Take Me Home

This chapter is rated NC-17, so be forewarned. For details and disclaimers, please see chapter 1.

Oh yes, in case if you have problems in the future that AFF.net is down temporarily, go to my site for the latest update. Sometimes I post unbetaed versions there because I'm behind schedule in posting.

http://breathless.shadowess.com

Thanks.

PS: Thanks so much for everyone who had reviewed. I'm really grateful. ^_^

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Part 13

Sometime in the night, Paris woke up with a start. He wasn’t sure what roused him.

He suffered a brief amnesia when he didn’t recognize the wall in front of him. In his confusion, he didn’t know how to react.

When it dawned on him that someone was laying spooned behind him and a heavy arm draped over the side of his ribs, he panicked. He was thrown into chaos of reliving the nightmare at the palace, thinking that he was still there.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him further into dread and he was about to struggle to get away, but the same hand stayed him in a reassuring manner. Paris swiveled a little and found Thetis standing beside the bed, behind Achilles. She raised a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet.

Relieved that he was safe beside Achilles and away from the palace, Paris let go of his held breath and relaxed. However, his peace was not for long when he recalled Achilles’ confessions in front of his mother. Suddenly, he felt awkward to be lying beside her son and was possessively embraced while she stood there watching them.

In some small consolation though, at least Thetis did not appear upset.

In the low light of the single oil lamp still burning, Paris noticed that Thetis’ hair was let down and the length reached past her buttocks. She was now dressed in her nightgown.

The daughter of Nereus had come in to check on her son. She had done this since Achilles was born. She pulled the blanket up the boys’ shoulders and bent down to kiss her son on his temple. The blond prince did not stir, resting with complete confidence that he was safe.

Before she left, she patted Paris’ shoulder gently, reassuring him that he was also safe. Paris had never expected this behaviour from her, after her display of hostility earlier.

Suddenly, Paris was flooded by strong emotions. He felt the first prickle of tear at the corner of his eye, but managed to stop it before it fell. The impact of never receiving a mother’s full care and love stabbed him hard in the heart. The pain was so great that he cringed and bit his trembling lower lip to silence his cry.

Why must he discover a mother’s love the hard way? It was so unfair to him. He had suffered so much as a child. As the night wore on, more questions popped into his mind.

Somewhere along his thoughts, his past recollections caused tears to well in his eyes and his nose to itch. He couldn’t stop his sadness any longer and let them trail quietly down his cheeks and onto the mattress.

~~**~~*~~**~~

Paris opened his eyes lazily, his long lashes flicked a few times to chase away the remnants of drowsiness. He had fallen asleep after all. The soft skin under his eyes felt a little puff after crying last night, so he reached up and rubbed his eyes. It felt better afterwards.

The bedroom was brighter now as beams of sunlight crept through the window panes and fell on the opposite wall.

Achilles was no longer holding him as he had turned to the other side and slept on his side of the bed so Paris yawned and stretch himself languidly. It was glorious to wake up to the sound of the waves while snug in a warm and comfortable bed.

He turned to lie on his side and stare at his lover’s broad and bare back; Achilles had taken off his shirt before sleeping. At this close range, Paris saw the multiple scars mapped out on the otherwise smooth skin. The Greek had truly dedicated his life to the art of war.

[I want to wake up in the morning to find him sleeping beside me. I want to go through the day with him. Even if we’re apart, I’ll know that he’ll be there waiting for me. And at night, I want to share my passion with him.] These words popped into his mind unbidden and they repeated continuously.

His lover!

Was Achilles really serious? But what about his son? Patroclus? His wife, Deidameia? And who knew how many countless others?

The poor youth was split by two factions in his mind – to believe Achilles or distrust him entirely.

Wallowing in bed would not answer his question. Right now, the tranquil sound from the outside was distracting him and he felt like going out to enjoy it.

Without disturbing Achilles, Paris got out of bed. In the process, he unintentionally exposed Achilles’ backside, giving him a full view of the taut buttocks. Catching himself for staring unashamedly at the rear view, Paris quickly pulled the blanket to cover it.

He straightened his crumpled shirt while searching around for his belt. When he found it, he tied it around his waist, realizing only then how thin he had become.

Tiptoeing quietly, he left the hut and walked to the beach.

The great sun had just peeked from behind the misty blue horizon, casting a shimmering reflection on the sea. There were no low hanging clouds in the deep, blue sky, only magnificent horse-tails that looked so far to reach. The morning air was crisp and fresh, inducing Paris to take in several deep, lungfuls.

Paris left his sandals outside the hut because he wanted to feel the soft, white sand under his feet. He wriggled his toes, feeling the warm, grating sand. It was good to feel free again.

White foamy waves crashing up the shore lured him. He began walking towards it and once his feet touched the water, he felt a surge of invigorating energy flowed into his body. The froth around his ankles tickled him.

Overtaken by the need to connect to himself, Paris made his way deeper until the water reached to his knees. With the surf pushing him back and forth, he dug his heels into the sand to steady himself. Then like a man offering his prayers, Paris adjusted to face the sun and stretched out his hands beside him. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Serenity descended upon him and embraced him as the warm sun had done. The wind that whipped his hair about also acted as his carrier, to bring his heart’s wish back to his homeland. With every breath that he released, he let go a little bit more of his sadness. He welcomed what little peace he could make with himself to fill that emptiness he had just created.

“The gods will not listen to your prayers,” a voice startled him from his mediation.

Paris whipped around. Thetis was standing just two paces away from him on his right. She was not looking at him, but ahead as if in a trance. Her blue eyes glittered by the reflection of the sunlight on the water.

“I have never offended the gods. Why would they abandon me?”

“It is not for mortal to judge a god’s purpose,” Thetis answered simply.

She was clothed in a beautiful blue exomis, a silver belt cinched around her waist. With the sunlight shining on her, causing her to glow in a soft reflection, Thetis indeed looked beautiful. It was no wonder Zeus and Poseidon once pursued her.

Paris contemplated on her words. He didn’t understand why he was abandoned like his parents had done a long time ago. The goddess Aphrodite had said that she loved him. Was he such an unfortunate child to be made fun of like that?

“You see the future, right?” Paris asked. The Nereid in front of him no longer felt imposing, only a delicate sea-nymph.

“Yes, and I know what you want to ask. Don’t worry, you will return to Troy.” This time she bore her stare at the youth.

Did she say this because she wanted him off Phthia, away from her son or because Achilles was really going to let him go home? But for how long if it was true?

“What happens to Troy then?” Paris dared this question. He was anxious to know the future of his homeland.

“It will burn to the ground. However, its legend and its name, its betrayal and its downfall, shall remain in minds for thousands of years to come.”

“What about me?” Paris was alarmed now. He didn’t know how Troy would still lose despite that Achilles was back in Phthia.

“When the chaos is around you and your people slaughtered, you will come upon a decision that you must make,” Thetis answered monotonously.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand. What decision?” Paris called after Thetis as she began wadding away from him.

Instead of enlightening him, she continued to go deeper into the sea. The moment the water reached up to her thighs, she suddenly jumped and dived like an excellent dolphin. The waves swallowed her up immediately and she disappeared without a trace.

“Wait!” Paris shouted, but it was too late.

“Her sisters are calling to her. She will not hear you,” Achilles’ voice was heard suddenly.

Paris only gave the man a brief sideward glance and returned his gaze back to where Thetis had disappeared. His heart was heavy to learn the doomed fate of Troy, but at the same time he was confused by her cryptic message of his own future.

Achilles came to stand behind Paris and wrapped his arms around his lover. Paris didn’t struggle to get away, letting Achilles support him because he felt like sinking to his knees.

“How long will she be away?” the youth voiced out.

“Hard to tell. Days perhaps. She will return whenever she wishes,” Achilles answered and tightened his hold.

He had seen his mother speak to Paris and the young man had become upset. He hoped that his mother was not antagonizing Paris again.

“Are you all right?” Achilles asked.

“No,” Paris spoke in a resigned voice. “She said Troy will not survive this war. It’s all my fault!” the youth shouted at himself. “My father should have stuck a knife in my heart when I was a babe. He should have made sure that I didn’t survive to return.” The youth was bent in half and crying outright. His tears fell and mixed with the sea water surrounding him.

“He … He … “ Paris couldn’t even utter another word. The hard lump in his throat ached terribly.

Perceiving that Paris could no longer hold his own weight because he leaned heavily forward, the Greek pulled his lover to him and turned him around to encase him protectively against his chest. There was nothing he could do for him now; the motion of fate had turned. He watched helplessly waiting for the youth to finish pouring out his sorrows.

“He should have turned me away or imprisoned me when he had the chance,” Paris continued, his voice muffled. His shoulders convulsed even harder following this and his sob was louder.

Achilles was quite stumped of what to do. He had thought that the youth would calm down by now. He had never witness a man cry so hard before.

His lover must have more pain kept inside than he suspected. His bitterness and sadness seemed to be so deeply rooted to his family. Was there a reason why he snuck out of the palace when his brother forbade him? Was he trying to prove his merit as a man, a son worthy of a great king and a valiant warrior who wouldn’t have to hide in Hector’s shadow? This Trojan son was only one of the sons of many sons. Why must he pressure himself to such an extent? And now, he blamed himself for the ruin of a great city. This child bore a burden too heavy for his small shoulders.

Although Achilles would never understand entirely this grief that Paris carried within him, he was determined to help him ease some of it away. He had declared his love of this boy last night, in front of the most important witness, and he would take responsibility to share all his happiness and sadness together.

Discreetly, he slipped his right hand under Paris’ white shirt and brushed lightly on his thighs. The youth gasped in surprise. He couldn’t believe what Achilles was doing. He thought that the man was genuinely comforting him by lending him a shoulder to cry on and now he was trying to take advantage of his vulnerable moment. He was right, he must never trust this Greek.

“Calm down, Paris. Trust me. I won’t hurt you. I promise,” Achilles whispered into Paris’ ear when the youth started to wrestle to get away.

He held the boy securely all the same as he didn’t want his plan ruined. His coarse palm started rubbing the smooth, pale thighs up and down, more in a soothing manner than molestation. When Paris didn’t move, Achilles proceeded to lick the shell of his ear and plunged his tongue repeatedly inside the hole. He blew on the wetness and was rewarded by a shudder.

Encouraged by this result, Achilles crept his hand higher until he touched the bulge of the youth’s organ. Paris struggled again by this unwanted touch and Achilles doubled his effort by rubbing against his genitalia through the loin cloth and rolling his sac gently. The shy cock began to fill out and press against the cloth. The blond prince thought he heard a whispered sigh escaped from his lover’s lips as he shivered against him.

The continuous sensual massage was gradually melting Paris and his legs felt weak. He could feel his cock hardened fully now as the loin cloth tightened uncomfortably. His brain had turned (to) mush and his speech incoherent. He only knew how to breathe – deeply, raggedly and quickly.

“I love you, Paris,” he heard a breathy rasp brushing his saliva slicked ear. He trembled some more.

Something hard poking on his thighs made him aware that Achilles was enjoying this too. Secretly, Paris took pleasure in this erotic ministration even further now that he knew Achilles was aroused by this. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he imagined Achilles really being his lover and their acts of foreplay in broad daylight was driving him so wild that he would want to be taken right there and then.

Achilles bent slightly to plant kisses on the side of Paris’ neck, leaving a few marks of possession on the way. He couldn’t help it at this moment. And the fact that Paris was moaning emboldened him to go much further. Hand trembling now, Achilles reached inside the loin cloth. The coarse pubic hair felt familiar to his fingers, just as the countless times he had encountered, but this was Paris’. That thought alone was astounding; it was as if he was rediscovering the body of a lover.

When Paris pushed himself forward, Achilles took the hint of his impatience. He slid his fingers teasingly along the length of Paris’ cock before grabbing it and pulling it out from the confines of the loin cloth. Paris was passed caring now. He was only aware that his body needed this. He was too emotional and vulnerable.

After wetting his hand in the sea water, he grasped Paris’ erection. The youth inhaled sharply, surprised by the sudden cold on his heated skin. The wetness made it easier for Achilles to stroke his lover. Paris leaned closer and buried his face onto the solid chest, and breathing hotly against it. The Greek’s body reacted naturally to the warm breaths causing his nipples to stiffen.

“You’re so beautiful.” Achilles couldn’t help admiring. He didn’t have to look at his lover’s face or body, it was the way the youth responded to him that captured his heart.

“Please … “ came a soft voice and Achilles obeyed. It was the only voice that could command him, the mightiest warrior in all of Hellene.

Under his lover’s masterful manipulations, Paris couldn’t last long. He shot his hot semen into Achilles’ hand one load after the other. He shuddered at the finale.

Needing further support to stay upright, Paris wound his arms around Achilles, to the other man’s delight. Whatever Paris’ motive to embrace him, it was only important that he was doing it willingly. They stood silently like that for a moment, to let Paris recover from his post orgasmic.

Once Paris’ mind had descended back to mortal land, he remembered that Achilles had not spent his passion yet. He was grateful to Achilles that he understood he needed to channel his frustration and now he wanted to return the favour.

Unsuspectingly, it was Paris’ turn to creep his hand under his lover’s shirt. Without hesitation, he freed his well endowed organ from the loin cloth. Achilles was startled, but he didn’t say a word nor stop the youth. He let the boy do whatever he pleased.

It pleased him to know that Paris would take this initiative so he closed his eyes and let his body take the pleasure of being attended to. There was nothing awkward or fumbling when Paris wrapped his fingers around Achilles’ member. He was confident with what he was doing and his strokes were firm and sure.

That did not come as a surprise, for Paris had probably spent many nights hiding under his thick blanket and secretly jerking off.

Paris touch undid him easily. Achilles shoved finally into his lover’s hand and achieved his completion with a loud cry of the youth’s name in his lips.

“That was glorious,” the Greek warrior panted.

Paris smiled broadly. He was in better mood now. “Can we have some breakfast? I’m hungry.”

Achilles chuckled and with a hand around his lover’s shoulders, they walked back together to the hut.