After Troy
Chapter 12 – The Seduction
Paris yawned, just about ready for bed. Aeneas had disappeared to talk business with Andromache shortly after dinner and Paris had been left to his own devices at the bar. Achilles chose this moment to make his reappearance. Briseis had fallen asleep in his room after... well, one can only imagine, and Achilles, feeling relaxed and rather self-confidant had decided to go in search of some further entertainment.
Paris looked up as Achilles sat down beside him at the bar. Paris shifted uncomfortably, still angry and confused when it came to this large well- built man.
"You're back, I see." The barmaid spoke to Achilles. Paris had proven distracted and quite poor conversation for her.
"Indeed." Achilles smiled. "And how is your evening shaping up?" He asked politely, more interested in the boy who sat beside him.
"Oh, not bad, not bad." She told him, gracing him with a sweet smile. Her eyes sparkled, "No drunks yet."
"Yet." Achilles winked at her, thinking privately of Paris. He turned to the boy who, at that time, was staring quite intently at the wooden bench before him. "And how are you feeling?" Achilles asked Paris. "Any more talkative than you were earlier?" The barmaid muffled a laugh.
"Yes." Paris said, embarrassed and feeling rather tense. "Much better, thank you. And how was your walk this morning?"
"Very good." Achilles reflected. He stared at the boy. He was positive now, judging by the excitement he felt all over, that Paris was, indeed, the one he was supposed to be searching for. He knew, of course, that the prince still felt angered about Hector's death, that much was obvious. That, however, was just an obstacle he would have to overcome.
That evening, however, Achilles had been organized. He knew what he planned to do, and had done everything in his power to make it happen. He had spoken to Athena earlier and, as far as he was concerned, confirmed that Paris was his "true love". He had also arranged for Athena to distract Aeneas for the evening, eventually having him fall asleep in a room other than his own. Achilles was rather proud of himself for the amount of thought he had put into this, and the amount he would soon get out of it.
Paris, again, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to be as kind and civil as he could, blocking out the memory of Hector.
The only trouble was that his feelings regarding Achilles were polarized. He either loved him or hated him. When he allowed Hector and Troy and that damned kiss into his mind he despised the man. But when he thought of his earlier admiration for Achilles, and the way in which Achilles had treated Briseis and his father, Priam, and when he thought of that damned kiss... Paris shook his head. 'What am I thinking?' His mind cut in. 'That night was wrong, it was terrible, disgusting, beautif...'
"No!" Paris said aloud. Achilles stared at him, eyebrow poised higher than usual.
"No?" He asked. "No, what?"
"Oh," Paris felt stupid, yet again, "nothing."
"I'll by you a drink." Achilles said. "Ease your 'no's'." Achilles smiled.
"My nose?" Paris questioned, raising his hand to his face. "What is wrong with it?"
Achilles laughed. "Never mind." He said. "There is nothing wrong with your nose." Then thinking to himself he added 'there's nothing wrong with any part of your body.'
Achilles signaled and the barmaid brought over two drinks, rather alcoholic, which Achilles was later glad for.
Paris sipped at his drink. "Thank you." He said. The initial bitterness passed down his throat, giving way to the sweet after taste.
Achilles watched Paris from where he sat. He admired the prince's dark curls as they fell delicately about his face. He admired Paris' neck as he tipped his head back to drink deeper.
Paris, aware of his being watched, glanced around the room, searching desperately for Aeneas. But no such salvation would come. He took another swig from his drink, being careful this time, not to expose his neck. He closed his eyes, feeling the dizzy buzz in his head.
"Are you feeling quite well?" Achilles asked, knowing all too well the early signs of drunkenness.
"Fine thank you." Paris shook his head, ridding himself of the taste. He felt off balance and more impulsive than usual.
Achilles pondered to himself, now. 'I don't want him to be drunk.' He thought. 'then it wouldn't be love.' He looked around the room, catching a few young women staring at him. It was then that he realised, as he had so many times before, just how incredibly attractive he was. 'I know how to seduce someone.' He thought. 'Anyone. I've done it before, what is stopping me from doing it again?'
"Come." He carefully touched Paris' back at its most tender point. "I'll see you back to your room, I can see that you have never drunk much before." He smiled as Paris stood, obeying his advances. His defense was already lowered.
Achilles opened the door to Paris' room, only a sliver, ensuring nobody was inside. He then opened it fully, lighting a torch by the door to cast some light on the room, though only a little.
"There's no need to come in." Paris said, observing Achilles warily. "Honestly, I can manage." But as he entered the room his footing was slightly off, Achilles decided to draw attention to this fact, giving him a reason to be present.
"You are already showing signs of clumsiness, even that one drink has done this to you?" Achilles laughed, he knew the boy wasn't drunk but he doubted very much the boy's ability to resist. "I'll just... help you into bed." He smiled mischievously as he approached Paris who still stood by the slightly open door.
When Achilles reached the boy he leant towards him, reaching an arm between Paris' arm and torso, locking the door behind him. Retracting his body, Achilles gripped Paris, ever so lightly, at the waist, encouraging Paris to walk back with him to the bed.
By this stage Paris couldn't deny the allure he was feeling. The arousal had begun with his quickened heartbeat, and spread to the heat he felt and the deepening of his breaths. He began, now, to sweat all over. He gasped slightly when Achilles touched his side and followed willingly, though his mind told him not to. The anger had begun to resurface.
"No." He said suddenly, stopping his course. His mind and body had finally acknowledged Achilles' full intention. "I will have no part in this. You killed my brother, and now you would use me as you would a common whore!" He tried in vain to suppress the tingling sensation he was feeling, a deep yearning inside him.
"I would never mean to use you." Achilles responded, taking Paris' wrist to ensure he didn't leave. "And, rest assured, you are no common whore. I search not for sex, as you suspect."
Paris drew his eyebrows together. "For what, then, do you search?" He begged.
Achilles lowered his hand from Paris' wrist to hold his hand, entwining their fingers. "I search for a fulfillment of love." He told him. "And love itself." He knew this was a long-shot, as the boy had only recently lost his 'love', but he had long suspected Paris of being a romantic, and this time he had hit the mark.
Paris drew a deep breath. "You lie." He accused.
"Often, and to many, yes. But not to you, not now. Never." Achilles smiled sweetly, his advances working a charm.
Paris' heart, the same heart that had been closed to all since Helen's departure, was suddenly open, free, ripe for the plucking. But he would not have it plucked by just anyone. Not by any, but by one.
Suddenly Paris realised where his admiration for the warrior had stemmed from all these years. He felt an unexplained attraction to the man. A set of feelings, intensified by the mystery and forbidden fruit that was Achilles. He hesitated no longer, following the warrior to the bed and collapsing, with a graceful ease, on top of him.
"So," Achilles spoke softly, "are you ready to love another?"
Paris said nothing, but answered with a pure, soft, closed kiss.
Achilles broke away, pushing Paris back gently. "Are you sure about this?" He asked. He didn't know why, but he felt a responsibility to the boy, as though he should be caring for him. He supposed it was because he had stolen Paris' protector when he had killed Hector and, in caring for the boy, he felt he was repaying him somehow.
He knew what this could all mean to Paris if he should regret it afterwards, so he was careful not to risk losing him through haste.
"I am certain." Paris replied, his breath shuddering slightly.
This time Achilles initiated the kiss, deepening it with his tongue, exploring the boy's body with his hands. He switched positions, lying Paris on his back, cradling the boy's shoulders with his large, muscular arm. Achilles ran his other hand across Paris' collarbone, and down his chest. He untied the belt and drew it out, tossing it aside. Tenderly he took both hands and removed all Paris' remaining clothing. Doing the same to himself he then returned to Paris at last, indulging himself with another kiss.
That night Achilles got his fulfillment of love, and Paris, Paris remembered that night, forever, as the most tender, passionate night he had ever experienced. For both this was the acknowledgement of their love.
A/N: Hmm... Doodoodoo! And off we go! By the way, they had sex that night, in case you couldn't tell. But I'm not a fan of writing graphic sex, not my thing. Can you see, for those of you who have read HP, how much confidence I have lost in writing slash? It's terrible. I'll have to read them again and take some tips, from the younger me! OK, now, readers! Sorry I didn't write earlier! Two nights ago I was watching John Butler Trio (see it if you can, best live performance I've seen thus far!) and last night my brother was on the computer and he only agreed to let me writing in the ad breaks of what I was watching on tv! (Little Women, oh the shame!!!) OK, I'll be brief. Actually, I'll run a poll. Do you think I should (a) keep writing long author's notes, or (b) start writing short ones. Tell me, and next time I will write accordingly. Alright, bradleigh, how are you doing, mate? Having fun? Crazy kid! Kage Miko, you are insane! I hope you are going to be a regular reader! I love my crazy regulars! Yana5, thanks dude! I owe it all to you. Now, Peanut Gallery – Alaska's Own, you are definitely the weirdest of my crew! By the way, can I call you Peanut? It's ever so much easier! purplemoofu, as my cousin and I were discussing the other day, I love you, man! So great, so funny. And I would really respect that fic! You should definitely write it, I would read AND review each and every chapter. Please do, oh the amusement. Lady Lenna, puts on snobby old pommy accent good eve to you! I am most certainly riveted to read your enchanting reviews! And, be a good girl, don't go changing your name, now will you? no more accent! Goldensong, I did as you asked. And Gilrean, welcome to the wacky world of my reviewers! Thank you, all! By now, hope you enjoyed, please tell me what to do next because I am stumped. Lucy, call me! Call Me Damn You!!!!
Paris yawned, just about ready for bed. Aeneas had disappeared to talk business with Andromache shortly after dinner and Paris had been left to his own devices at the bar. Achilles chose this moment to make his reappearance. Briseis had fallen asleep in his room after... well, one can only imagine, and Achilles, feeling relaxed and rather self-confidant had decided to go in search of some further entertainment.
Paris looked up as Achilles sat down beside him at the bar. Paris shifted uncomfortably, still angry and confused when it came to this large well- built man.
"You're back, I see." The barmaid spoke to Achilles. Paris had proven distracted and quite poor conversation for her.
"Indeed." Achilles smiled. "And how is your evening shaping up?" He asked politely, more interested in the boy who sat beside him.
"Oh, not bad, not bad." She told him, gracing him with a sweet smile. Her eyes sparkled, "No drunks yet."
"Yet." Achilles winked at her, thinking privately of Paris. He turned to the boy who, at that time, was staring quite intently at the wooden bench before him. "And how are you feeling?" Achilles asked Paris. "Any more talkative than you were earlier?" The barmaid muffled a laugh.
"Yes." Paris said, embarrassed and feeling rather tense. "Much better, thank you. And how was your walk this morning?"
"Very good." Achilles reflected. He stared at the boy. He was positive now, judging by the excitement he felt all over, that Paris was, indeed, the one he was supposed to be searching for. He knew, of course, that the prince still felt angered about Hector's death, that much was obvious. That, however, was just an obstacle he would have to overcome.
That evening, however, Achilles had been organized. He knew what he planned to do, and had done everything in his power to make it happen. He had spoken to Athena earlier and, as far as he was concerned, confirmed that Paris was his "true love". He had also arranged for Athena to distract Aeneas for the evening, eventually having him fall asleep in a room other than his own. Achilles was rather proud of himself for the amount of thought he had put into this, and the amount he would soon get out of it.
Paris, again, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to be as kind and civil as he could, blocking out the memory of Hector.
The only trouble was that his feelings regarding Achilles were polarized. He either loved him or hated him. When he allowed Hector and Troy and that damned kiss into his mind he despised the man. But when he thought of his earlier admiration for Achilles, and the way in which Achilles had treated Briseis and his father, Priam, and when he thought of that damned kiss... Paris shook his head. 'What am I thinking?' His mind cut in. 'That night was wrong, it was terrible, disgusting, beautif...'
"No!" Paris said aloud. Achilles stared at him, eyebrow poised higher than usual.
"No?" He asked. "No, what?"
"Oh," Paris felt stupid, yet again, "nothing."
"I'll by you a drink." Achilles said. "Ease your 'no's'." Achilles smiled.
"My nose?" Paris questioned, raising his hand to his face. "What is wrong with it?"
Achilles laughed. "Never mind." He said. "There is nothing wrong with your nose." Then thinking to himself he added 'there's nothing wrong with any part of your body.'
Achilles signaled and the barmaid brought over two drinks, rather alcoholic, which Achilles was later glad for.
Paris sipped at his drink. "Thank you." He said. The initial bitterness passed down his throat, giving way to the sweet after taste.
Achilles watched Paris from where he sat. He admired the prince's dark curls as they fell delicately about his face. He admired Paris' neck as he tipped his head back to drink deeper.
Paris, aware of his being watched, glanced around the room, searching desperately for Aeneas. But no such salvation would come. He took another swig from his drink, being careful this time, not to expose his neck. He closed his eyes, feeling the dizzy buzz in his head.
"Are you feeling quite well?" Achilles asked, knowing all too well the early signs of drunkenness.
"Fine thank you." Paris shook his head, ridding himself of the taste. He felt off balance and more impulsive than usual.
Achilles pondered to himself, now. 'I don't want him to be drunk.' He thought. 'then it wouldn't be love.' He looked around the room, catching a few young women staring at him. It was then that he realised, as he had so many times before, just how incredibly attractive he was. 'I know how to seduce someone.' He thought. 'Anyone. I've done it before, what is stopping me from doing it again?'
"Come." He carefully touched Paris' back at its most tender point. "I'll see you back to your room, I can see that you have never drunk much before." He smiled as Paris stood, obeying his advances. His defense was already lowered.
Achilles opened the door to Paris' room, only a sliver, ensuring nobody was inside. He then opened it fully, lighting a torch by the door to cast some light on the room, though only a little.
"There's no need to come in." Paris said, observing Achilles warily. "Honestly, I can manage." But as he entered the room his footing was slightly off, Achilles decided to draw attention to this fact, giving him a reason to be present.
"You are already showing signs of clumsiness, even that one drink has done this to you?" Achilles laughed, he knew the boy wasn't drunk but he doubted very much the boy's ability to resist. "I'll just... help you into bed." He smiled mischievously as he approached Paris who still stood by the slightly open door.
When Achilles reached the boy he leant towards him, reaching an arm between Paris' arm and torso, locking the door behind him. Retracting his body, Achilles gripped Paris, ever so lightly, at the waist, encouraging Paris to walk back with him to the bed.
By this stage Paris couldn't deny the allure he was feeling. The arousal had begun with his quickened heartbeat, and spread to the heat he felt and the deepening of his breaths. He began, now, to sweat all over. He gasped slightly when Achilles touched his side and followed willingly, though his mind told him not to. The anger had begun to resurface.
"No." He said suddenly, stopping his course. His mind and body had finally acknowledged Achilles' full intention. "I will have no part in this. You killed my brother, and now you would use me as you would a common whore!" He tried in vain to suppress the tingling sensation he was feeling, a deep yearning inside him.
"I would never mean to use you." Achilles responded, taking Paris' wrist to ensure he didn't leave. "And, rest assured, you are no common whore. I search not for sex, as you suspect."
Paris drew his eyebrows together. "For what, then, do you search?" He begged.
Achilles lowered his hand from Paris' wrist to hold his hand, entwining their fingers. "I search for a fulfillment of love." He told him. "And love itself." He knew this was a long-shot, as the boy had only recently lost his 'love', but he had long suspected Paris of being a romantic, and this time he had hit the mark.
Paris drew a deep breath. "You lie." He accused.
"Often, and to many, yes. But not to you, not now. Never." Achilles smiled sweetly, his advances working a charm.
Paris' heart, the same heart that had been closed to all since Helen's departure, was suddenly open, free, ripe for the plucking. But he would not have it plucked by just anyone. Not by any, but by one.
Suddenly Paris realised where his admiration for the warrior had stemmed from all these years. He felt an unexplained attraction to the man. A set of feelings, intensified by the mystery and forbidden fruit that was Achilles. He hesitated no longer, following the warrior to the bed and collapsing, with a graceful ease, on top of him.
"So," Achilles spoke softly, "are you ready to love another?"
Paris said nothing, but answered with a pure, soft, closed kiss.
Achilles broke away, pushing Paris back gently. "Are you sure about this?" He asked. He didn't know why, but he felt a responsibility to the boy, as though he should be caring for him. He supposed it was because he had stolen Paris' protector when he had killed Hector and, in caring for the boy, he felt he was repaying him somehow.
He knew what this could all mean to Paris if he should regret it afterwards, so he was careful not to risk losing him through haste.
"I am certain." Paris replied, his breath shuddering slightly.
This time Achilles initiated the kiss, deepening it with his tongue, exploring the boy's body with his hands. He switched positions, lying Paris on his back, cradling the boy's shoulders with his large, muscular arm. Achilles ran his other hand across Paris' collarbone, and down his chest. He untied the belt and drew it out, tossing it aside. Tenderly he took both hands and removed all Paris' remaining clothing. Doing the same to himself he then returned to Paris at last, indulging himself with another kiss.
That night Achilles got his fulfillment of love, and Paris, Paris remembered that night, forever, as the most tender, passionate night he had ever experienced. For both this was the acknowledgement of their love.
A/N: Hmm... Doodoodoo! And off we go! By the way, they had sex that night, in case you couldn't tell. But I'm not a fan of writing graphic sex, not my thing. Can you see, for those of you who have read HP, how much confidence I have lost in writing slash? It's terrible. I'll have to read them again and take some tips, from the younger me! OK, now, readers! Sorry I didn't write earlier! Two nights ago I was watching John Butler Trio (see it if you can, best live performance I've seen thus far!) and last night my brother was on the computer and he only agreed to let me writing in the ad breaks of what I was watching on tv! (Little Women, oh the shame!!!) OK, I'll be brief. Actually, I'll run a poll. Do you think I should (a) keep writing long author's notes, or (b) start writing short ones. Tell me, and next time I will write accordingly. Alright, bradleigh, how are you doing, mate? Having fun? Crazy kid! Kage Miko, you are insane! I hope you are going to be a regular reader! I love my crazy regulars! Yana5, thanks dude! I owe it all to you. Now, Peanut Gallery – Alaska's Own, you are definitely the weirdest of my crew! By the way, can I call you Peanut? It's ever so much easier! purplemoofu, as my cousin and I were discussing the other day, I love you, man! So great, so funny. And I would really respect that fic! You should definitely write it, I would read AND review each and every chapter. Please do, oh the amusement. Lady Lenna, puts on snobby old pommy accent good eve to you! I am most certainly riveted to read your enchanting reviews! And, be a good girl, don't go changing your name, now will you? no more accent! Goldensong, I did as you asked. And Gilrean, welcome to the wacky world of my reviewers! Thank you, all! By now, hope you enjoyed, please tell me what to do next because I am stumped. Lucy, call me! Call Me Damn You!!!!