New Chapter, babies.
Title:Prisoners of War
Pairing(s):Paris/Achilles Agamemnon/Paris and one Paris/Hector scene
Author: Beautiful_Ori
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slavery, BDSM, hurt/comfort, typical deliciousness.
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with anyome who made this film [shame, really] and I'm not being compensated in any way for producing this story, which is purely fictitious [once again, what a shame...]
Summary: Things go a tiny bit differently when Paris almost kills Agamemnon at the sacking of Troy. He and his cousin Briseis are captured and taken away to be slaves in Greece for the amusement of the egotistical High King. Achilles develops a new interest and slash insues...obviously
Also: I don't really have a beta reader. And by 'don't really' I mean 'not at all' So...I'm sorry.
Paris’ heart rate quickened. He had known, of course, that this was going to come, but he’d thought perhaps he’d be given more time.
A foolish way to think. You are a slave now, you will be given nothing. he chided himself. Paris looked up at Achilles briefly, and then lowered his eyes again. He had no choice in this matter. It was the most repugnant prospect in the world, but there was no way out of it, and so what use would there be in resisting?
“Can I take your lack of response as surprise at my request?”
“Not at all, master. I knew the moment you said that I was to belong to you what would be expected. What other service could I perform? I would be of no use in any other circumstances.” Paris said. Achilles noted that it was said sincerely, and realized for the first time that Paris did not have a very good opinion of himself, outside of what knowledge he had in the bedroom, and that this probably didn’t stem only from how said talents had played a role in the war. Achilles’ thoughts drifted to Hector, although it was something he tried not to think about at all, and surmised that it would be difficult indeed to live in the shadow of such a one as Hector had been. Achilles was half god, but he knew in his heart of hearts that if he hadn’t been, the dual would have ended quite differently. Paris must have had it very hard, knowing he would never measure up to his big brother, probably being told. It was no wonder the boy had never become a fearful warrior. What point would there have been? Besides that, it was clear that this boy had been shielded and protected all his life, and most probably spoilt a great deal as well. Achilles and everyone else had been eager to berate and taunt him for being cowardly, but the poor boy had most likely never even come in contact with anyone who’d even mildly disliked him- much less despised him and wished to do him harm. It had probably been unbelievably terrifying. Achilles himself had obviously never experienced that kind of fear, but just contemplating it was harrowing indeed.
What would I do, if I were so young and sheltered, completely defenseless and staring death right in the face? What would anyone do? Achilles thought. He recalled once when he was very young he’d been out adventuring alone in search of a beehive for honey, something he was particularly fond of, and had stumbled upon a monstrous bear. He had turned and ran immediately back home. Really, how was what Paris had done any different? Facing insurmountable danger, Paris had run back to where he knew he’d be safe.
All right. Perhaps he was over sympathizing just a little. Obviously the fact that Paris had challenged Menelaus was a differing circumstance… and the groveling had been a bit much. And then the fact that Achilles had been a child…
…but then, in his own way, Paris had still been but a child himself. Perhaps not now, but certainly back before the war had really gotten started.
“What were you thinking, boy, when you challenged Menelaus?” Achilles asked abruptly. His own musings had made him curious, and distracted him from what he’d been thinking of doing only moments before. The young slave did not answer immediately, obviously thrown off by the change in subject. To his masters’ surprise, however, it didn’t take long for him to collect himself.
“I don’t really know, master. It certainly wasn’t some delusional notion that I could actually defeat him. I had thought about it- about dying- the night before, actually, and well…it didn’t seem so bad. But then things are never the same as you imagine them. I suppose that…” he stopped short, seeming to wish to put his words together properly. Achilles noted that the boy was blushing furiously, and that his delicate hands were clasped together nervously. “When I was down there, on the battlefield, just before the duel, and the first half of it…I suppose that I was thinking that even though he could kill me, he wouldn’t. Because even though I know that in essence what I did was wrong, I never did, and still do not understand why he cared. He treated his wife contemptibly, and it was clear to me that he felt no desire or affection for her. I thought that maybe if we fought, and he saw that I loved her, and that my asking her to go with me was not a conquest, but an act of said love, that he’d realize that I’d meant him no disrespect and leave off. I know that it was stupid, that I was stupid, but even when there was war around me, I was always taught as a child to believe in the decency of other people. It was foolishness, but I did believe it…for a time.”
Paris was horrified by the question his master had asked, and even more horrified at the candidness of his own response.
Why is he tormenting me? What have I done?
“What then, do you think you might have done if you had beaten him, and none of this had ever happened?” Achilles asked. He didn’t know why, but he absolutely ached to know this boy.
Paris froze. It was too painful, too painful to think of such things! He bit his lip so hard it bled, and took several measured breaths.
“I don’t think of things like that, sir. I am nothing but a slave now, and it’s no more than I deserve.” He replied. Achilles wanted to protest- he didn’t think that anyone deserved to be a slave- but then he let it go, because he had absolutely no intention to set free his war prize. But he noticed the prince’s bleeding lip and guarded answer and knew him at once to be false.
“Come now, you’re not as humble as all that. And surely you must wonder-”
“What I wonder, master, is why you torture me with your insensitive questioning, summoning every bad memory I have, after I have done everything you’ve wanted without complaint!” Paris interrupted, his eyes wet with angry tears. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck me. What happened to that, hm?”
Strangely enough, it was Paris himself who was completely shocked with his response. Achilles was only amused, and he sat on the ship’s rim smiling at Paris’ face. His eyes were saucers, he had the look of a deer, and his hands covered his gaping mouth- it was an adorable expression, really. After a moment, Paris fell to his knees before his master.
“Forgive me, master, I misspoke, and disrespected you terribly with my tone. I request punishment if you would grace me with it.”
“Punishment?” Achilles asked incredulously. “Why would you request that?”
“Because I need to know my place, sir. You, master, have a fondness for me because I pleased you in bed. But if I were sold into another’s ownership they would hardly put up with such outbursts.”
“Aye, that’s true enough. But you needn’t worry about anything like that. I’ll never sell you.” Paris didn’t know whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “As to the punishment,” he started. “I think you’ve already made it clear that just being with me is a punishment. But since you asked me so nicely, I think I can manage to mete something out for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet, boy.” Achilles said as he grabbed Paris’ arms and pulled him up, only to throw him over the ledge where he’d been sitting. He lifted the slave’s course brown garment and began to fondle him.
“Master! There are people up on deck, and the rest of your crew only steps away. Have a care!”
“It’s none of their business what I do with my slave,” he snapped. “And I’ll not wait any longer for relief.” He reached up Paris’ tunic and, much to the boy’s dismay and mortification, found his nipples.
“Please!” he rasped out instantaneously, but his cock was already hardening fast as Achilles’ hands twisted and pulled at his chest.
“You like it when I tease those dusky little nipples of yours, you like it when I hurt them, even. Admit it, slave!” And he pinched them cruelly until Paris responded.
“Yes! Yes! Oh, Gods, please stop!”
“You love it, it makes you hard as a stone, I don’t even have to touch your cock. But you hate how I can do this to you, how I can make you want it. It humiliates you but it still arouses you, slut that you are.” The words truly stung- truth delivered harshly hurts like nothing else will, and Paris felt more tears coming.
You are so weak. But at the same time he was whimpering and moaning without censure, the hands maddening him.
“I’m going to stop touching those tits of yours now, and fuck you good and hard like you deserve. And then when I’m through with your hole, I’m going to squeeze those nipples again and then you’re going to come, just from my hands on your tits, and you’ll know who your master is, and you’ll know not to displease him with your saucy little mouth, won’t you, slave?” Paris choked out a sob in response, unable to do anything but take the pain of Achilles’ massive length sliding into him, the passage uneased with oil.
“Answer me!”
“Yes, master-oh!” It hurt, but Paris was so aroused from the stimulation, and Achilles’ fierce manhood was so long and thick that it nudged his prostate with every movement. Paris moaned in both pain and pleasure, completely undone by the cock that skewered him. He was even more debiliated to find himself bereft when Achilles pulled out abruptly and did not reseat himself within Paris’ tight passage immediately. He groaned in complaint.
“Fussy now, are we?” His master chuckled at him. “Beg, slave. Beg for my cock and I’ll give it to you again.”
“Apollo have mercy, I want it! I need your cock inside of me now, master!” Paris said desperately, forgetting his humiliation. Achilles did not stir. “Please master, I beg you, I beg-” suddenly the warrior thrust, sheathing himself inside his hot and bothered prisoner to the hilt. Paris responded to the invasion he’d begged for loudly.
“You squeal like a gutted pig, boy! No matter, though, you’re tighter than my fist could ever be.” The thrusting became more insistent, and Paris wasn’t sure how long he could stop himself from coming. It took every ounce of will and strength he had to stave off his own orgasm as he felt the splash of hotness fill his insides. Paris had never before felt so claimed. The warrior’s seed was searing and lingering within him, and his desire heightened with each passing second. Anticipating another demand for begging, Paris let go of the last shred of dignity he had been holding onto.
“Touch me,” he pleaded his voice thick and raspy with need. “Touch me.”
Laid over the railing as he was, Paris could not see how surprised Achilles was at his unbidden supplication. But he did feel his captor’s hands on his abdomen, sliding up much too slowly, strong and hot. Achilles did not have time to twist and torment the overly sensitive nipples as he had planned, because as soon as the very tips of his fingers grazed them, the young Trojan shot out his release with a long and sighing cry, his head resting on Achilles’ shoulder as a result of the slackening of every tense muscle in his lithe body. As the warrior pulled out of his prisoner’s clenching portal, there came a raucous cheer from behind him. Both master and slave turned sharply, to see that nearly every one of the men had gathered, and had presumably been watching the copulation, and were now clapping and whistling as they yelled- vulgar congratulations at their commander, lewd and biting taunts at his slave.
Paris turned away quickly, squirming away from Achilles and curling himself up against the side of the ship. The demi-god did not have to look at the poor boy to know that he wept. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to tell him that he hadn’t meant to be so cruel in their coupling- he’d only been spurred on by the boy’s request for punishment- and that he certainly hadn’t meant for anyone to see them. But his men still looked on, and he couldn’t afford to show the boy any affection in their presence. He was only a slave, and therefore meant to take such punishment. So he got up and walked towards his myrmidons, graciously accepting their congratulations on such a thorough conquering and breaking in of his new pleasure slave while tactfully ignoring the few inquiries about whether or not they’d be able to ‘try him out’ as they led him below for more drinking
~*~*~
Hours passed. Paris dared not move an inch. He was too afraid some soldier would be watching.
Too afraid to see the triumphant face of Achilles smirking down on him. He’d had all he could bear, he could suffer no more. If he’d had his eyes open, he would have noticed that someone watched…
Eudoras regarded the boy with sadness and empathy. The way the poor captive grieved past the point of weeping, the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, it reminded him of his son. Eudoras didn’t talk about his son very much, and neither did anyone else. The young man had been very promising, agile, strong, excellent with a sword. He provided Achilles better sport while sparring with him than Patroclus did at half his age. Eudoras had been looking forward to the day when his boy would march into battle with him.
That day never came. One evening as a storm was brewing, a group of slave children had been ordered to gather vegetables from a grove under a huge tree. By ill luck, a bolt of lightning hit the tree, and it began to fall. The children ran away immediately, but in their confusion they ran into each other, causing one poor child to fall over. Eudoras and his son were nearby, and the young man, having seen the commotion, ran at what seemed a godlike speed towards the falling tree. He made it in time to save the slave boy, but not himself. The great tree fell atop his lower legs. Eudoras had rushed over too him, mad with grief, striking the poor child his son had saved, scolding his son for wasting his legs on a worthless slave boy, who could have been easily replaced. Eudoras had forgotten at that moment that the mother of his son had been a slave herself- a beautiful and gentle woman who had taught the young man kindness and justice before her untimely death.
Father and son had not spoken for a very long time.
Still, Eudoras looked in on the boy, confined to his bed now, what with his shattered and useless legs. He knew the young man to be depressed and lonely. His shoulders ever slumped like this poor disinherited prince’s were. But Eudoras did not have the words he knew he would need for a sufficient apology. The hardened soldier now wondered at this Trojan. How did King Priam react when the amorous boy had betrayed his country for a woman?
Had there been forgiveness between them?
Paris jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his arm gently, and pulled at it.
“Come away, child.” Said Eudoras softly, offering an encouraging little smile. “You are tired. Let us find you a better place to lay your head down.” Knowing not what else to do, and actually half-grateful, Paris stood and went where he was led. For a moment, at least.
“Where are you taking my slave?” Achilles snapped, surprising them both with his presence.
“Just down below, to see if I can find room for him to sleep somewhere, my lord.”
“He will sleep with me!” Achilles responded, his voice displaying irritation and a bit of possessiveness.
“A-As you wish, my Lord.” Eudoras handed him over and shot him an apologetic glance. Paris stiffened and remained silent. Presumably finished with whatever preparations needed to be made for the majority of the crew to sleep, Achilles pulled his slave down below decks to where he slept, a large net that looked to Paris like a fishing net. His master saw the question in his eyes.
“Didn’t you have hammocks in Troy?”
“We slept in beds, sir.” Achilles smiled at this and found blankets for each of them. Then he hopped into the hammock, situated himself largely in the middle, but a bit off to the side so as to make room for his companion, then pulled the captive prince up beside him.
“Are you comfortable?”
“If it pleases you.” Achilles sighed. Unfortunately, he was beginning to discover that for some odd reason, he liked spoilt, willful, sassy-mouthed stubborn Paris much better than depressed, resigned, meek, scared Paris. But the latter Paris was completely his making, and also the Paris that would be permitted in the world he lived in. The young man’s bouts of defiance amused Achilles, yes, but they would not amuse anyone else, and what sort of tumult would be caused if his warriors saw that he brooked disrespect from a prisoner of war- the lowest of the low? Nothing good would come of it.
Achilles continued to brood as he assumed Paris drifted off to sleep. It angered him, but he knew now that he wanted more than the boy’s sex.
And it saddened him that what he wanted was the one thing he could not demand, even from a slave, and that he was not in the position to be able to woo the boy, and coax it from him. No, Paris’ love and adoration would never belong to him. The prince, although he would become better and better at masking it, would remain resentful about all that had passed between them- who wouldn’t? But maybe…maybe if he could explain things to Paris? Yes, to tell him why it would be necessary for him to act as he had today, and to make sure that the boy understood that he didn’t mean it, and that he was sorry. That would patch things up, wouldn’t it?
“Paris!” Achilles whispered, nudging him to wake him up. The Trojan’s eyes opened immediately. He turned around, so that his back now faced the Greek, removed his blanket and pulled up his tunic until his backside was bared. Achilles gave an almost horrified gasp when he realized what the poor captive was doing. “No, I didn’t wake you for that.” At this, Paris situated himself in his original state.
“What is your will then, my lord?” he asked flatly.
“I wanted to- you weren’t even asleep, were you?”
“No, master.”
“I know you’re tired. Why?”
“Because I am afraid of you, sir.” The words pierced Achilles very acutely.
“Don’t be. I promise I will not hurt you like that again.”
“Promises made to slaves do not have to be kept, sir.” His voice was monotone, Achilles could make out the bland facial expression in the dark, and he could tell that his beautiful eyes had gone cold. He’d been so hopeful about the idea he’d just had, but now he could see that there wasn’t any point. The damage was done, by his own hands, no less.
“You should get some rest, little boy, go to sleep.” The slave closed his eyes obediently.
When his breathing evened and Achilles was sure he slept, the warrior reached out his large and calloused hand and laid it on the impossible softness of Paris’ cheek, stroking gently. When he realized what he was doing, he knew he was lost.
AN: Well, it wasn’t exactly the update I promised, but there you go anyways.
Next Chapter: We get to Achilles’ crib at long last, and get a visit from Odysseus [SQUEEAL SEAN BEAN!]
…okay, so, I know that like…he’s supposed to be out having the Odyssey or whatever, and I’m not following the Iliad even a little bit, but I think Sean Bean is well fit so…...Homer can suck my clit.
Pairing(s):Paris/Achilles Agamemnon/Paris and one Paris/Hector scene
Author: Beautiful_Ori
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slavery, BDSM, hurt/comfort, typical deliciousness.
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with anyome who made this film [shame, really] and I'm not being compensated in any way for producing this story, which is purely fictitious [once again, what a shame...]
Summary: Things go a tiny bit differently when Paris almost kills Agamemnon at the sacking of Troy. He and his cousin Briseis are captured and taken away to be slaves in Greece for the amusement of the egotistical High King. Achilles develops a new interest and slash insues...obviously
Also: I don't really have a beta reader. And by 'don't really' I mean 'not at all' So...I'm sorry.
Paris’ heart rate quickened. He had known, of course, that this was going to come, but he’d thought perhaps he’d be given more time.
A foolish way to think. You are a slave now, you will be given nothing. he chided himself. Paris looked up at Achilles briefly, and then lowered his eyes again. He had no choice in this matter. It was the most repugnant prospect in the world, but there was no way out of it, and so what use would there be in resisting?
“Can I take your lack of response as surprise at my request?”
“Not at all, master. I knew the moment you said that I was to belong to you what would be expected. What other service could I perform? I would be of no use in any other circumstances.” Paris said. Achilles noted that it was said sincerely, and realized for the first time that Paris did not have a very good opinion of himself, outside of what knowledge he had in the bedroom, and that this probably didn’t stem only from how said talents had played a role in the war. Achilles’ thoughts drifted to Hector, although it was something he tried not to think about at all, and surmised that it would be difficult indeed to live in the shadow of such a one as Hector had been. Achilles was half god, but he knew in his heart of hearts that if he hadn’t been, the dual would have ended quite differently. Paris must have had it very hard, knowing he would never measure up to his big brother, probably being told. It was no wonder the boy had never become a fearful warrior. What point would there have been? Besides that, it was clear that this boy had been shielded and protected all his life, and most probably spoilt a great deal as well. Achilles and everyone else had been eager to berate and taunt him for being cowardly, but the poor boy had most likely never even come in contact with anyone who’d even mildly disliked him- much less despised him and wished to do him harm. It had probably been unbelievably terrifying. Achilles himself had obviously never experienced that kind of fear, but just contemplating it was harrowing indeed.
What would I do, if I were so young and sheltered, completely defenseless and staring death right in the face? What would anyone do? Achilles thought. He recalled once when he was very young he’d been out adventuring alone in search of a beehive for honey, something he was particularly fond of, and had stumbled upon a monstrous bear. He had turned and ran immediately back home. Really, how was what Paris had done any different? Facing insurmountable danger, Paris had run back to where he knew he’d be safe.
All right. Perhaps he was over sympathizing just a little. Obviously the fact that Paris had challenged Menelaus was a differing circumstance… and the groveling had been a bit much. And then the fact that Achilles had been a child…
…but then, in his own way, Paris had still been but a child himself. Perhaps not now, but certainly back before the war had really gotten started.
“What were you thinking, boy, when you challenged Menelaus?” Achilles asked abruptly. His own musings had made him curious, and distracted him from what he’d been thinking of doing only moments before. The young slave did not answer immediately, obviously thrown off by the change in subject. To his masters’ surprise, however, it didn’t take long for him to collect himself.
“I don’t really know, master. It certainly wasn’t some delusional notion that I could actually defeat him. I had thought about it- about dying- the night before, actually, and well…it didn’t seem so bad. But then things are never the same as you imagine them. I suppose that…” he stopped short, seeming to wish to put his words together properly. Achilles noted that the boy was blushing furiously, and that his delicate hands were clasped together nervously. “When I was down there, on the battlefield, just before the duel, and the first half of it…I suppose that I was thinking that even though he could kill me, he wouldn’t. Because even though I know that in essence what I did was wrong, I never did, and still do not understand why he cared. He treated his wife contemptibly, and it was clear to me that he felt no desire or affection for her. I thought that maybe if we fought, and he saw that I loved her, and that my asking her to go with me was not a conquest, but an act of said love, that he’d realize that I’d meant him no disrespect and leave off. I know that it was stupid, that I was stupid, but even when there was war around me, I was always taught as a child to believe in the decency of other people. It was foolishness, but I did believe it…for a time.”
Paris was horrified by the question his master had asked, and even more horrified at the candidness of his own response.
Why is he tormenting me? What have I done?
“What then, do you think you might have done if you had beaten him, and none of this had ever happened?” Achilles asked. He didn’t know why, but he absolutely ached to know this boy.
Paris froze. It was too painful, too painful to think of such things! He bit his lip so hard it bled, and took several measured breaths.
“I don’t think of things like that, sir. I am nothing but a slave now, and it’s no more than I deserve.” He replied. Achilles wanted to protest- he didn’t think that anyone deserved to be a slave- but then he let it go, because he had absolutely no intention to set free his war prize. But he noticed the prince’s bleeding lip and guarded answer and knew him at once to be false.
“Come now, you’re not as humble as all that. And surely you must wonder-”
“What I wonder, master, is why you torture me with your insensitive questioning, summoning every bad memory I have, after I have done everything you’ve wanted without complaint!” Paris interrupted, his eyes wet with angry tears. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck me. What happened to that, hm?”
Strangely enough, it was Paris himself who was completely shocked with his response. Achilles was only amused, and he sat on the ship’s rim smiling at Paris’ face. His eyes were saucers, he had the look of a deer, and his hands covered his gaping mouth- it was an adorable expression, really. After a moment, Paris fell to his knees before his master.
“Forgive me, master, I misspoke, and disrespected you terribly with my tone. I request punishment if you would grace me with it.”
“Punishment?” Achilles asked incredulously. “Why would you request that?”
“Because I need to know my place, sir. You, master, have a fondness for me because I pleased you in bed. But if I were sold into another’s ownership they would hardly put up with such outbursts.”
“Aye, that’s true enough. But you needn’t worry about anything like that. I’ll never sell you.” Paris didn’t know whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “As to the punishment,” he started. “I think you’ve already made it clear that just being with me is a punishment. But since you asked me so nicely, I think I can manage to mete something out for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet, boy.” Achilles said as he grabbed Paris’ arms and pulled him up, only to throw him over the ledge where he’d been sitting. He lifted the slave’s course brown garment and began to fondle him.
“Master! There are people up on deck, and the rest of your crew only steps away. Have a care!”
“It’s none of their business what I do with my slave,” he snapped. “And I’ll not wait any longer for relief.” He reached up Paris’ tunic and, much to the boy’s dismay and mortification, found his nipples.
“Please!” he rasped out instantaneously, but his cock was already hardening fast as Achilles’ hands twisted and pulled at his chest.
“You like it when I tease those dusky little nipples of yours, you like it when I hurt them, even. Admit it, slave!” And he pinched them cruelly until Paris responded.
“Yes! Yes! Oh, Gods, please stop!”
“You love it, it makes you hard as a stone, I don’t even have to touch your cock. But you hate how I can do this to you, how I can make you want it. It humiliates you but it still arouses you, slut that you are.” The words truly stung- truth delivered harshly hurts like nothing else will, and Paris felt more tears coming.
You are so weak. But at the same time he was whimpering and moaning without censure, the hands maddening him.
“I’m going to stop touching those tits of yours now, and fuck you good and hard like you deserve. And then when I’m through with your hole, I’m going to squeeze those nipples again and then you’re going to come, just from my hands on your tits, and you’ll know who your master is, and you’ll know not to displease him with your saucy little mouth, won’t you, slave?” Paris choked out a sob in response, unable to do anything but take the pain of Achilles’ massive length sliding into him, the passage uneased with oil.
“Answer me!”
“Yes, master-oh!” It hurt, but Paris was so aroused from the stimulation, and Achilles’ fierce manhood was so long and thick that it nudged his prostate with every movement. Paris moaned in both pain and pleasure, completely undone by the cock that skewered him. He was even more debiliated to find himself bereft when Achilles pulled out abruptly and did not reseat himself within Paris’ tight passage immediately. He groaned in complaint.
“Fussy now, are we?” His master chuckled at him. “Beg, slave. Beg for my cock and I’ll give it to you again.”
“Apollo have mercy, I want it! I need your cock inside of me now, master!” Paris said desperately, forgetting his humiliation. Achilles did not stir. “Please master, I beg you, I beg-” suddenly the warrior thrust, sheathing himself inside his hot and bothered prisoner to the hilt. Paris responded to the invasion he’d begged for loudly.
“You squeal like a gutted pig, boy! No matter, though, you’re tighter than my fist could ever be.” The thrusting became more insistent, and Paris wasn’t sure how long he could stop himself from coming. It took every ounce of will and strength he had to stave off his own orgasm as he felt the splash of hotness fill his insides. Paris had never before felt so claimed. The warrior’s seed was searing and lingering within him, and his desire heightened with each passing second. Anticipating another demand for begging, Paris let go of the last shred of dignity he had been holding onto.
“Touch me,” he pleaded his voice thick and raspy with need. “Touch me.”
Laid over the railing as he was, Paris could not see how surprised Achilles was at his unbidden supplication. But he did feel his captor’s hands on his abdomen, sliding up much too slowly, strong and hot. Achilles did not have time to twist and torment the overly sensitive nipples as he had planned, because as soon as the very tips of his fingers grazed them, the young Trojan shot out his release with a long and sighing cry, his head resting on Achilles’ shoulder as a result of the slackening of every tense muscle in his lithe body. As the warrior pulled out of his prisoner’s clenching portal, there came a raucous cheer from behind him. Both master and slave turned sharply, to see that nearly every one of the men had gathered, and had presumably been watching the copulation, and were now clapping and whistling as they yelled- vulgar congratulations at their commander, lewd and biting taunts at his slave.
Paris turned away quickly, squirming away from Achilles and curling himself up against the side of the ship. The demi-god did not have to look at the poor boy to know that he wept. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to tell him that he hadn’t meant to be so cruel in their coupling- he’d only been spurred on by the boy’s request for punishment- and that he certainly hadn’t meant for anyone to see them. But his men still looked on, and he couldn’t afford to show the boy any affection in their presence. He was only a slave, and therefore meant to take such punishment. So he got up and walked towards his myrmidons, graciously accepting their congratulations on such a thorough conquering and breaking in of his new pleasure slave while tactfully ignoring the few inquiries about whether or not they’d be able to ‘try him out’ as they led him below for more drinking
~*~*~
Hours passed. Paris dared not move an inch. He was too afraid some soldier would be watching.
Too afraid to see the triumphant face of Achilles smirking down on him. He’d had all he could bear, he could suffer no more. If he’d had his eyes open, he would have noticed that someone watched…
Eudoras regarded the boy with sadness and empathy. The way the poor captive grieved past the point of weeping, the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, it reminded him of his son. Eudoras didn’t talk about his son very much, and neither did anyone else. The young man had been very promising, agile, strong, excellent with a sword. He provided Achilles better sport while sparring with him than Patroclus did at half his age. Eudoras had been looking forward to the day when his boy would march into battle with him.
That day never came. One evening as a storm was brewing, a group of slave children had been ordered to gather vegetables from a grove under a huge tree. By ill luck, a bolt of lightning hit the tree, and it began to fall. The children ran away immediately, but in their confusion they ran into each other, causing one poor child to fall over. Eudoras and his son were nearby, and the young man, having seen the commotion, ran at what seemed a godlike speed towards the falling tree. He made it in time to save the slave boy, but not himself. The great tree fell atop his lower legs. Eudoras had rushed over too him, mad with grief, striking the poor child his son had saved, scolding his son for wasting his legs on a worthless slave boy, who could have been easily replaced. Eudoras had forgotten at that moment that the mother of his son had been a slave herself- a beautiful and gentle woman who had taught the young man kindness and justice before her untimely death.
Father and son had not spoken for a very long time.
Still, Eudoras looked in on the boy, confined to his bed now, what with his shattered and useless legs. He knew the young man to be depressed and lonely. His shoulders ever slumped like this poor disinherited prince’s were. But Eudoras did not have the words he knew he would need for a sufficient apology. The hardened soldier now wondered at this Trojan. How did King Priam react when the amorous boy had betrayed his country for a woman?
Had there been forgiveness between them?
Paris jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his arm gently, and pulled at it.
“Come away, child.” Said Eudoras softly, offering an encouraging little smile. “You are tired. Let us find you a better place to lay your head down.” Knowing not what else to do, and actually half-grateful, Paris stood and went where he was led. For a moment, at least.
“Where are you taking my slave?” Achilles snapped, surprising them both with his presence.
“Just down below, to see if I can find room for him to sleep somewhere, my lord.”
“He will sleep with me!” Achilles responded, his voice displaying irritation and a bit of possessiveness.
“A-As you wish, my Lord.” Eudoras handed him over and shot him an apologetic glance. Paris stiffened and remained silent. Presumably finished with whatever preparations needed to be made for the majority of the crew to sleep, Achilles pulled his slave down below decks to where he slept, a large net that looked to Paris like a fishing net. His master saw the question in his eyes.
“Didn’t you have hammocks in Troy?”
“We slept in beds, sir.” Achilles smiled at this and found blankets for each of them. Then he hopped into the hammock, situated himself largely in the middle, but a bit off to the side so as to make room for his companion, then pulled the captive prince up beside him.
“Are you comfortable?”
“If it pleases you.” Achilles sighed. Unfortunately, he was beginning to discover that for some odd reason, he liked spoilt, willful, sassy-mouthed stubborn Paris much better than depressed, resigned, meek, scared Paris. But the latter Paris was completely his making, and also the Paris that would be permitted in the world he lived in. The young man’s bouts of defiance amused Achilles, yes, but they would not amuse anyone else, and what sort of tumult would be caused if his warriors saw that he brooked disrespect from a prisoner of war- the lowest of the low? Nothing good would come of it.
Achilles continued to brood as he assumed Paris drifted off to sleep. It angered him, but he knew now that he wanted more than the boy’s sex.
And it saddened him that what he wanted was the one thing he could not demand, even from a slave, and that he was not in the position to be able to woo the boy, and coax it from him. No, Paris’ love and adoration would never belong to him. The prince, although he would become better and better at masking it, would remain resentful about all that had passed between them- who wouldn’t? But maybe…maybe if he could explain things to Paris? Yes, to tell him why it would be necessary for him to act as he had today, and to make sure that the boy understood that he didn’t mean it, and that he was sorry. That would patch things up, wouldn’t it?
“Paris!” Achilles whispered, nudging him to wake him up. The Trojan’s eyes opened immediately. He turned around, so that his back now faced the Greek, removed his blanket and pulled up his tunic until his backside was bared. Achilles gave an almost horrified gasp when he realized what the poor captive was doing. “No, I didn’t wake you for that.” At this, Paris situated himself in his original state.
“What is your will then, my lord?” he asked flatly.
“I wanted to- you weren’t even asleep, were you?”
“No, master.”
“I know you’re tired. Why?”
“Because I am afraid of you, sir.” The words pierced Achilles very acutely.
“Don’t be. I promise I will not hurt you like that again.”
“Promises made to slaves do not have to be kept, sir.” His voice was monotone, Achilles could make out the bland facial expression in the dark, and he could tell that his beautiful eyes had gone cold. He’d been so hopeful about the idea he’d just had, but now he could see that there wasn’t any point. The damage was done, by his own hands, no less.
“You should get some rest, little boy, go to sleep.” The slave closed his eyes obediently.
When his breathing evened and Achilles was sure he slept, the warrior reached out his large and calloused hand and laid it on the impossible softness of Paris’ cheek, stroking gently. When he realized what he was doing, he knew he was lost.
AN: Well, it wasn’t exactly the update I promised, but there you go anyways.
Next Chapter: We get to Achilles’ crib at long last, and get a visit from Odysseus [SQUEEAL SEAN BEAN!]
…okay, so, I know that like…he’s supposed to be out having the Odyssey or whatever, and I’m not following the Iliad even a little bit, but I think Sean Bean is well fit so…...Homer can suck my clit.