Take Me Home

Part 10

Over the next several days, things had improved to a more humane level. His health had gained strength; his cheeks had returned to their normal colour. It was a good sign, if anyone bothered to know, but that was what saddened Paris – no one cared.

Although he had no contact with anyone else except for another servant boy who came to serve his meals and bring him a bucket of fresh water for his daily washing, he was consoled by the fact that he was not entirely neglected. Assuming that Achilles had lost interest in him, Paris could only guess that Eudoras was the one who had made all the necessary arrangements to see to his well-being.

A fresh change of clothes was also gifted to him on the very next day of his arrival. The cloth was rough and coarse, fit only for a slave, but Paris didn’t mind it very much. It was clean.

What he wished the most was to go outside. Unlike other slaves who were given access to roam about the palace to perform their duties, the Trojan youth was forbidden to go out of his room even if he needed to go to the bathroom. A lidded pot was brought to him instead.

With nothing to do, life was boring for him – reduced to sleeping, eating and daydreaming all day long. He became restless and paced about the room until he was tired. The scenery outside the window was always the same and the walls were getting claustrophobic. Sometimes, he would be lying on his back and stare at the ceiling, mapping out the cracks absent-mindedly.

As natural as breathing, his mind would stray aimlessle ree readily entertained idle fantasies that were not beneficial to him. His inner turmoil corrupted his emotions repeatedly causing him to suffer all manner of despair. From tribulation of sorrow due to homesickness, he would get angry the next instant for his wallowing in self-pity.

Thoughts of his master having abandoned him surfaced, further upsetting him. Images of the warrior in bed amusing another without any more second thoughts for his existence burned his heart. The youth tossed around and brutalize the mattress repeatedly with his fists, releasing his frustration and anger.

Was he jealous? He was not sure himself.

Who in thrighright mind should believe this man’s honour after pillaging the sacred body of the one he confessed to setting his heart to? Contempt should have swelled in Paris’ bosom and distrust would be the law that governed his mind. Yet, Paris – pitiful and silly Paris – was softhearted and why? Because he held some love for this blond warrior, from the very beginning when they met in Apollo’s temple.

Now in his state of loneliness and hopelessness, vulnerability made him believe in anything and even sought what little affection he was offered. However, he squirmed in uneasiness. His pride as the Prince of Troy gnawed into his conscience because in letting his guard down, he had fallen for their ENEMY. This was something Hector and his father would never, ever forgive him for.

Troubles had nipped again and again at his heels from the day that he accepted Aphrodite’s gift. Why had he not decided wisely using his head instead of with his feelings? Could it be blamed on his impatience of a youth?

He could have been one of the greatest mortals to have ever lived; his name carved in every stone and precious papyrus, his deeds in the songs of any ballads and books for scholars to read for a thousand years to come. He had only to accept the other goddesses’ gifts instead.

But Paris was a foolish boy, his weakness was like Achilles’ too – he loved only beautiful things.

Alas, he should scorn himself for letting Achilles rob him of his chastity without a fight. He was useless and spineless, too fast in giving up and afraid to die. It was his own fault to reduce himself to a lesser man. It was his fault for falling for this magnificent warrior in all his glory of a golden lion.


Since Paris arrived into Phythia, the weather was gradually turning worse. On the fifth night, a storm had commenced. Loud thunderstorm shook the earth under his feet and lighting brightened the sky as day; the wind whipped about in every direction, sweeping the rain to pelt on the roofs and walls so hard that it sounded like thousand of drums beating at the same time.

Paris was woken up by the commotion and got up to close the shutters of the window, plunging the room into semi-darkness. As he was naked from his habit of sleeping without clothes, he hugged himself from the cold. Quickly, he jumped back into bed and hid himself under the warm blanket.

Unbeknownst to the youth, without his sight and hearing, someone entered his room minutes later. He never even realized that the intruder had climbed into the bed until he was grabbed on the waist.

Paris jerked in surprised shock and scrambled to get the blanket off his head. His pulse raced and his heart felt lighter, expecting to find Achilles that was hugging him. Had the man finally remembered him and now missed his company? Had he come to reaffirm his ardour? However, his eyes narrowed with suspicion when he perceived that the man towering over him was not his master.

A sudden flash of lighting helped him identified his intruder. A young man he had never met had boldly set foot into his room. He resembled Achilles though with stronger features and darker blond hair. On the second flash, Paris noticed that he didn’t look much older than him, yet his body was very well built like a seasoned soldier. Paris assumed that he must be another family kin of his master.

“Who are you? How dare you come in here without my permission?” Paris snapped in annoyance. He glared at the intruder arrogantly; all his old princely defensiveness surfaced.

The stranger did not flinch in the slightest, but stayed his hand around Paris’ waist. This lack of reaction didn’t surprise the youth considering Patroclus had the same bad streak.

“Hhmm, indeed you are feisty as Patroclus had described,” he purred. A leering grin appeared on his clean-shaven face. This young man was handsome indeed yet he had that sinister look that made others watch their step with him.

Those words made Paris bristled. He had a very strong notion that Patroclus would not just forget about their ‘little’ arguments that day at sea. Achilles’ lover was a very jealous young man and ne gne got away easily from his wrath once gained.

The brazen young man ran his hand that was around Paris’ waist down to his adolescent rounded hip. He was impressed by the feel of soft flesh underneath the blanket.

“Get your hand off me!” Paris slapped the offending limb away, but was caught in the wrist by the same hand. The youth winced under the steely grip.

The unfortunate slave was not afraid of this intruder even though his heart was pounding madly. He was more conscious with the fact that he was naked underneath the blanket. He didn’t want to be caught in unexplainable compromising position if Achilles were to suddenly appear.

“Get out of this room now! My master will be here any moment,” Paris grated angrily and hoped that his lie would work. He wondered how this young man got passed the guard outsiDid Did he bribe his way in or killed him? The former was more likely and he tucked this little information in his head; it could be useful in the future.

“MY father is with my mother right now. I do not think he would have the energy left to see to your needs later. But do not worry, I will keep you company tonight.” The grin on the blond widened even further when he saw the look on Paris’ face.

The young man had originally intended to come in here and beat up the arrogant slave as a er wer welcoming after what Patroclus had told him. However, being Achilles’ true son and inheriting the same character, he couldn’t pass up a beautiful face.

Paris’ hopes of escaping was dashed and now replaced by fear. He jostled in terrified motivation to get away from Achilles’ son, but the other youth restrained him easily, pushing him back on the bed and straddling him on his lap.

Images of Achilles having done the same thing invaded his mind, sending waves of panic reeling. He prayed feverishly that Patroclus’ nephew was only here to beat him up and nothing more.

With his wrists pinned beside his head, Paris had no choice, but to face his nemesis. From the frequent flashes of lighting, they were able to get a better view of each other. It angered the slave to see that Neoptolemus was watching him with such casual air. This drew determination in Paris to fight back. He would not hide behind his cowardice anymore. He was going to take whatever came his way.

“You are even more beautiful than I had imagined. Clearly you are well awar you your fortunate blessing and used it to charm my father, me including. Perhaps even a horde of others too?” he jeered.

“I’m not a whore!” Paris yelled at him, barring his canine teeth.

“But you’re my father’s whore!” Neoptolemus shot back.

“I was forced upon!” Paris blurted with such passion his body shook. That was the first time he acknowledged his deepest humiliation aloud. A prince reduced to a slave carried a more profound impact. He was someone to be looked upon as one day who would guide his people to a greater nation. Now, he had lost all that respect.

Nothing was left in him now. His master had taken him as war trophy, an object as proof of victory and arrogant show off. Severed of all ties from his family, he was a nobody now, and lived only to serve his master’s purpose. That was what he was – an object of someone’s possession.

“Then he … he confessed that he loved me,” Paris added, now is a softer and calmer tone.

He didn’t know why he revealed this to Achilles’ son. Was he looking for some sort of confirmation from Neoptolemus? Perhaps his master’s flesh and blood knew the answer, perhaps his master had told him. He realized too late that he should not have spoken his mind.

Suddenly, the heavy weight on top of him made strange, sharp lurches as if in epileptic fit. Paris imagined that Achilles’ son was suddenly possessed by evil demons. Indeed he was, when the young man threw his head back and roared in unrestrained laer. er.

“Innocent boy!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “My father will take any beauty that fancies him, willing or not except my mother. He loves her still.”

In the brief flash of light, Neoptolemus caught the change of expression in Paris’ face.

“Don’t be disappointed Paris. His heart is as fickle as a lioness in heat. Once he obtained satisfaction, he even forgets whom he had just bedded. But I’m not like that. I treat my LOVERS better.” Neoptolemus punctuated that with an unconcealed snort.

What disaster to have befallen on him? Why was it getting worse by the minute?

Overtaken by lust, Neoptolemus bent down to kiss Paris. The Trojan threw his head aside to avoid it and began struggling anew.

“Get off me!” Paris shouted. “You lie! You lie!”

“Oh, have Patroclus not mentioned to you? Father loves me the most among all the children he sired. That’s why he shares everything with me.”

More? No, he shouldn’t be listening to this lies. Surely Achilles would not make him do this after what he professed to him, would he? Did he even know that his son was here?

Paris’ brief pause in struggle gave the opportunity to Neoptolemus to untie his belt and then tie it again around Paris’ hand behind his back. Satisfied that the youth could not escape, he uncovered him completely.

Neoptolemus’ mouth watered when he saw the perfection revealed to his eyes. Patroclus had warned him about it, telling him that he was the incarnation of Ganymede. It was no wonder the goddesses and Zeus were inclined to choose him as the judge to settle their dispute.

“Apollo must be your true father,” Neoptolemus spoke in admiration. “If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed how you could have converted the most beautiful woman in the world to grovel at your feet and willingly suffer dishonour in her husband’s eyes. Paris, surely you must have realized that that forbidden fruit between your legs holds the power to bring about the destruction to an entire nation and even your own? However, I am not afraid to taste this fruit because I have no country to govern and thus, have nothing to lose.”

Saying so, Neoptolemus picked up Paris’ limp member and licked it experimentally.

“No!” Paris ed. ed. He freed one of his legs from under his would-be rapist and made to kick him in the face.

However, the son of Achilles was quicker in reflex and caught Paris’ foot. He twisted it cruelly, causing the youth to cry out in pain. He continued twisting until Paris begged him to stop.

After he let go of Paris, he quickly pulled his chiton over his head and threw it to the floor. The state of how Paris was displayed – his groin trust up due to the hands cushioning his arse – excited Neoptolemus to no bound. He was eager to have a taste of this delicate flower that had so engrossed his father until he could forget about Patroclus. What sort of magic did this weak-looking boy have that could have such effect on a cold-blooded killer?

He ran his calloused hands from the soft, unblemished thighs up to Paris’ heaving tummy. The smoothness and warmth was exquisite. He never thought he would feel it from a man.

“Help! Help me!” Paris started shouting and struggling. He was past caring if others saw his humiliating state; he juidn’idn’t want to suffer a repeat of Troy.

“Save your sweet voice for later, Paris. I promise you that I will make you scream with rapture in a while,” the grandson of Peleus smirked.

Paris was terribly terrified and spurred an instinct in him to save himself. He wrestled with all his might to loosen the belt around his hands, but suffered open sore as a result. All the while, his legs would lash out blindly, hoping to hit any part of his assaulter. That enraged Neoptolemus. He had very short temper and his wrath was worse than his father.

Amidst the scuffle, Paris’ left leg hit his assaulter’s shoulder. He might as well have knocked his head against a wall because Neoptolemus not only stayed solid as a rock on top of him, but there was no effect on him whatsoever. However, that didn’t mean the blond young man wouldn’t curse aloud.

In a fit of rage, Achilles’ son rammed his knee into Paris’ groin. The poor youth jerked in pure agony and let out a high keen wail. He pulled futilely at his hands several times, in an unconscious act to want to hold his suffering genitalia. Unable to do so, he tried to roll to the side instead, but Neoptolemus wouldn’t let him.

The young man glared at his father’s war prize, satisfied to see his misery. A sardonic smile appeared as he continued to watch Paris’ frozen expression of silent pain.

Neoptolemus reached out and grabbed a handful of dark curls, tugging at it cruelly. Paris yelped briefly.

“Better behave or I’ll really break something,” his master’s son threatened darkly.

A single tear, a mixture of pain and fear, fell from the corner of Paris’ eye. Unable to bear anymore looking into Neoptolemus’ cold, lust-filled eyes, Paris squeezed his own eyes shut.

“That’s a good boy,” he heard Neoptolemus approved.

No more hesitation was wasted. Kisses – not gentle yet not rough – rained on his face and his neck. The thin, firm lips sought to possess his eyelids, his nose, his mouth and when it came to his ear, Neoptolemus sank his teeth hard on the soft lobe. Paris bit his lower lip to stifle any cries. He continued worrying it as Neoptolemus planted more kisses on his chest.

His assault came again when the blond took a bite on the bud of his nipple. A trickle of blood appeared where the skin had torn and Neoptolemus lapped it clean.

“You taste so good,” Neoptolemus said.

“Please…,” Paris spoke for the first time. “Just take what you want, then leave me alone,” he whispered hoarsely.

Neoptolemus clicked his tongue. “Why the hurry? We have all night.”

The storm outside had died down to a drizzle and since it was already quite late in the night, the room fell into darkness except for a sliver of yellow light below the door. Neoptolemus didn’t like to grope in the dark, especially when he has such a beautiful creature lay helplessly on the bed waiting for him to be ravished.

He got off the bed and blindly made for the door, leaving a much relieved Paris, thinking that it was over. However, to his dismay, he heard his master’s son ordering the guard outside to get him some light.

Standing just by the doorframe and under the yellow dancing light of the burning torches outside, the guard had a complete view of Neoptolemus’ unshameful nakedness and he did not seemed unfazed by the sight of the proud erection jutting between his prince’s legs. He probably had expected it to happen otherwise he was quite used to the scene.

About a minute later, the guard came back to hand Neoptolemus a small, oil table lamp. Achilles’ son took it without a word and slammed the door shut behind him. His agitated movements were evidence of how sexually excited he was.

He left the oil lamp on the seat pan of the nearby chair and quickly climbed into bed again. Paris tried to roll away this time, but Neoptolemus caught him.

“You don’t have to feel shy. This is not your first time, anyway,” Neoptolemus said. “Tell me, did he take you from the back? Did he grab your buttocks? I know he liked to do it. I’ve seen it.”

Paris blushed furiously to have heard such bluntness.

“I like to see my lover’s face when I take him,” Neoptolemus revealed and pulled Paris’ towards him, resting his pert buttocks near his groin and the long, thin legs around his waist.

“We’ve delayed long enough. Let’s enjoy ourselves,” the blond whispered huskily.

Grabbing his cock, Neoptolemus pumped himself quickly to achieve full hardness. Meanwhile, Paris squirmed about like a worm left in a bed of salt. He was trying to use his free limbs to get away, but Neoptolemus put an end to that by clutching his already sore testicles and giving it a merciless squeeze.

Poor Paris was in so much pain he could not even whisper a sound, let alone breathe. His face had turned blue before Neoptolemus decided to let him go. And just as he was about to draw his first breath, his assaulter penetrated him. Once again, he was plunged into a brutal agony he had no way of expressing.

His vision dimmed dramatically, almost losing his senses to the pain. Paris wasn’t sure if he was blacking out to unconsciousness or finally death was seeking him. He had no ideat hat happened to him as he swam in the edges of the dark abyss. The roar of blood pounding in his ears overwhelmed everything else.

[Paris, you damned yourself through your own foolishness. You deserved this.] A voice he had never heard before spoke to him in his mind. It rang true in Paris’ heart, but he could not get away from it just as he could not escape from Achilles’ heir.

“Then I give you my life so that you can end this torment for me,” Paris offered and remembered nothing else after that.