Favorite Son

Continues directly from previous chapter....


Halting the kiss, I lift my head and cock it to the side. Paris whispers, “What is it?”

“Did you speak just now?”

“Yes. I asked why you stopped.”

“I mean before that.”

“How could I? Your tongue was in my mouth.”

I glare down at him. The moonbeam that had been on my cheek now graces his, and also the dimple that forms there as he smiles. Truly, my baby brother knows how to bewitch. One finger reaches up and touches my lips, and so I take it into my mouth and suck it very gently. Paris bites his lower lip. I think he does this to keep from making a sound, which gratifies me, for discretion at this moment is wise. And yet were I to exercise true discretion, I would school my lust and insist that we both sleep. Yet as I have decided my path, my ability to resist Paris has lessened. My hands long to caress his body. Moreover, I yearn for the feel of his small hands upon me, his arms about my neck, the cries he utters in the moment of bliss, and the soft words he whispers after.

When first he came to Troy, he thought me a hero. I was rough and unkind. I feared his growing influence over the royal family – my family. How foolish I was then. My fear should have been for myself. Quickly he became the beloved of my parents and my brothers and sisters, of my townspeople and even of my fellow warriors. How quickly I, too, fell under that enchantment.

I suffer the finger to drop from my mouth and, in the ethereal moonlight, I look my fill once more upon Paris. Betimes I think I will die if I cannot tell him how I love him. He has told me that he worships me, yet that is nothing to what I feel for him. My dreams have grown more disturbing of late, wherein all manner of dreadful fates beset him, and Troy is in danger as well, and in these dreams I must choose between saving Paris and saving the city I love.

I cannot burden Paris with my dreams, nor with my fears; I will not burden him with my love.

A tentative touch on my cheek brings me back.

“Hector?” Paris whispers. “Do you intend to stare at me all night? Is there not something else you would prefer to do?”

“You will be silent,” I growl low in my throat, descending upon him and kissing him hard and long until he is breathless. That will keep him silent, I think with deep satisfaction. I grasp the back of his neck and tilt his head back to reveal the smooth golden throat. A lick across the throat makes him gasp aloud.

“Paris,” I warn.

“I will be silent,” he whimpers anxiously.

“See that you are.” I move further down his body, rubbing my face against his smooth chest. With great care, I take one nipple in my teeth and stroke my tongue back and forth along the nub. His body quivers yet he remains silent. I bestow the same attention on the other nipple.

His arousal is firm and hot against my thigh. I recall the time I took it in my mouth and I hunger to do so again. The taste was bitter, yet the act gave him such pleasure that I minded it not at all. Moreover, I had not taken the time to savor the encounter, and I would remedy this now. Raising my head I look again at Paris.

He takes this as a sign that I will not continue, for his eyes are dark and pleading. “I am being very quiet,” he whispers.

“You are being very good,” I agree, leaning down again to rub our mouths together teasingly. His lips seek mine as he tries to turn this to a true kiss, and I allow him to do so. His tongue slides against mine, whereupon I capture it in my mouth and suckle upon it. The stifled moans he makes serve but to increase my ardor.

When I release him again, we both are breathing heavily.

“More,” he entreats, not at all a command, and it is as though a fist constricts my heart.

“Hush,” I say, not at all an admonishment, but only because I must prevent myself from speaking other, profoundly unwise words.

I move down his body, with many kisses along the way; from the hollow of his chest, to the soft skin on the inside of his arm, to the slender hips; while his fingers creep into my hair, kneading lightly. For a moment I rest my head in the cradle of his loins, not touching the flushed cock which lies upon his belly, yet breathing in the scent of him. Rousing myself once more, I move further downward to nip teasingly at his calves and to lick the sole of one foot. The first action causes my hair, which he appears to love so much, to move out of the reach of his covetous fingers, bringing a moan of frustration. The second begets an appealing but overly loud giggle, which is quickly stifled. I smile to myself and bite one toe affectionately, then make my way up again, kissing the insides of his thighs.

Slowly, I lick the length of the rosy cock before me; the taste remains bitter, yet now familiar and even welcome. Paris shudders hard, then settles against the pallet. With one hand I pull his cock away from his belly and take it in my mouth, then curl both arms underneath his bent legs and bring my hands to rest on his waist. One of his hands grabs mine and he holds fast while my tongue presses against his foreskin and pushes into the uncovered slit.

A strange sound is emanating from Paris and I raise my head somewhat, not releasing him fully, to peer through the hair that has fallen over my eyes. Almost I laugh when I see that he is clutching our discarded clothing to his face with his other arm, in an attempt to muffle his cries of pleasure.

Yet I do not laugh. Rather, I suckle with greater strength, still slowly, entirely mindful of what I do, until the hand that holds mine squeezes with more strength than I had expected, while his body strains against me and his essence floods into my mouth. The taste is growing more familiar and I find it easy to take him inside me thus. And I wonder how it would feel, to be thus in his place.

The clothing muffles a sigh of release, and then his hand relaxes and slips from mine, while I allow his cock to slip from my mouth, and kiss it tenderly, and disentangle my arms from his legs. Abruptly he turns and rises to his hands and knees. I cannot help but wish the patch of moonlight would illuminate his lovely buttocks more fully, yet it is moving farther away from our pallet and closer to the window opening as the moon rides higher in the sky.

“We have no oil,” I whisper. There is the lantern, of course, yet –

“The lantern,” Paris counters, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Too hot.”

“I do not care.”

“I do,” is my only answer. I lay my hand on his back and push him firmly onto the pallet, then lie alongside him and thrust my arousal against his hip, wrapping my arms around his chest like bronze bands. It is not what Paris wished – this simple rutting in which a beast might indulge – and indeed I find it less than satisfying, yet as it is Paris’ hip, it is better than other things I might do.

When I am done, Paris shoves his elbow into my stomach to make me roll onto my back. Turning to face me, he cleans us with a corner of one robe, makes the other into a pillow, and when all is to his liking, he snuggles against my chest, tucking his head beneath my chin.

“You are very foolish, Hector,” he whispers accusingly into my shoulder.

With a rueful smile – and glad I am that he cannot see it – I pull the blanket over us and put my arms around him.

“I love you anyway,” he adds.

“It is late,” I whisper back. “Go to sleep.”

He snorts rudely, yet he falls asleep very quickly, and soon Hypnos claims me as well, for I remember nothing else.

*** *** ***

Some sound or sensation of unease rouses me in the dark. I have taught myself to awaken quickly and silently, with no more movement than the opening of my eyes. I lie still, listening: by the night sounds I know it is still long until dawn. The patch of moonlight has moved far along straw-strewn platform.

There are no sounds from the stable, neither from the yard nor the house – no sounds but the night sounds of sleepy animals as they shift, of the wind ruffling through leaves, of two distant owls calling to one another.

Paris sleeps peacefully, warm and heavy in my arms, with the rough blanket still covering us both. Unbidden and unwanted, my thoughts return to my earlier reverie, and the knowledge that I have behaved wrongly from the start, from the time I ignored him or dismissed him out of envy, to the time I began to feel a yearning to treat him as other than a brother, to the shameful time when I allowed my basest instincts to rule me. I, who should protect him, have placed him in a position which might jeopardize his place in the royal family, should it become known. As for myself, the same may be true, yet I care not what happens to me, so long as Troy and Paris are safe.

I pull Paris tighter against my body, and bury my face in his hair, while the beating of his heart thrums against me and into me, and I wonder at the reason that it is so different when I hold him thus, than when I hold my other young siblings. Surely it is not that he is the most comely of all, for Cassandra and Troilus are rightly known for their great beauty. And it cannot be that he requires more protection, for many of the children are far younger and more helpless, although it is true that it is not my place to care for these children or to train them.

Something more weighs upon my conscience. My dalliance with Paris has caused me to be lax in my duties toward Troy. I have waited longer than I should to find a wife and produce an heir. My father remains hale and well, yet he is but mortal and will die one day. And one day I will as well, and Troy will still need doughty warriors. There are all manner of beautiful and well-bred maidens in my fair city; some, I think, who would be glad to wed with a prince, to be given a household in the royal citadel. I would not be a demanding husband. Although Paris drives me to utter distraction and often to great anger, I would feel no such passion with a wife, for, not being a man, she would not be a warrior. She would have free reign with the management of the house, and I would ask only that she take a part in caring for Troy, as does my mother and as do the wives of my brothers.

Yet I feel no desire to be married, for here sleeps Paris, the greatest burden and blessing I have ever known, and never shall I give him up. If the gods are testing me, they shall discover soon enough how stubborn I can be.

Of a sudden I know what woke me: the hoof beats of a horse on the road, almost beyond the power of hearing, yet approaching fast.

They are coming, I know well, for me.


To Be Continued