Warning: This chapter contains a slashy sex scene.

A/N: There's been a lot of questions and speculation about the aforementioned sex and where it takes place in the context of the sequel "Family Secrets." This is not the scene described in that story. Although we're closer to the end than we are to the beginning there will be at least three more chapters to "Beauty and Misery" (most likely more, to set up the bridge between the two stories).

Paris rushed to the door and threw it open, roughly pulling the rather startled Achilles inside. "Quickly!" he urged.

"I don't believe I can move fast enough to satisfy you," joked Achilles as he rolled a small vial in his hand before setting down on a nearby table. "Although I'd try just to keep you from yanking my arm off."

"This isn't funny!" admonished Paris as he closed the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. "The guard is never too far away from his post. If he heard you knocking and came back before you had the chance to come inside, you – you – I don't even want to think about what would happen to you."

Achilles felt a pang of guilt at his blasé attitude over something that was clearly very important to the boy. "I'm sorry," he said as contritely as he could manage. Admittedly that wasn't very much; he just didn't have enough practice at being remorseful. "But what can I do about it. It has to be loud enough so that you can hear and open the door for me. I can't imagine a much different fate being in store for me if the guard found me loitering outside."

"Don't knock," Paris told him firmly. "You're the only one who'd even bother to do so anyway. Even Hector didn't knock. Don't worry; I'll make sure that all the locks are undone before you get here.

The warrior planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "What if I catch you at an awkward moment?" he murmured lovingly.

"I doubt there'll be anything that could be defined as an 'awkward moment' between us after tonight," answered Paris as he unconsciously licked his lips. "Besides, I can't imagine what I would be doing that I wouldn't want you to see."

Paris' faith in him brought tears to Achilles' eyes. He'd had many lovers, of course, but there had always been an unspoken distance between him and all of them. They all believed, on varying levels, the rumors of the brutish and animal-like Greek warrior and therefore never completely let their guards down in his presence, especially not in such a powerful way. "You trust me enough to give me open access to your bedchamber?"

"I trust you with my life," responded Paris. A playful smile danced across his face and he wrapped his arms around the Greek's neck. "However, if you're planning on sneaking in later to steal my jewelry I can save you the trouble by giving it to you now. I really don't like it all that much."

Achilles bent his neck and gave his lips a gentle and almost chaste kiss. "I would never do that," he vowed solemnly. "I'd steal all of your clothing instead."

Paris held Achilles' head close to his as if he was about to draw him into another kiss. He leaned in until their mouths were almost touching again and whispered, "That's just ridiculous. Nothing would fit you."

"I wasn't going to wear any of it!" protested Achilles in mild horror. "I would take it so that whenever I came you'd be all naked –"

He stopped short when he felt Paris' frame shaking with laughter. "Is that what you look like when you're flustered?" the prince teased.

"I am never flustered," Achilles declared proudly. "I'll show you flustered."

Another kiss, this time much deeper and more passionate wiped the smirk off the Trojan's face. He pressed himself as close as he could to Achilles, trying to convey all of what he felt into that one act. "Achilles? Will you kiss me like this every night?"

"More than just every night," promised Achilles, brushing his mouth against Paris' eyelids and enjoying the feel of the boy's ensuing sigh. "I will kiss you any way you want me to every night, every morning, and every moment in between those two points in time. All you have to do is say the word."

Paris pulled back a bit and steeled his resolve by looking into Achilles' startlingly blue eyes. "I am," he announced. "Saying that word, I mean. I want to leave with you. I want you to take me far away from the city, all the way to that little hut close to the beach where we can do all the things that you described and more."

It wasn't like Achilles hadn't expected this to happen at some point; he just never dared to hope that it would come so soon. "Of course!" he cried, grabbing his lover into his arms and spinning him around. Paris laughed and that made it difficult for Achilles to kiss every inch of his face. Fortunately, his life as a warrior gave him the skills to overcome such adversity and triumph. "I'll go right now and make all the arrangements. My men can be ready to depart in one hour –"

"I didn't mean right now!" interrupted Paris. He cursed himself for raising this wonderful man's hopes like that only to dash them a moment later. "I want to go with you eventually, but I can't at this very moment. There is one last thing I have to do before any of this can happen."

"Can you do it while the Myrmidons are preparing for the voyage?" asked Achilles brightly.

"I'm afraid not," Paris told him. "I – I just can disappear without saying anything to Hector. He's my brother; I love him and he would be very hurt if I left without warning. Besides, it will be better for us in the long run. Once Hector knows how good you are to me he won't try to stop our departure. We could actually live our life together in peace."

Sweet, naïve Paris; if only things could be that simple for them. Still, Achilles had to respect his wishes. "Very well," he replied in an exaggerated sulk. Well, he didn't have to be happy about it. "I guess I won't be getting ready to leave tonight. That leaves me with a lot of time on my hands tonight. Do you know how I can keep myself occupied?"

Paris ran his fingers down the opening of Achilles' shirt, feeling the frayed fabric as he deliberately dragged his knuckles against the skin beneath it from chest to navel. "We could move to the bed," he suggested, alluring and shy at the same time. "I'm very – excited – about the possibility of picking up from where we were interrupted last night."

"We have some work to do if we're to be starting from there," observed Achilles as he shrugged off his shirt and slid his waistcloth to the floor. "Though it is a shame to see that sleeping robe come off. It makes me think all sorts of … intoxicating thoughts."

"Why?" Paris blushed. "It's not – it's very – well, it – it covers everything."

Achilles was grinning as he tugged the garment's hem up to his lover's knees. "That's exactly why," he purred, slipping his hands beneath it and running them up his thighs. Paris moaned appreciatively at his ministrations. "Because even though it hides everything I know you're naked underneath."

He suddenly took his hands away. Paris let out a little cry of protest, but Achilles made quick work of undoing the robes clasps and pulling it from his body. "Most of all," the warrior continued, "I like it because I know it's going to look even better when it's off of you."

"I think we're ready to resume now," stated Paris, sliding his hands down the Greek's hard stomach and even lower.

"Not quite yet," admonished Achilles before dropping to his knees.

'He's not….' But he was, right there in the middle of the room. Paris practically shrieked as Achilles' mouth surrounded him. It was even better than the night before; freed (for the most part) from his tenseness and confusion, the boy was able to give himself over fully to the wonderful, exhilarating sensations. He could barely keep his legs from buckling as his body peaked.

Gasping, Paris slowly returned to reality. His heart fluttered a bit at the feel of Achilles' broad hands on his hips, holding his upright. 'How could anyone call such an attentive and fantastic man a pillaging brute?' he wondered indignantly. The Greek was being much gentler than he was at the moment; his own hands were so tightly entwined in Achilles' hair that his knuckles were white. "I'm sorry," he panted out as he released him.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Achilles assured him. He rose to his feet, still holding onto Paris for fear that the prince hadn't quite regained his balance, and kissed him soundly.

There was a different taste on Achilles' tongue as it extended into Paris' mouth. It was himself, Paris realized; that was what he tasted like. Did everyone have the same flavor? Did Achilles? "I want to do that to you," he told the warrior with just the slightest hint of pleading in his tone. "I have to know what you taste like."

It took all of Achilles' will for him not to peak at the mere request. "I wouldn't say no to that," he managed to get out. "But let's go to the bed, just like last night." He took Paris' hand and together they walked the short distance to the boy's luxurious bed. "Are you sure you want to?" he asked one last time, sitting on the edge.

"More than anything," smiled Paris as he kneeled. "But I don't know exactly what to do."

"Do whatever comes naturally," Achilles urged him, touching Paris' lips and imagining where they'd be and what they'd be doing in a few seconds. "You remember what I did both last night and just now; just do something similar to those, but only what makes you comfortable. And" – his eyebrows quirked – "watch what you do with your teeth."

Paris flashed an amazingly joyful smile as he leaned forward and lowered his head. As he took him into his mouth, Achilles knew that he could never bear to be separated from his love again. No battle, no camaraderie, no other lover could ever make him feel the ecstasy that this Trojan was giving him now. Surely the erotic, playful boy wasn't the same prince who'd tried to hide behind his hair after being forced to show his pretty smile those few nights ago. Achilles now knew that it wasn't the misery that made him beautiful; Paris was beautiful simply because he was Paris.

"Stop," he groaned regretfully.

Paris complied immediately. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," Achilles told him quickly. "Everything you're doing everything is really, really good, but I want to be with you – inside you. Are you ready for that?"

"I am," said Paris with only the slightest hitch in his voice.

That hesitation wasn't lost on Achilles. "We don't have to."

"I want to," replied the boy in a much stronger voice.

"Then I just need to get something." Achilles sprinted over to the small table and returned with the vial. "Onto the bed, my love," he coaxed, climbing on after Paris and positioning his pliant body.

"What's that?" asked Paris a bit nervously, gesturing to the vial.

Achilles opened it and poured some of the contents onto his fingers. "Oil," he explained. "It will ease our joining. Paris" – he sounded so serious that the boy was startled –"Paris, you must stay relaxed. This will hurt at first no matter what, but it will be all the more painful if you can't keep your body from tensing. Please just trust that I will make it better as soon as possible."

Paris nodded his consent wordlessly and the probing began. Fingers inside of him, touching where no one had ever touched before. There was some discomfort and pain, but then unexpected, exhilarating pleasure as they brushed a secret spot that he didn't even know existed.

Too soon the fingers were gone. They were replaced with something larger and the pain returned. But Achilles would slow down, stop, and even wait until he could endure it enough to continue even though such inaction clearly strained him. He did so because he cared more for his partner's pleasure than his own, Paris knew, and that thought helped him though the pain to the indescribable bliss as that spot was hit and stroked again and again. His fears of physical intimacy were put to rest once and for all as his body released and the gods took the stars out of the sky and placed them before his eyes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Achilles hurried as quickly and quietly as he could back to his bedchamber in the Greek quarters. He wanted to be back in bed with Paris, holding him close and perhaps repeating their lovemaking several more times before the dawn but it was too risky for the both of them. 'Soon we'll be together without the fear of getting caught,' he consoled himself. Paris swore that he would leave with his as soon as Hector returned. The elder prince would only be abroad long enough to negotiate an understanding with Menelaus;he could bereturningwithin in weak considering what a weak jellyfish of a man Agamemnon's brother was. Yes, Hector should be returning soon and then Paris would get his chance to say goodbye. Hector may not be thrilled about it, but neither Paris nor Achilles was seeking his permission, and the warrior was prepared to fight if necessary. He was prepared for anything.

Anything but having Odysseus sitting on his bed when he finally reached his chambers, that is. Achilles was in no mood to deal with this right now! "It's late," he said flatly. "I've had an incredibly wonderful evening so far and I'd prefer that you leave before you ruin it."

Odysseus raised his head and Achilles was stunned at the look of nausea on the man's face. "What is it?"

"Do you truly love Prince Paris?"

That was an unexpected question, and one that the warrior deeply resented. "Of course," he snapped fiercely. "Haven't I been telling you that for days?"

Odysseus wore an expression that told of an internal debate that had gone on far longer than the duration of this conversation. "I'll tell you," he decided aloud even as his face blanched. "You must remain calm as I tell you, Achilles. I had an eye-opening conversation with King Priam tonight after you departed."

To be continued…