Title: Life With A Conscience (5am) 1/1 (for now, at least)
Pairing: Hector X Paris
Warning: None, surprisingly! Well except that it deals with M/M relations!
Summary: If Hector were the Earth, then Paris was the wind; one strong and steady, the other free and fearless. While the ground is solid and firm, never much moving, the wind is a thing that cannot be contained.
Comments: I suppose one could say this is a song fic, of sorts. This story is based entirely on the song, every bit of inspiration I had was gleaned from the lyrics. The song is "5am" by Appleton. If you have the song, put it on when you read this. If you don't have the song, I highly suggest you go and find yourself a copy, because that song completes this story. Regardless, I've included the lyrics. But go and get the song, because it's really beautiful and gorgeous, and could inspire yet more wonderfully angsty stories! [/Appleton plug] This story has nothing to do with the events of the movie.
It's 5 o'clock in the morning
And I give up on sleep
Life with a conscience
I decide to walk away
So I find my possessions
And slide from your room
Ignore all regrets
I push myself into the street
I, I, I don't want to talk
I've said my piece
and I'll just go now
I would love to believe I'd be
content to wait
with you again
At 6 o'clock in the morning
you'll awake all alone
and pause for a moment
to damn or bless me
as you wish
I, I, I don't want to talk
I've said my piece
and I'll just go now
I would love to believe I'd be
content to wait
with you again
I agree, it would never be right
and I'll just go now, and I'd love to believe
and I'd be content to wait with you again, again, again
I, I, I don't want to talk
I've said my piece
and I'll just go now
I would love to believe I'd be
content to wait
with you again
His gaze boring into the back of Hector's head, eyeing his brother's light brown curls, Paris slowly pulled the sheets back from his legs, trying to rise from the bed without making too noticeable a movement. His feet finding the cool stone floor, he grabbed onto the headboard, using it for leverage as he pulled himself upright. Now standing, he turned around, his eyes flickering back to the sleeping form below him. Studying his motionless brother, Paris felt his heart constrict at his thoughts. How he longed to crawl back into the warm bed and snuggle up to Hector, seek out an audience in his brother's protective arms. The embrace of Hector had often been an anchor for the younger man throughout his life. No matter the problem or the opposing party, Paris had always been able to count on his older brother for guidance and support. But things were different now. Hector had a wife, but more so, his brother was now a father. These facts had lately begun to pull at Paris' conscience. Could he continue to share a bed with a man who had a family of his own? The fact that he had taken his brother on as a lover had never really bewildered the younger one, not the way it would bewilder anyone who knew not the Princes of Troy. Priam's boys had always been close, inseparable in body, mind and spirit, as brothers should be. But the closeness had evolved over the years, and eventually they had taken to sharing each other's bodies.
Closing his eyes at the sudden rush of memories that pushed their way to the front of his thoughts, Paris held fast to the frame, determined not to weaken in his resolve. Opening his eyes again, he looked down upon his brother one last time before moving away from the bed. Bending down to retrieve his clothing from the floor, the younger prince quickly dressed. Each moment his eyes lingered on Hector was another moment spent wishing to return to his brother's bed. As he kneeled to fasten his sandals to his feet he paused, almost unwilling to stand again for fear he would change his mind. But stand he did, each footstep carrying him closer to the door. Once he felt the handle of the door graze his fingertips, Paris gripped it, the cool of the steel somewhat strengthening his crumbling resolve.
If Hector were the stone, the foundation of the building, Paris was the sleek and cool steel used in the handle. A pretty thing that looked slightly out of place beside the stone, something used only to open doors, to reach destinations otherwise unattainable. Sleek, smooth and delicate all in one, yet if tested, one that would never break. On the other hand, stone always appeared strong, even while crumbling. As steel would withstand the pull of time, stone would begin to crack, to show signs of wear. But even as fragments were lost and shards were discarded, stone would still stand as a sign of strength. Stone was of the Earth, it's naturalness representing the hearth and home, strength akin to family. Made by man, steel represented the forging on of society, the draw of war, the declination of morality.
Pulling the door open, Paris crept out of the room, lingering in the hallway, looking in on Hector still. He knew he ought to leave before his brother woke. But still was he drawn to this place, to the bed upon which his favourite pillow now rested. So peaceful was Hector in sleep, the lines of worry which creased his face in the daytime gone, eased away by the tranquility of dreams.
What of Hector's dreams, his desires? Was it truly proper of him to leave without discussing it with his brother? For so long they had been a pair, inseparable. Now that bond was breaking. Paris told himself he was doing what was right for Hector. He was reversing their roles.
Hector would never give him up. Even if their relationship threatened his marriage, he would never give up the closeness to his little brother. If life still lived on in Hector, he would prefer to live it with Paris close by. Though his heart yearned for his brother, Paris was not foolish. What he and Hector shared was not natural by any stretch of the imagination. If word ever got out of their love making, Paris feared the repercussions it would cause for his brother. For himself he feared naught, for as the younger Prince of Troy, no great responsibility lay on his smaller shoulders. Men would not look to him for guidance and reassurance during a time of battle. But as for Hector, the elder brother was poised to take over as King one day, and he could not afford the distraction of sharing his bed with a younger man.
Though he knew their parting would cause much sorrow and grief to Hector, Paris thought it best that he end the charade now, before any complications arose. That final thought flitting through his mind, Paris pulled the door closed, his hand resting a moment longer on the steel handle. Long had he contemplated departure and long had he prepared himself for it. Returning briefly to his room, he picked up the small bag already packed, hefting it over his shoulder as he moved to his dressing table. There, upon the top, were two letters. One, addressed to his father, and the second, addressed to Hector. Both letters full of regret, they appeared to be similarly written. But if you paid attention, you would notice the subtle differences in wording. Differences subtle enough to answer all of Hector's questions, without raising any suspicion from others who might partake in reading something so personal. Paris made no direct mention of he and Hector's romantic relations, but he said more than enough so his brother would understand his true intentions.
Slipping out of his room, Paris made his way to the stables, readying his horse to be mounted. Slipping one foot into a stirrup, the younger prince flung his other leg over the white beast, settling himself comfortably upon his steed. Urging the horse forward, Paris came out of the stables, making way for the city walls. Calling upon the guard to open the gate, he was greeted with questions, inquiries as to his early morning departure. Explaining simply that he wished to go for a ride, ignoring the curious glances placed to the bow and quiver of arrows he wore upon his back, Paris demanded once more that the gate be opened. There were no questions this time, and quickly he was free of the constriction caused by the heavy stone walls.
Urging his steed to break into a run, Paris sought comfort from the feel of the wind rushing past his skin. If Hector were the Earth, then Paris was the wind; one strong and steady, the other free and fearless. While his brother would spend countless hours planning, building and training, Paris would spend his time upon the back of his horse, flying through the countryside. While Hector preferred to spend his spare time at home, making merry with food, drink and loved ones, Paris preferred to be out in the open, to feel the wind rushing past him. The differences between the two were nearly countless, it was as though they were one separated: Hector, the body; Paris, the mind. Put the two together, and one heart would you find.
As he rode on, thoughts poured continuously through the head of the younger prince. Would Hector come after him? Would he allow his favourite object of affection to slip from his grasp so easily? Hoping for his brother's sake that the crown prince would understand Paris' sacrifice, he also could not help but hope that Hector would be stubborn, that his brother would hunt him down and drag him back to the city. It wasn't that he wanted to leave, if it were possible for Paris to remain in the city he would, but he knew that by staying he would only leave more room for longing. Hector needed to be free of all distractions and unfortunately he was the biggest one.
Stopping for a moment to give his horse a rest, Paris turned around in his saddle, his eyes flickering back to the statuesque outer walls of the city. Looking up at the sun, Paris judged from it's position that it was nearing 6am, and soon Hector would wake only to find him gone. It would not take his brother long to find his letter and Paris intended to be far from the city when that happened. Turning back, Paris urged his mount to continue forward. If he were to make good distance from the city, he could afford no time for tarrying.
Usually when he rode hard against the wind, the eyes of the youngest Prince of Troy became wet with tears, for the rush of air against them would offer no alternative. But on this day Paris fought hard to keep them dry. If his eyes were to become moist now, then tears would threaten his composure. If his composure were to break, he had no doubt that he would turn his horse around, return to the city and beg the forgiveness of his family. But wind would never blow steel off of it's path, and Paris would not be deterred from his. It was for Hector that he had made his choice, and he would not do his brother the disservice of changing his mind. That was a thing only for fools and cowards, neither of those titles befitting the younger Prince of Troy. Not anymore, at least.
End notes: Oh my god the rhyme was entirely unintentional! But upon reading it again, I like it, so it stays, in all it's corny glory. As for the story, that's all for now. But if there's enough call for a sequel (which would be called 6am and would focus on Hector) then it might yet be written. I won't promise anything though! For anyone wondering, I'm still working on Rebuilding Paris, just waiting for my beta to finish before I post anymore of that. I wanted to write something else though, because there's still such a lack of Hector X Paris! We need more Brotherly Love!