Favorite Son

Hector snores quite loudly. I know this because he allows me to sleep in his bed now. It is a very comforting sound, and I must take comfort where I may, for he does not hold me, but only allows me to nestle against his broad back.

He is so strange. He does not believe he deserves to know pleasure. Worse, he does not believe that I should know it! It is manifestly absurd. How should I fail to enjoy his embrace? And yet he has succeeded in some way through his refusal of pleasure, for I cannot deny that our grim coupling affords less satisfaction than even I might have imagined. At times in the night he will turn to me suddenly, and kiss my nipples and rut against me. He finds his release in complete silence, as though he refuses to permit me to hear his ecstasy. Although he whispers in my ear often that it is his responsibility and that I have no fault in this, he never fails to take care that I find release as well, yet it is a hard thing to bear, as I am in love and not permitted to behave so.

At times I am angry with him, but I do not let it be seen. That he would not deserve. He takes everything upon his shoulders. He thinks that Troy would not stand were he not here. He attends the banquets, the feasts, the merrymaking; as well he visits the merchants to see the goods they have traded, or the artisans to see what they have made. He visits the taverns with his warriors. He knows every brick, every pillar of the city. He knows the names of the farmers who hold the nearby fields. He knows the lay of the sands along the western shore, and where to find the herds of wild horses. He loves Troy and her people, and he takes a great interest in everything to do with her, yet he allows himself so little pleasure. The people in turn love Hector, but he does not see it.

I think that is why the goddess revealed herself to me, and sent me on my journey, so that I came at last to Troy: to teach Hector how to be loved.

On this dark and peaceful night, I am lying in his bed, curled against his solid back, wanting more. I want to be kissed. He will only kiss my cheek or my forehead, and rarely am I permitted to kiss his mouth. Instead I must content myself with bestowing kisses on the dimples that show when he smiles, rare though that is.

The peace is somewhat marred by an unusually stentorian rumble from Hector. I should not be surprised if the sentries on the watchtowers can hear him. Perhaps they are smiling fondly and saying to one another, “Ah, Prince Hector sleeps! All is well!”

At this thought I cannot suppress a giggle. Hector stirs. He sleeps lightly, so he will be awake in a moment. Therefore I jostle his shoulder.

“Let me sleep,” he mutters.

“I have been thinking,” I say.

“Now?”

I let this pass, for in this drowsy state he will be forgiving. “I would like to see my family,” I begin. “That is, my home – or that is, I would like to visit Mount Ida.” I wince inwardly, but in the darkness perhaps he will pay no mind.

He turns to face me and crooks his arm to rest his head upon it. I take this chance to lay my own head on his arm as well, and press against him. “A visit?” he asks quietly, not rebuffing me.

“Only a visit,” I am quick to assure him. “And I beg that you will accompany me.”

His other arm winds around me until I am enveloped in his embrace. “Are you unhappy at Troy?”

He sounds so uncertain, so unlike Hector, that my heart stops for a moment. “No!” I swear. “Every day I thank the gods for bringing me here.”

The arm that encircles me squeezes very hard, nearly taking my breath away. “Then you will not try to leave me again?”

“No, Hector,” I whisper, hiding my face against his chest. “I did not mean that, I was being very foolish.”

“No more than I,” he whispers back. “You said you had taken nothing of value from Troy,” he continues.

“I took nothing!” I cry, deeply offended.

“That is not true,” he persists. “You took the one thing I have come to value most in all of Troy.”

How can he say such a thing? I walked for hours with nothing but the clothes I was wearing when I first – Oh. Tears start in my eyes. I find myself very grateful for the darkness.

He kisses the crown of my head and breathes my name softly. His hand begins to stroke my back, as though to comfort me, thus giving me time to recover myself. The hand moves slowly down my torso and gently grips my thigh.

“I want you to love me, Hector,” I say quietly.

He moves his hand again, to take my cock in it.

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“I meant,” I tell him haltingly, “I want to feel you inside me.”

His hand stills but holds me. He wants this. I know it. Very nearly I can feel the blood heating his skin where it touches mine. When he chooses, I know the moment, for he releases me and rises up to loom over me. I feel his hands on me, starting to turn me over.

“We need oil,” I say hurriedly.

“Oil?” He sounds mystified.

How can he be so thick? “Lamp oil will do,” I say. “Or olive.”

After a pause in which I imagine he ponders the situation and then understanding dawns, he leaves the bed and returns with a small bronze vessel which he places on the floor next the bed. He climbs over me again. “Should you not lay upon your belly?”

“No, like this,” I tell him.

“Will it not hurt?”

“Not so long as we use the oil. Put it on yourself and in me.” He still seems vaguely puzzled but dips his fingers in the oil. I place my legs on either side of his and cant my hips and guide his hand. We both shudder deeply when his finger breaches me.

“Oh, Paris,” he says softly.

For my part I am mewling like a kitten, feeling outlandish yet I cannot stop myself. “Pour the oil in my hands,” I gasp, and he reaches for the vessel while his finger remains inside me and twists, making me cry out.

Startled, Hector withdraws the finger rather too quickly. “Have I hurt you?”

I shake my head. I reach out with my hands and he finds them in the dark and pours oil over them and all over the bedclothes. This makes me want to giggle again, and even Hector chuckles quietly. He stops instantly when I begin to lather his cock with the oil. Like the rest of Hector, it is large. I know a moment’s hesitation when I consider whether it will truly fit, but Hector would not harm me, and if I must, I know that I may tell him to stop.

“Now put it inside me,” I instruct him. I know what he is thinking by now. In another moment he will most likely speak, so to distract him I lift my legs to put them over his shoulders. He stops me by grabbing my heels.

“Paris,” he asks, a touch of danger in his voice, “have you done this before?”

I chew on my lip. I do not wish to answer, yet it seems improbable that the wish will be realized. Moreover, I feel very foolish with my legs suspended in the air.

“Paris?”

“Yes,” I answer with some petulance.

“In Troy?”

“Of course not!”

He falls silent while he ruminates on this fresh knowledge. His control is maddening to me, as it always is to everyone around him. I try to distract him again by reaching for his cock. I myself will put it inside me if I must. Yet his huge body is making it difficult for my legs to go where I want them to go, since I am smaller. Squirm as I might, I cannot achieve my objective and I let out a sob of frustration and surrender the attempt, dropping my legs back to the bed.

Then Hector’s gentle hands are on me, turning me until I lay on my chest. He lifts my hips and seizes a silken pillow to push beneath, while I bury my face in another pillow and let a few tears leak silently into it.

“You must tell me if I hurt you,” he whispers. I feel him enter me. It does hurt, but I will not tell him that. After a moment, he takes my silence for assent. He draws partly out and thrusts in again cautiously, then pauses.

“Oooh,” I moan, trying to be encouraging.

He repeats the action. The pain is receding and I am beginning to understand that I have, at last, what I wanted so deeply. Hector is loving me completely. If I cannot be held and kissed while he does this to me, at least he is mine in this moment.

He begins to rock and thrust in a steady rhythm, always gently.

Perhaps too gently.

“Faster,” I pant. “More.”

“Truly?”

“Please!”

He releases my hips and leans upon his elbows, bending low over me, his lips on the nape of my neck. It seems as though I am inside him, for he covers me so completely, pressing me deeply into the bed and rocking me like a boat on the sea until the pleasure is building and buzzing inside me.

He stops abruptly – reminding me of his harebrained command that I should be taking no pleasure in this act – and bites my shoulder and grunts very quietly in his throat, and I feel his release within me. Quickly he rolls over and brings me with him until I am once again safe in his arms.

“Hector?” I ask tentatively.

“Hush,” he says, and takes my cock in his hand and strokes me until my release covers his hand and his belly.

We are both still breathing hard. I reach for the bedclothes, already covered with oil, intending to clean Hector, but he stops my hand. “Leave it be,” he says, and pulls the eiderdown over us and nuzzles my hair.

“Will you kiss me now?” I beseech him.

“No, Paris, you know it would be wrong,” he says, and the tenderness in his voice nearly breaks me again.

For a long while I remain awake. Neither does Hector sleep, and I wait in vain for the snoring to commence. Instead, an owl hoots somewhere. The distant voices of the sentries carry on the wind.

And Hector holds me until I am lost in my dreams.

And in those dreams, she comes to me, all sunlight and seafoam and long waving hair of gold. She beckons and I follow her to the green slopes of Mount Ida, where I see my beautiful brother, sitting in the shade of a tree, eating an apple and gazing out over the far-off sea. She takes my hand and whispers in my ear, “All the gods of Olympus love him, but he knows nothing of us. He waits for you, Alexandros.”