This was torture. How could Achilles be expected to sit so close to Paris when he wasn't able to touch him? Curse his cruel father for making it impossible for them to even speak when they sat next to each other at the nightly feasts. Not that anything would actually happen if King Priam followed through on his threat to throw Paris to his supposed barbarians guests; no one would lay a finger on him now that it was known among the Greeks that that Achilles was in love with him. Besides their respect for the prince had risen once they realized that his intervention the night before the duel was truly for the Greek lord's benefit.
"Father?" Paris' voice cut through his thoughts. Was it just him or did his love sound a tad unwell? "May I be excused for the rest of the evening?"
"Why?" demanded Priam in exasperation. There was still one course of the meal to go and the king was loath to give in to any request that the boy made. As long as he could prevent any interaction, Priam preferred to have Paris to stay at these banquets as long as possible. 'More opportunity to show off his pretty son,' thought Achilles, fighting the urge to spit in disgust.
"I feel quite ill," answered Paris in a small voice. His body tightened in a retch and he covered his mouth. "My stomach is unsettled. I fear I will not be able to tolerate any more food tonight." Gasping suddenly, he clutched his stomach. "I may not be able to keep down the food I've already eaten."
That certainly wouldn't do. Paris was meant to please foreign dignitaries as well as the Trojan nobles; vomiting in front of a room full of people who would surely delight in spreading such a story may hinder that. Yes, definitely very unattractive. "Very well," Priam conceded reluctantly. "Do you wish to bother a healer before you retire?"
"No thank you, Father," groaned Paris. He rose slowly and awkwardly, brushing his foot against Achilles' for a moment too long for it to be an accident as he did so. "I just require a little extra time to prepare for the night."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOdysseus watched Achilles with growing desperation during the last course of the meal. The warrior had been fidgeting the entire time, seemingly annoyed at all the food that was being brought out. What was bothering him? Paris had left earlier but that didn't quite explain Achilles' behavior. It wasn't like the prince would be waiting in the Greek quarters; Achilles seemed to understand why Paris just couldn't go there anymore. So there was no way that they were meeting again tonight because not even Achilles would be so foolhardy and reckless as to actually sneak into the prince's bedchamber…would he?!
Both Greeks were on their feet as soon as the feast was over and the evening's festivities began. Achilles rushed to the exit as quickly as the barest minimum of discretion and Odysseus was hot on his heels, determined to stop him before he did something that everyone would regret. Achilles almost made it too; he was out the door before Ithaca's king caught up with him. "Where do you think you're going?" he managed to get out without yelling.
"Judging by your tone, you already know the answer to that," replied Achilles petulantly. "And since I really don't have time to waste talking I'll beleaving now."
"How many times must I remind you that your actions are a threat to every Greek, and not just those in the city," cried Odysseus. "If the king finds out even the Greeks who are on the other side of the Aegean will be at his mercy."
"About as many times that I have to remind you that if you should really control your voice if you want this to remain a secret."
Odysseus' eyes grew cold. "Maybe this shouldn't remain a secret," he said darkly. "I could end this all right now if I told the king an edited version of what's been going on. I could pass you off as a rogue, Achilles; and you'd be the only Greek with his guts hanging out over the gates of Troy."
"You could," stated Achilles rather matter-of-factly. "But you wouldn't do such a thing."
"No I wouldn't," admitted Odysseus, deflating a little. He still valued their friendship too much to betray him in such a matter.
"That's good," Achilles told him, a hint of malice in his good-natured smirk. "Because the Myrmidonscould bejust as dangerous an enemy for Ithaca to have as the Trojans." With that he turned to walk off.
"Wait!" Odysseus blurted out in panic. "Please, please, just think about what you're about to do! Not just to the Greeks, but also to Paris and his father. This will only create problems between them."
How could the Greek king be so blind and stupid? "I don't care," he snapped flatly. "That moronic old man isn't worthy of being the dirt beneath Paris' feet."
"He is Paris' father," stressed Odysseus. "Their relationship may not be as warm as it could be but King Priam loves his son. A father's love –"
"Stop," ordered Achilles. "Just stop. I can't stomach this. Go; go back to the banquet and fill your head full of fantasies about Priam being a good and noble father who loves Paris. I have somewhere better to be." This time, no amount of pleading stopped him from departing.
'It's over,' Odysseus thought numbly as he staggered back into the hall and sank heavily into his seat at the table. He didn't notice that everyone else was up and enjoying the night's entertainment. He probably wouldn't have noticed if the gods chose that time to sink Troy into the sea. It was truly over. Achilles was on his way to the royal chambers – Paris' bedchamber. He was going to deflower the youngest prince of Troy. There would be no going back once they crossed that line. How could this result in anything but a bloody war that would reduce all the Greek lands to rubble? He stared at Paris' empty chair. Priam would surely find out about everything tonight. Sneaking into that part of the palace unnoticed was a feat that not even the great Achilles could accomplish. What would the Trojan king do once he found out all that had been going on right under his nose?
He was so deep in thought that he didn't realize that Priam had sat down next to him until the old king began speaking.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOParis ran his fingers up and down his arms, feeling the silky fabric of his sleeping robe. He'd been anxious and excited all day, just counting the hours until Achilles would be able to slip into his chambers. 'To finish what we started last night,' he thought with a blush.
"Are you certain that you don't want me to fetch a healer for you, my prince?" asked Julian. He'd been attending to Paris every evening for the past two years so the ten-year-old boy considered himself an authority on all of his moods. Right now, he deemed, the prince was anxious about something. He guessed that the prince needed more than just bed rest but was reluctant to call on anyone to help. "Is there anything that you need me to do?"
Besides leave as quickly as possible? "No, I'm fine," Paris assured him with a kindly smile. In fact he was better than fine; he was about to burst out of his skin with joy. Deep down he was still a little concerned that joining with Achilles would hurt but he knew he didn't have to be afraid. Last night the warrior had stopped before attaining his own satisfaction and without demanding that they set another time to rectify that. This was all Paris' choice and he believed with all of his soul that Achilles would do everything in his power to make it pleasurable for him. Just like he did last night…
"If you're sure," Julian hesitated.
"Quite sure," replied Paris, trying his best not to let the anticipation and eagerness seep into his voice. "Thank you for your concern and your services tonight. You may leave now."
Julian bowed low, collected the clothes that the prince had worn during the day, and headed to the doorway for the servants' corridor that was located on the back wall, partially obscured by the changing curtain. Paris sat still and listened, as he always did, for the sound of the door slamming. Usually he did this because he wanted to know when he was alone and free to be himself and not the beautiful and wordless Prince Paris. Tonight, however, he was going to prepare for Achilles' arrival.
He jumped to his feet and stopped short. 'What exactly am I going to do?' he wondered. Maybe he should create a seductive atmosphere to show Achilles that he wanted this as much as the Greek did. But how would he go about doing that? Certainly not by the way he was dressed – the sleeping robe was elegant and fine but not alluring in any way. None of his sleeping garments were anything even remotely like that. He could just greet him in the nude…no; he was barely bold enough to even think that. His day clothing wasn't an option either since Julian had taken what he'd worn earlier and nothing in his closet seemed right for the occasion.
Paris worried the hem of his sleeve as he sunk down on the bed. The bed! Yes, he should turn down the covers and make it all inviting for Achilles. He could even lounge back on the pillows – wantonly. Paris shuddered as Lord Isidore's voice popped into his head, hissing that hated word.
'Achilles is not Lord Isidore,' he scolded himself. 'He loves me, I love him, and this is an expression of that love. He said that my desire was beautiful. Would Lord Isidore ever say something like that? No, that man would do everything in his power to make me feel like I'm nothing. Achilles makes me feel like I'm everything.'
Nonetheless the bed remained made. Paris sighed wearily, disappointed in himself for not being able to do such a simple task. When had he become so ashamed of any behavior even remotely relating to sex? Ah yes, after he turned twelve. That was when people started looking at him twice and whispering. Twelve was the age in which he became too big to jump into Hector's arms. Worst of all, it was the year when Isidore's hands first found their way to his thighs and his own father told him that his worth was limited to what his face and body could do for the kingdom. Twelve-year-old boys shouldn't have tohear that they are destined to become whores.
'That's not going to happen anymore,' he exhaled, the darkness lifting as he thought of the Greek warrior again. His life was his own and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. 'The second Hector comes back I'm going to tell him everything – about Father, Lord Isidore, Achilles, everything. That way he'll understand why I'm leaving with Achilles, to live ina little hut near a beachthat's far away from the court and the city itself. I'll ask Achilles tonight. He'll feel better knowing that I've decided when I want to depart.'
Paris was feeling better. Well enough, in fact, that he hardly jumped when he heard the knock on the door.
To be continued…
A/N: A late update; but unavoidably so since has been in read-only mode for a couple of days. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it!
I promise- slashy sex is on the way next chapter!