FIC: Brotherly Love (Hector/Paris, OFC), NC-17

[shrinetolust]

Title: Brotherly Love (sequel to In Love with Hector)
Pairing: Hector/Paris, OFC
Author: shrinetolust
Rated: NC-17
Story: A servant girl witnesses more than she bargained for.
Fandom:Troy/Iliad
Feedback: Yes, please. Let me know how the observer p.o.v. works for you! ~ Leave a note here or mail me at shrinetolust2 AT hotmail.com
Crossposted: troyslash, banabloom
Archive: My own LJ and where crossposted. Anyone else, please ask!
Notes: It helps to have read the previous chapter, to get to know the narrator especially. Huge squishy slobbery sinful thanks to perseph2hades, goddess of Hector/Paris, for encouraging and fondling my muses and for providing her lovely beta skills. And for making me feel good. *G* Thank you also to montmorency, whose wonderful Hector/Paris fics feed my muses until they're fat and sassy. :)
WARNINGS: A glimmer of het longing and sensuality. It won't hurt you, I promise. :P

Previous chapter: **In Love with Hector**



Brotherly Love

Today I saw something that I worry I should not have witnessed. It will shock you to hear of it, but I think you will be struck, as I was, by both the beauty and the sadness of it. I am still a little overwhelmed, and am not certain what will happen now. I only know that I am a part of it, whether I chose to be or not. The gods have chosen me, and so I must find a way to do what I can.

The morning was like any other, scrubbing and cleaning and arranging and scrubbing again. Hector had been away, I knew not where, but it did not matter. All that concerned me was that he was returning, and I was given leave to wait in his rooms to assist him with anything that he might need.

Since the first day I had bathed him, my prince had come to appreciate my attentions, and I was allowed to touch him and serve him quite often. I know it is wrong to dwell on feelings of pride or superiority, but I confess I have enjoyed making the other women (and some of the men) quite jealous. I do not gloat; in fact I say as little as usual, so they can not hate me too much. But they do hate me a little, and I do not mind at all. For I serve a beautiful, kind, noble man and he does not hate me. That is all that matters.

Prince Paris had been as anxious as I, or I am sure more so, for his brother's return, so I was not surprised when he entered the room at the same time as Hector. I was surprised when Hector shoved his brother ahead of him and then slammed the door to the hall. He looked so very angry, angrier than I could remember having seen him in some time. "Why?!" he bellowed, causing me to shrink back behind some potted plants. "You knew he would come to me, raging on and on for hours. His daughter, Paris? His daughter and his wife? Does nothing shame you?"

To my surprise, Paris did not look the least bit concerned. He simply regarded his brother's seething demeanor with calmness, his chin tipped up a little defiantly. "Why should I be ashamed? I performed very well and both women were satisfied. More so than I'm sure they've been in their lives, so what have I to be ashamed of?" He took a moment to examine the bronze bracelet on his wrist, carefully turning it until it was situated the way he liked.

For several moments it looked as though Hector would lay hands on his brother and cause him harm, but he restrained himself. The muscles in his arms bulged, and I could see even from where I was the vein pulsing in his neck. "You are impossible," Hector growled. "Why do you do this? Why do you always have to cause problems that I then have to remedy?"

Paris hooked his fingers behind his back then, shuffling his feet and pouting at his older brother. He would have almost looked childlike, if it weren't for the sensual lines of his near-naked body, the lapis lazuli necklace gleaming with royal grandeur at his throat, the matching blue wrap draped sensually around his slender hips. "Perhaps," he said, so softly I almost could not hear him, "if you paid more attention to me, brother, I would not get into so much trouble."

This suggestion was the breaking point for Hector's restraint, and he reached forward and gripped Paris' arm hard. Fingers digging into the smooth flesh, he dragged his young brother closer, eyes dark as he glared at him. "We are not children!" he shouted. "Do you think I am just playing when I go away from here? I have to look after Troy, don't you understand that? I have responsibilities."

"But who looks after you?" Paris asked, his own eyes wide. He reached a hand up and touched Hector's chest, long fingers splayed out over the rich blue fabric covering it.

Hector frowned. "I look after myself. And Andromache cares for me when I am home. You know that."

Paris' head dropped then, and he stared down at his sandaled feet. He started to trace a line in the floor with his toe. "Of course. The wonderful, perfect Andromache. Why would you need me when you've got her?" I was surprised at how bitter he sounded.

"Paris..." Hector sighed, and his anger seemed to lessen. He reached out and lifted his brother's chin with his hand. "You must not do this. You are my brother. We do not--"

"And who should know you better than your own brother?" Paris said earnestly. "Are we not of the same blood? Does that not mean more than a mere marriage?"

Hector's hand curled around Paris' face and his thumb stroked the narrow chin. "We are all family. No one should take precedence. I care for you all equally."

"But you take precedence," Paris protested. "You are more important to me than anyone. Does that not mean anything to you?"

I felt suddenly that I should not be there, listening to such a conversation, but I could not make myself move. I did not want to disturb them and call attention to myself, and I did not want to stop watching them. I had never seen them this way, Hector still clutching Paris' arm hard enough to leave bruises, yet cradling his brother's face in his other hand so tenderly. Paris seemed to melt in Hector's hands, his body loose and pliant and utterly submissive. Something about seeing him that way made me feel an ache inside, in my heart.

"Of course it means something," Hector said, his voice now as soft as Paris' had been. His thumb trailed over Paris' bottom lip while he watched the movement, seeming almost mesmerized. But when Paris opened his mouth, it broke the spell and Hector abruptly let go of him. "But it cannot mean what you want it to," he said gruffly.

Hector moved toward the bed, then, and I drew back more, crouching down into a tight ball. My chin rested on my knees and I watched him through a space in the foliage in front of me. I could see the curve of his back and a little of his profile as he sat on the bed, lifting one foot to undo the laces on his sandal.

Paris watched him until both sandals had been removed, and then walked over to stand between Hector's slightly parted legs. "Can I stay with you tonight?" he asked, and I swallowed a gasp at the provocative way he tilted his hips. He reached out and combed his fingers through Hector's thick hair, leaning forward as he did so.

Hector's hands reflexively moved up and settled at his brother's waist. "Alexandros," he said, his tone holding a warning.

But Paris only arched his body more seductively, clutching at Hector's head and pressing it to his bare chest. "I love the way you say my name," he whispered, tilting his head down to nuzzle into Hector's curls. "Please let me stay."

"No," Hector said firmly. He allowed the caress for a few moments more and then pulled Paris' arms away. "You cannot always have your way."

"Why not?" Paris demanded. "When my way is right?"

Hector actually laughed at that. "And how do you know your way is right, dear brother?"

"Because your body tells me it is," Paris answered smoothly, looking more like the confident prince I was used to. His narrowed brown eyes focused pointedly between his brother's legs. "Look how it reaches, how it stretches to try and touch me." With a quick movement he untied the knot at his hip and his wrap fell away, leaving him naked. "Look how my body does the same for you."

I trembled as I stared at them, my eyes opened so wide that they started to ache. I could not at first believe what I was seeing. Young Paris stood there naked between his brother's thighs, in all his beauty, glowing smooth skin and taut muscled curves. His cock, though smaller than Hector's, was still impressive. Especially as it was standing straight out, thick and hard, apparently following his brother's lead.

"Xandros, please," Hector warned again, but his voice held less conviction this time. "We cannot--"

"We already have," Paris reminded him. "What point is there in stopping now?" He leaned forward and untied the laces holding Hector's clothing together, and Hector allowed him to do it. My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I could feel my heart hammering inside my chest.

Hector sighed. "So if someone were to rob a family on the street out of desperation for food, they should continue robbing since they have done it once already?"

Paris smiled at this, his hands tousling Hector's hair. "They usually do."

"That does not make it right," Hector grumbled. "You constantly frustrate me--there is no reasoning with you."

"What is there to reason about?" Paris asked, climbing up and straddling his brother's lap. "Your body wants mine. My body wants yours. Isn't that enough?" He folded his arms behind his head, arching his back and rubbing himself against Hector.

Hector grasped his brother's hips, stilling their movement. "Our bodies do not know right from wrong. Our minds should govern our actions, not our bodies."

"Well, my mind wants my body to have your body."

"You cannot always have your way," Hector repeated darkly, but his hands were now stroking up and down Paris' sides. I wondered why he did not send Paris away, did not scold him more severely, but it seemed Hector was entranced. And I knew then that my fear of Paris was valid. For there was no person stronger than Hector, no one with a greater will, and he seemed unable to resist his own brother.

And I could not blame him, for Paris was so beautiful. So beautiful that I could not stop watching how Hector's large hands moved over the narrow hips and flat tummy. The way his thumb pushed against the little navel, then retreated as Paris giggled and twisted away.

"I always have my way," Paris said, smiling and rubbing at his stomach. Then he screwed his face up in an exaggerated expression of stern anger. "You always tell me I can't--" He put his hands on his hips and made growling sounds, obviously meant to mock his brother. "You make so many noises of protest, sweet brother, but then you always have me." He leaned forward and twirled his fingers through Hector's hair again. "It is getting so boring, this same game over and over. Why can you not just give me what I want, when it is really what you want too?"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Hector grabbed him and threw him down onto his back, onto the soft covers of the bed. He held the young prince's arms over his head, one hand curled around both slender wrists. Hector's clothes fell from his body as he moved, so I saw all of his nakedness just before he pressed his full weight down onto his brother. I pushed the heel of my hand into my mouth, stifling the sounds that threatened to spill from my lips.

I had never in my humble life seen anything so exquisite. There were no two people in all the lands as beautiful as Paris and Hector, and as wrong as it was, it only made sense that the two of them lying together would be even more beautiful. I could see Paris' long, smooth-fingered hands clutching at the air, the sinewy muscles in his arms flexing as he fought against Hector's hold. I could see his perfectly tanned shoulders, broad like his brother's, despite his smaller frame. I could see the way his head rested against the pile of furs, his dark curls already broken free from some of the golden clasps meant to hold them in, making him look even more wild.

And I could see Hector looming above him, his eyes so very dark, his own hair tumbling about his face and curling against his strong neck. I could see his chest and abdomen, which were so wide, so bulging with muscle, and if I leaned very carefully, I could see one lovely thigh and the curve of his backside. I was enraptured, and I knew then why Hector did not send Paris away. I knew what it was like to be somewhere I shouldn't be, to look upon someone I shouldn't, to be a witness to something that is wrong and be unable to stop or abandon it.

"Sometimes what we want is not what is right," Hector said then. His breath hitched a little as Paris' legs came up and wrapped around his waist. "Can you not see that?"

"I can see why you think that," Paris said, and for once his tone was serious. "But it is not the way I think."

Hector stared down at him, and I watched as they merely lay there, looking at one another. "The way you think is dangerous," Hector finally said, and he sounded almost sad. "You would bring down all of Troy if it stood in the way of what you wanted."

Paris sighed. "I do not fear for Troy. She has you to protect her." He arched his body then, head tilting back, heels pressing against Hector's spine. "My beautiful, strong, noble Hector."

"And who will protect me..." Hector murmured, as he gently kissed both of Paris' cheeks... "from you...?"

I could see the corner of Paris' smile. "There is no one, dear brother. You cannot escape me, and there is no one that can keep you from me. You should surrender yourself to your fate." He leaned up for a kiss, then, but Hector pulled back.

"I do not surrender anything," he said. He shifted back onto his knees, and when Paris wantonly spread his legs to him, Hector grabbed the lean thighs and flipped Paris over onto his stomach.

"NO!" Paris cried, so desperately it actually hurt my heart to hear it. "Please Hector, please let me look at you!" He twisted and fought but his brother was so much stronger it was fruitless. Hector sat on his legs and kept a firm hand on Paris' back, pressing him down onto the blankets and hardly seeming to strain with the effort.

He leaned over and picked up a small bottle from a table at the end of the bed. I could not help but shift forward, peering through the branches before me as Hector dumped oil onto his brother's bottom, then dropped the bottle so he could use that hand to rub it in. I felt the heat spread between my legs as I saw Paris suddenly go still, and a soft keening noise escaped his lips.

Hector touched him in all his secret places, then withdrew and touched his own cock with his slippery hand. He stroked up and down, until all of his rigid flesh was shining with oil. I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to touch him the way he was touching himself. I knew I was already so blessed, for I had felt the warm hardness of him in my hand, but I wondered again if someday he might let me do more than just hold him and wash him.

My thoughts scattered then, and I am not sure how I kept silent. I watched as Hector straddled his brother and then pressed against him, and for a brief moment I could see Hector's cock half-buried between his brother's little round cheeks. I knew then that he was pushing into the tiny hole, forcing his way into Paris' body.

Paris had his eyes closed, dark lashes twitching at the corners as his brother slowly joined with him. Paris' mouth was open, short breaths bursting out of him again and again, accompanied by little gasping high-pitched cries. His face was in clear view, and seeing him so vulnerable filled me with an aching...and a longing. I wanted to climb up onto the bed and hold him and kiss him and press my body to his. It seemed I was as lost as Hector.

"Is this what you wanted?" Hector growled into his ear. He held himself up on one elbow, the other hand on Paris' hip or maybe his stomach, holding him in the right position. "This is my body, riding your body. Are you happy now?"

"I want to look at you," Paris said between breaths. "Please--let me turn over."

"No," Hector insisted, his voice fierce. He leaned his upper body more heavily against Paris' back, shoulder muscles flexing as he drew his hips back and then thrust them forward again, drawing a responding groan from Paris. "We cannot make more of it than it is," Hector spoke into his ear. "We cannot be blamed if it is just our bodies... That is all it is with you, isn't it?" Hector's voice grew more strained then, as he exerted himself, each push causing Paris to slide forward on the bed. "When you mount someone's wife, or their daughter...it is just your body reacting to their body, is it not? You cannot be blamed."

"It is not--" Paris began, but choked off and bit down on his bottom lip. His eyes were squeezed shut and a deep furrow formed between his brows. His hands gripped the bedcovers, knuckles white as he tried to hold himself in place, arching his body to meet his brother's every thrust. "It is not that way with you," he whispered.

"Isn't it? And how can I know that for sure?"

"Let me turn over. Let me look at you and you will see it in my eyes."

"No--" Hector insisted, and he abruptly stopped his movements. "No. For if we look at each other that way, it means we know what we are doing. And I do not think that you do. It means we accept the consequences of our actions. And I do not think that you do. It means that--" and here his voice broke a little, but he went on. "It means everything. To look--and to know--and to accept."

"And to love," Paris whispered.

I looked to Hector, saw the reaction in his eyes, but he did not answer. He dipped his head down and softly nuzzled into his brother's curls, and I could hear the heavy sigh that escaped his lips and stirred his brother's hair. Paris turned his head, trying to look at Hector, or maybe trying to at least feel Hector's mouth on his cheek.

I am not sure why I did it, but I could not stop myself, and I began to crawl along the floor. I moved slowly, and soundlessly, and I edged closer and closer to the bed, behind the row of plants that I hoped would continue to shield me from their awareness. I slid along the tile until I was against the wall directly across from their bed. When I found a break in the leaves in front of me, I peered through and my heart leapt. I could see them both clearly now, could see both their faces.

Paris' eyes were closed tightly, his lips parted again, the soft needy sounds escaping as his brother began to move inside him again. Hector was being more careful now, slower, one hand tucked under Paris' chest to keep him from sliding any further off of the bed. The other hand lifted Paris' body and when I sat up straight on my knees I could see his long fingers curling around Paris' hard shaft.

I think I started panting myself, though I tried to remain quiet. I could feel the tingling in my own secret places, could feel the dampness between my thighs. Seeing Paris so fully enveloped in his brother's embrace, to see him held and penetrated and stroked all at once--it was too much for someone like myself to witness. Hector's every movement was graceful and tender, his expression serene as he looked down at his young brother, at the long slender body stretched out beneath him. Paris' cries grew louder, and I began to tremble.

Then Hector bowed his head and began to kiss Paris, at least what he could reach--his ear, his jaw, his cheek. Paris turned as much as he could and Hector kissed the corner of his open mouth.

"Hector..." Paris breathed the name like a sigh.

Hector smiled, then his tongue slipped out and teased at his brother's lips. He licked his way upwards, wetting his brother's face and neck and down to his shoulder. And all the while he held him and touched him and moved against him, until Paris was quivering and whimpering and straining towards his release.

And when Paris was almost there, face flushed and sweat beading on his forehead, Hector kissed his cheek again and whispered "Alexandros" into his ear, and every syllable sounded sinful.

Paris panted louder and writhed underneath him and his eyes opened wide when Hector started speaking again.

"I am looking at you," Hector said, his tone deep and thick with emotion. "I am looking at you, Alexandros. I am looking at you."

He repeated the words, softer and softer, in between kisses and bites to Paris' ear, and when I saw the tears streaming down Paris' cheeks my own eyes began to blur. And then my breath left me, for Paris' gaze suddenly met mine, and he smiled. He smiled so brightly, and his eyes shone with such happiness, such feeling, that my heart instantly felt full and threatened to burst.

Hector murmured his brother's name one last time, and Paris could take no more so he came with a loud, howling cry. His body shuddered and trembled and Hector held him and nuzzled against his neck. And then Hector was growling low in his throat, his whole body tensing as his hips bucked against Paris two more times before pressing hard against him. Hector's eyes clamped shut and he groaned softly into Paris' ear, and then both brothers fell limply against the bedcovers.

I had thought at first that seeing them coupling was the most beautiful event I had ever witnessed. But seeing them after was just as lovely, both sated and happy, faces pressed close and hair twining together to become one tumble of dark smooth curls. Paris' lips dimpled at the corners, forming a sweetly contented smile, though fresh tears still escaped from under his dark lashes. I knew how much it meant to him, for though Hector did not say the exact words, the meaning had been clear.

Hector stirred, then, rolling onto his back and wiping his slick hand on his bare thighs. He lay there a moment, staring up at the ceiling, until Paris moved into his line of vision.

Paris was on all fours, and crawled halfway onto Hector so that he could look down onto his face. "Hello, brother," he said quietly.

I could not see Hector's expression, but his hand came up and rested against his brother's cheek. The long fingers moved gently against the damp skin, wiping away the tears. "You are crying," Hector said.

"Yes," Paris smiled. "But it is all right."

"Did I hurt you?" Hector asked, and I could hear the concern in his voice.

Paris shook his head. "No. It is all right."

"No, it is not all right." Hector sat up then, and pulled Paris onto his lap. "I did this."

"Yes, you did," Paris said, but he was still smiling. He brought his own hands up to Hector's face, touching his cheeks and scratching against his beard. "But everything is good, please do not worry."

Hector shook his head and wrapped his arms around Paris. He embraced him tightly, burying his face into Paris' neck. "It is not good, it is not right. I am your brother, your protector. And yet I do these things to you, I violate you--I bring tears to your eyes." He kissed Paris on the shoulder and then carefully pulled himself away. He got to his feet, leaving Paris on the bed, and started putting his clothes on.

"No!" Paris protested, reaching out for his brother. "You do not understand--"

"I do, I do understand," Hector interrupted, gently pushing his brother's hand back. "We must not do this again--"

"No!" Paris was louder now, and he slid from the bed and into Hector's arms. "Do not say such things. Do not leave me!"

Hector shushed him, holding him close and gently petting his hair. "You want to be close to me, you want to do what pleases me, I know. I am sorry, Paris, it is my fault, I should not have let it get so far."

"I want it this far!" Paris cried out, and fresh tears ran down his cheeks. "Please, brother, do not do this, do not change now." His fingers dug into Hector's sides, and his voice trailed off into a whimper. "You looked at me, you loved me."

Hector sighed. "I care for you. But it is wrong for me to look at you that way. Wrong to touch you that way." His own eyes looked wet as he slowly disentangled himself from his brother. "It is my fault."

"Nothing is your fault!" Paris stood before him, naked and unashamed, but did not try to touch him again. "I wanted it. I wanted you." He leaned forward, attempting to catch Hector's averted gaze. "I know you do not believe me, but I know my own mind. I know what I feel."

Hector picked up his sandals and began to walk backwards, away from his brother. "And I know what I feel. And I feel this is wrong. Someday you will understand." He lifted his eyes then and really looked at Paris. "You have many gifts and you are blessed by the goddess. You can have anyone you want. You don't need me."

"Hector," Paris sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You never listen to a word I say."

And Hector smiled, a sad twisting of the lips. "Then we are even." With that, he turned and walked across the room.

When he reached the outer doors of the chamber, Paris spoke up again. "Where are you going? To your perfect wife, whom you love more than anyone?"

Hector opened the door. "I do not wish to hurt you, Xandros," he said, so softly he almost could not be heard. Then he went out and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Too late," Paris whispered, and he crawled back onto the bed. He lay heavily on the bedcovers, burying his face in the furs and inhaling deeply, most likely taking in his brother's scent. And then he wept.

His grief was quiet, but it did not end. I knew not how long I sat there, unsure of what to do, my heart aching at each muffled cry. I felt certain that he knew I was there; he had looked so pointedly at me that it could not have been an accident. But I feared his anger should I remind him of my presence, by intruding on his sorrow.

I knew what Hector felt, why he thought it was all wrong. I understood why he was afraid of the effect his brother had on him, and of the way he affected his brother.

But for once I also understood Paris. I knew what it was like to love Hector, and I knew that what I felt was only a mere shadow to what the young prince must be feeling. I could not help but think that a love so strong could not be in error. Paris was favored by the goddess, and she could not have led him so astray.

And I thought then that if their love was no accident, then perhaps it was fated for me to be there as well. That there was a reason why I could not turn away, why I was witness to all that had transpired.

I looked over at the bed, and saw that a blanket had fallen off onto the floor, directly underneath where Paris lay. His arm dangled over the edge of the bed, the other folded under his face, the skin shining wetly with his tears. I stood up and walked over, making a little noise so he would know I was moving toward him.

I sank to my knees on the blanket, sitting back on my heels and resting my side against the bed. His arm hung limply right in front of me, and I reached for it, gently lifting his hand and tenderly kissing the warm skin.

I heard Paris stirring above me, but he did not pull away. He took a shaky breath, and then in a small voice said, "Why does he do this? Why does he not love me?"

"He does love you," I blurted out, before wondering if I should be speaking thus. Paris was so tired, so sad, and might not know what he was saying. Or who he was saying it to.

Paris was silent for awhile, but then he spoke again. "Then why does he hurt me?"

My heart ached, and I pressed my cheek against his smooth, slender arm. "He does not mean to," and I knew that was true. "He just--he does not understand."

"Then I will make him understand." Paris sniffled a little and I looked up to find him staring at me. His brown eyes shone with tears but his gaze was still powerful. "You will help me?" he asked, and there was nothing commanding or condescending in his tone. His voice was soft, almost like a little boy's. And I could not resist him at all, even if I had the right to do so.

"I will help you," I promised. "My beautiful prince."

He smiled then, weakly, but a smile nonetheless. He lay his head back down, and spoke no more. But his hand curled around mine, and held it tightly.

I waited and listened, and after awhile I could hear the evenness of his breathing, and his grip on my hand loosened as he fell into a deep slumber. But he did not let go entirely, and I felt good, and useful. And I fell asleep, too, in the middle of my prayers, asking the gods to show me a way to help my two masters find happiness again.

~~