D'Artagnan

D’Artagnan Leslie Stanford was tired of feeling out of place once again. This time it was where Goths and metalheads gathered. She had never really felt in place anywhere at any time in life, much less a trendy club. Putting on a good front most of the time, but the reality was she felt horrid most days, as if she were not part of the human race. Paying for her drink, and tossing back her long hair she headed toward the exit to start her walk home. “Excuse me. Hey, wait. Please don’t go!” said a voice barely audible above the pounding music. Leslie turned around to see a tall, young, long haired man about her age walking a few steps behind her. She was about to hit the exit of the newly opened club, Rage. Not being the type who would normally venture out alone to a loud, crowded heavy metal club, she was a bit startled by the sound of this stranger’s voice. “Are you talking to me?” Looking around, Leslie scanned the area to make sure there was no vampy vixen he was chasing after so she wouldn’t be embarrassed if he wasn’t actually talking to her. Coming to the grand opening of a nightclub to shake the blues was not the best idea she’d hatched lately, but being cooped up wasn’t changing her outlook on life, so she thought something like this would. Nothing like three-hundred people dancing, drinking, and exchanging phone numbers to slash that little theory in half. The handsome stranger’s British accent shook Leslie from her thoughts “Yeah, Yeah love I was.” Continuing through the exit as if they had come together, he brushed her shoulder ever so slightly as he pushed past her to open the door. “I was watching you for a while inside.” This freaked her out a little and made her want to run, but something inside held her there, walking beside him down the sidewalk. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t run away screaming stranger danger, just like her mother taught her as a child. Maybe just curiosity or the fact that she really hadn’t had a real conversation with anyone in months, much less one focused on her. Walking on slowly she decided to let things play out. What’s the worst that could happen? She could end up tied up in his basement awaiting dismemberment, that’s what. “Watching me huh? So what are you, a stalker or a serial killer?” The tall dark haired man who now looked even younger and more handsome in the streetlights smiled slightly. Moving his long wavy hair behind his ear, he nodded and replied, “Yes, I am both, I’m afraid. What gave me away, the length of rope in my pocket?” As his even bigger smile glistened with white teeth, Leslie returned the smile and said, “Ha ha, very funny.” “No, no you just seemed like you were out of your element in there.” “Now exactly how would you know what my element is? I could be the hardest headbanger in that place.” “Headbangers don’t usually wear Gucci boots and a leather jacket with the tag still on it.” Looking over her shoulder, her face turned as red as the boots on her feet. Smiling meekly she yanked the tag off. “You caught me I guess. The boots are loaners and the jacket is a gift from someone I work with. A label man huh?” “Me? No, let us say I'm in unknown art. I tend to notice things others would not” “Ahh, I see. Artist? I hope you aren’t looking for a model because I don’t think I’d be much to paint.” “I don’t know. I think you’d give Venus a run for her money.” Face reddening again she said, “I bet you say that to all the girls.” Continuing to stroll on down the sidewalk at a turtle's pace, her sense of loneliness seemed to dissipate for the time being. “So, Ms. Tag, what’s your real name?” “ Leslie, Leslie…Sta” “No, no last names yet. Let’s leave some mystery to our newly budding friendship, shall we?” “Okay Mr. Watcher, what’s your name?” She asked him as she grabbed her auburn hair bunching it into a ponytail. “D’Artagnan.” Stopping quickly and getting in front of her new companion, Leslie looked at him and tried not to laugh. “You’re serious? D’Artagnan? Like one of the musketeers? That D’Artagnan?” “Yes, the very same. Unable to hold her laughter any longer she let it all out. “I’m so sorry. It’s just I’ve never actually met anyone named D’Artagnan. I was just picturing you with a sword and a big hat with a feather shouting En Garde!” “You know, where I am from there are swords and hats aplenty. I say En Garde quite often.” It was then that he ran to the next street light, scrambled up it, and shouted “En Garde! Fear not beautiful lady for I, D’Artagnan, shall save you.” Shaking her head and walking past him with her arm outstretched in a talk to the hand sort of way, she tried to catch her breath. “My lady, me doth think you should not walkest away, for we have just begun to chat, speak…converse? Talk! That’s it, talk. We have just begun to talk and get to know one another.” Jumping down he quickened his steps to catch up. He could see Leslie's back; her head was down as she was still trying to catch her breath from laughing, or so he thought. Catching up and grabbing her shoulder, he could see she was not laughing, but she was in fact sobbing. Becoming immediately concerned it was his fault, D’Artagnan stopped and pulled her toward a brick wall near the opening of an alley. “Apologies if I was too forward. I just sa…” Leslie looked up at him like a little girl who lost her way. Her blue eyes big, beautiful, and full of tears. “No, no, it’s not you. It’s…it's… I don’t know what it is. I just feel so empty and hopeless inside. I have always felt this way…my entire life. I feel like I am no good, hideous and broken. I don’t belong anywhere. I just don’t fit.” Touching her face, he pulled her small frame into his chest. Resisting at first but, becoming intoxicated by the smell of his skin mixed with the feel of his strong arms, she relented and fell into him. “My lady…you are anything but hideous. You turned many a lad’s heads in that room tonight. I know, I was watching.” Taking in a ragged breath, Leslie wanted to explain it was more than things like that. Internally she was a mess and for all of her twenty-six years, she had always felt that way. “I guess I thought if I came out here tonight maybe someone would talk to me, perhaps even see me as beautiful or Desirable.” “Someone did.” Barely able to breathe, Leslie was reeling from what he just said. Feeling him pick her up and move toward a doorway, she began to feel a little nervous, but not frightened as he maneuvered the door handle and push it open. Sitting her down, he kicked it shut behind them. Tilting her head back, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I can heal you, lady.” Running his fingers through Leslie’s hair he kissed her ever so slightly on the lips. “You…we…can’t…we don’t know each other, …please.” “Trust me. Do not be afraid. All is well Leslie Stanford.” “How do you know my name?” “Shhhh,” he softly hissed from his lips. A small part of her wanted to run, but there was so much more of her wanting to stay, and stay she did. Leaning into her again, he kissed her neck working his way around to the opposite side, then up to her ear. Feeling his warm, soft, full, lips her heart rate increased exponentially. She lifted her hands to his chest, feeling as though she should be doing something instead of standing there like a meek inexperienced virgin. Then again, she hadn’t done this sort of thing before, showing her true feelings to some stranger, then proceeded to let him sweep her into God knows where to take complete advantage of her. Where had he taken her, come to think of it? Where Hell’s kitchen was she? Reaching up quickly he grabbed both of her wrists and looked her in the eyes and said, “No, you do not have to do anything. Just... let go.” Deeply and suddenly sucking air into her lungs, she relaxed and looked into his piercing green eyes. So soft and smoldering his eyes were, she completely lost herself in them. Leslie got a good look at her would-be savior for the first time since he followed her out of the club. His skin was smooth and tan, which made those green eyes pop like two emeralds. His features were strong, young, and chiseled. Around his neck, he wore a silver chain with some sort of charm attached to it. All of this magnificence stunningly framed by wavy, raven-colored hair. Losing herself in this man, this self-proclaimed healer, she became weak and her knees began to buckle. Catching her at the waist and moving her backward toward a dimly lit corner of the room, D’artagnan maneuvered them in a fluid motion to the only furniture in the room bed and nightstand. The only illumination came from three candles on the tiny, stain bare, stand. “ I, I feel dizzy.” Placing her gently on the bed, he made no attempt at speaking. D’artagnan just went on about the business of being attentive. Kneeling in front of her he slipped off her boots, then running his hands smoothly up her shin, over her thighs, up and over her breasts to her shoulders slowly sliding off her jacket. Holding both of her hands in his, he penetrated her with his smoldering gaze. Softly he began kissing her neck again increasing the frequency and pressure of each connection, he moved on to her lips. Feeling their warmth and moisture, she eagerly kissed him back. Opening her mouth was like a catalyst to his fire, causing him to kiss her more passionately. Feeling his tongue in her mouth, she could taste a hint of the peppermints that were in black skull head dishes throughout the club. Mingled with the peppermint was his addicting, sweet, flavor. Never having been this intimate for more than a few quick minutes with any of her other lovers, (if you want to call them that), Leslie wondered if she had the same effect on him. Was this man who captured her in as much of a trance as she was? Gently biting and pulling at her lips, D’Artagnan lifted himself so he could shed his tee shirt and as he did, Leslie could see three long scars on his chest and abdomen. Running her finger along the scar closest to his heart made Leslie’s imagination run wild and her body jump with excitement. Before she could ask him about them, he was pushing her back on the bed. She melted as he nuzzled her chest where her shirt had become unbuttoned. Trying to unbutton the rest became too frustrating. Grabbing the cloth with both hands, he ripped it harshly until all the buttons flew across the room. Leslie shivered slightly and closed her eyes. Straddling her and stroking her stomach with his fingertips he bent down to her breasts, cupping them firmly in his hands and alternating which of them he ran his tongue over. Settling on the right one, he pulled and tugged at it with his lips. This made Leslie sigh and grip the sheets beneath her. Shutting her eyes tighter not in fear, but from the amount of ecstasy she was feeling, she reached up entangling her fingers in his hair longing for his body to meld into hers. D’Artagnan moved slowly down her body with light fluttery little kisses covering her stomach, her navel, stopping only at the barrier of her jeans. Undoing the button and zipper he then slid back up to her face like a cunning cobra. Tensing up again she uttered “Dar…” Placing a finger on her lips, he soothed her and whispered, “It’s alright beautiful girl. I am here, with you…for you… I won’t hurt you.” Using his foot, he removed her jeans pushing them from her body like the much-unwanted hindrance they were. Kissing her eyelids, both her cheeks and her lips seductively he stopped and whispered, “Now we really begin.” Leslie didn’t understand but didn’t care. Never thinking she could ever have an experience like this, she wanted to absorb every moment of it. More kissing, starting at her forehead, and working his way down to her navel again she froze. feeling his breath on her inner thigh, then his tongue drawing a line leading to her silk thong, which he removed with his teeth. Starting to relax when he moved his hand up the center of her torso and then tensing up again when she realized he was now inside her. His lips warm and playful, his tongue darting and invading her, awakening her senses. No one had ever done this to her before and it was almost more than she could take. Arching her back and once again reaching for him she moaned, “Please.” Leslie's movement and sounds made D’Artagnan pull her toward him and probe her even deeper. Unable to contain herself any longer she breathlessly called to him. “D, Dar, why, I’ve never, I… !” Slowly lifting his head, he instructed her once more. “No words my lady.” Straightening up and standing now at the foot of the bed, he took off his jeans giving Leslie a first look at him in the raw. None of the men she dated looked anything like this Adonis standing in front of her now. Still reeling, she looked him up and down. He was golden and muscular, but lean. Being a bit of a loner but no prude she actually was almost too shy to look directly at his endowment but didn’t have much of a chance because he was quickly back on the bed with her. Kissing her and entering her this time all at once, D’Artagnan began thrusting his body toward hers Spreading her thighs to welcome his advances, she all but levitated. He looked deep into her eyes all the while moving, with expertise…steady and sure of himself. Leslie parted her lips beckoning him back, wanting and taking all he would give. Eagerly following his lead in this passionate dance he initiated she shivered with passion. Unafraid and uninhibited now she moved with him, they were one. The harder he entered the more she wanted. Feeling alive and excited in mind and body, her thoughts raced. Just as she thought, she could take no more their dance came to an electrifying end. Wringing wet with sweat and breathing as one, there was no other sound in the room other than their heartbeats. All time had stopped for Leslie. Gazing at her, D’Artagnan stroked her forehead and gently inquired, “How do you feel my lady love?” Mmm, that voice...so intoxicating...so very different. His very mannerisms so unlike anyone she had ever met. “I don’t know if I really qualify as a lady, but I feel indescribable like I’ve never felt before. Like maybe ….” “Like perhaps you could be on the mend?” “Maybe.” “Good, then now it is sleep you need.” “But, I… ” “Shhhh, close your eyes. Rest. All is well and you are safe.” Leslie said no more as he wrapped his body around hers nestling her in a cocoon of is warmth. She drifted away in minutes. Dreaming of her newfound lover and reliving their passion over and over in her dreams. Was this all a dream? Had any of it been real? She shivered as these thoughts invaded her erotic rem sleep and each time D’artaganan would pull her closer into his muscular form. His warmth and breath on her skin soothing her to back to peaceful slumbers. ********************************* “Hey, Lady, Lady!” A hefty loud man in a hard hat and flannel shirt startled Leslie awake. “What…who…Where is D’Artagnan?” “D’Artagnan? Look, Miss, my name’s Joe. I don’t know who da heck D’Artagnan is. All I know is we are doing a complete gut and remodel of this place. How did you even get in here?” Looking around the room in a daze, she saw nothing of the images from last night. There was no nightstand, no candles, and no bed. Only a very old army cot on which she sat, lots of drop cloths, two by fours and herself. There was no sign of D’Artagnan anywhere. “Look, are you ok? Did someone bring you here and do something to ya? Should I call the cops? Jesus this is gonna push my bond insurance through the roof!” “What? No, no, I'm fine. I was at the opening of Rage last night and I guess I had a little too much to drink and stumbled in here. I must have passed out. I’m really sorry for the trouble…I.” “Ahh, it’s fine. If you’re sure you’re ok?” “Yes, yes I’m good. Do you mind if I just sit here for a few minutes?” “Take your time. We had to send out for materials because the guy that wanted this flip flopped and changed his mind about some stuff so I got the whole crew in a holding pattern. Some art dealer. Fine with us. Union...so gotta pay us anyhow. Laughing and taking his Brooklyn accent and turning away, he called back to Leslie, “Take all the time you want.” Shaking her head and trying to imagine just what really happened in the shadows just hours ago. Standing up and looking around nothing in the room gave her any clues that what she experienced was real. “Someone must have put a Mickey in my drink.” Realizing she was talking aloud to herself, Leslie bent down to grab her jacket from behind the cot, and as she did something in the far corner of the room caught her eye. “Curiosity killed the cat. Yeah but the cat never woke up from a dream like the one I had. You're talking to yourself again Leslie.” Walking over to the corner, she could see that what grabbed her attention was an easel fashioned from scraps of wood. The easel, crudely covered with dust cloths and plastic sheeting looked oddly haunting. Lesley was very much drawn to it. Pulling at the drapings one by one she finally discovered their hidden contents. There on the rickety tripod was a painting facing the wrong way. She had to wrestle with the rather large piece a bit to turn facing her. The painting was so badly coated in dust she couldn’t tell what was on it. The canvas was also in bad need of repair with three slash marks in it. Picking up one of the drop cloths, Leslie began to wipe the thick mass of dust from the mysterious painting. When she was finished, she was astonished at what she uncovered. There staring back at her from the huge tattered canvas was D’Artagnan. The painting itself was faded, but his piercing eyes looked just as they did the night before. Stumbling backward a bit and then forward, she stretched out her hand and softly drug her fingers across it. “D’Artagnan?” Tears began streaming down her face as one thing he said passed through her mind repeatedly. “Let us say I’m in unknown art” Confused and filled with heartache she could not wrap her mind around what she was seeing. He looked much as he did in the dim light. His clothing was much different. Clothing from a different time. He wore boots that came up to his knees. A white shirt with laces that were undone hung loosely on his shoulders. He was standing next to something she could not make out because that part of the painting was ruined. The slashes in the canvas seemed to be in the exact places of the scars she’d seen on his body “ D’Artagnan.” His name achingly fell from her lips. As she said his name, she put her hand to her chest as if to check if she were still alive and if this was all real. Doing this, she felt something touching her hand. Upon further inspection, she realized it was the necklace she noticed on him just hours ago. Pulling it over her head so she could take a good look at it, she could see it was a silver cross. Dropping to her knees she sobbed and desperately screamed his name once again. “D’Artagnan!” Suddenly a breeze came through the open door and she heard a faint voice. “Fear not beautiful lady for I shall never be far. Say my name in the light of the moon and I will come to you when you are in need.” It felt as if the breeze entered her body giving her a great amount of peace. Standing up and placing the cross back around her neck she took one last look at the painting before leaving. “ Come back to me,” she whispered. Gathering herself, and wiping the tears from her face she headed out the door toward home, her ethereal lover etched in her mind forever.