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Rage Regret & Redemption	By : Liliana Category: S through Z > Troy Views: 10162 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Please note that the disclaimer, pairing and warnings for this story are given at the begining of the first chapter.
CHAPTER TWO:
The flames in the brazier danced with mock cheeriness as they cast their glow upon the bronzed body, now fully exposed to Achilles' sight.
The Greek allowed his eyes to roam freely over the prince's form, his loins tightening even further at seeing this young male, who had become a tangible point on which to focus his rage and despair, standing so helpless before him. That helplessness washed over Achilles like some vile, yet strangely soothing poison that allowed the grief over his fallen cousin to recede, if only slightly.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, from whence reason fought to once again come forth, he knew that by dragging Hector's body back to camp behind his chariot, he had commited a wrong towards a worthy opponent. Just like he knew that subjecting the young prince - who had shown courage in coming to beg for his brother - to this humilliation, would not bring Peracles back to the land of the living. But he was in the grip of madness.
Reason mattered not.
Honor mattered not.
Only revenge...
" Crawl to me prince of Troy. Crawl, if you would have your brother back."
And Paris did.
His teardrops fell, making tiny wells upon the sandy floor, only to be obliterated as his knees dragged across them. Until once again, he came to rest in supplication between the parted legs of the seated Greek. Achilles gazed down at the bent head and then patted the soft, dark curls.
" Good dog... Now, undo my laces."
The prince screwed his eyes shut for a moment, as shame furrowed his brow.
{ For Hector...for Hector...for Hector... }
His mind kept repeating the words over and over, while his fingers tremulously complied. When the laces were finally undone, Paris found his apprehension reaching new heights as he beheld the warrior's shaft, fully hard and intimidating as it rose from it's nest of golden pubic hair.
" Pleasure me." Achilles comanded softly, yet without any tenderness.
" I have never... I do not know how..."
Paris looked up with desperate eyes. Eyes that said; Please, do not make me do this, do not shame me thus...
Sky-blue shards met that gaze as Achilles spoke, in a mockingly-conversational tone.
" Aah..but prince, tales are told of the wide swath you have cut in your romantic pursuits. Surely, at least one of the many merchant's daughters or temple-maidens you have tempted to stray, has performed this act for you. Mayhaps even this...Helen, for whom you have so willingly plunged your country into war."
Another wave of guilt slammed into Paris, who cringed as the pain sliced through him.
{ My fault... } He thought in despair.
{ Yesss... Your fault. } The figure above him seemed to answer.
" Pleasure me, prince. And mind your teeth, or it will go badly for you." Were the words spoken out loud.
Paris bent his head, his hand gently grabbing hold of the waiting member. He had indeed spent many hours instructing his conquests on this very act and the irony was not lost upon him, as he now found himself forced into the role he had always relegated to others.
As the prince's tongue began to flicker and swipe up and down his rigid cock, Achilles' eyes started to glaze over, his cold rage slowly giving way to the pleasurable sensations coursing through his body. He was a Greek and as such, had often shared his bed with males as well as females. And there was no denying that this prince, this..Paris, possessed the kind of male beauty that in Achilles' own land would be much-sought after. His hand, seemingly of its own volition, came to rest upon the dark tresses once more and in spite of himself, Achilles found it caressing the soft curls, gently.
Paris felt that hand come to rest on his head. But before he had a chance to tense in anticipation of the other's brutality, he found his hair being stroked with only a gentle touch. How many times had he, himself, employed just such a touch to encourage the ministrations of his own lovers?. The thought was disconcerting. Yet not nearly as disconcerting as the fact that in spite of his fear and shame, some strange part within him was...responding.
Through this new discomfiture, the prince heard Achilles' voice and for the first time, it held something other than disdain.
" Take me into your mouth..."
It sounded not like a command, but rather like a needful request. Again, that strange new part within Paris surged, this time with a flash of potent insight.
Achilles was suffering.
This mighty warrior, who had brought death and grief to untold others, now knew himself the pain of loss. But he had no way to express his heart's rending. Wailing was the sad province of the women, thus tears were not something he could let fall before the soldiers of his homeland. Soldiers, who looked upon him with a worship akin to that reserved only for the Gods.
And thus, Paris now understood, the Greek had turned his grief into cold rage and then focused it on the youngest prince of Troy, whom he could blame for all his troubles.
{ And rightfully so... }
The thought blazed through Paris' mind, heaping yet another measure of guilt onto his sagging shoulders. Yet this new knowledge also shed a different light on his present predicament. Thus, as Achilles had turned the focus of his grief upon Paris, so did Paris now turn the focus of his need to atone upon the Greek.
He would willingly let Achilles use his body. He would do all that he could to ease the other's pain. He would take Hector's corpse back to Troy and then, he would pick up his fallen brother's sword and meet his own doom head-on in the field of battle.
So did Paris make his silent pledge, as his lips hovered above the tip of the hard member he held in his hand.
Achilles sensed some subtle change in the air that caused him to bring his attention to bear fully upon the prince's face. He found that the liquid brown eyes gazing back at him, were now wiped clear of fear. Instead, a new light shone within them, a light that took his breath away.
{ Nay!. I will not have it!. Tis his fear I want, I need... }
Paris engulfed him in the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
" Aaaaah..."
Achilles threw his head back, the half-filled goblet spilling to the ground, let go by his suddently nerveless hand, even as his other did the opposite and entangled in the curls of his captive's head
Paris made himself relax, as he began to do to the Greek's cock all the things that he found the most enjoyable when done to his own shaft. His lips formed a tight suction, his tongue laving the pulsing flesh while one of his hands, hands that had never slain another, found it's way between Achilles' legs. There, he cupped the ladden sack, massaging it gently as his other hand pumped the base of the rigid flesh he was tending to.
A part of Achilles wanted to rear up in fury. To yank the whelp off him, drag him to the center of the yurt and there carry out the threat to whip him, until he was nothing more than a bloody mess upon the sandy floor. For if his anger left him, what then would become of his wounded heart?...
But as he saw his cock being taken in, over and over, by the soft lips of the prince, the last remnants of his rage dissipated. How long had it been since he had known anything other than the clashing of swords, the taking of life?. How long since anyone had touched him tenderly?.
Something broke inside Achilles then, the pieces of it lancing across the madness that had overtaken him and thus draining the poison from his being. Setting his will against his mounting pleasure, Achilles brought his hand down beneath the prince's chin and gently drew him away from his labors.
Paris looked up at him with confusion and renewed apprehension, but the sky-blue eyes gazing back at him no longer seemed made of hardened crystal. Rather, they now resembled the canopy of a warm summer's day.
" You need not fear me any more, prince of Troy. You can take your brother's body back to your city and give him the death-rites he deserves, for he was a worthy and honorable warrior... You are free to go."
Free to go...
At that moment, Paris felt his heart soar and yet, he could not help but hear the weary sadness behind Achilles' voice.
The young prince of Troy made his decision.
He moved his sinewy body upwards, until he was almost face-to-face with the seated Greek, then gently touched his hand to the other's cheek.
" Though I know nothing of the ways of pleasure between two males, I willingly offer you the comfort of my body. Show me this mystery. Sate your need for release... Take me, Achilles."
And then Paris leaned in and gave himself over with a kiss...
TBC...
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Rage Regret & Redemption