fisted her hand in the furs because she did not want to tear those golden hair out, and she was afraid she might. His hand did not move from her thigh, but the other went under her and around her waist, pulled her to him even more tightly.

"Are you just going to hold me then?"

Her voice was closer to a trembling moan than anything else, as was his.

"No."

The feel of her as he sheathed himself in her warmth took his breath away and somewhere in the back of his mind he tried to remember that he had to be gentle with her again because… of something he didn't really remember anymore… but in that moment she pushed against him hard and his hand tightened around her thigh to the point of bruising just as her legs tightened around his… her harsh breathing was louder in his ears than the loud flow of his blood that had rendered the whole world but her silent to him.

His hand ran over the back of her thigh and pulled her leg to open wider, giving himself more room to move and in the mean time moving just the same, and muffling his moan on the crook of her neck, feeling the way her pulse fluttered against his tongue. Her hand wrapped around his wrist hard enough to bend his bones when he touched her between her legs, making sounds that made him want to kiss her lips raw, if only he could reach them (and now he'd found the only un-commendable thing about this position…)

He let her hold on to him… and pushed harder, held her tighter, needing to dissolve himself in her in such an absolute way that he could not seem to taste well enough, get close enough, go deep enough or fast enough or hard enough…

He did not know where this unprecedented need (that tasted of desperation more than he would like) came from, he was unfamiliar with it, did not know how to control it, how to understand it… It burned like hell aflame and scorched him thoroughly, yet he did not fight it.

Why should he? He revealed in the flames, let the devour.

Because he wanted her like he'd never wanted anything in his life, as if he'd never known what 'to want' even meant until he'd wanted her. And that made him hold her tighter, push into her harder, kiss her wherever he could reach because her skin tasted sweet even though she was sleek with sweat, because she was the softest thing he'd ever touched and because she kissed him back like she wanted to get lost in him, with complete abandon and desperation that mirrored his own.

"Achilles…"

… because the whisper of his name rang in his ears louder than 50.000 men shouting it at the top of their lungs… and every time, every time he wanted to answer 'yes'.

Yes, anything!

Yes, everything!

Yes, whatever you want!

He felt himself staring to unravel, from where he was inside her to the tip of his navel to the tips of his fingers, shooting up his back and making him rigid and frantic at the same time. And when she cried out, it went right through him, sharper than a spear… feeling her all around him, surrounding him, inside him… he came so hard that his vision went blind with colors so bright he had to close his eyes against the crook of her neck and drown his groan there, as she held the back of his neck, nails biting on his flesh, drawing shivers up and down his spine… even after, when she dragged her fingers lazily through his hair, making him purr like a lion, he was still lost in oblivion, almost weightless by her.

He didn't really know how long it was before she spoke again.

"Achilles…"

"Yes."

"You're… smothering me a little."

The smile was in her voice, it was in the hand that caressed the side of his face ever so softly. He smiled too, wrapped both arms around her wispy waist and turned to lay on his back – taking her with him, loving the way her wild hair spread all around his face, soft as feathers of an exotic bird.

Her head rested right over his heart and she chuckled brokenly.

"What?"

"As nice as this is… I have to say, you're not the most comfortable bed there is."

His only response was a hum that she felt beneath her shoulders as it rumbled. She liked the feel of him, despite what she said.

"You're all hard ridges and jagged angles!"

Achilles smiled widely, the way he only did in front of people who knew him too well – possibly because she was not able to see him as he did so (but he knew he would have smiled the same way even if she had been looking). It was funny what she'd said to him, because in contrast, she was the most comfortable blanked he'd had: all soft curves and smooth planes.

His hands followed his thoughts and she chuckled again, feeling his touch from neck to breasts to ribcage, so slowly that she though he was counting her ribs, to waist (which he could almost span with both hands) and hips, to as far enough against her thighs as he could reach, his touch always open-palmed, as if he was always greedy in the same measure.

"Are you never satisfied?" she murmured around a yawn.

He did not let up an inch. "Are you complaining?"

Briseis rolled off him and settled on her side, and without many ceremonies she borrowed his arm without his permission and made it her pillow and threw her leg over his hips and her arm around his chest to make herself more comfortable. He watched her with a smile he was trying to contain even as that same arm she was using as a pillow curled around her shoulders to bring her closer.

The feel of her round breast against his side was the most pleasant of sensations.

"Huh, not really. I like you, but I like sleep even better."

"It is daylight, my lady, sleeping hours are long gone." He murmured close to her ear as he too turned to his side, throwing his other arm around her, pulling her flush to him and kissing her long and slow and soft, tasting her lips at his leisure, inviting her tongue in his mouth and letting her do as she pleased (and she did please), feeling her soft breasts mould against his chest and the tantalizing smoothness of her inner thighs rub on his hips…

When she pulled from his lips, she did not go far, but her game had not been forgotten.

"That may be so, but since you took my sleeping hours of the night, I am going to sleep during the day." And her tone was final, as if no more arguing was needed and burrowed her head near his chest. He raised an eyebrow at her even though she could not longer see his expression.

"I am beginning to think you are the most spoiled daughter of Troy."

Briseis huffed. "Oh, I am. The worst princess of them all. Wiser men would pity you."

Her slow murmur was soft against his chest and it amused him, but the pres of her lips right over his heart was even softer and cut his smile short, making him look down at her face, where she was already asleep, her breathing deep and steady.

He looked at her for a long time, until the grey light of dawn turned rosy, before slowly removing himself from her gentle hold without disturbing her sleep.

He got up slowly and dressed unhurriedly, eyes never leaving her, got close to her so that he could cover her with his dark sheets, and just as quietly drank from his wine-cup as he kept watching her and thoughts kept turning in his head.

She was sleeping on her back again, curls wild about her, looking so very young and frail, bruises fading, the cuts and her nose and eye almost completely healed. He can see a couple of new bruises – the most prominent one on her neck where he'd sucked at her skin as if he wanted to swallow her whole… He imagines she is not going to thank him for that, imagines how amusing it's going to be to watch her take revenge.

Amusement… there was a certain amount of gleefulness connected to that world that made it a complete foreign concept to Achilles, who was always so serious – especially concerning sex - but this time it rang true. As with all things in his life, he took sex very seriously and for that reason he enjoyed it thoroughly - but it had never been about fun, about amusement. It had been about fucking a woman that attracted him, about carnal pleasure, about release or even a way to vent frustration, about the most wicked things most men could imagine.

It had been about many things and it had been worth every moment, but it had never been fun as well as all the other things sex was supposed to be, not the way it was with… no, not the same way, not ever.

He'd never wanted to take everything and give everything the way he wanted now, he'd never before felt like laughing when he touched a woman, because she did something to make him laugh, never felt the light touch of happiness she gave him, so foreign here in the middle of war.

Achilles keeps looking at her and he does not know what look he is wearing, but he can feel the tenderness in himself stretching, warming as he watches her, a feeling so rare that for a moment he catches himself, wondering, what are you doing?

He feels a fool, charmed by a little girl just because she makes a little more sense than most. It was not uncommon for men to get a little strange about women in times of war, but Achilles knew this was not it. Not even close. He had had wars before, many of them. He had had women before, many of them too. He had had women in times of war, but it had never felt as if… as if…

What had she managed to do to him? And most importantly, how?

Achilles looked at her again, just before going out his tent. One look at her and he felt his feelings change, felt the pull inside himself tell him what this was, whispering the truth to him so low that nobody else could hear. That truth hid somewhere beneath his ribs and stayed there, tightly knotted within him, heavy and warm, pulsing ever so lightly to let him know it was there. He hid it expertly, but it showed in the softness of his eyes when he turned to look at her once more before he left the tent.

He stopped wondering why she should effect him so. Why shouldn't she? She was a woman like no other, had caught his interest in a manner no other ever had and held it with the means no other ever could. She was deserving of his every attention.

And though he wanted her in all ways he knew how to want, he also wanted her in foreign ways, in ways he'd never wanted before: he wanted her thoroughly in ways that had nothing to do with the body; he wanted from her the things that could not be taken. He wanted her in ways that could only be surrendered willingly. He wanted her every thought, her every memory, her every breath… he wanted to consume her life and her fire and he wanted her to want him the same way, because of all the reasons above.

Because of that quiet strength in her eyes. Because of her unflinching ability to look at him and actually try to see with her own eyes, and not thought someone else's words.

It was strange to him how she was able to do this, given the time to know him even just a little – she, Briseis of Troy, princess of the city he was here to wage war against, to whom he was the enemy – when men who had known him all their life were unable to see past the edge of his sword.

There was a strange urgency in Achilles as he thought this over, the truth hidden beneath his ribs pulsating and reminding him of exactly the real nature of what he felt. It had been perhaps that same anxiety that pushed him to be rough and to devour, to get closer and kiss harder just so he could do it all over again, and again, and again… This urgency was as real as his desire, because he knew in his heart that his moments with her were numbered, and that she going to be his only for a brief time… and for the very first time, he wished it were not so.

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TBC:::