That night Paris felt like he was able to hold his head up high during a banquet for the first time in years. He didn't have to worry about the guests leering at him or about Lord Isidore's humiliating caresses, and it was all because of one man: Achilles. The man who would protect him, even from his own Myrmidons. Who had offered to abandon his men just to spirit him off to safety. Who didn't kill Lucius even after being attacked unprovoked because he'd promised not to. Who gave up the opportunity to acquire fabulous riches in order to allow him to regain some of his dignity.
Paris fought against the smile that was threatening to break out and reveal the contents of his heart to all. Was he in love? He'd never really loved anyone before except Hector, and that wasn't the same as this. While Hector gave him the only affection he'd ever received from his family, Achilles restored his trust, made him feel like he was worth something, and awoke in him desires that he never expected to feel. When he looked at the Greek, the prince could easily imagine a lifetime in a little hut, spending the days on the beach and the nights together in bed...
But thoughts like that still frightened Paris a bit. Years of Isidore's threats and molestation, Priam's apathetic remarks about what a good whore he would be, and being valued first and foremost for his beauty instilled in him a fear of physical intimacy. Now that was clashing with his growing desire for Achilles. He wanted to please him in every way, including sexually (the boy blushed at the thought), but it was going to hurt. The lecherous lord always spoke with relish about teaching him to enjoy the pain. Maybe he would have dismissed it as just another one of the man's torments, but he'd actually seen it. One night a few years ago he had sneaked out, unable to stand being in his bedchamber any longer, and came across a prostitute stumbling away from a tryst. The young man was all hunched over, groaning in agony with blood seeping into the back of his garment. Paris could still hear that poor person mumbling with every step: "It's just a part of the job."
Maybe it wasn't even going to be a problem. It was possible that Achilles didn't want him that way. After all, he said that he would never hurt him and Paris believed that wholeheartedly. Why, the warrior hadn't even tried to take their relationship any farther than kissing. Yes that must be it; he could deal with that. They would just go on kissing and not do anything more. That ache he was feeling would go away, right? But he didn't want it to – and yet he did. Oh, this was all so confusing!
Achilles cleared his throat, startling Paris out of his musings. "This has been an enjoyable evening," he said in the direction of the Trojan royals, deliberately phrasing his words so that he wouldn't be thanking the king. "But I'm going to forgo tonight's festivities and retire early. I always sleep well after a fight."
"Oh?" Priam cocked an eyebrow, sneering for a long moment at Paris before turning to Achilles. "You don't want to see the gardens again?"
Achilles' eyes stormed over. "They are not as peaceful as I thought they'd be."
"And you'll be leaving your men unsupervised?"
"My men aren't children in need of supervision," snapped Achilles sarcastically. "I'm sure they can continue to hold off their barbaric impulses until we leave the city."
"I meant," the old king elaborated, a nasty edge to his voice, "That your men might need you later. A leader must always be available to his followers."
"Of course you did," replied Achilles flippantly. "But the Myrmidons can do without me for one evening. Just in case, my cousin has instructions to aid those who want to see me to my chambers."
Paris' ears pricked at the emphasis in Achilles' voice. Was that a hint? The Greek wanted to meet with him in his chambers. He knew what happened in bedchambers at night. So Achilles did want him that way. That thought made Paris thrilled and queasy at the same time. He glanced nervously across the table at Patroclus, who deftly winked in response.
The prince sat restlessly in his place after Achilles left, waiting for the right moment to excuse himself. At last, at last, the prostitutes came in and he seized his chance. "Father?" he asked tentatively.
"What is it?"
"May I be excused? I do not wish to socialize with – with these Greeks." That wasn't technically a lie; the Greek he wanted to be with wasn't in the hall.
"Very well," Priam consented as if he couldn't care less.
Paris bowed hastily and went straight through the doorway, pausing once he was on the other side. Maybe he should just go to his own chambers. Achilles would understand. But what if he regretted not going to his love (an excited chill ran down his spine) when he'd obviously planned for something to happen between them?
"Paris," hissed Patroclus, sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking. 'I should really start paying more attention to what's going on around me,' the prince thought ruefully.
"Come," the young man gestured vigorously. "If you get us past the Trojan guards, I'll get you past any of Odysseus' men that try to hinder you – that old fox has been threatening to do something like that ever since he found out you were in the Greek quarters last night."
"He doesn't approved?" asked Paris, chewing on his lip nervously.
"It's more like he's worried about the political ramifications," snorted Patroclus. "I'm glad I'm not a king, having to think about that type of nonsense all the time."
"Oh." Paris was silent for a moment before blurting out what was foremost on his mind. "Patroclus? Have you ever...ever been with, with a man?"
"Yes," Patroclus replied matter-of-factly. "Why?"
"How did you deal with the pain?"
The young Greek's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "You haven't been with a man before?" he asked somewhat rhetorically. Paris' face reddened as he shook his head. "Oh, Paris. I'm not going to lie to you: it does hurt, but not all the time. You just – have to get through the hard part and you'll be glad you did."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAchilles barely waited for the door to shut before he drew Paris into a soul-searing kiss. "Did you have any trouble getting here?" he panted after their mouths parted.
"None much more than before," Paris assured him. "There were a couple of Odysseus' men milling about in the common area, but Patroclus handled them. Your cousin is very nice to me."
"He'd better be," Achilles murmured, brushing the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. Paris trembled as he leaned into the touch. "Why are you shaking?"
"I'm just a little nervous," admitted Paris. "You wanting to meet me in your bedchamber and all..."
Of course; why hadn't he realized what all of this seemed like sooner? "I only did so because there isn't another safe place for us to meet," Achilles explained gently. "It's not like I was plotting to get you into bed."
He was shocked when a crestfallen expression came to Paris' face. "So – so you don't want me like that?"
"I do!" protested Achilles. "I desire you more than you know. But anything that happens between us will happen because you want it to."
"I want to be with you. Is that...wanton of me?"
Achilles smiled kindly, fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him what it was like to be loved by the son of a goddess. "It's not," he breathed. Paris gasped with pleasure as he felt the warrior brush his lips against his ear. "Your desire is beautiful. If you will let me, I'll make you feel pleasure in parts of your body that you didn't even know existed."
Paris loved Achilles. He trusted Achilles and was tired of being afraid of his own feelings. He pulled Achilles into a kiss, moaning as the needy ache within him intensified. "You make me want things I never thought I'd want," he told him. Achilles grinned mischievously and thrust his body forward, rubbing against Paris' groin. The boy cried out as pleasure shot through his entire being. "Oh gods, yes. Please again! Please...more."
Achilles tore off his own clothing in an instant. Paris stared, fascinated; he'd seen the Greek nude before, but now he was hard. Aroused. He reached out tentatively and ran his fingertips down the length, feeling a strange pride at Achilles' responding moan. "Net yet, my love," he rasped. "First I will bring you to your peak."
As slowly and gently as he could manage without going insane, Achilles removed Paris' garments. The sight of his love naked in front of him took his breath away. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "There are no words to do you justice."
"It can be nothing compared to yours," said Paris. Emboldened by the previous response, he touched the warrior again, this time running his hands over his chest. He watched his nipples harden as he drew circles on them. What would happen if he did the same thing with his tongue? Only one way to find out...
"You seek to undo me," Achilles accused as mirthfully as anyone could when choking back a cry. "But first things first, Paris." He urged the prince's head up and couldn't help stealing another kiss form his swollen lips. "Sit on the edge of the bed," he instructed, "and keep your legs parted."
Paris complied, though he chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously. "What – what are you doing?" he asked, stunned as Achilles kneeled before him.
"Do you trust me?" responded Achilles, looking straight into his eyes.
"Yes."
"Then trust that you will enjoy this." With no further adieu, Achilles leaned forward and softly kissed the tip of Paris' length. The prince let out a startled cry as pure bliss shot through him, body, heart, and soul.
"Oh!" Paris groaned as Achilles took him into his mouth, surrounding him with wet heat. "By Apollo!" His body, long denied such gratification, responded eagerly and he bucked his hips as he felt the roughness of Achilles' tongue. Each moment was better than the last. "Ach, Achilles –" It felt too good; he was going to go insane with pleasure...
"My love!" he cried out, peaking with an intense burst.
Achilles stared in shock as Paris fell back onto the bed, utterly spent. "Your love?" he whispered.
"Yes," confirmed Paris, gasping. "My love. I love you, Achilles."
Paris had never seen anything as breathtaking as the purely joyful smile that spread across Achilles' face at that moment. With a triumphant laugh, he leapt onto the bed next to his lover. "Say it again," he requested.
"I love you," repeated Paris. "I'm in love with you." Achilles captured his mouth with his own, trying to swallow the words, make them a part of his being. "I" – kiss – "love" – kiss – "you."
The doorknob rattled loudly as if someone was trying to break the lock. Startled, Paris clutched Achilles as close as he could. "Open this door right now!" shouted Odysseus' voice from the other side, pounding it a few times for emphasis.
"He has the worst timing," grumbled Achilles.
"Will he just go away if we don't answer?" asked Paris hopefully.
"Don't make me do something I'll regret!" Odysseus yelled, banging the door even more.
"No, he won't," Achilles told him, rolling away with a sigh. He rose to his feet and stalked to the door, wrenching it open. "What do you want?"
"Good gods," commented Odysseus in a long-suffering tone, taking in Achilles' state; sweaty, naked, and very aroused. "He can't be here, Achilles. If his father finds out he's here it won't be just your insides that are gutted and displayed for all of Troy to see."
"Fine!" snapped Achilles, slamming the door shut in his face. "I hate to admit it, but he's probably right. It's getting late; you should get back to your chambers before someone realizes that you're not there."
Paris couldn't believe it. Just when he was feeling comfortable about sleeping with Achilles, this had to happen! "But what about..." Paris gestured a little awkwardly at Achilles' hardness.
"Something we can attend to at another time."
"What about tomorrow night?" Paris suggested impulsively before he could lose his nerve again. "The guard outside my chambers takes two minute break every hour after I retire for the night to attend to, um, bodily functions," he continued, throwing his clothes on. "That's how Hector usually slips past. No one save myself and a servant boy ever actually enter, and he'll be long gone by the time you can sneak in."
"Until tomorrow night then," agreed Achilles fondly. They kissed one last time before Paris headed to the door. "I love you, Paris of Troy."
"And I love you." With that, he opened the door and hurried past the fuming Odysseus. "Good night, King Odysseus," he said with as much politeness as he could muster.
Odysseus didn't respond, but glared into the room at Achilles. "Do that all you want," Achilles taunted petulantly. "Just close the door when you leave."
Giving the king no more thought, he crawled under the covers, hoping to dream of what was to come tomorrow night.
To be continued...
A/N: I'm mean, I know. They won't be interrupted the next time they're in a bedchamber...