 Series Title: "The Boon of Odysseus" 1/WIP ===== "He wants a boon? I don't understand, brother. You're not going to make a pact with any of them -- are you?" Hector moved away from Paris and stared out at the night sky. "This could save lives, Paris. The lives of my men -- men who serve under me. Many men have died already. Men who were my friends." Paris walked to stand directly behind his brother, reaching a tentative hand out to touch one shoulder. "But why parlay with anyone but Agamemnon? Who else truly holds sway over them?" Hector swung around, exasperation written clearly across his features. "By the gods, Paris! What difference does this make to you? I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm ready to offer myself, in place." Paris stood puzzling before replying. "What do you mean, 'in place'? In place of what? Of whom?" "In place of you, brother," Hector replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you hear nothing I said before?" Paris sighed. "That some Greek wants me? What does he want of me? You said no one would die..." Hector placed strong fingers under Paris' chin and lifted. "Can you think of nothing that might be worse than death, brother?" Paris flushed bright red and he struggled unsuccessfully to drop his head and his gaze. "You speak of being shamed -- and I know a little of that," he answered, forcing a laugh, his tone bitter. "The King of Ithaca has asked for you. He says if you consent to spend three days and nights with him, he will take his army and sail home after. "He says that he is the one who convinced his friend Achilles to join in this war. So he claims he will further attempt to hold some sway over the future of the mighty Achilles -- and his Myrmidons. To bid them sail, as well. "But I will not have it, Paris. There's no question. If he wishes to demean a prince of Troy, he may try his hand with me." "How demean, brother?" Hector sighed. "How do you think?" His words were soft and tense. "Then it must be me! You will be king some day. It isn't right that you should submit to him. "Besides, brother, it didn't sound as if he'd left you a choice to replace me..." Hector spun on his heel and paced off the length of Paris' bedchamber. "He will make do, I think," he spat out angrily. Paris moved to Hector's side and wrapped his arms around his brother, hugging him. "Sit. Let us speak reasonably of this." They moved to the divan at the end of Paris' bed and sat, side by side. Hector's body was stiff with suppressed rage. "Is the King of Ithaca an honorable man? Can his word be trusted?" Paris asked softly. Hector placed his head in the palms of his hands before replying. "Yes. I believe he can be trusted to keep his word. I sense no underhanded trick from him. He met me in open parlay -- though he spoke the words of this matter to me alone." "Would it make a difference if he and his men sailed -- even if Achilles and the Myrmidons did not?" Hector nodded wordlessly, his face still buried in his hands. "Yes. It would matter, I think. Others might follow him, even if Achilles did not." "Three days and nights," Paris said, pondering. "It could be borne. For the sake of Troy. He surely does not intend some permanent harm." Hector lifted his head and stared into Paris' face. "He did not say there would be no pain involved. Nor could he, if he intends what I believe." "Rape, you mean?" "What else?" "We're neither of us innocents, brother. The idea of being 'abused' in this fashion doesn't make me want to fall down and grasp your legs," he said pointedly. "You need not dwell on that, Paris. It has no bearing on this matter." Paris took his brother's hand between his and let them rest beside the stitches of the gash on his left thigh. "Does it not, my brother?" Hector turned away, but his left hand squeezed Paris' right. "You'd gain no glory from this, brother. In fact, I suspect you'd be hoping King Odysseus would decide not to flaunt his actions before the Greek army. Or bring you back to the gates of Troy dressed as his catamite." Paris reflected on the story of the Trojan youth Ganymede, who had supposedly been abducted to Olympus to become the cupbearer of Zeus -- and his lover. Ganymede had been said to be the epitome of a catamite by his teachers, though Paris assumed most of the sophisticated upper class of his home city would tend to think of the gaudily painted and scantily dressed male whores who roamed the back alleys -- before ever they imagined a lovely youth sitting in honor at the side of Zeus... "You think he wishes to make a mockery of me then?" "Of course he does. The Greeks are known to take boys -- many of them -- to their beds." Paris' cheeks flushed with anger. "I am no boy, brother. Whatever else people may say of me!" "You see. Already you are offended. How can you think to face this thing?" "What more can be done to me than what I myself have done? Do you really believe there is a greater shame?" "I would never ask you to do this thing, Paris. Never." "You have not asked it. I have offered freely." Hector stood, glowering. "I won't have it. I won't allow another man to put hands to you." Paris lifted his head, eyes shining. "Then you still wish me in your bed? I had thought you past caring." Hector leaned down and swept Paris into his arms. "I will never be past wanting you. The gods forgive me. You are mine. I would suffer greatly to imagine you in the embrace of some Greek barbarian, king or no!" Paris drew back and offered his hand to Hector. Hector took the hand and let Paris lead him to his bed... "I have missed your attentions, Paris. I have longed to feel the miracles you make with me." Paris laughed softly, pressing Hector to lie back on the bed. "Only let me undress you, brother. You will soon be spending again and again." Hector smiled a wolf's smile at Paris as he leaned to lift his body to enable his brother to withdraw the clothing that clung low on his hips. Paris slipped the long skirt down Hector's muscular legs, stopping only to unbind and toss aside the sandals on each foot before pulling the garment completely away. Then he removed his own robe and stretched out naked beside Hector. "Shall I blow out the candles?" Paris asked, shifting to lie on his side and grin at his brother. Hector smiled back, shaking his head. "Let them burn down. I want to enjoy the sight of you." "I'm so bruised and horrid," Paris exclaimed, looking down at himself. "I'd forgotten, I guess. It's more than just the wound." Hector's fingers lightly traced the line of the cut. "Does it pain you? Shall I have it bandaged before we continue? It should be kept... dry," he said, his voice hoarse with passion. "Leave it. I think your seed would make a fine healing ointment, most likely." "Don't jest, Paris. It could still become infected." "I have had the proper purifications and made the appropriate sacrifices. The gods will not allow it to putrefy." "The gods? I would prefer you leave this in the hands of the surgeons and healers, brother. Do not trust to prayer to keep your leg whole." "And you would wish me to take time to fetch a healer now?" Paris asked, leaning to run his finger down Hector's chest and trailing his belly until at last he reached Hector's navel. He stopped and tickled this gently before moving downward. "I think your manhood needs attention rather soon. But if you prefer to wait..." Hector cut him off by grasping him by both shoulders and pulling him close. They kissed rough and long before Hector finally released Paris and fell back, panting. "Never mind. You know I cannot wait. It has been long since you shared yourself with me." Paris shifted to kneel beside Hector's crotch. Then he dropped his face down and began to carefully lick the salty skin above his brother's groin. "Yes. Gods, yes," Hector groaned. His strong hands were working on the bedsheet, bunching and gripping the cloth in turn. "I think you always tell me to remember forbearance," Paris teased, stopping long enough to speak before returning to his ministrations. His tongue trailed the carefully groomed hair of Hector's crotch and began to play lightly over Hector's engorged penis. He gently licked as he lowered his mouth closer to the prize. Then he licked and sucked in turn, following an exquisite dance of pleasure that was carefully choreographed by years of experience... "Shall I make you spend, or no?" Paris asked, pausing. "Do it. It won't matter much, I promise you," Hector managed to reply. Paris began to suck then in earnest, letting his mouth go lower and lower as he used a combination of suction and friction to work over Hector. Hector groaned loudly and his body stiffened. He shouted his brother's name as he spurted into Paris' eager mouth. "Ah, Paris! Yes, yes!" Hector cried, his hands clawing the mattress beneath him. When the spending was finished, Paris moved to fall across Hector's chest, laughing joyously as his lips found his brother's chin. He kissed the beard and moved up to lick with tiny jabs at his brother's mouth. "Would you taste your lovely seed?" Paris asked, kissing Hector's cheek. "I've always told you not to be squeamish, have I not?" Hector answered, putting a rough hand into Paris' hair. His fingers locked in his brother's curls and pulled until Paris' mouth was fixed on his. Hector kissed him deeply, briefly plunging his tongue inside Paris' mouth before returning focus to the pressure of lips to lips. Finally Paris pulled back, gasping for air. "Oh, gods! Let me breathe!" Hector laughed. The sound was a warm rumble of bass thunder. "I cannot help myself, brother. It has been too long. I've mourned for your attentions." "Forgive me, brother. I, too, have missed these pleasures." Hector sighed. "I thought perhaps you'd found yourself entirely sated in Helen's lovely arms." Paris giggled and threw his arms over his head, suddenly playful. "And do you find all answers for pleasure in the embrace of Andromache?" Hector's tone was shocked. "Paris! You forget yourself. Don't speak so of my wife -- of the mother of my son!" "And how do I offend?" "Would you suggest I ask of her the rougher pleasures meant for two men to share?" "Calm yourself. I make a point, only," Paris soothed. "There are things done with women -- and there are things best done with another man. I would never dishonor your wife by suggesting otherwise. Nor would I expect Helen to do such things with me. "And on that note, I see that you are full with desire yet again," Paris said, leaning to trace his fingers along the curved length of Hector's erection. "How not, Paris? We have only begun. I wish to spend long hours with you as in days past. My body aches for you and your love making. There is no man -- nor woman either, I imagine -- who is as skilled at this as you." "Excepting my noble brother," Paris corrected, pressing his face into the crook of Hector's neck. "I once foolishly thought that I would instruct you in these things. But in those first minutes of your youth I knew myself mistaken, Paris. The goddess Aphrodite herself has given you the grace to know these things as only the gods must know them. You are truly gifted beyond the ways of any mortal man. I count myself blessed to share your gifts." Paris pushed his body tighter still to Hector at these words. "I wish only to please you," he said, his voice muffled against Hector's skin. "To gaze upon you pleases me well," Hector answered, moving his face to once again kiss Paris boldly. "Enough, brother. Let me use my hands," Paris said, pulling away from Hector's embrace. "I long for it," was Hector's answer. Paris leaned up on his elbow and stared the length of Hector's strong body. He traced his fingers over this spot and that, gently tweaking Hector's nipples and scratching with his nails at Hector's scars. His ministrations were a combination of the comfortably familiar and brash experimentation... "You drive me mad!" Hector exclaimed. "You manage to remain controlled enough, even so," Paris replied, still moving against Hector's hot skin. "Please." Paris turned his glance from Hector's body to his face. "Please? Do I not give you pleasure, brother?" Hector groaned. "You know well what your touch does to me, Paris. Do not tease. I have no patience." Paris didn't try to hide his grin as he turned his glance back to Hector's stomach. He pressed his fingers more firmly against the ridges of hairy, muscled skin. Then he dropped cupped fingers around Hector's penis and began to gently pump up and down the stiffened shaft. "Gods!" Hector shouted. "Yes. Please don't stop," he begged, his volume softer. "You may trust that I will not stop, brother. Until both you -- and I -- have had our fill of it." They continued long into the night. It was early morning when Hector had finally sated himself in Paris' now-limp arms... "Come what may, I am truly blessed by these hours," Hector whispered. "I, too, feel this. But after you have rested we must speak again of this request. How dare we refuse? I would serve Troy in some fashion, after all." "I am too tired to argue properly, brother," Hector said, yawning. "I must rest or die of exhaustion. Let be for now." "What does he look like, this King of Ithaca?" Paris asked. But Hector had begun to snore softly, already asleep. -the end part one- |