Work Text:
that prince of troy got an ASS on him
Posted by Achilles at 11pm - only twenty minutes prior. Seventeen thousand comments, twenty thousand retweets and thirty thousand likes.
Paris stares at the tweet displayed on his phone in horror. With shaking hands, he clicks on the tweet. The top comment says: on ZEUS he does. by @PARISCORE. The tweet has fifteen thousand quote retweets. The first one is a simple ‘?’ the second one is ‘Greeks are disgusting.’ Paris likes and retweets that one.
Almost dizzy with fright, Paris makes his way to his brother’s chambers in a haze, bumping into many people as he does, busy as he is with staring at his phone. In the ten minutes it takes him to reach Hector, the tweet gains twelve thousand more likes.
“Paris what are you -?” Andromache starts, frowning at her good brother. She lies in her bed unaware of the horrors Paris is being subjected to, whilst his brother seems to be about to start undressing. “Hector,” Paris breathes. “I need - gods, Hector. You have to see this.” He shoves his phone into his brother’s hands. Andromache rises from the bed to make her way to them, leaning over her husband’s shoulder to see and her brows shoot up as she finishes reading the tweet.
“I should have never come with you to battle today,” Paris says miserably. “Look what’s come of that!”
Hector does not seem to sympathize with his younger brother’s plight overly much as he hands Paris his phone back. “He won’t find you past Troy’s gates.” He says. “Now return to your wife and child.”
“But what if he manages to capture me in battle?” Paris asks despairingly. Andromache lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously a lot like laughter.
“What battle?” Hector asks wryly. “Today was your first and only battle. You will never cross Troy’s gates again while the Greeks still toil beyond them.”
A silver of relief breaks through the younger prince’s anxiety. Of course. Of course his brother would protect him. “Thank you, Hector.” He breathes. “Thank you.” He throws himself into his brother’s arms, hugging him tightly. Hector tenses for a second then relaxes, patting Paris on the back lightly.
“Off you go now,” Hector says. “I wish to sleep.”
“Of course, of course.” Paris mutters. “Sleep well, brother. You as well, Andromache.”
Andromache nods, watching him leave with a small smile. Hector already has his back to him and Paris finds that he doesn’t care for his brother’s lack of response. He’s done enough already, protecting Paris from Menelaus and Agamemnon and now a demigod!
Paris walks away from his brother, relieved beyond measures to have Hector as his older brother.
__________
“Prince Hector has been captured!” Polydamas cries out, barging into the dining chamber.
A knife clatters against a plate, someone cries out - likely Andromache - but Paris finds that he can care for none of that as ice cold fear grips his soul. Oh gods, oh gods. Not even a week since that tweet and already, Paris has lost his protector. Is this to be his punishment for his hubris? Because Paris knows, deep in his soul, that after Hector it will be him.
________
The Greeks - Myrmidons, Hector thinks - do not take Hector easily. They surround the prince, isolating him from his troops, then they press him, forcing him into a defensive stance for what felt like hours. But Hector does not back down, nor does he despair. In war, there is no place for that. It is either fight with all you have, or leave Andromache a widow and Scamandrios an orphan.
At some point, one of the Greeks seems to tire of their macabre dance and delivers a decisive blow to Hector’s head. The helm takes the brunt of that blow, but Hector still feels it. It knocks him off his feet for a second - and that is all that they need. Within a heartbeat, Hector is disarmed, his helm thrown aside. A Greek stands over him, exhaustion and anger clear on his face. “You just can’t stay down, can you?” The Greek asks.
Hector bears his teeth in response. With a scowl, the Greek brings the pommel of his sword down on Hector’s head.
________
Hector wakes with a dull, throbbing pain in his skull. He stirs and tries to open his eyes but the candlelight - soft as it is - hurts his eyes.
Groaning, he presses his palms to his eyes and tries to steady himself. Where the fuck is he?
Soft footsteps accompanied by the sound of rustling as someone wanders into wherever Hector is alerts the prince of newcomers.
“We brought him for you largely unharmed, my Lord.” Someone says.
Footsteps draw near and they pause by Hector’s side. Someone takes his hands and gently pries them away. Hector blinks furiously as his eyesight tries to adjust to the light.
“He does not seem largely unharmed,” a familiar voice snarls quietly, a hand brushing lightly against the wound on the prince’s forehead.
The prince’s eyes finally adjust to the light and he balks when he sees who stands above him. Golden and beautiful and terrible, Achilles stands over Hector, his face twisted into anger.
“My lord, forgive us, but he would not go down otherwise. It was the only wa–” The soldier’s words fade into a yelp as Hector lunges up at the demigod, two hands grabbing the back of that golden head, forcing him into the bed. Achilles laughs loudly as they wrestle and the soldier mutters, “You see, my lord, you see?”
With a grin, Achilles shoves the prince onto his back, gripping both the prince’s wrists over his head with only one hand.
“That is all, Eudorus, you can leave us now.” Achilles calls over his shoulder, eyes never leaving Hector.
The Greek - Eudorus - mutters something as he takes his leave and soon, prince and demigod are left alone.
Hector forces his muscles to relax and squints up at the demigod. “What do you want from me?” He demands.
“What do I -?” Achilles laughs again and Hector finds that he truly does not enjoy the sound. “Why, Hector, you are the crown prince of Troy. What would I not want with you? In fact - oof.” He grunts as Hector flips them over, free hands now wrapped around the demigod’s throat. Somehow, that does not deter the demigod - in fact, Achilles grins up at Hector. Then, his hands grip Hector’s backside and Hector does not freeze in shock but he almost does.
“I usually love being on top, but I suppose this position allows me to hold your lovely ass, so I can’t complain.” Achilles says.
Now Hector’s grip does falter because what?
Despite Hector’s faltering grip, Achilles does nothing to take advantage, seemingly truly enjoying their new position.
“Come now,” the demigod says. “Surely you know? Everyone has seen my tweet.”
What tweet? Oh. Oh. But hadn’t that been about Paris? Before Hector could try to make sense of what is happening he is flipped over again and he grunts as the pain in his head flares. Achilles takes note and his eyes darken. “Whoever did this will pay,” he growls.
“They did this on your orders,” Hector snaps. And he has more to say but Achilles is now - tying him up? Because nothing says concern like tying up an injured person. He says as much and Achilles smiles down at him gently. “I don’t want you taxing yourself further.”
The demigod leans down and presses a soft kiss to the uninjured side of Hector’s forehead. Then, he gently moves off him and returns with a dagger!
Achilles does not take note of Hector’s panic - or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He brings the dagger down over Hector’s clothes, tearing the material off the prince, leaving him utterly bare to the demigod. Then, inexplicably, the demigod dips a piece of cloth in a bowl of water and begins to wipe Hector’s face with it.
In his entire life, Hector has never been more confused. Perhaps the hit on his head was so bad it has left him hallucinating a gentle demigod.
The cloth brushes against Hector’s wound making him cry out. “Shhh,” Achilles whispers. “I’ll take care of you.”
And what could Hector do, bound and wounded as he is, but lie down and take what Achilles has to give?
The demigod is thorough, cleaning Hector’s face, applying salve to the wound, then beginning to slowly and methodically wipe the blood, sweat and grime off Hector’s body. His hands are gentle, and he is patient. Whenever Hector tenses as the demigod touches a bruise or an aching muscle, Achilles leans down and presses a soft kiss to the place.
Once he is done cleaning Hector, Achilles throws the cloth aside and begins massaging Hector’s aching joints. And Hector… Well, he could do nothing but close his eyes, groaning in relief. Gods, his body aches.
“My poor prince,” Achilles murmurs. “They’ve worn you out, haven’t they? Leaving everything to you. I see you every day, leading your men in battle, then managing the clean up. And who takes care of you afterwards?”
“I have a wife -”
Achilles carries on, as though Hector hasn’t said a word, “But that is alright, because you have me now. You need never worry over that useless army. You will never have to get off this bed again. Anything you need will come to you. Food, wine and myself.” He smiles down at Hector as he says the last part, as though Achilles is all that Hector has ever been dreaming of. Dread settles into Hector's bones as the reality of his situation finally sets in.
Achilles stops his soothing massage in favor of leaning over Hector, brushing a stray strand of hair away from the Trojan’s face. Then, he leans down and kisses Hector and -
“Achilles,” Someone says and Hector exhales in relief as the demigod draws away.
The blond tugs the covers over Hector to hide the prince’s modesty then turns to face the newcomer.
“Patroclus,” Achilles says. “I asked to be left alone, did I not?”
“Agamemnon calls for you,” this Patroclus says. “You either come now or he sends his men.”
The demigod’s demeanor changes in an instant, going from relaxed and calm to tense and dripping with anger.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Achilles growls.
“Oh, but he would. You know this.” Patroclus says, sounding exhausted by both Agamemnon and Achilles.
“Stand guard outside the tent. If I return and he is not here you will regret it,” Achilles snaps, striding past Patroclus and out of the tent.
Patroclus lingers in the tent for a moment, watching Hector with a frown. “So he’s finally caught you after so long,” he says, sounding as happy as Hector felt at seeing the prince in Achilles’ bed. He takes one long look at the Trojan, disdain writ all over his face, then he leaves as well and Hector can finally breathe.
These fucking Greeks are insane. And he must leave instantly if he does not want to end up as a demigod’s concubine. With newfound determination, Hector grips his left pinky finger with all his strength and twists, smothering a groan as the bone twists and breaks. He lies on the bed for a long minute, breathing through the pain. Then, he gathers his wits about him and quickly slips his hands free of his restraints.
He rises quickly - too quickly - and ends up having to sit back down as dizziness threatens to leave him unconscious. He grips the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths, then rises slowly. His world goes dark for a second but it passes, blessedly.
Looking around, he tries to find something to wear and is relieved when he finds a green chiton. Silently, he pulls the thing over himself, steals the blade he finds on the floor further away from the chiton and begins his escape.
The back of the tent is guarded by one soldier, his back to Hector. The prince covers the guard’s mouth and slits his throat easily, the motion as familiar as breathing to the Trojan. He keeps his hand over the guard’s throat as he gurgles and only moves away from the Greek when he finally falls silent in his death.
As quiet as a cat, he sneaks away, noting with relief that a large part of the camp seems to be concentrated at the far end of it, likely at Agamemnon’s tent. Whatever is happening there must be important because Hector brushes past very few people and those he does walk past do not even spare him a glance, slaves beaten down by the years and hardships, eyes empty as they wander around aimlessly.
Hector feels a flicker of remorse at having to leave them behind and wishes that he could take them all away, sequestered behind Troy’s proud gates, away from the Greeks. But he knows that it is a futile and impossible wish, so he tries not to think of them much as he sneaks away.
The road back to Troy is surprisingly long and tedious, with Hector having to lie down in the grass multiple times because of his pounding headache.
As he nears Troy’s secret tunnels, he hears ruckus from the Greek camp. He looks up and shivers when he finds the blond demigod astride his stallion, shouting furiously.
Closing his eyes, Hector gathers his senses. Just a few more minutes, he tells his body. Just a few more minutes and you can rest. Please don’t fail me, not now.
With the grace of gods, Hector returns to Troy without drawing unwanted attention to himself from the Greeks. A soldier - Trojan, he notes with palpable relief - finds him stumbling out of a secret passageway.
“My prince!” The guard exclaims. Hector winces at the loud sound.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, swaying on his feet. “Take me to Andromache.” He says. Then he faints.
__________
Soft chatter rouses Hector from his deep slumber. He blinks and almost weeps with relief when he sees a ceiling as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
“Hector!” Andromache breathes out, rushing to his side. His dear, beloved Andromache, always the first to come to his side.
“Andromache,” he murmurs her name, a silent prayer. “Andromache,” you’re here, you’re with me, I’m safe now.
His wife strokes his cheek as she helps him drink water, I’m here, I’m with you, you’re safe.
“You’re awake!” Paris cries out. Hector grimaces at the pain that shoots up his head at the voice. “You have to see this!”
“Paris now is not the time,” Andromache snaps, all softness gone as she glowers at Paris, replaced by fierce protectiveness.
“See what?” Hector asks tiredly.
“Do not,” Andromache grits out, “bring that phone anywhere near him. The light is not good for his head.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll just tell him. Achilles tweeted about half an hour ago, I’ll read it to you all, this is what he wrote: dear Hector, im coming back for that ass. if i aint get that butt this night, then tomorrow its getting smashed. i aint pullin up with no army that shit hard to run in. im pullin up all on my own and we really gonna get this fun in!”
Silence reigns over the room, Hector trying to make sense of the words that had just come out of his brother’s mouth.
“What the fuck?” Paris asks. “What’s that mean??”
“What,” Andromache grits out, “do you think it means?”
“But I thought he was after me!” Paris exclaims.
“Paris,” Andromache says.
“Yes?”
“Get. Out.”
Paris, for once, seems to be able to note the danger he finds himself in, for he leaves in a heartbeat.
Andromache turns to Hector, her gaze softening. “Rest, my love. We will have ample time to worry over this new threat later.”
But how can Hector rest, with Achilles’ warning now ringing in his head? He recalls the way the demigod had gripped his backside and shivers. So he’s finally caught you after so long, that Patroclus had said.
Hector gazes up at the ceiling of his chambers, the familiar sight no longer soothing. His only solace is Andromache, as always.