"Brother, why?" Paris sat up with the soft clanking of golden chains.
Hector pushed the boy back down on the altar with a broad hand on his sternum. "You know this is not as I wish it," the general said. "You heard me protest the high priest's augury."
"Then why are you helping them?"
Hector looked into eyes as black as his own, but infinitely softer, and steeled himself for what he must do.
"I am helping you, Paris. Would you rather be here with the high priest, or a stranger chosen by him?"
The boy shook his head, silken curls trailing across smooth shoulders. Hector's heart ached for his beautiful brother; it was Paris' attractiveness that had led to this.
"I still do not understand," Paris said softly.
Hector gentled the boy to lie quietly on his back and tenderly stroked the sable hair. He looked quickly around the Temple of Apollo as if he suspected the priests of lurking in the shadows. In fact, the general was certain he and Paris were being observed, but it was important to him that his little brother be given the illusion of privacy.
"Apollo has turned his face from Troy," Hector said, untangling a dainty trinket that snagged in Paris' hair. "In a dream, the high priest has received a message from our Patron God. Apollo is angered that you presided over the Goddesses competition."
"How could I refuse them?" Paris asked.
"A good question since you have never been able to refuse anything in skirts," Hector answered. "Nor can they resist you. The Gods made you too desirable and now they will punish you for it."
"That is not fair," the boy protested.
"No, it is not," Hector agreed. "But that is the way of it. Now, lie still and let me prepare you for the Sun God's arrival."
"You are frightening me, brother," Paris said.
Hector let his big hands slide lower, massaging Paris' neck and shoulders. "Have I ever let anything harm you?" he asked.
Paris shook his head more vehemently, dislodging an ornament that fell to the floor and bounced across the marble.
"Then do not be frightened," Hector said. "For I will stay by your side until this is over."
Hector leaned and picked up the wide, shallow vessel that held the ceremonial wine. "Here, brother, you must be thirsty. Have a little more wine."
Paris drank eagerly while his brother held the kylix to his lips. Hector up-ended the nearly empty cup over the brazier with the eternal flame. With a hiss and coil of dark smoke, the telltale lees of crushed herbs were consumed. With satisfaction, the general watched Paris' fathomless eyes grow vague and heavy-lidded.
"How do you feel, brother?" Hector asked as he walked to the other end of the altar.
Paris giggled softly. "I think I may have had too much, too fast," he said.
"That is the Gods' truth," Hector said under his breath.
The elder Prince of Troy pulled his Paris' long legs up and planted his feet wide on the slab of marble. The drugged younger Prince rose up on his elbows and watched with a slack grin on his face.
"What are you doing?" the boy slurred cheerfully as Hector pulled his tunic over his head.
Hector dragged his brother's fine silk tunic down until it dangled from the boy's shackled wrists. Though he knew the chains were there, now he could not see or hear them.
"You will not need your garment," Hector said reasonably, letting his eyes dwell on Paris.
Though Hector preferred females, his little brother's appeal was indisputable. The general could easily see why men and women alike had made fools of themselves over the graceful boy. He knew how good Paris' smooth skin felt to the touch, how like silk the fine hair ran through the fingers. Yes, Hector could even understand why a wedded queen would forsake home and vows to love Paris.
With a reminder that he did this for his brother's sake, Hector untied Paris' loincloth and bared the boy's groin. Paris snickered and then gasped as cool air wafted over his manhood. Hector was not surprised when the rod of flesh stirred. It took naught much more than a breeze to rouse Paris.
Taking up the amphora of sacred oil, Hector poured a liberal amount over his fingers. Flattening his left palm against Paris' inner thigh, the general ran his other hand up the boy's cleft. Paris jumped and moved restlessly.
"You are tickling me, brother," the young Prince complained.
"Shush," Hector soothed. "Lie back down, Paris, and let me finish."
"Oh!" Paris exclaimed, as Hector's fingertip bumped against his lower opening.
"Easy, brother," the general said as though calming a restive steed. "Easy, now. This will no doubt feel strange, but lie you still and you will be glad of it later."
"Are you going to put a finger in me and rub my weak spot?" Paris asked drowsily.
Hector looked up at his little brother. "Weak spot?" the general said.
"Mmm-hm. That is what that slave girl from Sparta called it," Paris said. "She would often put her finger in me while taking my manhood in her mouth. It feels marvelous."
Hector raised his eyebrows, wondering why he was surprised. The first time Andromache had done it to him, the general had nearly leaped from their bed. However, Paris was right; it felt marvelous.
"I am going to open you with my fingers," Hector said. "To allow entry of something larger."
Paris struggled to rise, but the herbs had taken full effect and his muscles moved sluggishly. The young Prince managed to lift his head and his eyes focused slowly on the object in his brother's hand. The slim ivory phallus glowed faintly in the mellow light of the myriad votive candles, its elegant length deeply carved in the Egyptian manner.
"H-Hector?" the boy said uneasily.
The elder Prince tenderly stroked his brother's thigh. "I need you to trust me now, little brother," he said. "Do you trust me?"
Paris nodded slowly. Of course, he trusted Hector. Hector would never hurt him. Or allow him to come to harm. Paris believed that with all his heart.
"Then do as I say and lie still," Hector said. "What I do, I do to spare you greater pain later. Do you understand?"
Again, Paris inclined his head dreamily.
"Relax, little brother. I have put herbs in your wine that will help. You will feel pressure, but it will not hurt. Do you hear me? It will not hurt."
"I hear you, brother," Paris said faintly.
Hector set his jaw and eased the tip of the dildo into the boy's oiled opening. Paris sucked in a big breath and held it until Hector smacked his bottom.
"Breathe," the general ordered. "You are too stiff."
Paris did as the beloved voice said, taking deep breaths and relaxing his muscles. Hector applied pressure and the carved ivory sank into the snug sheath. The general lost his grip on the phallus when Paris reacted with unexpected energy. The boy made a small, sharp sound of surprise as his hips thrust strongly upward.
Hector put a hand on Paris's flat stomach and urged him back. The elder Prince took hold of the dildo's wire-wrapped handle and drew it back a bit. Paris whimpered, trying to hold still as Hector wished, but the stimulation of the carved rod was overwhelming.
"I cannot do this," Hector said, pulling on the phallus.
"Ah Gods!" Paris exclaimed. "Do that again."
Hector's cheeks burned, but he pushed the ivory rod back into the small socket. Paris moaned loudly and lifted his pelvis again.
"I do not do this to pleasure you," the general insisted. "I wish only to you prepare for Apollo."
Paris moaned again, arching his back. This was much better than when the pleasure slave put her fingers in him. The phallus stretched him most agreeably, stimulating every part of his sheath. He wondered if this was what women felt when he mounted them. If so, he could certainly understand what all the noise was about.
"Paris?" Hector said. "That is all of it. You can relax now."
The young Prince of Troy settled back to the altar with the slender dildo embedded in his passage. Patting Paris' knee, Hector moved from the end of the altar to the side. Gradually, Paris realized that the phallus was not moving anymore and whined deep in his throat.
"Shhh," Hector said, putting a finger over his brother's sculpted lips. "Lie still, little brother and become accustomed to the feel of it. Soon enough, you will receive all of the intimate attention you can bear."
"Brother," Paris panted. "You cannot leave me so."
"I will not leave you," Hector said. "Did I not promise to stay by your side?"
"Hector, please," the boy implored, pulling at his golden manacles, moving sinuously against the cool stone.
"Nay, do not ask me," Hector said. "I have never been able to say no to you."
"Touch me, brother," Paris said, moving his hips suggestively.
"It is the drug," Hector said suddenly, watching his brother writhing wantonly on the altar. "The high priest lied to me about the effects. The herbs have not made you numb and sleepy. They have made you more sensitive and taken away your judgment."
Paris heard his brother's voice, but heeded not Hector's words. The young Prince was lost in a sensual fog, conscious of little more than the delightful feeling of fullness in his lower half and the tantalizing pressure against his most sensitive spot. If only it would shift just the slightest bit the stimulation would be sublime.
Clenching his interior muscles around the wonderful hardness of the dildo, Paris tried his best to alleviate the tension that coiled ever tighter in his groin. If he did not get relief soon, he would fly into small pieces from the strain. Paris whimpered and poured his entire soul into a passionate prayer for release.
