No Aphrodite

Title: No Aphrodite
Author:aleathiel
Email:aleathiel84@hotmail.com
Beta: lady_razzle (Thanks hon!)
Bana/Bloom Fanfiction Contest
Pairing: Eric/Orlando and Hector/Paris. Never say i don't spoil you
Rating:NC17
Summary:Orlando doesn’t need the help of some long dead deity to catch the eye of everyone in the room


The afternoon light is gentle on the walls of Valletta. The stone is a warm honey colour all crisscrossed with electrical and telephone wires hung in swags across the street and from building to building. Flowers in window boxes are vivid splashes of colour and some of the doors and shutters are painted. There are bright gilded icons cut into niches above doorways and on street corners. A benevolent Virgin Mary, whose robes were once an intense blue but now carry the dust and wear of years without repainting, smiles her blessing down on Eric where he stands in the shade on Republic Street and waits for Orlando. There is a handful of tourists in light shirts bearing cameras and guidebooks ambling down towards him, paying little attention to the traffic crossing the pedestrian mall. Somewhere above him among the roofs and terraces Eric hears a gull cry and then another as they squabble over the spoils of somebody’s meal.

He shifts his weight and refrains from looking at the time, instead watching two women in brightly coloured dresses come out of Marks and Spencer chatting to each other. They smile politely as they pass and he nods in greeting. He doesn’t know if they recognise him or are just being friendly.

Orlando bounces out of a side street and falls easily into step beside Eric as they head up the street towards the fort. Eric can’t help being aware of the loose limbs that swing coltishly as Orlando walks. He smiles and agrees in all the appropriate places as he listens to the sound of the younger man’s warm voice, the sound touching him like the tender rays of the sun still spilling across the sky.

“Like it?” Orlando is all eagerness and Eric turns to see the object thrust in his direction. It’s a silver filigree Maltese cross like the thousands he has seen in the windows of jewellers all over the island. Eric nods and Orlando grins, looping the chain around his neck and letting the pendant hang against his yellow T-shirt among the rest of his collection.

They continue in silence, amiable. Eric can see the smile in the wrinkle of Orlando’s eyes when he glances sideways, even if Orlando’s lips aren’t curled, and the knowledge that his companionship is welcomed is enough to make him smile in return.

Somewhere ahead of them a clock strikes five with a copper peal and Eric remembers that he was meant to meet his wife at half past four, because they are going out for dinner tonight. His stride lengthens a touch because he feels guilty at making her wait. Again.

“You were supposed to meet Rebecca,” Orlando says softly as he speeds up to match Eric’s gait.

Eric smiles wryly. “I lost track of time.”

“No,” Orlando shakes his head. “You were waiting for me because I had an insane urge to spend money. I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely regretful and how can Eric tell him that it doesn’t matter, that Eric was happy to wait for him because it was Orlando he was waiting for?

They turn off the main street and their little hotel comes into view. And it doesn’t matter because the mood is broken now.



Hector was waiting in Paris’s rooms after counsel with his father. He knew the darkness was drawing in around Troy, velvet fingers pulling at the curtains and drapes and ushering in night. But he couldn’t return to his house, to his family, without seeing Paris.

There was a clatter in the corridor as two serving maids passed, their voices a low hum he couldn’t make out. Then Paris swept into the room, a new fur cloak clasped around his slender neck and Hector released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

His brother was a drug and Hector couldn’t pull away from the temptation. Love and hatred washed across him in equal measures as Paris smiled his half-smile and greeted his brother. The curls at the side of Paris’s neck were damp and Hector wondered if he’d just been bathing.

“I did not realise you would be here,” Paris spoke softly. “I have held you from your meal and your wife. Andromache will be waiting.”

That Hector was happy to wait went unsaid. He did not wish his brother to know the hold he had over him, the lack of control Hector felt in his brother’s presence. The recklessness and lack of concern for the consequences. Only in Paris’s presence could Hector truly understand Helen and he wondered if this fire in his veins was something worth fighting for.

Then he remembered Troy and that it was Helen who would have Paris when all of this was over. He inclined his head in farewell to his brother and left the room.



Brad is staying at the British Hotel because he’s a big star and because he’s only here for ten days. Eric, Rebecca and Orlando have been invited to dine with him and Jennifer in the hotel’s luxurious restaurant. They sit at a table on a balcony with blue canopies, which reflect the colour of the sea they can see down between the buildings.

Orlando taps his cigarette into the ashtray and stretches back, the muscles of his arms sinking to fit along the back of his chair. Eric sees the thin stripe of skin where Orlando’s shirt lifts and he tries not to wonder whether Orlando’s skin is that golden brown all over. He forces himself to look out over the railing at the city. A tabby cat slowly washes its paws in the street below.

“…wrong. All about the gods,” Jennifer is saying. “Without Aphrodite’s interference I don’t think Helen would ever have left her husband. I mean, yeah, Paris is hot. But worth all that trouble?”

Brad shakes his head. “But the film is about human motivation… What draws them together is…” he trails off.

“It’s about sex,” Orlando declares, flicking the butt of his cigarette off the balcony. “Aphrodite’s made him irresistible. She just wants to fuck him.” He glances back at the table. Jennifer looks at Rebecca and the two share a moment’s smile. The conversation moves on.

Eric watches Orlando as he describes the nightlife in Sliema and St. Julians to Jennifer, his hands dancing through the darkening air as he recommends one place over another. He thinks about the gods and wonders if they make a difference. Orlando doesn’t need the help of some long dead deity to catch the eye of everyone in the room. In the world.

On Sunday they walk the seafront at Marsaxlokk and watch the fishermen bring in their catch. The boats are brightly painted and many have intricate eyes decorating their bows.

“The Greeks are coming,” Orlando murmurs in his ear and Eric feels a shiver run down his spine. Orlando’s hand grips Eric’s shoulder for a heartbeat then is gone and Orlando is running down the promenade towards the market, birds lifting from the paving in front of him like the sea parting at his feet.


Priam had not sensed the tension inherent in the air of the palace and had invited his favourite sons to dine with him one evening after Hector returned from the field. Hector supposed it was so that he could keep them up to date on the progress of the war. It was impossible to concentrate on his words when Paris’s toes kept grazing the underside of his calves beneath the table.

He tried to think about the blood, about the death and the splintered bones and he told their father in a broken voice about the losses. Paris was restless. He picked at his food and then slumped in his chair bonelessly.

“Take your brother to the city walls to see your progress,” Priam suggested softly. And so they went, Hector attempting to explain the dark shadows on the plain beneath while all the time conscious of Paris’s hot eyes on his skin.



They are sent back to their trailer to wash away the grime from the battlefield. Eric eases off Hector’s armour and gently wipes his arm with a damp cloth where a too-sharp stuntsman’s sword has pierced his skin.

“Are you okay?” Orlando asks, concern in his eyes.

“Fine,” Eric grins, then winces as Orlando touches the arm.

“You should get something to put on that.”

“I will. Stop fussing.”

The floor creaks as Orlando moves away and turns to the mirror. “Well you are a big strong warrior,” he taunts. “I’m sure Hector has suffered far worse.” Eric can see Orlando’s laughing eyes in the mirror.

“I’m sure Hector faces worse every day,” he replies blithely, shrugging his T shirt on.

“Do you think Hector could resist Paris?” Orlando asks, still facing the other direction.

“What do you mean?” Eric asks although he knows very well.

“I mean, do you reckon they were fucking?”

“That’s incest.”

“Yeah. But you’ve got to admit you’ve thought about it.”

Of course he has. “It’s a bit of a clichéd line to take, Orlando,” Eric attempts to joke and Orlando turns to grin at him innocently, returning to crouch beside Eric’s chair.

“Don’t know what you mean, mate!”

Eric lifts his eyebrows and leans forward, his voice still light. “It might have worked with Keira. I’m not so transparent.”

“I didn’t try it with Keira,” Orlando replies softly. Then, mirth sparkling in his eyes, “She has a boyfriend.”

It falls flat.

‘I have a wife’ hangs between them unsaid. It isn’t a joke any more. Eric bridges the gap and presses his lips to Orlando’s.



Hector was barely inside the city gates an hour before Paris was at his side, all fraternal worry and fear. “My brother, you are wounded!”

Hector pushed away the healers and physicians. “I will not die,” he snarled and Paris’s lips parted in a delighted grin at his brother’s temper. Together they strode back to the palace; Hector ignoring the blood trickling from beneath his shoulder and down across his armguards. By the time they reached his rooms he was fighting off arousal from the combination of battle lust, pain and the proximity of his brother. As soon as the door was closed between them and the world and Paris moved to help his brother remove his armour, Hector relinquished his tenuous grasp on control and acted on instinct alone.

Paris gasped in surprise as Hector pulled him forward and Hector swallowed the exhalation, his tongue forcing Paris’s mouth open. For a moment Paris remained rigid in his arms then his knees sagged, letting Hector take his weight. It was only three stumbling steps to the bed before they fell, Hector’s armour crushed against Paris’s bare skin. Paris moaned, scrabbling to wrap his legs around Hector’s greater bulk and use the leverage to grind upwards. Hector lifted his lower body away, preventing this attempt from succeeding. Paris gulped, almost crying out and Hector couldn’t help but smile at himself for reducing Paris to this so succinctly. He slid to his knees on Paris’s abandoned cloak, the fur soft and ticklish against his battle-worn skin, and braced his hands on Paris’s waist, pressing the skin-warmed-metal of his arm guards against Paris’s hips to hold him still.

A lick along the vein on the underside of Paris’s penis and Paris jerked against his grip. The whimpered grunt might have been a ‘please!’. When he took his brother into his mouth, Hector could feel all the fight go out of Paris as he went limp against the blankets. Hector used this as an excuse to release one hand and bring it down between his own legs. Paris writhed as Hector sucked him, grazing just below the head lightly with his teeth, his free hand splayed on Paris’s warm stomach to keep him flat.

He wrapped his hand in Paris’s new cloak and rubbed the fur on his erection. The weeping pre-cum wetted the tiny hairs and they stuck to each other, becoming sleek the faster his hand moved. His brother in his mouth and his hand on himself, it didn’t take long for the adrenalin lust from battle to push Hector over the edge, spilling himself all over his brother’s expensive new acquisition.


Orlando is all long limbs and tanned skin on the stark sheets of the little hotel bed. They are both undressed, fingers lightly touching where they have never been allowed to touch before, eyes not quite ready to meet eyes. The one lamp on the table casts a circular glow around them, keeping the realities of the outside world away. Orlando’s legs cast black shadows on Eric’s hands as his fingers slide up Orlando’s thighs, thumbs resting in the curls at his groin.

Finally Orlando looks at him, one hand reaching out to encourage Eric down into a kiss. He doesn’t taste sweet; he tastes human. And there is little difference between kissing a man and a woman like this, all open mouths and hungry desire, teeth clashing accidentally in their attempt to get at as much of each other as possible.


Hector pushed Paris back up onto the bed from where he had slid half off. He shucked off his breastplate to feel Paris’s skin against his own and when Paris wrapped his legs around Hector and flipped them over so that he was on top Hector knew it wouldn’t be long before he was erect again. Finally, finally he was getting what he wanted. Paris’s slender body writhed against Hector, trying to rub every inch of his skin at once.


Eric is afraid that this weight will be too much for Orlando, but the younger man’s strong fingers on his hips inform him otherwise, pulling at Eric, encouraging him to settle between Orlando’s legs. When their erections touch Orlando closes his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat. Eric strains to hold his body still but Orlando is wriggling beneath him and he has to give up. He takes his weight onto his elbows either side of Orlando’s head and kisses the shadowy mouth watching dark eyes that draw him in, the light reflecting in them and making Eric feel like a moth mesmerised by a flame.


Paris knelt, his head almost level with the cushions, his back a curve upwards to where Hector stood at the foot of the bed. The oil dripped messily on Hector’s arms and onto the blankets. He smeared it across Paris before working one slick finger inside his brother. Paris bucked, pulling away then suddenly pushing back as Hector’s finger struck its target.

He made little noises of whimpering need that shot straight to Hector’s cock and it took all of Hector’s self restraint not to slam straight into that unprepared body.


It’s an embarrassing fumble of foil and rubber before Eric is properly sheathed and he feels his cheeks inflaming. Orlando kisses his hands and his neck, soothing him, reassuring him, then sliding his tongue back into Eric’s mouth to remind him why they’re doing this.

He pushes into Orlando slowly, letting him adjust, watching his expression and stroking the muscles of that tanned stomach. When he’s all the way in he can feel the smooth skin of Orlando’s buttocks against his balls and where he is, what’s going on and with whom all suddenly comes tumbling down around him. “Orlando?” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Orlando replies. His voice sounds tight. Eric shifts a touch and the springs of the old bed creak. It’s not very funny but they both laugh with relief as the tension dissipates. Eric leans down to kiss Orlando again and then begins to move.


Paris’s back was slick with sweat and oil against Hector’s chest, his arms braced to hold them both as Hector thrust into him forcing his knees into the bed, forcing the air from his lungs in sharp gasps. The scent of his brother filled Hector’s nostrils, the touch of his body inflamed Hector’s skin. He had almost passed out from desire, from finally getting what he’s denied himself for so long. He was hardly conscious of his actions any more, his hips, his thighs moving of their own accord as he strove towards blessed release.

He wondered if the sound just on the outside of his consciousness was that of Aphrodite laughing at the foolishness of mortals. Then liquid fire seared up from within him burning all his nerve endings into scarlet light before spilling into his brother.


It’s awkward, Orlando’s legs bent up between them, thighs against his chest, and he’s flexible but not so flexible that Eric can reach down to kiss him. So they watch each other instead, learning what makes the other gasp and moan. Eric reaches down between them to touch Orlando and considering that he’s buried up to the hilt inside him already it surprises Eric how intimate this gesture feels. Orlando groans something encouraging, one hand going up over his head to brace against the wall giving him something to push against as he grinds back against Eric.

The sweat on Orlando’s face in the lamplight makes him look like he’s glowing and his face is adorably screwed in concentration, his chin almost vanishing into his neck. He’s losing his ability to keep their rhythm and Eric can tell he’s close by the way his body begins to jerk urgently, his cock jumping in Eric’s hand. He gasps, “Fuck, Eric!” almost under his breath as he tenses, then his come splatters his stomach and Eric’s hand. He looks both wonderfully deprived and surprised at the same time. Eric can’t help the satisfied happiness that bubbles through him at the contented grin Orlando gives him.


Paris murmured, almost asleep, all warm and pliable in his satiation. Hector slipped from beneath the fur cloak and dressed, not looking back at the bed as he left. He had fended off the goddess for now.


Orlando’s body is hot against Eric’s and Eric grazes a kiss on Orlando’s forehead, just below the hairline. He slides one arm beneath the sleeping man and holds him as the fingers of the sun peel back the curtains to greet them.