(no subject)

[armedagainstlove]

He has been drinking for some time.

Apparently, in this city of bright lights, gold coins go a very long way. Athos hadn't travelled very far from the door, sitting himself upon a stool and beginning to make his way through as much wine as he possibly could. Two bottles in, he has made a great friend of the bartender, who does not mind that Athos has little to say to him. There are gold coins for the taking and Athos has no care for money. He has plenty of money. He is a Comte living in a hovel. He has more money than he knows what to do with.

The wine of the future tastes empty, though, as though it lacks in strength. He has been given many odd stares for his weaponry, but Athos will not dismiss them, knowing that he is not so dangerous when he is drunk. After all, he can still shoot from five paces away and if Porthos can shoot a melon off Aramis' head when drunk, then Athos can wear his weapons.

When he looks up, after another glass, he now realizes that he is not alone. "How long have you been here?" Athos asks of the beauty beside him, puzzled and rather worried that he is lapsing time.

Comments

[slutbomb]

Though they are plenty, Faith's noises tend more toward the types that don't produce words, but Athos' obvious joy is contagious and impossible to ignore. She grins, moving her hands to his hips to encourage him to slow his pace a bit.

"Make it last, then," she advises through a chuckle. It's an unexpected turn, that she's suddenly concerned with making sure Athos enjoys himself. She's not quite breathless yet, but her words come out rushed and fervid. "Don't want you to pop before you've had all the fun. I don't even know what you like, yet."

[armedagainstlove]

His stuttered protest is nearly let out when she slows them, but he thinks perhaps that might be the best thing for it. While he has little patience for waiting, he also doesn't want to create a reputation for himself that he isn't able to hold off. Breathing in slow and deep, he finds himself brushing kisses over her neck with his beard creating pink marks, beginning to fuck her in a way he's not touched a woman in years (and usually, it had been someone Porthos and Aramis had quietly procured for him).

"With this much wine in me? I like nearly everything."

[slutbomb]

She moves with Athos, turning her head to the side to allow him better access, moving her hips with him. She hooks a leg behind his back, trusting him to keep holding her weight up while they twist and tangle.

"I'll make it easy then. Hard...?" Faith gets words out between breaths that are quickly sucked in and just as eagerly released.

Up from his hips, Faith lets her nails digs across his stomach and up to Athos' chest, where her touch becomes feather-light as she watches for a reaction. She prefers a little pain with her pleasure, but Faith's come a long way -- she knows not everyone likes the same things. "Or soft?"

[armedagainstlove]

He has never been a man who appreciates soft things. His life is hard edges, sharp swords, and brutal battles. "Hard," he responses, hissing out with pleasure at the touch of her nails against his stomach, his lips parting in order to use his teeth slightly more. "Hard," he insists again, thinking of how Anne had never been kind in the bedroom, but oh, how he had loved it.

His locket dangles in the space between them as he cannot take that off, and he leans down to devour her lips in a fierce kiss that once again demands this to be hard, without saying the word.