A/N: And here we are at the end...it is actually 2 a.m. here in Australia and I have University tomorrow so I'm sure I'll be a real party...but thats not the point...ok...

Disclaimer: Don't own. Wish I did. Could quit Uni and take a holiday...

WARNING: Umm...gets a little explicit around half way down...ok...and pardon the spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm too tired to check it.

The Greeks were defeated and the entirety of Troy rejoiced. The town square was fraught with a chaotic jumble of aristocrats, merchants, commoners and street urchins alike; celebrating the retreat of their hated enemies. The wine and spirits flowed as free as the rivers and the heavens rained petals upon any passer-by.

Apollo was proud, they thought, as the sun shone with a blinding intensity upon the earth, Apollo was proud that his resilient people had driven their enemies from their lands and the walls of Troy remained unbreached.

Within the soldiers' barracks, the mood was as merry as the celebrating crowd and bawdy laughter echoed from every corner. Where the atmosphere would usually be severe and guarded, the revered general now turned a tolerant blind eye to his men as the wenches sat upon the soldiers' knees as they were regaled with tales of their bravery and skill. Sunlight poured through the open windows, creating dappled shadows upon the drunken faces of the celebrating men, their eyes alight with their unexpected victory for the Greeks had been struck down with a vicious plague; no doubt as punishment for befouling Apollo's sacred lands.

Ready for another skirmish, in which neither side would give an inch, the Trojans marched upon their beloved land, their shields held steady in readiness for the piercing arrows which would sing through the sky as soon as the Greeks held them within their sights. As the heavy gates of Troy creaked shut behind their retreating footsteps, each soldier held the heady knowledge that they might never return home and never walk within those precious walls again.

Despite days of endless battle, the battalion still felt the frightening touch of Hades, hovering just beyond; ready to claim the new inhabitants of his fiery underworld. He breathed every breath which escaped from their lips, shadowed every imprint their feet left upon the arid land, he was waiting, and in a strange way, so were the soldiers.

As their feet carried them away from their home, their steps eating away the distance between the gates and an uncertain fate, the Trojans began to crouch, clutching their shields tighter, anticipating the rain of arrows as they crossed that invisible line into the Greeks' line of fire. Fear struck their hearts, laced with the boiling heat of battle fury and like the strike of lightening; Hades was flushed from their mind, valour taking his ominous place in the core of their souls.

Seconds passed but nothing emerged from the sand banks, no arrows, no flames and not a single roar of advancing soldiers. Peeking cautiously from behind their shields, the Trojans were greeted with an incredible sight; an empty beach and a clear blue sea beyond.

Subconsciously, their arms relaxed, their tight military formation becoming lax as confusion spread through their minds. Still suspicious and alert, their commanding officers growled orders at the underlings, causing the shields to rise once more. It served no purpose however, the lands were deserted, the beach was deserted and not a single ship darkened their waters.

After several tense moments, a singular soldier dropped his shield, breaking from the regimented formation as he let out a 'whoop' of unyielding joy.

"The Greeks have fled!" He shouted joyously. "The Greeks have fled!"

A great rush of armed men descended upon the abandoned beach but when they reached the scuffed white sands, the soldiers reared back fearfully, their eyes confronted by darkened corpses littering the beach like so much debris and at the centre stood the magnificent offering, a giant wooden horse made of aged and weathered wood tied together with strong braided rope.

"Apollo have mercy, what on earth is that?" One soldier croaked hoarsely, forgetting the corpses which lay inches from his feet.

Another answered, his voice tainted with awe. "A sign of peace; the Greeks have seen reason!"

And there it stood, mighty and proud, yet humbled, just as the Greeks undoubtedly were by the grand Trojan walls. Pride swelled in the breasts of the soldiers each time they glanced at the mighty Greek gift, an offer, a supplication. King Priam had advocated peace and harmony for years, and now it seemed, he would finally achieve his most noble goal.

Paris twisted a rich dark lock around his fingers, tugging fiercely until the sharp pain began to diffuse through his scalp. Still, he could feel that unexplainable sense of anxiety. It was burning uncomfortably in his chest, slowly gnawing a hole through his flesh. Rubbing uncomfortably, his gaze flitted to the rough wooden horse which the soldiers had painstakingly dragged within the city walls.

A gift.

Surely not. Achilles would rather have slain his own mother than admit defeat and Agamemnon would send every last one of his soldiers to a merciless death before fleeing. So what was the meaning of this farce? Surely, the Greeks were up to something.

The only remaining Trojan prince sighed, wishing desperately for Hectors gentle guidance. He had taken his older brother's presence for granted, mistreated and taken advantage of him so many times, and now when Paris needed him most, the Gods had seen fit to punish him…no to punish Hector. Bitter tears rose to his eyes and he blinked them rapidly away, no, he would not disappoint Hector.

Fingering the hilt of the golden sword of Troy strapped to his waist, Paris steeled himself. King Priam wouldn't listen to reason, he had insisted on dragging the horse into the walls of the city, allowed his people to bask in this false sense of security. Surely, there was good reason to investigate before it was all too late?

Marching away from his balcony, Paris marched through his chambers and emerged into a cool corridor. He would check the horse, Paris assured himself. If not for the safety of his people, then surely for his own peace of mind. He nodded to himself, his steps becoming more assured, unconsciously taking on Hectors confident stride as he had taken on many of his brother's mantles for the past few weeks.

He hesitated, a thought blooming in his mind, worries once again eating away at his chest. Apollo damn him, he was a coward; he had allowed Hector to fight his battles, to stand up and defend him when he had suffered the retribution for taking Helen. And now Hector was gone…and what of Andromache and little Astyanax? Paris had barely had a chance to see them…well no; that was not entirely the truth. He had feared what he would see in Andromache's eyes. Perhaps grief, perhaps anger or perhaps what Paris feared the most; forgiveness.

As he passed the royal chambers, his ears were pricked at the sound of a sharp wail. Knowing without a doubt what that cry meant, Paris quickly strode into the rooms and located the wooden crib hidden among a wreath of fluttering curtains. His nephew called and Paris rather thought it was time to ask the child for forgiveness.

Almost dazedly, he ventured forward, watched as the beckoning curtains slowed to a gentle waver, the sunlight becoming dappled and shadowed. The crying continued, louder and louder until it was a sharp wail in his ear. Still Paris did not heed it; he continued to walk forward, afraid that at any moment, his nephew's cries would turn to accusatory words.

Paris almost wanted it. He wanted someone to scream and yell, to beat him till he bled so that he could be punished for his brother's death.

It wasn't his fault; they had all reassured.

Well no, Achilles had been the one to kill Troy's great warrior, but who had brought Achilles to these shores? Who had stolen another man's wife and taken her innocent sister along for the abduction?

All thoughts fled as his eyes gazed down at his nephew. Astyanax had calmed somewhat, perhaps he sensed a familiar presence or perhaps he simply wanted to stare at his father's killer, Paris didn't know. All he could see were those incredible royal blue eyes watching him, still rimmed from red with tears, reflecting his own gaunt features and the deep grief which lay there.

Hector seemed to stare at him through those eyes. How many times had Paris stared into his brother's incredible blue orbs, worshiped and yearned for the integrity and strength lurking just beneath the laughter? How many times had Paris vainly wished that he had inherited those eyes rather than his own rather darker eyes?

Gently, Paris reached forward and encircled the little boy around his delicate body, his hand cupping the riotous black curls so reminiscent of his father's. With touching fragility, little Astyanax leaned into his uncle's embrace, missing the strong masculine presence which had once been so profound in his life.

Tears welled in Paris' eyes once more. Gods, what had he done to this little boy, what horror had he brought on everyone around him by taking Helen and Hermione from Sparta?

But no, he shook his head, burying his face against his nephew's peaceful form. He would never regret Helen. He would love her till his dying day and never apologise for it. No matter what the world believed, Paris did love the beauty…she was so much more than what she seemed…

"Paris."

Spinning around, his eyes met the grief stricken gaze of Andromache, her beautiful visage lined with fatigue and a certain unknown expression which haunted Paris even when he tore his gaze away.

"What brings you here, brother?" She asked gently, no recrimination in her tone.

Swallowing the sudden guilt which threatened to drown him, Paris gently handed his nephew to her, his arms absently stroking the baby's hair before he relinquished him completely.

"I heard him crying. I just wanted to…well, perhaps he is hungry or cold…"

"He misses his father." Andromache whispered, her voice hoarse with something Paris did not want to fathom. "It is good you came, he must be missing you too…"

Suddenly drowned with sorrow, Paris fell to his knees upon the bruising marble, his hands wrapped in her gown as the long suppressed tears began to flow like a river breaking its banks.

"Apollo forgive me, Andromache…I am so sorry…I've brought this all upon our heads and…"

"No." The woman above him said fiercely; her eyes glittering with repressed tears of her own. There in those warm brown orbs, Paris did not see censure, anger or blame. Instead he saw an almost brutal fierceness which chilled him as it fascinated him.

"It is Achilles. He has come to these lands all in the name of glory, killing and pillaging as he pleases, careless for the innocents he hurts. You are not to blame." She took a deep breath, soothing her son as he fidgeted in her grasp. "Understand this Paris, blaming yourself will serve no purpose; either fight or forget."

The young prince steadied himself as he swayed on his knees.

"Briseis…" He whispered.

Andromache nodded. "Yes. He has wronged her too."

Both turned their minds to the young woman, still melancholy even in the loving embrace of her family. It was easy to see that she missed him, that her emotions for him conflicted with the image of the monster who had slain her most beloved cousin.

Sighing, Andromache shook her head. "Where is Helen? I thought she was seeking your company…the celebratory air seems to have gone to everyone's heads…"

Seeing that the dark moment had been summarily dismissed, Paris rose to his feet and smiled with bashful gratitude at his sister.

"You are all kindness, Andromache. I swear to you from now on, I shall love Astyanax as if he were my own."

She nodded and gently passed her young son to his uncle. Paris leant forward and placed a gentle kiss upon the crown of dark curls and closed his eyes.

I shall avenge your father, little one.

His mind whispered the promise, his eyes intent on the little boy, all thoughts of the sinister wooden horse forgotten.

Her head hurt…no her throat burned…there was an acrid smell in her nose. And Apollo help her, she felt faint and…

Jolting awake from her troubled dreams, Hermione gasped for clean air, her eyes watering as she blinked away the heaviness of sleep and took another shuddering gasp. Something was wrong…instantly alert, she glanced around and saw the horrifying orange glow coming from her window.

She threw her sheets from her body and rushed to the balcony. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she laid eyes on the chaos below and suddenly, the desperate screams permeated her haze of shock. Cries wrenched through the air, tearing apart the peaceful night with agonising sadness.

The castle gates seemed tightly shut, the servants rushing to and fro, extinguishing a stream of burning arrows. Even from what she could see in the flickering darkness, the palace was still safe and intact; but beyond, the city was alight…little bands of frantic people rushing away from Greek soldiers…

Apollo have mercy! How on earth had this happened! How had they penetrated the city walls?

As the wind blew a cloud of smoke across her face, Hermione turned away, her eyes watering as she groped blindly. Swallowing the bile in her throat, she turned and forced her eyes open, squinting past the sudden cloud of murky grey which enveloped her peaceful sanctuary.

Sprinting from the orange backdrop of her rooms, Hermione emerged in the darkened corridor, breathing easier despite the distinct acrid taste of smoke on the back of her tongue.

"Briseis!" She choked out. "Briseis! Briseis come quickly, we must go find…"

Hermione paused in her search. The bed was empty, the sheets still tangled and pushed to the side. Instantly, Hermione's mind alighted with possibilities. Had the young priestess been taken by one of the Greeks? But surely not, the gates to the palace had seemed secure, the walls unpenetrated.

No, that wasn't entirely true. That was the main gate. There were many others leading into the palace; passages for servants, supplies and guard entrances…but surely…

No! Hermione's instincts reared its head and cold shiver ran down her spine. No, Troy had fallen. The Greeks had won. Paris had been right; there was something off about that horse.

With a burst of fear, Hermione backed out of the eerily empty room and ran. Her instinct screamed for her to leave…but Hermione knew she needed a weapon, something, anything…she couldn't run into a besieged city completely unarmed. Even if she couldn't wield a sword with skill like Hector, it was still worth having.

Even knowing the chaos which engulfed the city, her cool logic held her calm.

Hermione's steps whispered silently against the luxurious marble floors as she swept into her quarters, ripping away the decorative features, searching desperately for the jewelled dagger Paris had given her as a welcome…

A cool, strong arm encircled her waist as a calloused hand spanned across her neck.

"My kitten…" Came the velvety purr. "Have you missed me?"

Hermione knew in an instant who the voice belonged to. She didn't need to be told twice. Gods…how had this man done this, how did he find her? Panic instantly chased away her calm and Hermione lurched forward, pitching her body away from him. His grip tightened instantly, the hand clenched around her throat, cutting off her air.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet your lover?" Draco murmured; his voice gruff as he lowered his head to her throat. Hell and heaven, she smelled exquisite, an incredible blend between honey and heat, an untouched innocent just begging for his attentions. As if she were confirming his thoughts, the body in his arms squirmed, rubbing against him as Draco hissed in agonised pleasure.

With a snarl, Draco bit her, pinning her strongly against his body. Satisfaction burnt through his body as her body bucked, a keening wail rising from her delicate, pouty lips.

She was so fragile, a wonderfully petite body held in contrast to his lithe muscled form. She was made for him, a gift waiting for him like a sacred promise held beyond sacred walls. That wonderfully graceful body arched as his fingers tightened convulsively, those wonderful sensitive cries rising to fever pitch as her eyes widened and fingers dug into his arm.

There was no effect anyway; she was too delicate to do much, her delicious movements heating his body to fever pitch. Shuddering convulsively, Draco allowed his fingers to loosen around her throat but he couldn't stop the jerking movements of his hips against her sweet flesh. His hand wandered from her throat and brushed lower to the soft swell of her breasts, bunching the material of her nightgown as he found the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was gasping, her body in a fit of movements.

"Now shall we try that again, kitten?" Draco murmured, his tongue flicking against the marks he left possessively on her skin. "Did you miss me?"

Hermione coughed and gasped desperately. "You son-of-a-bitch! You…!"

Draco laughed huskily. "Yes…my mother was a bitch. Sold me to the slave traders for opium…didn't quite understand what a monster she would create did she?"

"What do you want, sympathy?" Hermione choked out, her voice hoarse and as bruised as her skin.

"Are you aroused?" He asked ignoring her retort, his hot breath whispering against her throat, looming close again to bury his face in her wild curls.

A furious curse answered him and Draco bared his teeth in a feral semblance of a smile. The fingers around her throat closed again and he shook her roughly. Frantic, Hermione began clawing at his hand, digging her nails into his flesh until…without warning; she stopped, a hand drifting up the length of his arm, brushing his sensitive skin making Draco moan with genuine heat.

"That's it, my beauty. Be good, kitten…"

The glittering sharp teeth of a jewelled hair comb came sailing towards his head, clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grasp.

The arm around her disappeared instantly as he caught her descending wrist in a bone jarring grasp. Without thought, Draco smashed her hand against the wall, forcing a pained shriek from her constricted throat, making it sound more like an indefinable gurgle. The comb fell away from her hand, clattering to the floor, its noise echoing across the chamber with only some distant screams from the city interrupting the crisp sound of impact.

"Oh my beauty, that was a very foolish thing to do." Draco said, cool and calm. "This would be so much better for you if you choose to cooperate…" He allowed his voice to drift off suggestively, his hard body forcing hers against the wall.

Hermione remained resolutely silent, her tears glinting in the moonlight as her eyes stared away from him unseeingly; her face pressed the wall.

Draco felt a surge of pride as his pale silver eyes swept over her, taking in her defiant expression, her sweet soft body lifted to the tips of toes as her hands curled vengefully at her sides.

"Oh, that's my girl…my little kitten. How I love you…"

She made a strangled noise, her insolent façade dropping away for a moment before settling back into place, the icy coolness engulfing her features once more. Draco took no heed as he threw back his shock of blond hair, grounding his hips in slow, erotic circles.

Slowly as her air diminished, Hermione's delicate body sagged, her weakness forcing her to drop the glacial expression upon her face. Unwillingly, her body began sinking to the ground but when his body would give no leeway; her form slumped sideways and began to fall to the floor, his hand still tightly wrapped around her neck. Within moments, unconsciousness swallowed her mind.

Draco released her neck and gently cradled her limp body to his hard one. "That's more like it…be a good girl, kitten. I'll show you what euphoria is like…teach you the only way a mortal could reach the highest tiers of heaven…" With a lover's touch, Draco shifted her into his arms and lifted her, taking her body to her adjoining bedroom and laid her still form upon the twisted sheets.

She was golden goddess in the pale moonlight, all golden skin and hair like spun silk. Only a dark bruise marred her perfection. It bloomed upon her neck, finger shaped marks standing out in sharp contrast making Draco frown in displeasure. His wife's perfection should never be flawed by something so human, his mind whispered. She was a goddess and she would be treated like one…as soon as she accepted her fate.

Straightening, Draco began unfastening his armour, slipping the heavy metal plates away from his muscled chest before placing it noiseless in a stuffed chaise. Soon, the weathered leather padding followed, the sandals lay carelessly discarded and his tunic was torn roughly aside.

As he stalked back towards the bed, his muscles rippling under perfect, alabaster skin, Draco licked his lips at the tantalising sight of her beautiful form and with a surge of speed he was by her prone body, tearing her nightgown, shredding the soft material until her virginal flesh was bared for his perusal.

Stunning…so perfect…made just for him…utterly and completely irresistible.

With a growl of desire, Draco's lips latched onto her breast, sucking roughly, rolling the peaked nipple between his teeth before he released the dark aureole and biting the curve of the soft flesh.

"Wake, my kitten…"

Rough hands swept downwards, across her soft feminine skin and over a narrow waist and fragile hips. With satisfied murmurs rolling from the tip of his tongue, Draco reached her beautiful thighs and the ever so tempting thatch of curls at their apex. Long elegant fingers reached the sweet juncture and parted the yielding flesh…he released a hiss of displeasure as he found the luke warm dryness where molten slickness should have awaited him.

Cursing hoarsely, Draco stroked his hard member roughly as temporary relief and collected the dewy pre-come on the tips of his fingers. He reached forward and pushed aside her folds once more, coating her supple nether lips with his own fluid before searching for that ever so elusive bundle of nerves and pinched it between his fingers.

Even in unconsciousness, something seemed to register within her body as she twitched slightly, bringing her body closer to his insistent hands.

"Good kitten, wake for your husband…"

He stroked her again, rougher, harder, pinching and pulling until he drew a small senseless moan from her hoarse throat. She was beginning to heat; he could feel that beckoning mystery calling to him. Draco raised his middle finger to his lips and drew it into his mouth, coating it with moist saliva before reaching for her once more. Slowly, he eased his finger into that innocent canal, meeting a little resistance as he pushed further. Her unpenetrated walls were so magnificent, soft, tight and now…hot…

She began to burn, her thighs parting as those frail eyelids began to flicker with life.

"My darling bride…burn for me…"

And she did. His little beauty was so hot now, scorching and wet as his fingers continued to tease and play, stretching her pretty virgin flesh, his thumb still stroking that wonderful little nub in insistent sensual circles. The flesh parted willingly now, the musky scent of arousal rising to Draco's nose, making him laugh huskily.

He drew his fingers out of her now soaking wet cavern, arching with bone deep desire as her body greedily clamped down against his retreating fingers, trying to draw him back into her beckoning heat. Gods she was a temptation and Draco nearly yielded to her body's unsupposing desires, but no, he would fill her, just not with his fingers.

Draco shifted up her body and lowered himself to place an affectionate kiss upon her still lips. He felt her uneven breaths brush his face before he smashed his lips to hers once more, his teeth clashing with hers as he aligned himself at her lust warmed entrance, rubbing against the slickness.

The head of his cock dipped into that breathtaking illicit succulence and Draco swirled his hips, taunting and tempting himself until he was pushed to the brink of his sanity. Fierce groans wrenched his form as his body, wound tight as a bowstring, arched upwards, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

Gods above…this creature was made for seduction.

One fierce thrust…that's all it took…to reach pure heaven, to experience pure hell.

Draco never looked back.

Hermione knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes.

There was a creature of silver and shadows hovering above, retreating and surging forward with rhythmic smoothness, its cadence primal and as old as time. For a moment, Hermione couldn't comprehend what was going on…and then it shifted and a shaft of pre-dawn light hit his features.

"Urgh…" Hermione muttered unintelligibly. "No…"

She tried to shift her clumsy body and instantly realised her mistake. He was pinning her hips to the bed somehow…at that instant, the Greek surged forward and a ripple of blinding pleasure rippled through her secret core…

A shocked keening wail of desire was ripped from her throat, made even huskier by her bruised vocal cords.

"No…" She tried to gasp instantly realising what was occurring as Draco initiated another pleasure filled thrust.

"Whyever not, my sweet?" He purred gutturally. "Are you not enjoying yourself? Perhaps you would like it better this way…"

Draco increased his tempo, his cock sinking with unrepentant savagery into her. Again and again, his thick member stroked her lust soaked flesh; again and again she felt her walls stretch to the point of pain, and still clench ravenously to forbid his retreat. Gods in heaven…how was he doing this to her body?

She was screaming now, useless noises turned into wails…

"Malfoi…" She hissed.

Draco opened his pleasure filled eyes. "Yes…" Thrust. "My sweet…" Thrust. "Temptation…?" Thrust.

Hermione didn't want to want him, but her body would not relent, would not stop burning for him, even as her mind shuddered and flinched away from his words, her body burned all the more fiercely, becoming slicker.

The Greek was smiling at her.

"Or perhaps…you would prefer a tender lover…"

Draco's thrusts slowed instantly until they became a leisurely grind, till the slow movements allowed her to feel every ridge and vein in that magnificent organ bringing her slowly to the brink of madness.

Gods!

Her body began clenching with unrelenting ferocity and her mind became clouded, her thoughts slipping away. There was a delicious fire spreading through her veins, spreading through her heart, infecting her mind.

Pleasure…agonising pleasure began to drown her in waves and tides and her breath hitched in her lungs.

Sensing her sweet completion, Draco abandoned the gentle thrusts and violently drove himself hilt-deep, nudging her womb as he hardened beyond the point of pain.

"Kitten…kitten…Hermione…come…"

There were tears streaming from her eyes now, of desire or pain, Hermione was no longer certain. All she knew for certain was that pleasure had never hurt so much…

Reluctant, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of her control, Hermione fearfully resisted that unknown storm descending upon her body, clenched her core in an effort to stave it off.

"No…no…no…what are you doing to me?" She pleaded, her eyes fixed on his rapturous face.

"Shh…shh…let go, my sweet. It will all feel brilliant when you let go…"

"No!" Hermione sobbed, her flesh closing with a vice like grip on his cock, making him hiss in deep lust. She wanted him to stop moving, to make that incessant burning go away. "Stop! No, stop!"

Even against her efforts, Draco could pull himself out and drive sharply back inside.

With a snap, Hermione shattered. A sharp unrelenting cry taking flight from her mouth and a blaze incinerated her flesh and leeched her of her strength. Deep inside her, her cavern burst with spasmodic convulsions. Unknowingly, Hermione choked Draco's cock and with a roar of unadulterated pleasure, he burst within her, flooding her womb with streams of burning seed as his body continued surging forward in relentless thrusts until he was thoroughly spent.

Her body, relaxing from its tense arc, softened in fatigue as she fearfully felt those iron strong arms close possessively around her spent form.

"My bride." He whispered darkly. "Tomorrow, we leave for home."

Hermione choked back an agonised cry. "Why?"

"To do this again and again and again…" Draco met her eyes, silver melting, mixing, sinking into gold. "So that you may bear me a dozen sons and a dozen daughters."

A/N: DONE! I love crazy Draco! You can probably tell that from my other stories...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little ficlet...and no, I don't think there will be an epilogue, but I would appreciate feedback for my future stories.

REVIEW!!

Always,

Twilight