FIC: For the Love of Paris, (Hector,Paris,Andromache,OFC), NC-17

[shrinetolust]

Title: γάρ την αγαπάω των Παρίς (For the Love of Paris ; sequel to For the Love of Princes)
Characters: Hector,Paris,Andromache,OFC (pairings will vary from this point on, but H/P is always there, whether implied or actual)
Author: shrinetolust
Rated: NC-17 Lite :)
Story: The servant girl continues her mission to bring the brothers together...while the family enjoys a festival, and Andromache surprises Prince Paris.
Fandom:Troy/Iliad
Feedback: Yes, please. This one's a bit different...hope it still works! ~ Leave a note here or mail me at shrinetolust2 AT hotmail.com
Crossposted: troyslash, banabloom, hectorparis, brotherslash
Archive: My own LJ and where crossposted. Anyone else, please ask!
Notes: It's necessary to have read the previous chapters, to follow the progression of events. As ever, HUGE grateful thanks to beta extraordinaire, perseph2hades, w/o whom I'd be lost. Any mistakes or things I stubbornly left intact are all my fault. *G*

Thanks to slash_kitten for Latin corrections!

Don't quote me on the quasi-ancient Greek title. It's somewhat accurate, but hell, it just looks cool. *G* And yes, I know the boys are in Troy; it's the slave girl's story, isn't it?

WARNINGS: Yep, there's some mild het here. It won't hurt you, I promise. :P

Chapter one: **In Love with Hector**
Chapter two: **Brotherly Love**
Chapter three: **For the Love of Princes**



For the Love of Paris

Paris was not so late to the festival after all, which was the first thing that pleased Hector. He smiled at his brother and they clasped each other's arms in greeting. Hector even brushed his lips across both Paris' cheeks, his eyes glittering in the fiery glow from the torches all around us.

I knew Paris looked beautiful, his slender body draped in blue and gold silk. Two braided leather belts crossed at his left hip, and deep green jewels adorned his throat and wrists. I had tamed his wild curls and decorated them with gold ornaments, and even a bit of ribbon. Paris' hair was not very long, but I knew it made him happy to have it tied back in the same way his brother's usually was.

Hector saw me watching so I quickly averted my eyes. Used to blending into the walls, I felt uncomfortable with my appearance. On a whim, my prince Paris had decorated my hair with white flowers, despite my protests. I feared what the other servants might think, and even more so, that some of the family might object. I took a few steps back, into the shadow of one of the large pillars.

I marveled at the crowds that had already gathered, all around the center square of the courtyard just before me. Some were even bold enough to sit on the edges of the stairs leading up to Athena's temple, where the royal family was situated and waiting for the offerings to them and to the goddess. Hector's parents were sitting on a large ornate high-backed bench covered with fabric and flowers, that must have been constructed just for the event. Their sons and daughters and grandchildren were spread out all around them, many of the youngest perched on the steps below, hoping to get a closer look at the performers that had just begun to make their way into the square.

A few moments later Andromache arrived, borne on a plush chair by several servants, the crowd parting before her. I was struck motionless for a few moments at her beauty, auburn hair piled high with several long tresses curling over one shoulder, golden beads all through and glistening in the amber light. Even Paris seemed mesmerized as she drew closer and closer, her sharp, regal features looking lovelier with every step nearer she got to us.

Though she was with child and had not been venturing outside her rooms of late, she had stubbornly insisted on attending the festival. Prince Hector immediately rushed over to her, supervising every move her servants made, not resting until he was sure she was comfortable and secure. She was soon lying on a beautiful chaise, propped up with piles of cushions, and covered with thick blankets. She laughed delightedly as Hector fussed over her, obsessively tucking in every bit of fabric until she was wrapped so tightly she could barely move. "Sit down, dear husband," she finally ordered him, tugging on his arm.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek warmly, murmuring things I could not hear but that made my lady blush very prettily. Finally he folded his large frame and seated himself on a thick fur rug right in front of the chaise. Andromache teased him, pushing on his head with her hand and claiming she could not see over his curls.

Paris had his own chaise of course, and had perched himself on the edge of it to watch his brother's attentions to his wife. I went and knelt beside him, wanting desperately to offer a soothing touch to his smooth cheek. I could see that it hurt him, being forgotten for the moment, and it was worse when Hector did not come to sit with him. Knowing that his disappointment could lead to a dismal evening for everyone, I decided it best to intervene. Seeing that there was plenty of room next to Hector on the rug, I looked back up at Paris. "He told you he'd save you a place beside him," I reminded.

The little crease that had begun to form in Paris' brow smoothed out and I felt hopeful. "Yes," Paris said, sounding determined. "He did say that." He stood up and looked around, and when he found a few of his younger cousins he offered them the comfort of his chaise. The children were delighted and hugged his legs before launching themselves onto their new plush seat.

Paris then walked over to his brother, his chin jutting out proudly as he stood there. I followed him and then slipped down to my knees at the foot of Andromache's chaise, next to one of my lady's servants.

"You said you'd save me a cushion," Paris said to Hector, and I was happy that he managed to keep any irritation out of his voice.

Hector smiled up at him. "I did say that." He turned and gazed at Andromache, and with a grin she handed him one of the multitude of pillows piled onto her chaise. Hector set the silk cushion down right next to him and patted it with his large hand. "Will this do?" he asked.

Paris stared down at it, then looked back at his brother. "Yes, this will do fine," he said, abruptly sitting down on the chaise. He twisted his body around, heedlessly grabbing at cushions and blankets and arranging them for his comfort.

Andromache gave a surprised laugh, tugging back on one of the furs and good-naturedly moving her legs when Paris' bottom shoved up against them. When Hector grabbed Paris' thigh in warning, she gently pushed on his arm. "It is all right, we're fine. We can share."

Hector obeyed her wishes, but not before he squeezed Paris' leg tight enough to make him whimper in protest. Hector turned back around, but out of his wife's view his hand closed firmly around his brother's ankle. Paris froze where he was, and did not move even after Hector's attention was elsewhere.

We all watched as the revelers began dancing in the square. The performers leapt high in the air, tossing flower petals all around and passing half-spilled cups of wine into the crowd. I knew it would not be long before everyone in attendance would be very joyous and loud.

Andromache again ran her fingers through Hector's curls, shaking her head with a smile as she watched the festivities. "I am not sure how an evening of debauchery honors the women of our house," she teased.

"It honors you by displaying how happy and lively your people are," Hector answered, reaching up to clasp her hand.

"They are happy--and safe--because of you."

"She is right," Paris told his brother. "Your protection, your leadership--"

"Our father leads," Hector corrected.

"You know what he means," Andromache said, pinching his ear.

"Don't encourage him. Unnecessary praise leads to too much pride...and vanity. You will both weaken me with all of your compliments." Hector sounded serious, but I could see a hint of a smile on his lips.

"You are too modest," Paris said earnestly. "You could use a bit more vanity."

"You have enough vanity for both of us," Hector taunted, tugging on Paris' leg and laughing when his brother leaned forward and hit his shoulders with both fists. "See how he abuses me!" he protested.

"It is what you deserve," Andromache said, a soft giggle escaping here and there as she watched the brothers playfully wrestle. "And Paris has every right to be vain."

Both men stopped and looked at her. "And why is that?" Hector asked.

"Because--he has your good looks."

Hector sputtered at his grinning wife. "Now you're definitely encouraging him, in all the wrong ways. What's come over you, woman?"

"I am just very happy, my foolish man. I always get this way when drunken people honor me with wild dancing and swordplay."

"Swordplay? Where?" Hector turned and immediately saw that there were, in fact, a number of soldiers in one corner of the square, dueling each other artfully for the entertainment of the crowds. "Oh, that is a most pathetic display!" he shouted, which caused some amusement amongst the people, including myself. "Not fit for a princess!" He stood up and looked down at his brother. "Will you look after my wife, Paris?"

"You will not be long, will you?" Paris asked, his hand briefly touching Hector's knee.

"No, brother," Hector smiled. "It will not take long to show these pretend-warriors how to wield a sword." He ruffled Paris' hair and then bowed to his wife, his eyes twinkling at her.

Andromache took a flower from her own hair and reached up to tuck it into the pin at the shoulder of Hector's tunic. "Honor me, my sweet husband. But be back before it gets colder, so that you can keep me warm."

"I will do my best, your highness," Hector said grandly, kissing her hand. "But if you feel chilled before I return, I'm sure Paris will help you." He smirked at his brother. "I hear he is good at keeping women warm."

Before Paris could answer, Andromache waved Hector away. "I've grown so big these last few weeks, I believe I shall need the both of you to cover me."

Hector grinned broadly. "Cover you? I think she is flirting with you, Alexandros. I hope you will behave yourself while I am gone."

I could just see Paris' overly sweet smile, and I realized that Hector had used his other name, possibly without realizing he'd done it. "Remember that you are the one who told me to keep her warm," Paris purred.

"I do not have to worry about that. You've never before done anything I've told you to, so why begin now?" He laughed at Paris' sour expression and then he was gone, his great strides taking two of the deep marble steps at a time.

"He's in a very good mood today," Paris grumbled, as we all watched Hector approach the sparring men. Ignoring the look I got from the other servant, I moved forward a bit so I could see Hector more easily. I now also had a better vantage point to see his wife and brother.

"I think he had a bit of wine before he got here," Andromache smiled.

"He does not need wine to tease me, I can assure you."

Without hesitation, she began to run her fingers through Paris' hair, as she had done with Hector. Paris turned and stared at her, a hint of surprise showing across his handsome features. "You must know by now his teasing means he loves you," Andromache told him. "If he didn't, he wouldn't bother."

Paris continued to look at her, almost as if he'd never seen her before. He sat perfectly still as her fingers traced the outline of his face, and then gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead. "Hector can not really love me," he said softly. "He is always angry with me."

Andromache smiled. "You misunderstand him. My husband just likes to be in control. He's good at it; it is part of what makes him a good leader. Everything in order, just how he wants it done. But you, dearest Paris," she said, her finger teasingly tapping his nose, "have always been something that he could not control. It frustrates him." She paused, then, and turned serious. "But I know he only wants the best for you."

Paris' eyes searched her face, possibly for her sincerity, then he turned back around to watch for his brother. To my surprise, he nudged a few cushions with his elbow and stretched out in front of Andromache. He tilted his head back, then, resting it gently against her round belly. He sighed as she once again started to play with his hair. I watched in amazement, stunned that Paris was so readily accepting her nearness, her touch. I knew his jealousy of her usually made it difficult for him to even speak civilly toward her.

"Maybe once in awhile," she said casually, "you could just let him have his way. You might get along better."

Paris was silent for awhile, and I thought maybe he wouldn't answer her. But finally he said, "The things he asks me to do are impossible."

Andromache looked down at him, a concerned expression on her face. It did not seem like apprehension for her own sake, or Hector's. She seemed genuinely worried for Paris. "I'm sure it seems that way," Andromache acknowledged, rubbing gently at his neck. "But if you look hard enough, you may find something you can do to honor his way of thinking."

Paris gave a slight nod but said no more. They both leaned forward when they saw Hector suddenly move into the center of the square, sword drawn. I lifted up on my knees, looking over the children that had scattered themselves all around us. I could not help but smile as the whole family cheered Hector on, all watching as he swung his heavy sword easily, his long legs kicking up dust as he moved quickly in and out of his opponent's range.

"He should not tease them," Andromache said, her hand resting on Paris' shoulder. "Even his best warriors are no match for him."

"It is good for him to practice," Paris replied. "So that they might not one day take him by surprise, while he is eating grapes and honey and getting fat."

Andromache laughed, and the giggles of the children mingled with her light tones. "Hear how your Uncle Paris speaks of the great Prince Hector," she said, tugging on Paris' ear.

One little girl of about six, with adorable dark curls just like her uncle's, wore an unusually serious expression as she looked up at Paris with wide eyes. "You're going to get in trouble," she said ominously, which caused all of the other children to laugh louder.

I could not see Paris' face then, but he leaned over farther, so he was closer to the girl. "I will only get in trouble if someone tells on me. And then that person will be in trouble with me."

He was only playing, I knew, but the girl's eyes looked shocked and she moved to hide behind one of her older siblings. A few of the children were still giggling, but others looked as frightened as the girl. Paris resumed his place, resting against his sister-in-law, casually rubbing the silk draped across his chest.

"I see you are solidifying your status as the scary uncle," Andromache said.

"It is easier to be evil than good." Paris tilted his head up again to look at her. "Are you tired, sister?"

"No, not yet. I am all right," she replied. When Paris still looked at her expectantly, she stared back for a few moments and then her mouth curved into a smile. "Oh, I see. You like me petting you." She lifted a hand and gently smoothed back his hair. "Your hair is softer than Hector's," she remarked, her fingers dancing amongst his curls. "And a little darker, I think."

Paris thought about this for a moment. "Yes, Hector's hair is stronger, heavier, more substantial and always in place. Mine is darker, finer, and goes in seven directions at once. Appropriate, don't you think?"

Andromache laughed, slipping one of the golden combs out of his hair and then using it to try to bring order to his unruly locks. "You do not need Hector here to tease you. You are doing fine on your own."

"Do please tell him how well I've done in his absence." Paris started to say more, but then a shout went up from the crowd as Hector knocked the sword right out of his opponent's hand. The man stumbled back, staring in horror at his arm, but he was unwounded.

"Look at that!" Andromache exclaimed, applauding with the rest of her family. "What did I tell you?" She pushed at Paris' shoulder. "Not so fat yet, it seems."

"It took him longer than usual," Paris said. "I would still cut back on his honey." And then he laughed, putting a hand up as if to block an attack from Andromache.

"Your little niece is right," she told him, smacking lightly at his hand. "You are going to be in trouble."

Hector bowed to the crowd, then, and handed the borrowed sword over to another man. Before long he was coming back up the steps, all his little nieces and nephews cheering him and jumping up and down around him. He grinned broadly, patting their heads and hugging them and kissing many a rosy-cheeked admirer before finally making his way back to his wife and brother.

"Was that more fit for a princess?" he asked, leaning down to kiss Andromache.

She allowed the kiss but then waved him away, wrinkling her nose. "You were so clean just a few minutes ago."

"My skin is heated," Hector laughed, wiping a hand down his sweat-soaked arms. "All the better to keep you warm with." Despite her protests, he shoved himself onto the chaise, putting his legs on either side of her and pulling her back against his damp chest.

"I will have to bathe before bed now," she complained, though I could tell from her shining eyes that she did not mind at all. "And poor Paris will need a dozen servants to untangle his hair."

Hector looked down at his brother, then, and was immensely amused at the mop of disordered curls. "I see that once I escaped her clutches she turned her devastation on you," he said, ruffling Paris' hair and making it even worse.

"I did not mind," Paris said.

"Hmm..." Hector looked thoughtful. "We shall have to find something you do mind. For I hear you have been calling me fat."

Paris' eyes widened, but then he turned, and saw the little girl off at a distance, watching them and chewing on one of her fingers. No doubt she was waiting for Paris to be punished. "Remember what I told you?" Paris called out, and then he was up and running, chasing after the little girl.

I had to cover my mouth to stop from laughing as the poor child screamed and fled before him. He followed at exactly her pace, all the while making ominous noises of pretend rage, as she shrieked and tried to evade him on her tiny legs. When they had caused enough commotion to wake the dead, he finally picked her up and turned her upside-down, scaring her thoroughly before returning her to the arms of her surprised parents.

While the two were tearing across the steps, Hector ran his hand over his wife's hair and kissed the top of her head. "Paris seems very agreeable tonight," he said quietly. "What have you been doing to him?"

"Only petting him, as you saw evidence of." She took one of his hands and kissed it. "Do be nice to him tonight. Please? As a favor to me?"

Hector looked startled, but it was obvious he had a difficult time denying her anything. "I am nice to him," he said, almost sounding as petulant as Paris often did.

Andromache smiled. "He thinks you are always angry with him."

"That is because I am."

"Well, there is nothing to be angry at him for tonight. So you can stop teasing him, for just a few hours. You can control yourself that long, can't you?"

"I don't think I can control myself for another minute," Hector said suggestively, his hands dipping under the blankets as he playfully growled and buried his face in her neck.

Andromache flushed and giggled girlishly, reaching up to clutch at his face and hair. Her eyes darted around, to see if anyone had noticed their affectionate display, and I quickly turned away. I knew the other servant was aware I'd been watching them, and I hoped she would not complain to my lady about me. Both of my masters knew I observed them on many occasions, and had not seemed to mind. I flushed then at the memory of Hector in his tub, asking me why I watched him.

Paris came back then and I was unable to resist looking once again. Paris was smiling triumphantly, and he resumed his former position on the chaise, reclining and resting against Andromache. Hector looked at Paris and then at Andromache, and seemed surprised when his wife reached out and started to gently stroke Paris' cheek.

"Look!" Paris announced, pointing. "My favorite."

Hector looked out at the square and saw the jugglers and acrobats, their lithe bodies moving in an intricate pattern, bending their bodies as they kept a variety of objects moving through the air. All around the edges were the most daring of artists, juggling sticks tipped with flames. Paris was enraptured. "My brother has always enjoyed playing with fire," Hector teased.

Andromache elbowed him gently in the ribs and he gave a small shocked laugh. He whispered something in her ear and then rubbed her arm, before reaching a hand out and resting it on his brother's head. It took my breath away, the beautiful and happy picture they presented. And in that picture I saw another way, a way to help Paris.

~~

When the festival officially ended, Andromache looked already half-asleep in her husband's arms. Hector carefully lifted her from the chaise onto the carrying chair, holding onto her hand as the servants lifted her from the ground. I stood up quickly and took one of the blankets from the chaise, covering her to keep her warm. She smiled at me very kindly and I thought again how beautiful she was. And the love in Hector's eyes when he looked at her was so beautiful, too, and I could not help a small ache of jealousy at it. I glanced over at Paris and knew he felt it too.

"Shall you stay and fall down drunk in merriment with the rest of your men?" Andromache teased Hector, her voice languid with fatigue.

"No, I will not," Hector said. "I will leave them to their amusement and join you instead."

Andromache waved him away. "I must wake up early tomorrow for the special breakfast with my sisters. Tonight you will stay in your own bed--else I know I will get no sleep."

Hector pretended to look horrified. "My dear, you know I would never do anything to harm your delicate condition--"

"You are so kind," Andromache said. "But you tend to show your kindness in very talkative, affectionate ways." She smiled devilishly at him and patted his cheek.

"Can I at least see you safely to your bed?" he asked, looking both hopeful and amused.

"You may, my dear husband," Andromache promised, before leaning over to kiss him. "I would very much like the last thing I see before sleep to be your handsome face." And then she rested back in her chair and the servants carried her forward, Hector walking alongside.

I turned to look at Paris, who was standing there and watching them. He raised his hand silently in reply to Andromache's call of good night to him, and continued to stare after the procession until they disappeared from view.

~~

I was terribly out of breath when we returned to the main courtyard, Paris practically dragging me along as we tore across the patio towards Hector's part of the house. "He will see me," Paris kept repeating breathlessly as we ran. "Tonight he will see me, I know it."

Once we were in the familiar stone hallway, my stomach made a terrible growling sound, echoing off the walls and causing Paris to stop and stare at me. Then he looked around and spotted another servant in a doorway and he snapped his fingers, ordering the man to bring food and wine to Hector's bedchamber. The man jumped to attention and ran to do his bidding.

"So often I forget all about eating," Paris said.

When we entered Hector's private room, Paris immediately walked over to the bed and began pulling at his clothes. He struggled with an ornate pin at his waist and so I hurried over to help him, my small fingers more easily able to work the delicate clasp.

"Sometimes it's just too much to bother with," Paris sighed, stretching sensually as I undid the knot of his skirt and slid the fabric from his body. "I wish I could walk about all day with nothing on."

I tried not to stare at the smooth expanse of beautiful skin before me, but it was hard to ignore the hard lines of his chest and the dark nipples that earlier I'd confessed such an attraction for. I wanted desperately to lean forward and lick them, but I bit my lip and stifled my desires, knowing I could do no such thing unless he asked.

Paris stepped back and sat down on the bed, legs sprawled open and making it impossible not to look at what was between them. I felt my skin begin to heat and I knew that no one could be immune to such a sexual display. "Don't you think," he said, looking at me pointedly, "that it would be better if we were always naked?"

I pressed my sweating palms against my thighs and did my best to answer in a steady tone. "There are not many who look as good as you do without clothing."

That made him laugh, but then he thought about it. "Mmm, yes, I suppose you are right. I can think of several men in those dreadful meetings Father has--those men I would rather not see naked." He wrinkled his nose and then laughed again, before reaching out for my hand. "And what of you?" he asked, dragging me into the space between his parted thighs. "How well do you look without your clothing?"

I looked up at him in surprise, and his eyes were narrowed, mischievous. I was suddenly terrified, for I did not want him to see me. I would serve him in any way he wanted, but I knew if he saw my body he would not want me near him anymore. I pressed an arm over my tunic, hoping he would not force me. "I am nothing like the beauty you are used to," I said, my voice trembling a little.

The little furrow appeared between Paris' brows, and he held me tight with one hand at my waist while the other passed gently over my curves. "Somehow I suspect that is not true," he said, his eyes following the movements of his fingers.

Hoping to distract him, I said, "Perhaps only you and Hector should be naked, and all the rest of us clothed."

He was not deterred, and his hand suddenly slid down and started gently rubbing the back of my thigh. "So..." he began, seductively drawing his words out, "you would not mind seeing your master Hector naked at all hours?"

I flushed, trying not to focus on the soft glide of his fingertips along my skin. "I would not mind," I confessed.

"And me as well?" he asked, leaning back a little so I could have the full view of him again.

I could barely hold back a murmur as my eyes drank him in, long, slender limbs with gently curving muscle under sweetly sun-bronzed skin. "There are few who would complain," I said, not a little afraid at going down this path with Prince Paris. His sexual conquests were constantly talked about, by all the household, and if even half were true I knew I would be very much out of my realm of experience with him. I knew I would rather not have him than to attempt to pleasure him and fail.

"It's probably true...most would not complain," he said, perfectly confident in the knowledge of his beauty. "But I am asking you." His hand moved up under my dress and gently curved against my bare bottom. "What do you like best?" When I hesitated, his smile turned more seductive, his voice lower and more sensual. "What part would you kiss first, if I allowed you to?"

I knew just what my answer was, but I was still so very afraid. With Hector it had been much easier; I had lost myself in his eyes and in the privilege of being able to touch his magnificent body. And with Hector I felt...safe. With Paris there always seemed a threat of hidden danger, of getting to a place I could not get myself out of. I was not sure what I thought that place was, but it was not physical--I was not afraid of Paris hurting me that way. It seemed to be something inside me, something involving my heart and my will and my soul, things that would be much more painful than scars on my skin, which I knew how to live with.

Paris did not seem to mind my hesitation, in fact it seemed to arouse him still further. I think he took it for shyness, which I suppose in part it was. He slowly caressed my bottom, with the same slow circles his other hand was now drawing on his own stomach. "Come now," he said softly. "Where would you start?" He tipped his chin down a bit, looking at me through his long, dark lashes. "If you can not bring yourself to name it, you can just touch it instead..."

I bit my bottom lip, hard, and dared myself to look into his eyes. They were not as darkly predatory as I'd seen them when he stared down his brother, but they were sensual enough to make my knees weak. I leaned back against his thigh, and then let my gaze slip down from his face to his neck to his chest. Tentatively I raised my hand, my insides trembling as I watched my fingers move towards him, so slowly I was afraid I might be dreaming it. But then I felt his warm skin against my fingertips, and his body gently quivered while I reverently circled one of his beautiful nipples.

He hummed low in his throat, putting his hand over mine but not impeding my hesitant exploration. "I'd never have guessed," he confessed, sounding genuinely surprised, but also aroused. He molded his fingers to mine, pushing my thumb against his nipple and urging me to rub back and forth. He moaned softly, his hand clutching at my bottom and pulling me closer.

The velvety skin of his growing erection was suddenly hot against my thigh and I whimpered softly. "I would touch you there first," I said, unable to help myself, "but Hector would go here..."

Paris released my hand, and I let it drop to his lean belly, wickedly dipping into his navel. He abruptly shivered and then giggled, just as he had with Hector, and then he nipped gently at my shoulder.

"You are as bad as he is," Paris growled, catching my hand again and pressing it flat to his abdomen. "Since you know so much, mea puella pulchra, what else will you tell me? Which part of me does Hector like best?"

Again I knew the answer right away, though my brain was cloudy with desire. It was impossible not to remember Hector in the bath, his eyes so dark and passionate, his moans increasing with every touch and every beautiful word of praise I lavished on his brother. I knew what sent him over the edge; I knew what Hector liked best.

Paris purred with pleasure, obviously sensing my thoughts. "So you do know! Tell me." When I hesitated, he nipped at my ear and whispered, "If you do not wish to say it, just touch it."

His voice was low and vibrating with lust and I couldn't help melting against him. For a brief moment I thought of touching his beautiful cock, just so I could, but I knew I would feel dishonest. "I cannot touch it," I told him.

"And why is that?"

I tried not to smile too much. "Because, my prince, you are...sitting on it."

Paris' smile widened into a huge grin, his eyes crinkling gently at the corners. "Really?" he asked, dragging the word out with delight. He started to move and I stepped out of his way, watching as he lay back on the bed and then rolled onto his stomach. He looked back over his shoulder at me, still grinning wickedly. "So, what is it that he likes?" He arched his back, pushing his bottom up and wiggling it.

I laughed softly at his terrible lack of shame, but I was just as bad, for I could not stop myself from moving between his legs and touching the proudly presented curves. I was so close to him that I could see a pale line of freckles across the back of his thigh, could see and feel the downy soft hairs along the cleft of his sweetly rounded bottom. "My hands--" I blurted out, watching my small fingers as they caressed him-- "they look so much different than when Hector touches you."

Paris' head hung down between his shoulders and he arched even more. "Do not speak of Hector's hands," Paris moaned. "When his hands are on me...covering me...I can not even think."

Not thinking myself, I slid my hands down to curve around his inner thighs, gripping them tightly. "He likes to touch you here, as well..." I whispered, feeling the heat go all through me. Paris moaned again, his legs pressing against mine, trapping me in between. The shift brought his bottom higher, spreading his cheeks apart and suddenly I was leaning forward, breathing hotly against his exposed and delicate flesh. "And here..." I sighed, finally succumbing to my desire and brushing my lips against the little puckered opening to his body, "where Hector pushes inside you," I whispered, my words muffled against his trembling skin.

Paris mewled and I shivered at the erotic sound. I craved him desperately, but before I could slip my tongue out to taste him, there was a sudden loud pounding at the door. We both jumped in surprise, and when Paris called out "Hector!", I fell down to my knees at the side of the bed. My cheeks were burning so hot, though not as hot as my body, not as hot as all of my secret places.

The door swung open and Paris made a sharp sound of disapproval. I looked over and saw the servants frozen in their positions, holding trays of food.

"Master?" It was Berk, one of Hector's servants. He looked the least apprehensive, no doubt used to Paris' moods. "You requested a meal?"

Paris groaned, rolling onto his side. My eyes widened at his state of arousal, but as usual he did not seem concerned or self-conscious at all. "Yes, yes," he waved to Berk. "Leave it all on the table."

"Yes, my prince." Berk bowed, and then he and the younger men with him set down the trays and bowls and pitchers on the table. "Do you require anything else, master?" he asked politely.

Paris shook his head. "No, no, that will be all."

"Very good, my prince." And then Berk and the others were gone.

Paris turned his eyes to me, then, and a lazy smile slowly turned up one corner of his mouth. "You are a very wicked girl," he said.

I stared down at my hands. "I am so sorry, my prince. I did not mean to touch without permission. I--"

"You had permission," Paris said, his voice softened with amusement. "I was just waiting to see how long it would take you to do something."

I tilted my head and met his eyes again. He did not seem angry at all, but I was still so embarrassed. I did not know what had come over me, for I'd been so afraid to kiss him anywhere and then my mouth had suddenly been on one of his most intimate places. My hands trembled and I knew that I had been right to be afraid. I now knew a little of what Hector faced when confronted with his brother's seductive powers. One became something other than oneself when faced with Paris' intense sexuality.

And that was when it occurred to me, when Hector's reluctance became so clear. Andromache had told Paris that Hector was frustrated by his lack of control in any situations regarding his brother. But it was more than that. Hector, as brave and strong as he was, when it came to his brother he was afraid. I knew that Hector would abhor fear in any form, and that he would fight against his fear. And so he would fight against Paris, and would avoid him and those feelings at all costs.

Paris slid his body over to the edge of the bed, then, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows so he could look closely at me. "What is going on in that head of yours?" he asked. "You are more vocal than most servants, and so I find that your silences tend to have more meaning than theirs."

I smiled at him. "I am thinking of how best to help you, master."

He reached out and ran a finger along the side of my face, watching the movement of his hand. "I'm afraid you have not helped me much so far. Though I know you have tried."

"I am helping," I protested lightly. "You must trust me, my beautiful prince."

His eyes slipped to examine my face, and his fingers curled into a lock of my hair. "I wonder if you are not a trick from the gods, sent to tempt me. You have seduced and tortured me with images of my brother's hands, of his touch."

Torture? My heart sank. "Is it wrong to think of him that way?"

Paris looked a little sad, then. "I do not think so. But you do not have to make me think of my brother more often than I already do. It is he that needs reminding of me, of my touch."

I stared back at him, not wanting to speak of my private moments with Hector if I did not have to. But I hoped that once again Paris would find my silence meaningful.

He did. He hummed a little, tickling my ear. "Well. Perhaps you are helping after all." He pulled himself up into a sitting position, then turned and crawled farther up the bed. "Fetch some of that food and wine and bring it here."

Still a little overwhelmed at having been so close to him, in his arms, pressed to his naked body...I forced my weak limbs to move and got to my feet to do as he asked. When I returned with the tray, he indicated I should set it on the bed, which I did.

"Here, here," he urged, patting the space next to him.

I was startled by his gesture but I quickly climbed onto the bed, not wanting to anger him by hesitating. He lifted the edge of the blanket, and I pushed my feet under the covering. I felt my skin heat when he snuck a hand over and tickled my knee.

"Closer," he instructed, "so we can share." He slid the tray onto the tops of his thighs, and lifted his arm so I could fit perfectly against his side.

Cuddling next to him and looking down at the food, I could not help but notice his still very prominent erection, which he had not covered with the blanket.

"That is because of you," he whispered in my ear. "Your soft, gentle hands and your wicked mouth..." He ran a hand up the length of his cock, his breath hitching at the sensation. "Look, I am even wet," he said, staring down at his damp fingers.

Assuming I still had permission, I took hold of his wrist and put my mouth around two of those long, slender fingers. I sucked hard and licked the wetness from his skin. It was sweet, like honey, which was unlike any other man I had tasted--but this was Paris, after all. I let his fingers slide free of my lips and I kissed the tips before releasing him.

He growled appreciatively and hugged me close to him, nuzzling his face into my hair. "I would take you right now," he murmured, "if I weren't expecting my brother to walk in any moment."

"Yes, my prince," I replied, unable to keep from sounding disappointed.

Paris' arm tightened around my shoulders. "Hector favors you, for very noble reasons, I am sure." He snorted a little at that. "I do not think he would be pleased if he walked in to find me ravishing you, in his bed. Do you?"

I twisted in his arms to look up at him. It was unusual for him to even consider such things, to care what his brother thought.

"You need not look so shocked," Paris said, his hand twisting up into my hair. He looked a little uncertain, which was also unusual. "It is possible that my sister Andromache may be right. That even if I do not want to, maybe I can do things to appease my brother." His crooked smile returned, along with the impish expression I was more accustomed to. "At least once in awhile."

I smiled back at him. "Andromache is very wise, master."

Paris sank back against the cushions, sliding the blanket up finally to cover his arousal. "Perhaps." He picked up a grape from the tray and popped it into his mouth, looking thoughtful as he chewed. He ate a few more before speaking again. "I do not know why she was so kind to me today. It is difficult to hate someone when they are kind to you."

"Why should you hate her, my prince?"

He stared at me, and the strength of his gaze unnerved me. "You love Hector, do you not? Do you not hate her for having him, when you cannot? For being his wife, when you cannot be?"

I felt myself flush. "I sometimes envy her, yes."

"You hate her."

I shook my head. "No, I cannot. For she loves Hector and is good to him, and so I love her too."

Paris sighed. "Your innocence is charming, puella, but I am afraid I can not feel that way."

"But you love so many people," I protested softly. "Is it not easier to love than to hate?"

Paris laughed and petted my hair. "To lie with people is not the same as loving them." He watched me, then, gaze flitting back and forth over my face. "You seek to contradict me, I can tell. There are not many who would dare to do so."

I bowed my head. "I am sorry, master. I only wish to help."

He did not answer at first, reaching for more grapes and savoring them while he gently plucked the slowly wilting flowers from my hair. "Strange as it may seem, having people agree with me all day can get tiresome," he finally said. "I do not think that my brother knows it, but I sometimes enjoy it when he yells at me. At least he cares enough to let me know when I am wrong."

My eyes moved to his again. "Yes, my prince."

"Now you are agreeing with me," his eyes twinkled mischievously, "when you are supposed to be contradicting me. You are supposed to be telling me how lying on top of a stranger is love."

Nervously I bit my lip, trying to find words that would not offend. "People say that you sometimes lie with those that others have rejected. You see beauty where others do not. Is that not a kind of love?"

Paris smiled. "Perhaps. Or it is just Aphrodite toying with me." His fingers again weaved their way into my hair. "But none of this tells me how I can love Andromache. Her beauty is evident, which perhaps makes it a bit easier, but there are so many reasons to hate her." He paused. "I do not think my brother will let me lie with her, so I can not love her that way."

I knew he was teasing me, but he was also talking to me, which is more than most other servants could say. "Is it not better to have an ally than an enemy?" I asked him, thinking maybe a more practical view was what Paris wanted. "If my lady thought I was her enemy she would not allow me to see Hector anymore. But if she likes me, she will not mind if I tend to him."

Paris absorbed this for a moment, and then shocked me by leaning in and kissing me on the mouth. It was brief, but warm, and his teeth dragged across my bottom lip as he pulled back. "I should have known better than to call you innocent," he told me, licking his own lips.

I was dismayed at first, thinking he had taken my comments in a more mercenary way than I had meant them. But then I remembered the way he had softened under Andromache's touch, and I knew that no matter what his intent, he would come to love her as he should. And if Andromache were fond of Paris, Hector would have one less reason to avoid his brother.

Paris fed me a grape, then, and laughed when my stomach rumbled its thanks. He fed me more, and then we took turns, suckling each other's fingers and savoring the combinations of flavors. Eventually we were both sated, and we slid the tray off to the side, Paris grabbing the wine pitcher and goblet first.

"There is only one cup," Paris said, pouring the wine into it.

"Yes, master."

"Why did you not get yourself one?"

"There were only two," I answered honestly, wondering if he was teasing me. "The other is for Prince Hector."

"Hmm." Paris took a sip of wine. "I am not sure my brother should drink any more than he has already. But it is no matter. You can still drink." With that, he took the pitcher, and carefully poured a few drops onto his belly. It ran perfectly into his navel, filling it like a little cup.

I stared at him a moment, and when I saw he was waiting expectantly, I leaned forward, gently bracing one hand on his thigh as I pressed my mouth to his stomach and began lapping up the wine.

"Oh! No--" Paris' words dissolved into giggles, and he writhed under me.

We had both forgotten how ticklish his belly was. His jerky movements caused the wine to spill out from his navel in gentle streaks across his skin and I quickly chased them with my tongue. I put my other hand on his ribs and held him steady, laughing myself as he yelped and squirmed at each movement of my mouth. But he did not struggle too hard, so I knew he did not mind it too terribly.

Eventually he grabbed me and flung me down onto the bed beside him, rolling half on top of me to nibble at my neck until I begged him for mercy. His expression was one of almost childlike happiness and I wished that I could see him this way always. He kissed both of my cheeks very tenderly and then suddenly sat up. "I think we should fix my hair, don't you?" he asked. "Hector will be here soon."

I was startled for a moment, but I was steadily growing used to his abrupt changes in interest. I smiled at him, my cheeks flushed and my body warm, and slid from the bed to fetch the things I used to fix Hector's hair. I had already been allowed to touch and kiss my master Paris more than I ever thought I would, so I had no reason to complain. But I thought that maybe the next time I was given permission to touch him, if I was feeling giddy and brave again, I would ask to kiss his beautiful nipples.

~~

I awoke with a start, not remembering where I was at first, only aware that I'd heard noises. Quickly I realized I was still in Hector's bed, curled up with my master Paris, and that the soft, distressing sounds were coming from him. I sat up to look at him, and found his glassy dark eyes focused on me, streams of tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Oh, no, my pretty prince," I murmured, reaching up to wipe the wetness away. The beautiful blue and black liner was smudged around his eyes and as I rubbed at it, it only smeared more across his damp cheeks.

"Leave it," he whispered hoarsely, taking hold of my wrist.

"But your make-up," I protested.

"It does not matter," he said, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "It has been hours. He is not coming. He does not care about me."

My mind worked frantically, trying to understand why Hector would not return to his rooms. It was possible he had convinced Andromache to let him stay. But I could not tell my prince that. It was also possible that Hector was merely waiting, hoping Paris would give up and leave and then Hector would return to his rooms.

It turned out I did not have to tell Paris anything, for suddenly there was the sound of voices in the hall, and the nervous murmurings that I suspected was Berk greeting his master. Hector's voice was deep and commanding and carried through the heavy door. He did not sound happy, and I worried that Berk had told him Paris was in his room and he had not been pleased by the news.

Paris' eyes widened with excitement, and then the gentlest tinge of fear, and I knew he heard the anger in his brother's tone as well. "He was in such a good mood before," Paris practically whimpered. "Why must he always be angry when he is around me? Why can he not be happy to see me?" His mouth turned downwards into a pout but then suddenly his jaw tightened. He squared his shoulders and sat up straight in the bed. "But if he wants a fight I shall give him one."

"No--please--" I leaned back a bit at the look in his eyes, but I knew I was right. I knew that Hector would not respond well to a fiery-eyed, stubborn Paris in his bed. "You must pretend to be asleep," I said.

"Why?"

The noises in the hall grew louder and I knew Hector would come through the door at any moment. "He can not be angry at you if you are asleep," I blurted.

I saw his decision in his eyes just as we heard the door scraping open. Paris grabbed my head and pulled it to his shoulder, and we both tumbled onto the pillows and closed our eyes.

Hector called out Paris' name, slamming the door shut behind him after he entered the room. I did my best not to move a muscle, though my body was twisted awkwardly. One hand was tucked under me but the other was resting on Paris' chest, and I could feel his heart beating underneath my fingers. But I felt no other movement, and I knew Paris was trying to lie as still as I was.

When Paris did not answer, Hector made his way to the bed. My hair was tumbled over my face, so I dared to peek as I heard my prince's sandals on the tile. Through the strands of black I saw Hector carrying a lamp, moving to the edge of the bed. He was frowning deeply, but did not seem as angry as he had sounded when he first entered the room.

"Paris," he said again, though in a much quieter voice. He held the lamp up, and I could see that Paris' face was being bathed in a warm glow.

I watched, enraptured, as Hector's features slowly softened with every moment he looked at his brother. I knew he could see it all clearly, the reddened nose and swollen eyes, the streaks of blue and black all down Paris' cheeks that made him looked bruised. I knew that at that moment, with Paris' sultry dark eyes hidden from view, a gentle frown in place of his usual knowing smirk--I knew that Paris looked vulnerable and fragile. And I knew that Hector would be unable to be angry with him any longer.

"Sweet brother, why do you persist?" Hector whispered, and with a sad look he set the lamp down on a small table next to the bed. The torches on the wall were dying down, barely keeping the room from slipping into complete blackness.

Hector stood for a moment, seeming to consider. And then he started to disrobe, taking off his shoes and adornments and then his clothes. I did my best not to react at the sight of his beautiful body, keeping myself still even as the bed dipped under his weight. He crawled over to us, pulling up one of the blankets and sliding underneath it. He didn't stop until his body was flush against Paris'.

He was so close to me now, I could see every aspect of his features, even in the dim light. He reached up and gently smoothed Paris' hair back, and then his hand curled around his face. His thumb caressed Paris' cheek, and then he leaned forward and kissed his brother's slightly parted lips. "Goodnight, Alexandros," he murmured, and then he pulled Paris towards him.

I let myself slip from my master's shoulder as Hector turned him, lying on my side on the bed and watching as Paris' hands pressed against Hector's broad chest. Paris mumbled Hector's name in barely intelligible syllables, and I admired how much he sounded as if he were still in the middle of a very nice dream. Though of course he was, in a way.

Hector held him close, folding him up in the circle of his long arms, and I felt a terrible stab of jealousy. The bed was suddenly so cold, my skin cooling rapidly where it had once been rubbing against Paris' beautifully warm flesh. Ashamed of my weakness, I started to move away, leaving them to each other.

"Puella," Paris murmured, and his hand left his brother to grab at my wrist.

I froze, and held my breath as Paris' fingertips slid gently over my skin. His fingers curled around mine and he squeezed my hand tightly, before releasing me and curling back against his brother's body.

Hector's dark eyes were unreadable in the dim light, and I dared not linger any longer. I carefully inched my way off the bed and disappeared into the shadows.

My hand tingled from Paris' touch, and in my heart I knew it had been his way of saying...thank you.

~~

puella: Latin, "girl"

mea puella pulchra: Latin, "my pretty girl"