Please remember
to slash responsively!

This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off.

Title: Not Equals
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Troy, Achilles/Eudorus
Rating: NC-17
Warning: The usual slashy stuff - two male warriors – there’s bound to be some dominance and submission going on… and some rampant sexism/classism etc, but this is Ancient Greece and I’m just trying to be true to the way of things.
Disclaimer:Not the way Homer wrote it. Not the way it was in the movie.Not a profit-making enterprise pour moi.
Note: A bizarre amalgam of real-myth-verse and Troymovieverse. Patroclus was Achilles’ lover, not cousin. Briseis is a servant of Apollo and Hector’s cousin, and returned to Troy with Priam when he retrieved Hector’s body. I guess, in keeping with the movie’s manner of utterly ignoring the gods, we’ll ignore the fact that Eudorus is the bastard son of Hermes, and simply say he’s been Achilles’ loyal captain since either of them can remember.

Not Equals

“Take the men home.”

Eudorus could not believe his ears. Achilles was ordering him to stand down, load the ships, return to the safety of home, but the great warrior would remain, alone on this cursed beach. He’d avenged Patroclus’ death. Why he was not satisfied? What more could he desire? Surely not the girl.

Ah, but it was the girl. She’d struck his fancy in more ways than one, it seemed. Eudorus’ heart ached at the thought of Achilles sacrificing himself for her, a mere trifle. In his grief over the death of his lover, he seemed to have replaced Patroclus with Briseis. Foolish, although Eudorus would not have uttered the thought aloud. Madness even, although Eudorus could not bring himself to even form that thought fully in the deepest recesses of his mind. It was simply unthinkable that Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, would abandon a fight, force his men to retreat, besmirch the reputation and the legacy of the Myrmidons for the sake of a woman, and a Trojan woman at that. Surely Achilles had taken many virgins in the past. This one, royal as she was, could not have been that different.

Achilles was walking away, walking into the night, and Eudorus frantically sought a way to prevent that tragedy. For it was a tragedy to be sent away, unable to aid his commander when his aid was needed most. He raced after his lord, stopped him with a too-bold hand on his arms. When Achilles turned, the flash of anger in his eyes was reassuring. Priam had shaken him, he had made him question his very existence, but he had not broken him after all. He had not entirely taken Achilles’ essence from him.

Eudorus dropped, his knees sinking into the sand. “My lord,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “My master. I would ease your pain this night.”

The Myrmidon captain Eudorus knelt on the dark beach like a common slave, his hands placed submissively on his thighs, head tilted down, shoulders slumped slightly, as one without a will of his own. He’d never done it before, but he’d seen it. He’d had slaves kneel before him in such a manner. He knew the feeling of power it gave him, surging through him like a wildfire, when another submitted to him. He would gladly give that fire to his lord, if only to jolt Achilles from this grief-induced madness, and have his commander return to him as his true self.

Eudorus felt a sword and javelin-toughened hand on his chin, pulling, urging him to look up. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to stay calm. His thighs trembled under his passive hands, just from the feel of Achilles fingertips on his skin. Doing obeisance there, presenting himself like that, he understood for the first time why slaves had quaked at his feet. He’d thought they feared physical harm. He’d thought they feared they would be forced to do something against their will. He’d thought they were afraid of him. But he knew he did not quake for what Achilles would do to him, but for fear of what he would want Achilles to do to him.

Eudorus had obeyed military orders all his life. He’d trained and been commanded and done his duty faithfully and honourably since he was old enough to wield a wooden sword, and he’d served Achilles just as long. But never like this.

He had followed. He had obeyed. He had even yielded. Never in his life had he submitted.

He doubted he had the strength to last the night. But, he reminded himself, he had fought many wars, won much glory in battle; he would find it somewhere. He raised his eyes to meet those of his master.

Achilles looked down into the face below him. This man, kneeling before him so, subservient and acquiescent, this could not be his great captain Eudorus. The pride of Eudorus, as loyal as he was, had always caused a frisson of tension between them. When forced to obey orders he disagreed with, Eudorus always had a spark of defiance alive in his eyes, in his stance. That was what Achilles had expected when he ordered the men home. He expected Eudorus to defy him, if not with words and actions at least with his eyes. But this man was giving himself up to Achilles; he was offering more than obedience. He was offering more than his body. He was offering his soul. And Achilles would not take it.

“Rise,” he said, his words almost strangled in his throat. “Do not abase yourself thus.”

“My lord, please,” Eudorus insisted, remaining on his knees.

Achilles shook his head. “No, not like this. Rise. I would look on you as an equal.” He shut his eyes, unwilling to see the proud captain offering himself up like a bull for sacrifice. There would be no worshipping at the altar of Achilles tonight, for that altar was tarnished and stained with Achilles’ vanity and pride. His hubris.

Eudorus planted one foot in the sand, speaking again before he stood. “I am not an equal to you, my lord. No one is.” But he obeyed and stood before his master.

Achilles blindly placed a hand on each of Eudorus’ broad shoulders, steadying himself as much as anything else. He understood now. Eudorus had hoped to give him power from this, when there was no power to be had. He had killed all his life and now he realized what that meant. He thought his actions would make his name live forever, and now he understood that his name would live at the expense not of other names, but of other lives. This realization did not give him power, it drained him.

“You have a task to perform, my lord. I would see that you have the strength to prevail,” Eudorus said, unbidden.

Achilles opened his eyes and stared hard into the clear blue ones before him. Yes, he had more to accomplish, and in his current state he would not be able to succeed. Perhaps Eudorus could give him what he needed. He raked his eyes over the thick muscles and strong limbs of his captain. He looked down at powerful hands, twitching as if they itched to curl into fists, yet they remained open and compliant through the considerable force of Eudorus’ will. He remembered the look of rapture on Eudorus’ face when Achilles had merely told him he’d fought well when they took the beach. Here was a man who would give him anything he wanted.

He lifted his hand to Eudorus’ chin and looked at the angry red bruise on his neck, from Achilles’ own boot. He’d had the man’s throat and life under his foot, and yet Eudorus was here, on this dark night, offering himself.

“Do you love me?” Achilles asked.

“Yes, my lord. I do.”

“Then come to my tent in a moment.”



Achilles had already removed his robes when Eudorus found the courage to enter the tent. His lord stood next to the font, water dripping down his naked body. Eudorus hovered at the doorway, watching rivulets curl and wind around sharply delineated muscles. Achilles scrubbed cool water over his face. “Enter,” he said, without turning to look at the captain. “There is water there, by the door. Remove your garments and refresh yourself.”

Eudorus nervously shed his clothing. He was a well-built man, toughened by years of fighting and training. He had nothing to be ashamed of, yet he knew his physique paled beside that of the mighty Achilles. He washed his body efficiently, and kept his eyes trained on his lord’s muscular back and shoulders. He’d seen those arms, those hands, take life after life. He shivered at the prospect of feeling them on his skin.

Achilles turned to face Eudorus. Eudorus dropped his gaze out of respect, and Achilles let a smile play around his lips. He’d noticed the man before. How could he not? Eudorus was beautiful and powerful. Not the slender, pretty beauty of that peacock Paris. Not the hulking, physically overwhelming beauty of Hector. Not the breathtaking perfection of Patroclus. Achilles stopped smiling and pushed the thoughts of all others from his mind. He would grieve for Patroclus forever, he would savour his victory over Hector as long, and he would never stop hating Paris. But tonight, Eudorus had offered himself, and Achilles would lose himself in the warrior before him.

Eudorus had a bullish strength in battle; he never gave up. Achilles had seen him charge into the ranks of the enemy and bring death to countless enemies. But beyond that, he’d seen Eudorus after battle, when he believed none watched. Achilles tilted his head to one side and remembered seeing Eudorus wade into the surf, scrubbing the blood from his thick arms with handfuls of sand, kneeling with the water up to his broad chest, eyes closed, face turned toward the sun, seeking absolution. Eudorus suffered guilt for every death he’d ever caused, Achilles had realized as he watched him scour the grime of war from his skin.

Achilles always justified his actions by believing he was better than those he killed. He was stronger, faster, tougher. He was the better warrior, therefore his opponents deserved to die. Eudorus, though, knew there were better warriors than him. He knew the chance that he might be killing a better warrior through luck was equal to the chance he was killing an inferior one. He probably had no doubt that a better warrior would cut him down one day. Yet, he kept fighting. Why? How could a man keep doing that, day in and day out, year in and year out, when he knew he was not the best? When he did not feel deep inside himself that he deserved to win every battle?

Achilles had always believed every kill, and every honour bestowed upon him, was owed to him by divine right. Eudorus had to earn his.

Eudorus stood before him, naked now, and glistening in the lamplight, head still bent in submission. Achilles walked toward Eudorus slowly. “You think you do not belong here,” he said. “You believe me too great for you.”

Eudorus nodded guardedly. His master was as close to a god as one could ever hope to behold. Eudorus did not feel worthy of such magnificence, but he had offered and Achilles and accepted his offer. He would try his best to meet the task.

“You are wrong, Eudorus. You are my most trusted lieutenant, and have proven yourself to me by your bravery in battle and in proffering yourself. You are the only man in whom I will seek succour.”

On a much baser level, Achilles craved the feel of that naked muscle against him.

Eudorus stood still, hands at his sides, waiting for his master’s command. His cock wavered between the extremes of shrivelling from fear and rising to meet the challenge. The result was beautiful, in Achilles’ eyes. Thick and heavy, resting in a bed of damp black curls, the skin darkened with blood, giving it a rich, alluring colour.

Achilles dropped suddenly to his knees. “I would have you take from me, this night,” he said in a voice so low Eudorus feared he might have imagined it.

Eudorus stared down at the waves of thick blond hair. He dared not move as Achilles leaned forward and rested his forehead against his hip. He listened in awe as Achilles breathed deeply the heavy scent of sweat and maleness.

Eudorus fought down the panic as his lord rubbed his smooth cheek against the crisp dark hairs of his loins. The feel of a hot slick tongue near the base of his cock sent both dread and desire searing through his body. This must be some kind of madness. He had to escape the tent, get away from whatever possessed his lord, but he could not stop the treacherous response of his cock as it heated and grew under Achilles’ mouth. The hands on his hips gripped him like iron, steadying him, preventing him from moving, and those lips moved along his rapidly lengthening cock, steadily sliding toward the blunt end, where the tongue snaked out again.

“My lord,” Eudorus gasped, trying to pull back from the seeking mouth.

“Do not resist me, Eudorus. This is what I desire.” Achilles’ mouth closed over the crown and the tip of his tongue ran along the wet slit. The feel and taste of the smooth skin, beginning to stretch taut under his lips, soothed Achilles. The thick organ stiffening, throbbing in his mouth, was exactly what he desired. Tonight he would serve.

Eudorus shut his eyes. He could not resist. Involuntarily, instinctively, he grasped the thick hair in front of him and clenched his fists. Achilles growled around his cock, and the vibrations made him ache for more. Eudorus feared that, at any moment, his lord would regain his senses and punish him for this transgression, but when one hand jerked and tugged of its own volition, the mouth descended further along his cock. He could feel Achilles’ cheeks hollowing around his thick shaft, sucking him in deeper, and the tongue danced closer and closer to the root. He fought to remain upright under the assault.

Achilles closed his eyes and savoured the shuddering of Eudorus’ thighs, the clenching of his buttocks, and the fists in his hair. He pulled his head back, sliding the cock out of his mouth, and then pushed forward again. The strangled groan from above made him thrust harder the second time, faster the third. He dug his fingers into the muscles of Eudorus’ thighs and rocked back and forth until Eudorus was fucking his mouth steadily, letting out an almost constant moan, interrupted only by ragged gasps for breath. Achilles felt no need for air, only for the cock in his mouth.

“My lord, you cannot…” Eudorus felt his knees buckle and a strong arm brace the back of his thighs. The suction on his cock never let up, the sliding of lips and tongue, the heat, the wetness, the pressure. He made a low cry in the back of his throat when he felt his cock surge. His fingers scrabbled along Achilles’ scalp, and his seed pulsed into the waiting mouth.

Achilles tried to swallow around Eudorus’ thick cock. His mouth was flooded with salty bitterness, like tears. He ignored the seed dribbling out the side of his mouth and concentrated on the flesh contracting between his lips and the way Eudorus’ fingers pressed against his skull. Thighs muscles quaked against his arms, and he reached up to steady Eudorus.

Eudorus felt as if his very essence were being drained from his body. Burly arms pulled him down, and Achilles lowered him gently to the floor, his mouth not once leaving the still-twitching cock. Eudorus let his head fall back onto the rug, his limbs falling useless at his sides.

Still Achilles suckled at him, until Eudorus let out a plaintive moan. It was too much for him, too intense. Achilles let the organ slip from his lips. He sat back on his haunches, panting as if he’d just defeated a dozen men, when in reality he had brought but a single warrior down.

Eudorus struggled to raise himself up on his elbows. Achilles knelt between his spread thighs, eyes closed tight. His skin gleamed with sweat and water, but his cock was dripping with something more primal. His lips shimmer with the moisture of Eudorus’ release, and his tongue darted out to catch the remnants.

The captain sat up and reached out a trembling hand to wipe the drips of seed from beside Achilles mouth.

Achilles eyes shot open, and he grabbed Eudorus’ hand to bring the sticky fingers to his lips. He licked them clean while staring into Eudorus’ astonished eyes. “There is more,” he said.

Eudorus nodded, though not knowing what to expect. He mutely watched Achilles rise. He had been here before, on the ground with Achilles above him, in training and most recently with Achilles foot at his throat. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his Lord like this, naked and bronzed as a god, his proud erection standing up rigidly from his body. Achilles fetched a platter from the low table and laid it on the rug next to where Eudorus half sat, half lay, stilled dazed.

“Eat something. You must regain your strength. It will be a long night.” Achilles laughed at the widening of Eudorus’ blue eyes. “Do you think you have the strength to master me?” he asked teasingly.

Eudorus eyed him warily as he shoved some bread in his mouth. “I do not think all of Troy has the strength to master you.”

Achilles poured wine. “Ah, well, not by the light of day. But this night, in this tent…” He drank deeply from the goblet, and then shifted his body up to hover over Eudorus.

Eudorus opened his mouth and accepted the wine from Achilles lips. It was sweet, heated from the inside of his lord’s mouth, tinged with the taste of the captain’s own seed. The tongue that followed it plunged into his mouth, swirling within like a storm. Eudorus tentatively raised a hand to Achilles’ shoulder. It was hard under his fingers, the skin slick and smooth. Rounded muscles strained under his fingers, encouraging him to explore further. He ran his hand across the broad back and down the spine. A lifetime of combat had resulted in the exquisite form above him, the curve of thickly muscled back, the ideal swell of buttock, the long, hard thigh. Incomprehensible strength and agility.

“Take it, it’s yours,” Achilles hissed in his ear.

Eudorus felt his cock rise anew, harder than it had ever been before. Achilles pressed against his hip, wet with need. The flex of unyielding ass under his fingers and the throaty moan that filled the air combined to drive all doubt from his mind. Achilles might kill him in the morning for this, but Eudorus knew he was just as likely to lose his life in battle on any given day, and with far less reward. He pushed his lord off his body and down onto his back.

Achilles would have laughed when he thudded against the ground, if it weren’t for the violence of the rush of air forced from his lungs by the jolt. The new strength in Eudorus’ limbs was exhilarating. Finally, somehow, he had overcome the man’s qualms. Finally, he would get what he desired. It had not taken long by ordinary standards, but the mighty Achilles was not accustomed to such lengthy seduction.

The wait had been worth it. Eudorus pressed into him and took his mouth in a stunning kiss. He sucked Achilles’ tongue into his mouth, savouring the taste of himself and the unforgettable image of Achilles on his knees with his mouth full of cock. Brawny limbs moved together, intertwining and writhing until Eudorus managed to grasp Achilles’ wrist in his hands and push them up over his head. Eudorus pulled his mouth back and stared down at his captive.

“I will do what you ask, but I will show no mercy. I have only ever taken a man hard, and I’ve no time to learn new skills tonight.” He thrust hard against the heavy cock beneath him, and the two organs crushed against each other brutally. “I will brook no resistance.”

Achilles growled and stretched his muscles sinuously. “I knew you would see it my way.”

Eudorus silenced him with another fierce kiss. He held the wrists with one hand, knowing full well that it was for show only; Achilles could have thrown him from here to the breakers with one arm if he so chose. With his other hand, he raked his nails across the golden chest, stopping to seize a hard nipple and twist it cruelly. His master wished to be taken, and taken hard. He would not disappoint him. He forced his legs between Achilles’ thighs and pried them apart. He grinned when he felt the thick cock strain against him. Achilles spread his legs wide, and the heat between them beckoned irresistibly.

Achilles kept his hands up over his head, even after Eudorus let go of them to slide down his body. Battle-hardened hands swept over him, harsh in their treatment of his nipples, his hips, his cock. They roughly pushed his legs up so Achilles feet were flat on the rug. Eudorus probed between his legs, stroking his opening assuredly but too gently, too much like a lover. Achilles groaned at the memory of Patroclus between his legs, stroking and coaxing him open, teasing him with fingers and tongue. He did not want the memories tonight. He bucked his hips against Eudorus fingers.

“Do not waste my time,” he snarled.

Eudorus nodded, understanding more now. He still wouldn’t take him dry, though, so he looked about for something to ease his passage. Achilles reached for the tray and grabbed a phial, thrusting it into Eudorus’ hand. Olive oil, Eudorus noted as he shifted upright to drizzle it over his cock. The oil was warm, and the slickness of it made him throb. He stared hard at the body laid out before him, pondering how to best take it. If Achilles were a slave, he would flip him over and take him from behind without delay, deep and cruel. If he were a lover, Eudorus would lie next to him and enter him slowly, from behind or in front, run his hands over hard muscles and tongue his throat, licking up the sweat. But Achilles was neither.

Eudorus braced his hands against Achilles’ knees, pushed them up and back, so that the great warrior was opened up fully to him. He looked down at the hard cock, so darkened with desire, so thick and long; who would not thrill to feel it inside them? The hair around it was still damp from Achilles’ ablutions, gathering into rich, golden curls. His balls were drawn up tightly, and the dark puckered opening fully exposed. Eudorus spread his bent knees and shuffled forward until the glistening crown of his cock against it.

Achilles had his head thrown back and eyes closed. This would not do. Eudorus pushed Achilles knees apart roughly and dropped his hand down. He smacked Achilles’ hard cock twice, and enraged azure eyes glared up at him.

“You are not here to dream, with your eyes shut, and pretend I am someone else,” Eudorus grunted. “You give yourself to me, so you will know it is me who takes you!” With that he plunged forward. The breath rushed out of him when Achilles’ heated passage squeezed him tight. He kept his gaze locked on that of his lord. On the field of battle, the anger in those eyes would have been swiftly followed by death. Here, in this tent on this night, the anger burned Eudorus only enough to spur him on. Achilles kept his arms and legs raised as Eudorus pounded into him relentlessly.

Eudorus had been sure he would lose himself immediately, but he kept thrusting inside the hot tunnel over and over, relishing every groan and grunt from the man beneath him. The intense orgasm earlier had done nothing to prevent him from hardening again, but it had served to slow his need for release. His lord demanded a proper fucking and he could not fail.

The air became hot and heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. Achilles began to twist and drive his hips upward to meet every thrust. His cock leaked steadily, and Eudorus slid his hand down the slippery shaft. More than rigid, like a bronze bar covered with a skin of oil and heat, it slipped through his pumping fist. Achilles brought his legs around Eudorus’ waist and clasped him impossibly close. A brief flash of fear made Eudorus worry he might be crushed to his death by the muscular thighs, but he soon understood he was only being encouraged. He rode the undulating ass below him, let the legs guide him, felt the pressure increase to an unbearable level. He wrenched the cock in his hand and watched Achilles eyes grow darker.

Achilles let out a cry worthy of pitched battle and the velvet passageway clenched around Eudorus from root to tip. The cock shuddered in his hand and thick, white seed spurted out on the bronzed chest. Eudorus’ hand let go and glided through the slipperiness, smearing it across Achilles torso. He grunted and felt his cock spasm inside the burning hole.

Achilles flung his arms down over Eudorus back, desperate to feel the muscles there tense and contract, the ribcage expand and contract as the captain gasped for air in the sweltering heat of the tent. He ran his hand over shoulders and arms, soothing, calming, reassuring. He pulled Eudorus close to him, feeling his own seed spread between them. Everything was perfect at that moment. His cock, spent and soft, was perfect. The weight of Eudorus on his body was perfect. The temperature of the air, the firmness of the sand under the rug on which they lay, the dampness that plastered his flat belly to that of Eudorus.

He closed his eyes and let out a moan low and deep enough for Eudorus to feel it vibrate through his chest.

The next thing Eudorus was aware of was the sounds of early morning in the camp. He was naked, lying on the thick rug in Achilles’ tent. The air was redolent, still moist and weighing on him like a blanket. He looked around and saw he lay alone, next to an untouched platter of fruits and meats. His robe was folded neatly to one side, and a basin of clean, fresh water awaited him. But he had already been cleaned, for though he could still smell Achilles’ sweat and sex on him, his skin was smooth and dry. He shrugged into his robe and stepped out into the intense sunlight.

Achilles stood close by, gazing out at the blue sea. His hair was loose, tumbling over his shoulders haphazardly. His thin robe flapped around his powerful thighs in the wind. He turned to greet Eudorus with sad eyes.

Achilles nodded now. “You will sail today, my friend. Take the men home, return them to their wives. I trust you with this task and I know you will not fail me.”

Eudorus bowed. “You can rely on me, my lord.”

Achilles walked toward him and lifted his hand to Eudorus’ chin. “I know.”

Two pairs of blue eyes bored into each other for a moment, before Achilles dropped his hand to his side.

“You have a wife.”

Eudorus nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And a son, do you not?”

“One, sir.”

“Do you miss them?” Achilles watched Eudorus carefully for any signs of deceit.

Eudorus nodded again. “Of course, sir.”

Achilles grinned at him. “Then do me a favour. When you get home, give you wife a good fucking. And try not to think of me when you do it.”

Eudorus was unsure of how to respond.

Achilles leaned forward, so his lips were a scant inch from Eudorus’ ear, his breath hot in it. “But you know you won’t be able to resist.”

End

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