Take Me Home

I've added three new chapters 14, 15 & 16 today. Just thought I'd let you know in case you miss it. ^_^

Part 16

Paris and Achilles were now seated under a huge cherry tree, taking a moment of rest after hours of wrestling. The temperature was nice and mild this afternoon, so they had decided to make use of the opportunity to practice outside. It took almost an hour’s ride to get here and Achilles was glad that his decision to come here was right because Paris was impressed with the surrounding scenery.

They were actually on a wide shelf with a long stretch of tall sun-dried hills on one side and open sea on the other. The edge of the shelf overlooked a sheer drop-off that made Paris dizzy when he peered down. There was nothing below, only the crashing white breakers. About a hundred paces behind them stood abandoned ruins, their once magnificence could still be seen and felt.

“Don’t put back on your tunic yet. You’ll catch a chill like that. Just wipe your sweat and then hang it over the branch to dry off,” Achilles instructed. If he could, he wouldn’t even allow Paris to dry himself. He would crawl all over him and lick that wet slick body until its owner break out in a different kind of sweat.

Realizing what he had just thought, Achilles tore his eyes away from the youth and tried to find something else interesting to stare at. He must take charge of his libido better.

Paris pondered over his master’s words for a second longer and decided to do as he was told. His master had earlier insisted that they wrestle without their tunics on because their movements would not be hampered and also to save the slave girls troubles of sewing and patching up later. It would be such a waste to ruin good clothes.

Ironically, it was Achilles who had a difficult time concentrating at first as his lover stood half-naked in front of him. His eyes would linger over the lean torso and the long, strong thighs out of habit and luckily, he caught himself early enough before he embarrassed himself with his uncontrolled lust.

Already, a certain heat was ‘taking shape’ in his crotch. He tried his very best to avoid staring and that made him appear awkward; it was clear what he was doing. Paris, who had been afraid in the beginning that Achilles would not be able to bridle his amorous appetite and throw him down on the ground to ravish him, couldn’t help smiling with mirth. He observed the impossible-to-conceal bulge under his master’s skirt.

The bruises on Paris had turned sickly yellow now and the swell on his right face had disappeared two days ago, giving him back his full sight again. Most of his ache did not obstruct his normal movements, something that Achilles had to wait before he began training his lover.

Silence prevailed over them as they sat quietly enjoying the sound of leaves rustling above their heads. It was so peaceful here that Paris thought he could fall asleep in the shade.

“Do you want to take a nap?” Achilles suddenly asked as if he knew what Paris was thinking.

“Not really,” Paris answered simply.

Silence.

“I like it here. It’s so peaceful,” Paris added after sometime. He felt awkward with this long silence between them.

“I’m glad you like it.” Achilles didn’t want to mention that Patroclus and he came here sometimes. No sense in spoiling the boy’s mood now.

“Achilles,” Paris called for his master’s attention.

The Greek turned to look at his lover. He liked the way Paris called him; there was something endearing with the tone of voice he used.

“You know that I’ve never asked you for anything,” the youth started cautiously.

“And that is the very reason that you may have anything you wish. You have only to ask and I will grant them. You know I cannot deny you anything. Just don’t ask me to let you go.”

Two months ago, if Achilles had mentioned that he wouldn’t see his freedom ever again, Paris would have tripped back into depression. Now, he was quite used to living with the man and had stopped thinking about being rescued by his family. If there was any hope, he would have heard of it by now. He had contemplated once if he would have preferred it this way than to return to Troy. Would he even get used to living without Achilles’ strong presence beside him should he ever got back home?

“Do you remember Tassos, the boy I was talking about that day? Well, he had been born a slave and knew nothing of a better life. I would like to give him that chance. So, may I have him as my slave, to serve me? The harvest is almost over now so he will be free from that work. I promise I’ll do anything in return,” Paris chattered in a rather excited manner. He had practiced over and over again in his head what to say to his master as he didn’t want Achilles to misunderstand his intentions and then loosing that opportunity to help Tassos.

Achilles almost laughed at his childlike eagerness. The Trojan youth never seemed to notice this about himself.

That day after the brawl, Paris had related all his experiences working in the olive terraces and the friends he made. It was the first time Achilles had seen the youth lit up when he talked about his adventures with his new friend. Knowing that Paris had grown up in Mount Ida as a Shepard boy, he was quite lonely and without many friends. It was a lonesome job.

“Very well, you may keep him. I will go talk to his master tomorrow. And by the way, you don’t have to do anything to pay back. As I’ve said before, you may have anything you want.”

The youth was so happy because he was finally doing something good for someone less lucky than him that he forgot himself. He launched himself onto Achilles, latching his arms around the man’s neck and kissed him on the lips. Paris realized his brazenness too late and Achilles took the opportunity and hint that he could get intimate.

Paris didn’t struggle in Achilles’ arms when the man wound them around his back and pulled him closer and neither did he mind that they joined in the most innocent and tender kiss under the cool shade of the cherry tree.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The night was chilly and Achilles had the slaves brought in the bronze brazier to warm the bedchamber. He didn’t mind the cold too much, but he didn’t want Paris to suffer for he was a prince after all and used to a pampered lifestyle. Despite this, they still slept naked under the thick woolen blanket and Paris had snuggled closer to his master tonight for more warmth.

The week had passed since they shared that first lovers’ kiss and Paris couldn’t find sleep tonight as he thought about it. He kept touching his lips – lightly – while recalling the sensation he felt that afternoon. It made him blushed in crimson when he remembered how his whole body trembled and he panted heavily afterwards. The details were so vivid that he even still felt Achilles’ tongue now as he was gently probed inside.

With the light from the two sconces on the wall, Paris studied his master without worry of being discovered. Achilles was asleep on his side, facing him and the blanket covered just below his chest. Like that, Paris was able to appreciate Achilles’ beauty from a different perspective. Through a sentimental eye, the youth realized that he was truly in love with this man and now have no wish to part from him. Troy existed in his past, but now he was too far away to hold any ties to her. He was away from the bitter strife, away from Helen and away from people who treated him like a fragile doll. No one would blame him for starting the war because he believed that every one believed that he was dead. Here, while he didn’t have any real freedom, at least he was with someone he loved and respected him for who he truly was.

Taken by the surge of good feelings inside him, Paris felt he wanted to touch something private of Achilles. He wanted to think that being part of Achilles’ possession, he had the right to hold something dear of him, even if it was only a memory.

With strengthened courage, he slid his hand up to rest between their chests. He hesitated only for a moment and then reached over to lightly brush his index finger on Achilles’ nipple. He wanted to feel what it was like to touch something so private of his master; something he was allowed to do for sharing the same bed with him.

Suddenly, another hand shot up and seized Paris’ wrist, causing the youth to gasp in surprise. He was caught red handed and he felt embarrassed.

“You dare tease the mighty Achilles?” he growled and clambered on top of his lover within a blink of an eye. The man had been aware that Paris wasn’t asleep so he didn’t fall asleep too. However he had not expected that Paris would dare fondle him in such manner.

For days now, he had been suspicious of Paris’ behaviour. Many times he had caught the youth gazing at him in a strange manner and once or twice, the Trojan was come upon red faced when he held him on the waist or grappling him to the ground.

Paris’ pulse raced while Achilles lay on him and holding his wrists beside his head. Their eyes were locked in timeless moment, each sensing the other’s emotions rising and their hearts beating into one another’s chest. Then it was Achilles who started to nuzzle on the crook of Paris’ collarbone and licked the column of his neck. Paris was aroused by it, but he didn’t want to surrender like this and he was afraid of the pain. He wasn’t comfortable to give himself willingly so he struggled – half-heartedly.

Achilles was reasonably sure that he sensed the youth wanted this to go further, but he stopped his groping anyway. He deduced that if Paris had not wanted this, he would have started hitting him or biting him ferociously.

“Would it make you feel better if I tie you up?”

The Trojan youth was abashed by the question and turned his head to one side. He nodded while still staring away.

In the soft glow of light, Achilles saw the coy concupiscence etched in Paris’ mien. Smiling, he got out of bed and went to the long chest to retrieve a silk sash belonging to a robe. Meanwhile, Paris sat up to watch what he was doing.

“On your knees and face that wall. I want your hands together on the headboard,” Achilles ordered sternly.

Paris did as he was told. His heart was beating so fast now that he was afraid that it might jump out of his mouth. He swallowed several times the lump forming in his throat as his master knelt behind him and circled his arms around his body. Paris began to doubt if he was doing the right thing allowing his master to tie his wrists to the headboard, but it was too late now to back out. He couldn’t move his hands from the secured fastening.

“Now you are at my mercy,” Achilles whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with lust.

Achilles couldn’t help taking advantage of staring at his lover now. Within a week of the training, Paris had changed a lot. He had blossomed from a timid youth to a confident young man. Even his posture was that of a proud Prince of Troy. Aside from developing a healthier tan, he was building in muscles that metamorphosed him from youth to man. Paris was still lanky, but because he was still growing.

The Greek prince felt his own fingers shake from excitement as they fondled the smooth olive tan skin and eliciting soft mewls of delight from his partner. Paris couldn’t stop himself from leaning back his head on Achilles’ shoulder and exposing his neck in the most vulnerable erotic position.

Spooning Paris while on his knees, his powerfully built body, naked and tanned to bronze, complimented each other beautifully. They presented a masterpiece sculpture of a blond Hermes came to care for his companion, his bound wrists stretched out in helplessness. If the other gods would peeked from the window and saw them, who would blame them for their jealousies.

Achilles laid trails of kisses on the bare shoulders, watching with fascination as they started to shiver. He added more on the silken neck and grazed his teeth on the lobe. In the distraction, he slipped his middle finger easily into Paris’ orifice. Either he was doing a very good job of enticing Paris to a deeper lust or the youth was very willing this time, he was glad that Paris was relaxed and trusted him easily.

Soon, he added another finger and was rewarded with appreciation when the Trojan youth pushed back to meet his digits.

Hearing the change in Paris’ breathing – something urgent in the sound – he pulled out his fingers and covered his lover with his warm and strong body. His heart thundered in his chest and he was sure that his love could feel it on his back.

Not wishing to break the rhythm of their building desire, Achilles stroked Paris while he reached for the unlit oil lamp sitting on the small table beside the bed and dipped his fingers inside. His fore and middle fingers now slicked with lubricants, he coated his straining cock carefully. Their tandem massages brought forth twin elation of moans.

With utmost care, Achilles slowly pushed his oiled cock through the ring of muscles, feeling it clamped instinctively at first, but gradually yielding to accept him like rose petals opening up to full bloom.

Paris’ breath hitched and he gasped shallowly as the thick organ traveled deeper into his body. There was no pain this time, but he felt full as if he was plugged up.

When Achilles remembered to stroke his member again, the feeling of need escalated and Paris started to push his hips back. His mind was telling him that this was all he wanted and he needed to feel the man behind him. He wanted Achilles to make love to him with passion, with the same desperate need that he was experiencing.

Their bodies moved in synchronized dance, of pushing and pulling, and their breathing and moaning in giving and taking. Soon however when the need was too great, Paris arched his hips higher to get a deeper penetration. Achilles taking this hint, started pounding into him in deep hard strokes; his groin made loud slapping sounds on contact with Paris’ buttocks.

Together, they rocked in erratic movements, going faster until one cried out his release and the other followed swiftly.

At last when the last tendrils of orgasm dissipated, Achilles tightened his arms around his lover and kissed the crown of his head with outpouring love.

“I love you, Paris and I’ve never said those words without the weight of truths in them.”

Paris remained silent because he wasn’t able to utter them. His pride was still stubborn. Nevertheless, Achilles knew that and he would give him time to open up by himself. They had a lifetime together after all. For now, Paris didn’t have to say them. His cock was still buried inside his lover and that was enough testament that they were two souls connected by the union of their bodies.

Achilles began to untie his lover and then they settled down on the bed. The blond man smiled as he felt Paris scooted his back to settle within the crook of his body.

With a sigh that sounded very loud in the silent room, the Greek prince knew that his Prince of Heart had fallen asleep.