AUTHOR'S NOTE: WOOHOO!!! Finally, another chapter! I'm so sorry for the wait, but I am back now! I would like to say a huge, huge sorry to all who had to wait so long for this chapter and also a great thank you for being so patient! But here it is, full of steamy goodness lol and I'll get the next one up as soon as I can! Peace, friends! xXx

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The Prince shifted slightly and Achilles began a gently rhythm with his fingers. Slowly, he felt the Prince unfold from stiff discomfort to a slow and easy motion, his breathing deep and regular. The sound and feel of it made Achilles's veins clench and burn. He pushed deeper and the Prince gasped into their kiss.

"Achilles," he cried and the Greek warrior felt the slender fingers tighten on his shoulders. Achilles felt himself being battered in a storm of emotion as well as passion. The consuming fire of his desire for the beautiful Prince fought for dominance with the far more terrifying and suffocating flame burning deeper than the passion; emotion, a tidal wave of it, alien and powerful. His body wanted the Prince, his soul wanted Paris. The sound of his name on those lips, sounded in such a manner made his heart clench and his throat dry.

He buried his head in Paris's neck, inhaling him, tasting him, feeling his skin and his pulse against his lips. He felt he could never pull away, that he would freeze to death if he lost this warmth.
They unconsciously shifted together. Achilles moved his hand back up to wrap his arms around the boy's slender torso, pulling him as close as could be. His breathing was still deep but now more rapid, more insistent. Air wasn't enough for him any more.

The fight to control himself, to not let loose like a rabid animal, left Achilles feeling more bloodied and bruised than if he'd fought off ten armed Trojans. He pressed himself into the Prince slowly, so slowly it was painful. He felt his entire body simultaneously go rigid and melt. He gasped against the prince's collarbone. Achilles felt and heard Paris make the tiniest sound deep in his throat. He forced himself to get control and not hurt him. This was not his intention…he didn't want to hurt the Prince, not now, not in this moment. This moment was simply this feeling, this place where there was no sand, no sea, no blood and no rain.

Paris's body was hot and tense beneath him. He slowly became aware of the hot silence as he forced himself to once more be joined with his body, control it, understand it for what it was. And where it was. The heat and the pleasure that coursed through him like a flood tide from being buried deep inside this young man was almost enough to rip him away from all reason.
He tenderly licked at the fire burning along the Prince's neck. He ran his hands gently up his sides before reaching up to bury them in his hair. He pulled his face up to look deep into his eyes. Paris looked up at him through his thick lashes, his eyes blazed black, his lips were parted and his cheeks were flushed deep and red. There was the tiniest spark of fear and pain glinting within his eyes and he made a small pleading sound that was at once glorious and heartbreaking. Achilles captured his mouth again and channelled his passion into the kiss. He felt the Prince slowly, slowly, like ice melting from a grass blade loosen and relax.

Achilles swallowed all he could of the Prince's taste and smell and then moved, moved deeper, knowing he could never get enough of this heat. The young prince gasped again, his back arched against the furs and an entirely different and helpless sound rang from his throat, empty of all pain, bursting with pleasure Achilles pulled back and buried himself again, groaning into the kiss at the sensation of being held so wonderfully. Paris again arched into the contact, moving with the Greek warrior. All fear and discomfort appeared to have evaporated from him forever. Every movement between them burned and glowed. Reality was blasted away. Achilles's skin scalded against his muscles, his chest heaved and his hands found themselves unable to hold the Prince as tight as he wanted.

A long way away, he could feel Paris's fingernails digging into his back, sharp and wonderful, tiny points of pain in amongst the crashing breakers of his passion. He could hear the Prince's voice floating to his ears like feathers on a stormy wind and he reached and grabbed for them, not wanting to lose any part of him. The Prince was moaning out loud now, all reservations dissolved in this smouldering fire.

Achilles felt them both sear into one. He couldn't remember it ever being like this with woman or man, peasant or noble This prince was stripped of his crown and Achilles was torn from his armour. They were no longer a soldier and an enemy prince, none of those secular trappings were relevant. He could feel them both falling, descending into dark but wonderful depths of pure instinct and truth. Basic and complex, natural and intoxicating.

He built up a tower, brick by brick, climbing as he went. He felt himself clamber higher into the sky, elevated by this fire. He could feel the great fall coming as he built himself higher. He tightened his grip on Paris and heard Paris cry out, loud and strangled, vulnerable and beautiful.
The sound skimmed him right off the top and he plunged, with a guttural moan, into the tumultuous ocean of release. He felt himself spill and shuddered, deep and dark, his eyes clenched against the light and his face lost in the Prince's neck.

His body stilled, his breathing slowed. A light breeze whispered against his back. All was still, heavy and somehow, cold.

TBC