Take Me Home

Thank you, thank you to everyone who had taken the time to review me. ^_^ I know I've been a baaaddd girl and not updating as I usually did, but I'll try my best. Chapter 20 will be out very soon. Oh yea, just to let you know, this chapter is not betaed.

Have fun reading!

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Part 19

“Paris! Paris! Master Achilles has returned!” Tassos announced excitedly as he was entering the room.

Instead of rushing out immediately to welcome his master after receiving this news, Paris got startled by the sudden appearance of the younger youth and dropped the book he had been attempting to read all morning. Tassos was disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm from Paris. His well-meant good tidings did not change anything. He had been hoping for days that with Achilles’ return, Paris’ mood would improve.

For the last three days since the incident, Paris had kept mostly to himself, hiding in the bedchamber alone and easily agitated with even the simplest task. With such a response, Tassos left him to his dark broodings. He took it upon himself the task to adjust to living in the palace. It wasn’t difficult and he liked here better because it was always warmer and the food better.

On the first night that he moved in, he insisted on sleeping on the floor by the corner so that he could remain nearby to Paris whenever he needed him. Tassos was worried about his new master and wanted to make sure he was all right until Master Achilles came back.

“Too soon!” Paris exclaimed in panic; his fingers clutching on the front of his woolen chiton and a frown etched on his forehead. “Hurry, fetch me that cloak,” he told Tassos while pointing to the dark cloth draped over the back of a chair.

Even though Paris was glad that Achilles had returned because he missed him very much, he also dreaded because all the bruises had not disappeared. He wouldn’t know how to lie if Achilles were to see them by accident.

As quick as his trembling fingers could fiddle, Paris made sure that the cloak covered him snugly as if he was cold. He also made sure that his neck was well hidden because Neoptolemus had left a deep bite wound at the base where the collarbone connected. That injury would take many days to recover and he hoped there would be no scar left or else no explanation in the world would keep Achilles from suspicion.

Paris was about to walk to the door when all of a sudden, Achilles strode in. There were worry lines marking his tired face that made Paris felt guilty. He had promised his master that he would wait for him and his tardiness was no excuse. With the sweat and grime clinging on Achilles’ skin and hair, Paris guessed that they had ridden all night to get home. His master had kept his end of the promise.

Achilles was troubled that something terrible had happened to his lover when he did not appear and everyone else did. However, after seeing his slightly pale face and unkempt hair, he guessed that Paris had probably just woken from his sleep. His eyes were still a little red, as if he hadn’t slept properly for days. Achilles contained his glee to himself on the assumption that his young lover had missed him especially during the night. Excited by that thought, he grabbed Paris in a tight embrace and smiled widely.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Achilles said cheerfully and tightened his arms even more.

The sweet smell exuding from Paris’ hair made his frozen cheeks turned warm and his body buzzed with delight. This living aphrodisiac was worth riding all night to come home to.

Before Paris could make any form of reply, the man hoisted his lover off the floor and carried him to the bed. As Paris had been willing to make love to him six nights ago, he wouldn’t think that his lover would turn him down this time. He was really eager to feel his soft skin once more and the heat surrounding his soul.

Tassos watched the event unfold in front of his eyes. He had been so silent and standing stock still that Achilles never even noticed that he was in the room with them. He was also a well trained slave, knowing when to leave without being realized or make his presence known when appropriate. Right now, he had to do something to stop Achilles from advancing on his friend. He could tell what Master Achilles had in mind and it was not yet time for that. Paris must heal first if that terrible secret was to be kept from him.

He shuffled a sandaled feet on the floor and waited to be acknowledged.

Achilles was already moaning unashamedly as he claimed Paris’ mouth with fervor. His hands were busy roaming on the squirming slender body beneath him and he humped suggestively on Paris’ crotch. Meanwhile, Paris tried to stop his master’s groping, hinting to him that he was not in the mood to be intimate. However, Achilles ignored him, continuing with what he was doing, thinking that Paris was just playing hard-to-get.

When Tassos shuffled his feet the second time – louder – Achilles finally looked up to his direction. He was surprised to find a tanned lanky boy barely fourteen years old, standing beside the window and staring wide-eyed at them. He was annoyed at first, to be interrupted so rudely and that this boy dared to stand there and watch their intimacies. However, he recalled that Paris had asked for a certain slave boy to serve him.

This boy definitely required a lot of training. An experienced one knew when he should leave when he was not needed. Before sending him away though, Achilles sat up and stripped all his dirty clothes off. He threw them to Tassos.

“Go clean them. Come back when it is time for supper,” Achilles ordered and returned his attention to Paris.

“Wh … where is that?” Tassos pretended to be ignorant, just to stall time.

Achilles was very irritated now. He sighed and looked up. “Ask the other slaves outside. Now go!” he said sternly.

“He does not know his way around yet. I should go with him,” Paris offered quickly and started to get up, but Achilles pushed him back on the bed.

“No. He must learn by himself.”

The situation was getting desperate. Paris had to do something.

“I’m … I’m so … sorry, Achilles. I … I just don’t … feel like it today,” Paris stammered a little. He prayed in his little heart that his lover would be understanding.

Achilles wasn’t happy to hear this, but he didn’t want to force Paris.

“All right,” he sighed at length.

“But … but we could cuddle,” Paris suggested quickly so as not to disappoint him too much. “I would like that very much,” he added in a small voice, appearing rather shy.

It was a sound idea, and Tassos was relieved to see Achilles nod in agreement. Assured that his friend would be fine, he picked up the pile of clothes on the floor and left quickly.

Unashamedly naked, Achilles adjusted himself more comfortably. He had been so worked up just now that he was already quite hard. However, he wouldn’t give up trying to seduce Paris into giving in.

“How did the arbitrary went?” Paris asked. He wanted to distract Achilles so that he would forget his erection.

“Oh fine. The chief of one village wouldn’t give his daughter away in marriage to the son of the other chief in the next village because they couldn’t agree on the dowry. Then there was the matter of how many children she should provide. They were threatening war when they couldn’t decide between seven or ten,” Achilles explained. As he was talking, he snuggled his nose to the crook of Paris’ neck and started nuzzling him.

Paris chuckled. “Why do men always think that the women should be treated like a cow? Isn’t it up to her capability to decide how many she could bear?”

“You’re lucky you can’t bear children. Otherwise, I would have made you carry twelve,” Achilles voice was muffled now.

“Twelve? Why so many?” Paris gasped when he felt a hot tongue licked on the very sensitive spot on his neck and coupled with the warm breath from his master, it made his skin even more ticklish.

“Well, ten boys to join my ranks of myrmidons and two beautiful daughters I could marry off to powerful kings or princes in order to secure loyal alliances from them. Then we’ll be the most powerful kingdom in the world.”

“You brute! I will not let you take advantage of me and my children like that!” Paris gave him a mock scolding.

Achilles laughed and at that moment, he pushed the cloak that covered Paris’ neck further down. The youth realized this too late; his master saw the wound.

“You have an injury,” the Prince cried out with concern.

“It is nothing,” Paris replied and moved away from his master before he could have a closer inspection.

“Let me look at it,” Achilles demanded and pulled the youth to him. “Has Patroclus attacked you again?”

Paris became panic. He couldn’t lie and say that Patroclus had wanted to extract revenge because surely his master would confront his cousin this time and the truth would be out – with a worse consequence. He didn’t know what to do. To avoid further interrogation, Paris struggled to get away. Amidst the wrestling, his master accidentally tore the upper part of the tunic, ripping the buttons off.

The protectiveness in Achilles turned to fury. He found finger prints as well as more bite marks all over Paris’ chest. There could be only two reasons for this – Paris was assaulted or he had been cheating on him.

Everyone in Phthia knew better than to touch Achilles’ possession and therefore, he wouldn’t believe that it could ever happen. However, he also wished the latter was not true either because he trusted Paris. To gather more evidence, he tore every shred of cloth on Paris. When he turned the youth around, he saw gripping bruises on his pale buttocks, ones that he was easily familiar with.

The terrified youth was almost in tears by Achilles’ fearful reactions.

“Tell me this is not true!” Achilles demanded sharply. His jealousies were escalating to a dangerous level.

Paris bit his lower lip to stifle his whimper.

“Is it Tassos?” he yelled when he received no answer from the trembling youth.

“No,” Paris defended his friend quickly.

“Then who?” Achilles was shouting now. Paris hid his face into the pillow, but his master gripped a lock of his hair and painfully wrenched his head up. “Who took you?”

Squeezing his eyes shut in terror, Paris fought hard not to cry. He wasn’t prepared that Achilles would be this angry.

Suddenly, Achilles rammed his face onto the mattress several times.

The youth’s unwillingness to talk caused his greatest fear to arise in his heart – Paris was protecting his lover. Blinded into a fury of rage, Achilles decided he would punish him first and then seek out the other later. He would take his pleasure in slowly driving a sword in that bastard and tear out his guts.

He jumped off the bed. “Stand in front of this pole!” he ordered angrily.

Paris obeyed submissively even though he felt hurt. Was Achilles really going to punish him just because he wouldn’t name his rapist?

The angered Greek tore a long strip of cloth from Paris’ tunic and used it to tie the youth’s wrists to the bed post. After securing him properly, he went to the chest to retrieve one of his leather belts. Paris saw his instrument of punishment and began squirming uncomfortably.

The sight of the bruises from passion not of his irked Achilles even more.

“You whore! Am I not enough for you?” the Greek prince shouted and struck the belt on Paris’ naked back with a loud smack.

The youth winced and gritted his teeth not to scream out.

What he didn’t understand was that why Achilles was putting the blame on him? He didn’t want it and he didn’t seduce his rapist.

“You said you would wait for me before I went away,” Achilles yelled and he poured out his wrath, lash after lash, continuously.

“You lied!”

Twack! Twack!

Paris had neither the time to think nor the possibility to escape from the hard cowhide. Soft grunts and restrained whimpers accompanied the terrifying sharp slapping noises. Unfortunately, Achilles was beyond reason to hear or understand anything other than his lava hot eruptions. There was no pity or sympathy in him. Only his harsh breathing and the red veil in front of his eyes existed. He couldn’t even remember if he was the one who brought down the brown belt and made all those red welts to appear on the once-smooth back.

There was no mercy; only brutality.

The punishment went on until Achilles’ arm ached and tired. He stopped and surveyed the damage. Somehow, through his teary eyes, he began to realize the reality. The raw wounds must hurt Paris terribly even though he had never cried once, but the stabbing in his heart by the betrayal was even worse. Unable to look at him anymore, Achilles threw the belt on the floor and left the bedchamber.

Paris was barely conscious by then, but he was relieved that it was over – for now. He was so exhausted and drained that he wanted to sit down, but he couldn’t move nor could he take a seat on the bed. Every fiery trail on his back was cooperating mercilessly – it was now throbbing in one, huge, mind numbing pain.

His legs were shaking so badly, he was swaying on his feet. He wished he could just drop to his knees on the floor, but Achilles had tied his wrists too high that he would end up dangling from the pole.

Unluckily, this was the least of his problem. A damaged property now, worth dust and carrying all the shame on his back, he was afraid that Achilles would toss him out and force him to live the life less than an animal. The man had threatened him once that he would give him to the men. He wouldn’t survive long in their hands.

Paris couldn’t really blame Achilles though; no honourable man would dare touch him now.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

As instructed, by supper time, Tassos returned to wake his masters. He held a lit oil lamp in his hand for the days had become shorter during the colder seasons. He knocked softly on the door, but when no one answered him, he knocked louder. After some time and still no one answered, Tassos decided to go in and check. They may have left, but he wanted to be sure.

He almost dropped the oil lamp when he opened the door and the illumination fell in to reveal a naked form slumped against the pole of the bed. Paris was dangling awkwardly by the wrists and his entire back was crisscrossed with angry red welts that had swollen and deformed his back.

“Paris!” he rushed over to his friend and placed the oil lamp on the nearby table.

The Trojan youth did not respond; he had fallen unconscious. His head lolled about when Tassos gently tapped his cheeks to waken him. His fear heightened when he noticed that Paris was shivering fiercely and his body felt hot to his touch.

Tassos worked quickly to release his friend. However, as he was physically smaller, he had a tough time moving Paris’ dead weight to the bed. He felt sick in the stomach when he saw the badly abraded skin on his friend’s wrists – it was obvious that Paris had struggled a lot while he was being abused. He took the torn tunic and realized it had been used to tie the older youth to the pole. He didn’t have any choice so he also tore the tunic apart and used it to bind the messed up wrists to stem the flow of blood.

Poor Tassos was too numbed by the horror of his discovery to be able to think what had really happened. The first thing that came into his mind was to seek Master Achilles. Only the man would know what to do to help his lover.

It wasn’t difficult to find him. He passed by several grumbling slaves who complained that the heir of King Peleus was pissed drunk in the Throne Hall – alone. Tassos ran and when he got inside, he saw several clay pitchers lay strewn about on the polished floor. There were also broken pieces scattered.

Ten water nymphs posing in a row on the left and right side of the hall were balancing proudly flaming bronze bowls over their heads. It was the source of light and warmth in the great chamber.

Achilles had taken one of the velvet padded seats that lined just before the statues; one leg was draped over the arm of the chair while the other stretched out lazily on the marble floor. His right hand was gripping on the slender neck of a wine clay pitcher.

“Master Achilles! Master Achilles!” Tassos cried and dropped to his knees in front of the prince. “Please Master Achilles. Master Paris is hurt terribly.”

Achilles looked at the boy at his feet with disinterest; his eyes were glassy and dreamy-like. “He deserves it,” he said and took a long gulp of his wine.

What was going on? Hadn’t Achilles seen the bruises? He should be worried, not getting drunk here. He should be out there seeking justice for Paris.

“But why, Master Achilles? Master Paris had not done anything wrong!” Tassos was bold to question his master and he had never done so. However, his love and loyalty for his friend made him do it.

“He’s a whore,” Achilles slurred monotonously and pushed Tassos away with his sandaled foot. “Go away.”

Tassos could not believe his ears. How could this man accuse his own lover so cruelly?

“He has done no wrong, Master Achilles. Please believe me! He is innocent!” Tassos got up from the floor and clung to Achilles’ leg in desperation. He would not let go even if the prince would kick him to death. Tears were streaming down his eyes as he cried pitifully. He had to convince the prince quickly. Paris was already so weak and he could be dead now.

The Greek Prince gave a snort and went back to his drinking.

It was no use talking to a drunk. Tassos knew this very well. He had to resort to something drastic. He knew he was risking his life for this, but he would do it. Paris had been very kind to him and so he would gladly do anything to repay back that debt.

He ran out of the hall and came back moments later with a bucket of cold water that he dumped on Achilles. The warrior spluttered and cursed in the foulest language he knew. Then he stood up and smacked Tassos brutally across the cheek, causing the boy to be flung several feet away on the floor.

“How dare you!” he roared. He was on top of the boy within a blink of an eye, ready to tear him apart.

The pain on his cheek almost rendered him senseless, but Tassos held on. This was his last chance. It was obvious there was some sort of misunderstanding although he didn’t know what about.
“Paris made me promise not to tell you, but in order to save his life, I will break all rules,” Tassos’ pronunciation was a little off because his right cheek was numb. “I am willing to take any hell, even death if I must. I don’t care. But please believe me. Paris is innocent!”

The look of Achilles almost made him break down from extreme fear of the most fearsome warrior in all of Hellene, but this was a plea for a life.

“He took another man while I was away. You call that innocent?” Achilles snapped acidly. He was extremely bitter. He got off the boy and stood staring down at him menacingly. “You will tell me his name and I will let you live.”

Tassos saw the light to his problem. He knew what had happened now. Achilles’ jealousies was blinding him from the real facts. He picked himself up and walked on his knees towards the seething warrior. He hugged his legs as if for dear life.

“He was forced upon! Unwillingly. Twice.” His voice quavered so much.

“He told you this?” Achilles glared down at the crying creature at his feet.

“No. I was there when Lord Patroclus had mentioned the first incident just before their brawl. Then three days ago, he was assaulted again. I found him in a bad condition by the riverside.”

“Was it Patroclus?” Achilles was feeling sick himself with this new revelation and a dark sinking feeling in his gut that he had made a terrible mistake.

Tassos shook his head. “It was Lord … Neoptolemus,” he gulped.

Achilles didn’t understand it at first, but as it slowly sank into his buzzing brain, he realized what Tassos was saying.

[I’ve seen him, father. Pretty little thing too.]

[Achilles the Golden Lion lets a filthy puppy fill his head with rubbish.]

He never suspected and therefore didn’t bother wondering about Neoptolemus’ cryptic words.

The nasty bite wounds and the bruises on his body – Paris had fought hard against them. THEM! Who else was involved?

“Who else?”

“As far as I know, only Lord Neoptolemus, master,” Tassos answered.

All of a sudden, the colour drained from Achilles’ face.

“Get the physician now!” Achilles snapped as he ran out of the Throne Room.

Tassos obeyed immediately. He prayed in his heart that they were not too late.