A Brother's Love

Title: A Brother’s Love
Author: sylvanelfqueen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Achilles/Paris
Genre: angst, action/adventure
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, their images, or the movie. This is purely a fabrication of my mind. No infringement intended, nor am I making money. Enjoy it for what it is, a story, nothing more.
Warning: rape/non-con, violence
Summary: The love for a brother runs deeper than any other bond known to men, so when Hector’s life is threatened by Achilles, Paris does the only thing he can think of to save his brother from an awful fate; he takes his place.

“HECTOR!” The angry voice rang out clear in the otherwise still air, reverberating off the stonewalls surrounding the palace. The wail of a baby rang out high on the wall accompanied by the quiet pleas of the royal family.
“Do not be so rash, Hector. There are other ways to gain victory than this.” Priam pulled his eldest son close and whispered in his ear. “Do not throw away your life for your brother’s mistake. It should be him out there, not you.”
Hector bit his lip to try to quell the anger that rose in his heart at his father’s harsh words. “Paris is not a fighter. This is my battle now; it has nothing to do with him. Even if he were to give Helen back, it would not stop the war. They will not stop until we are all dead.”
Stepping away from his father, Hector looked his father in the eyes and kissed his brow. “I love you, father, but its not just my life at stake here. I know you’ll understand.” He was about to walk away when his father grabbed his arm and pulled him close.
“Why do you protect him?”
“Because he’s my brother. I’ve loved him since he first drew breath and I will protect him with my life so that he may draw a few more.”
The angry cry rang out again as Hector moved passed his father to his wife and son. No words were needed between them as they had said all they needed to in the privacy of their own home. He plucked his son from Andromache’s arms and kissed the babe’s head before returning him to her embrace. “I love you” was all he whispered to her then he disappeared out of sight.
Paris was waiting at the very end of the line and when his brother approached him, he could do nothing but look down at his sandals. Helen had pled ill and stayed in their rooms so there was no one to stand by his side. He felt a gentle hand fall upon his shoulder as he was pulled into Hector’s embrace and he finally let himself relax.
“Do not despair, little brother. What is willed is what shall be. Nothing we do shall change it either way.” Hector leaned back from the embrace to stare into Paris’s dark eyes. “Do not feel guilt over loving someone. You followed your heart and I cannot find fault with you for that. It was not your fault this happened so let no dark clouds hover o’er you. Promise me this, promise me that you will remain the brother I’ve always loved and protected.”
Paris took a deep breathe and straightened himself, bringing his body to its full stance. He watched the spark of pride that illuminated his older brother’s dark eyes, the same look he had seen numerous times over his life, the same look he would do anything to bring to those eyes again. “I shall do as you command of me, brother.”
It wasn’t the parting line he had wanted to say, but it was what was adequate and expected of him in the situation. He wanted to beg his brother not to leave him, tell him he was sorry for messing up all that they had strived to build, and to confess his love and adoration of his older sibling like he had done when he was small. Instead, he appeared cold and uncaring in the face of his brother’s almost certain death.
By the time his mind shook itself out of its shock, Hector was descending the stairs to the city gate. He watched, frozen in place, as his brother emerged from the gates and walk out to meet his foe. His ears could hear the clangs of metal upon metal, the scuff of sandals in the dirt and the grunts of exertion, but his mind was deaf to them. His eyes saw the battle going on, but all his mind’s eye could see was his brother’s lifeless corpse upon the pyre. He could see the sad faces of his family and feel their secret hatred of him. And there was that empty spot in his heart that grew continuously larger with each flame that licked at the body. Helen wouldn’t want someone so worthless, someone who couldn’t fight for her and fight his own battles; she would leave him and all his brother died for would be for naught. He couldn’t let this happen, not while he still drew breath.
Struggling to stand up from his chair, Paris limped across the wall, ignoring the looks cast to him as he fled down the stairs and into the dark shadows of the streets. His leg still pained him from his battle with Menelaus, but he would be damned if he would let that spoil his plan. Stepping into the armory, he pulled on his breastplate and skirt he had stashed there before hand. He cast a glance at his sword and shield, but thought better of it. If his plan was going to work, he would need to be unarmed. Weapons would only hinder him now, or get someone else hurt.

Hector grunted as he tripped over a rock in exhaustion. He scrambled backwards along the ground, his hand ever searching for the tip of the broken spear as Achilles advanced upon him. Fingers met the splintered wood and wrapped around the shaft as he lunged up from the ground, crashing his body into his opponent’s.
Achilles lost his footing but didn’t fall. He stayed upright as he threw the Trojan prince off him, almost as if Hector’s touched burned and shamed him. He watched as the prince stumbled and crashed to ground once more in exhaustion. “I will not let that rock take my glory. You must make a better move than that prince, if you wish to see your family again.” He spat the words out like poison as he circled the downed prince. His intentions of lunging at the staggering man were halted by the sudden appearance of another soldier behind him.
Paris stood warily behind the mighty warrior, only planning to interfere when his brother’s life was truly at stake. He was thrown off track, however, when the brute rounded on him without warning, kicking out at his injured leg and knocking him flat on his back. In an instant, he was looking up at the end of a sword pointed directly at his throat. Achilles stood above him, smirking almost triumphantly.
“What is this? Another Trojan prince coming to the rescue? I should think not. You are not worthy of that title.” Achilles pressed the tip of his sword into the exposed flesh of Paris’s neck, watching as blood trickled down the pale skin from the small wound.
Hector stood up from the ground, but didn’t advance any further, knowing that doing so would certainly end his brother’s life. Over Achilles’ shoulder, their eyes met for the briefest moment and Hector was shocked at what he saw there. No fear or even the slightest trace of regret, only stone cold determination and love shone in the dark depths. Paris knew what he was doing and nothing short of death would sway him from his cause. “What are you doing, Paris?” he couldn’t help but question as Achilles circled the young prince.
“Doing what I need to.” Paris tore his gaze away from his brother and met those of the Myrmidon leader. “I offer myself to you now, mighty Achilles, to do with as you see fit. Let me take my brother’s position so that he may return to his family and those who need him. I fully submit to you, if you only grant that my brother shall live and leave here unharmed.”
“And what deems you worthy to take your brother’s place? It was not you who took away what meant most to me. This battle has nothing to do with you and everything to do with your brother. I shall let you live if you go back to your palace and let us finish our business.” Achilles grabbed Paris by the hair and pulled him to his feet. He was about to toss the prince in the direction of the city gate when the young prince’s hand grasped his wrist.
“It has everything to do with me for it is my fault this war has started. Let me end this, too many lives have been lost already. Over what? If Troy is to lose a prince, let it be me, the one who caused all this pain.”
“Don’t be a fool, Paris.” Hector whispered to his brother but knew his words would not be heeded. “You do not need to do this. Father didn’t mean his words; this was not your fault!” He was ready to get on his knees and plead for his little brother’s life.
“It is. I was a coward, but I shall not die a coward’s death. Tell father I love him.” Paris couldn’t look at his brother as he spoke, but stared dead ahead into Achilles’ unflinching gaze.
Achilles was at first angered at the boy’s defiance, but couldn’t help the waves of lust that crashed over him. The prince was as beautiful as they said, maybe even more so, and he was fully submitting to Achilles’ will. He once again thought of tossing the boy aside and finishing the battle, but quickly thought better of it as he press his sword into the prince’s neck, pulling his body tight against his own making Paris a human shield.
“I accept your offer, prince, but know that you shall suffer a fate far worse than death. You will suffer for the thousands of lives lost at your hands. Your brother may go back to the palace, but if we cross paths again, I will not hesitate to take his life.”
With that said, Achilles pulled Paris with him back towards his horse and chariot. As they sped off towards the enemy camp, Hector collapsed to his knees in the dust knowing he had failed his brother. In all his days, he had sworn to protect his little brother whom he cherished with all his heart. Now, he watched his brother ride off in the hands of his enemy, subjecting him to torture, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Andromache, Priam, and the newly arrived Helen fled from the safety of the walls and out to the field where Hector sat dejected. His wife was the first to arrive as she threw herself at him, pulling him close and letting the first few tears of relief flow from her dark eyes. Priam was a few steps behind, pulling his son to his feet and embracing him. Hector pulled away from his father, rage flowing through his veins, making him see red.
“This is your fault,” he hissed to his father as he pulled his wife closer to him, hoping to comfort her. “He did this so you wouldn’t think him a coward.”
Helen didn’t approach them but stood rooted to one spot, watching the direction in which horse and chariot had sped off. Nothing but the settling dust could be seen on the horizon, but she watched anyway. She had come up to the wall in time to see Paris collapse to the ground and have a sword pressed to his neck. Her heart shattered in her chest at the thought that he would die not knowing how much she truly loved him. Their parting this morning had been anything but loving.
“Helen.” Hector stepped away from his father and wife and walked over to where his sister-in-law stood, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her close and kissed her brow. “I swear by my life and death that I shall get him back.”


Once out of range of the archers on the walls, Achilles removed his sword from Paris’s throat and allowed him to sink down to the floor of the chariot. His leg throbbed and a small amount of blood seeped from the torn stitches, but he didn’t regret his decision. The things that were about to happen to him he knew he wouldn’t like, and would most likely beg for death before the end, but he would never regret saving his brother from an unjustified death.
He leaned his head back and let his eyes slip closed. He focused upon the rumble of the wheels and the thunder of the horse’s hooves. As the chariot started to slow, a hand reached down and grabbed him by hair, roughly yanking him from his reclining position. Paris held in the yelp of pain as fumbled to gain his feet. The air rushed out of his lungs as Achilles’ slammed the prince’s smaller frame against his chest and once again placed the sword to his throat, letting the blade cut in a little deeper than it had before.
The shouts and calls that arose from the beach sickened Paris to no end but despite his best efforts, he could not block them out. The taunts and threats he had learned to deal with, being smaller than the kids his age when he was growing up, but he couldn’t deal with the lust burning in every set of eyes that landed upon him. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that some males preferred male lovers, but what he couldn’t understand was why they were all looking at him like that.
“They think you’re beautiful, prince. We shall see if they will be pleased with you or not. One as beautiful as yourself must be an amazing lover, or so they say.” Achilles whispered to the prince. “Look in their eyes. They can’t wait to feel you beneath them. Should I give them the pleasure? Hmm, or should I let them wonder what you feel like? Why should I share my prize, but then again, why would I spare you?”
Paris couldn’t help the shuttered that wracked his body at the other man’s words. Somewhere in his mind he knew that this was coming, but as of yet, he hadn’t accepted that it would actually happen. He knew what people said about him, but they were just rumors. He had never bed another person before, nor had he ever pleasured himself. Paris was nothing like rumors, he was as virginal as the temple servants.
Achilles pulled him out of his thoughts when he drug him from the chariot and into a tent. The voices had faded out now that they were out of the crowd of lascivious soldiers. The only sounds that Paris could hear were the crash of the waves upon the shore and his own breathing.
He landed in a heap on the floor as Achilles tossed him in the tent. His face contorted in pain as his injured leg landed under him but he remained silent. Achilles came up behind him as he stripped out of his armor. Paris could feel the other man’s hand descend upon his shoulder and start to strip him but still he made no move nor sound. Part of his mind had shut everything out, even though he knew what was happening.
It wasn’t until Achilles pushed him face down into the bedding that his mind came fully back to itself. His legs were spread wide, his hips hoisted high in the air exposing every inch of him. He bit his lip as he felt Achilles’ rod nudge his entrance before iron strong hands gripped his hips and the soldier brutally thrust into him. Paris could no longer hold in his cry of pain as he was violated.
The silky steel of Achilles’ member pounded him relentlessly, tearing his resisting flesh as it forged ahead. There was nothing but pain as his unprepared body was forced to accept the unyielding cock. Blood seeped down his thighs, collecting in a puddle beneath him. Achilles’ breath grew ragged as his peak rapidly approached and as his pleasure watched over him he collapsed upon the smaller man, burying his face in the bedding, slowly suffocating him.
Paris struggled as the man’s body descended upon him. The air rushed out of his lungs as the man’s body crushed him. He squirmed and wriggled, trying to get his face out of the blankets so he could breath, but it was no use. Achilles was too large for Paris to move on his own.
His vision was just starting to darken when Achilles rolled from off of his back, pulling his softening member out of Paris’s defiled body with a painful jerk. Paris cried out softly as he was pulled back to consciousness. He was flipped over onto his back and looked up fearfully into the eyes of his captor.
“You’re not loose enough to be the whore everyone says you are, my prince.” Achilles grasped Paris’s flaccid member and ran his hand up and down the shaft. “So either you only give it to others, or you aren’t what people make you out to be.” He watched in amusement as the prince turned bright red despite the tear streaming down his cheeks. The young man’s member started to grow hard on its own accord and Paris gasped, having never before had release.
It was the look upon the prince’s face that told Achilles the blatant truth. “You’ve never done it, have you? You’ve never bed another person.” The cold, uncaring demeanor covered his surprise as he continued to stoke the boy to full hardness. “Well, we wouldn’t want you die without experiencing it, now would we?”
“No, please.” Paris choked on his words as waves of pleasure surged over him. He didn’t want this, so why was his body betraying him! He let out a half-sob, half-moan as Achilles changed the cadence the slightest bit, bringing him faster to his peak. “Stop, please. I’ll do whatever, just not this. Please.”
The desperation in the boy’s voice and the frightened, shamed look on his face made Achilles stop. There was something in his innocence that reminded him so much of his dead lover. Anger welled in his heart as Patroclus’ face, cold in death, flashed before his eyes, making him lash out on the prince.
His fist connected with Paris’s jaw, rocketing his head to the side. Achilles landed a few more blows to the boy’s body before his rage faded. He heard the whimpers and looked down at the body beneath him, guilt welling his chest, replacing the fury.
Blood steamed down from Paris’s nose and from his lips. His naked body quaked with fear as he struggled to breath despite the obvious pain in his chest. He panted heavily; each exhale was accompanied by a small wince of gasp. But despite this, Paris stayed still, keeping by his promise of full submission.
Achilles stormed out of the tent, ignoring the imploring looks of the waiting soldiers outside. Questions were cast his way about the prince but they were waved off as he walked down the beach. His mind was reeling with thoughts that he couldn’t think. In the tent, he had almost felt sorry for the prince and spared him the torture. The boy, which was what he really was compared to Achilles, was so vulnerable and innocent just like Patroclus had been. But it was his lover’s face that had made him hurt the young man even more. He needed to think and give the prince time to recover. Paris wasn’t going anywhere, that much was obvious.

The soldiers watched as Achilles walked out of sight, then poked their heads through the tent flap. They had seen the prince when he had come to their camp and heard the noises of the past hour or so. Curiosity got the best of them and they couldn’t resist the urge to take a peek or maybe more. As the flaps were pushed aside, they could see the prince’s body lying on the bedding, blood covering his legs and his face. Bruises were blossoming on his chest and stomach. But despite all of that, he was still beautiful.
Murmurs of approval and lust rippled through the group as two men advanced into the tent. They were mesmerized by his beauty and drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The first one reached out and brushed his fingers along the bloody face, watching as the dark eyes flickered open and turned towards him in fear.
Paris tried desperately to swallow his fear and revulsion but as a few other men advanced upon, all with same look on their faces, he couldn’t help but whimper. He knew what was coming and didn’t think he could survive another brutal violation. By the looks of it though, he didn’t have a choice. Hands snaked out and grabbed him, and covered his mouth to muffle any protests, as he was drug out of the tent and back to the middle of the camp. Fresh blood streaked the sand as they hauled him after them.
He was tossed down next to a large campfire and was almost instantly surrounded by soldiers. The man who had taken him from the tent came and pulled him once again to his feet and shoved towards the waiting men. Hands grabbed him, stroking his back and chest, grabbing his member, and fingers digging into his hips, drawing him closer. As one man started to push his rock hard member into Paris’s ravaged entrance, the prince lashed out.
He wouldn’t let this happen again. He would deal with whatever punishment came his way but he wouldn’t be violated again while he still had strength left in him. His fist connected with one man’s face, knocking him to the ground. More hands lunged forward and grabbed Paris’s struggling limbs, tackling him to the ground. One of his arms landed in the fire, scorching his skin and making him scream.
“Tie him down!” One of men yelled and instantly Paris found himself on his hands and knees while men tied leather straps around his wrists and ankles. They were staked into the sand, spreading the prince out like a sacrifice for the gods. His arms were stretched up above his head while his legs were forced open wide exposing his already damaged body. Murmurs of approval and excitement rippled through the crowd again as they surveyed their work.
Another man entered the crowd carrying a whip and approached Paris. He ran the whip over the prince’s back before he cracked it down on his bare skin. Paris jerked in his bonds at the unexpected pain, but didn’t have time to recover before more rained down upon him. It hit his legs, his back, his ass, his shoulders, and any part of his body they could reach. And it didn’t stop when they lashed his skin open into raw gashes.
It went on for a long while until Paris was barely conscious and started to collapse. That’s when they took advantage of him, each taking a turn to rape the prince. Some, in their sick, depraved ways, used objects to see how much his body could take before it started to tear.
Paris was barely aware of what was happening to his body anymore. Each hard cock was replaced by another and time blurred together until he knew no more. Darkness started to descend over his mind when the abuse stopped. Hands were on him again, though this time they were gentle as they worked the ties loose from his limbs. With nothing holding his weight any longer, Paris collapsed into the sand with a whimper. Every fiber of his being hurt, no part of his body had been left untouched.
Achilles picked up the boy’s body, trying to be mindful of his injuries, and carried him silently back to his tent. He had come back to find the prince gone from the bed. He knew that Paris wouldn’t leave on his own, probably couldn’t, then he had heard the shouts and moans of the other men. The man who was taking his turn with the prince never saw the killing blow coming and slumped dead to the ground silently. Seeing the rage in the warrior’s eyes, all the other men quickly backed away, not ready to meet their demise quite yet.
He laid the fragile body down on the blankets and quickly wrapped him up. He wouldn’t do anything for Paris, afraid of the boy’s reaction if he were to wake up. No, he would wait; he knew Hector and his army were on their way and it would only be a matter of time before the Trojan prince came to rescue his brother. On his way back to the camp, he had seen them advancing stealthily in the night. By dawn, there would be no Achaeans left to tell of what happened.

Hector gave the man next to him one last look before he nodded. “Don’t stop until they are all dead,” he whispered to his second in command. Then, he turned his horse away from his army and rode down the beach to where he knew Achilles encampment was. He would meet the warrior blade to blade again if it meant Paris would be safe.
Other men had begged to come with Hector, wanting to help him rescue the prince, but he had denied them. This was an act he would do alone for it was his fault his brother was where he was. He knew those under him in command could handle the assault; they had before his time and others would long after him. But no one else could handle Achilles.
He pulled up just short of the lone tent. Achilles and his Myrmidons were secluded from the rest of the army, but the famous warrior was the most private. There was no movement around the tent, no watch fire, and no men to be seen. Briefly, he wondered what had happened here for he saw the extinguished fire, the blood and bonds, and the dead body, but quickly thought better of it. There would be plenty of time to contemplate all that had happened later. Right now, he needed to find Paris.
Pulling aside the flaps of the tent, Hector was surprised to see Achilles kneeling over a body, gently running a cloth over his face. He could clearly see that the body was Paris and he was unconscious, but what he didn’t know was why the warrior was showing his brother mercy. He hadn’t expected that in the least.
Achilles looked up from cleaning the prince’s face to see Hector standing there, sword drawn with a perplexed look on his face. Achilles sat back from Paris, pulling the blanket back up over the boy’s body to keep him warm. Dark blue eyes swiveled back up to meet those of dark brown, trying to judge the emotions playing within their depths. When Hector made no move to advance any further, Achilles stood and walked out of the tent, not saying a word.
This confused Hector even more but he wasn’t about to contemplate the other man’s actions. He rushed into the tent and knelt down at his brother’s side, gently stroking the damp curls away from the bruised face. He was afraid to touch him anywhere else not knowing the extent of his injuries. As careful as could be, he gathered in brother in his arms and carried him out to his horse.
A small whimper came from the body swaddled in the blankets, which Hector was quick to comfort. He whispered into his brother’s ear as he mounted his horse. “You’re safe now, little brother. Go back to sleep, we shall be home soon enough.” Much to his surprise, Paris’s eyes fluttered open and stared up at his face for a moment, a small smile curving his lips before he slipped back into the darkness.
Hector pressed a small kiss to his brother’s brow. It was Paris’s love that saved his life. And it had been Hector’s love for his brother that had saved the prince in kind. No one would ever utter the name Paris without thinking of his sacrifice and his bravery; Hector would personally see to that. He smiled as he pulled his baby brother closer to him as they galloped back to the city. “We’re going home.”