armedagainstlove | (no subject)

(no subject)

He'd made it to the crossroads, but not in time to do anything but find a waiting glove. The carriage had long gone and with it, his wife. Athos isn't even sure if he's disappointed or broken, because he still doesn't know whether he'd been going to see her off or to join her, but he cannot imagine abandoning the Musketeers completely, but knows that he could not leave her either. With her back in his life and all her debts gone, Athos can see them as who they are.

No more lies. No more deceit. They will simply be the people they actually are and they will try. For some reason, this is something that stirs Athos' heart in a way that he hasn't felt in years. He thinks back to Las Vegas and how Faith had been intoxicating then, with her dark hair and her knowing eyes, but even then it had just been Anne that he wanted.

And now, he has her glove, but nothing else.

He makes it back to Paris and finds himself standing at the door that he knows will bring him to the Nexus.

He doesn't wait at all before going through it, though he knows that yet again, his challenge will be finding Milady, when she is constantly one step ahead of him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, suffice to say that Anne was not expecting that.

Her eyes widen, and she definitely would have pulled away had her hands not been held like this.

"... married? You - " How does that work, though? "You have another wife?"

"Alcohol was a strong factor," Athos says, which is an understatement, but he believes it is necessary to say as much. "It was annulled the morning after, but there was also a consummation," he confesses, but it has been the first and last time of such intimacy, and he has not allowed himself that closeness again.

"The woman no longer resides at the Nexus, as far as I can tell."

Another rainbow of emotions crosses her face as Anne just looks at him: disbelief, jealousy, affrontery and even a touch of amusement in there as well as pain that he both drank so much and that he needed to.

She doesn't think about the woman. It's probably for the best that she's no longer in the Hotel.

Extricating a hand, she touches his face, saying, her voice low, fond and warning all at once. "No more wives."

"Two is surely enough," he jokes with a perfectly dry and deadpan demeanour, arching his brow as he wonders if he really had just seen jealousy flicker over Milady's face. He keeps one hand on hers, rubbing his thumb in circles as he nods.

"No more wives. Or lady friends. Or people Aramis suggests I meet," he concurs.

Yes, all very funny. Milady just raises her brows at him. That's for the best too. She is one of those rare women who doesn't take to Aramis; she finds him ... overly sentimental.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me?" she asks. Best to air it all now.

Athos cannot think of anything that she is not already acquainted with, given that she seems to have more of a working knowledge of the events in Paris than even he. He shakes his head, though there is a wry smile as he considers other recent events. "A strange robotic being thinks I drink too much," he deadpans.

"And you missed when I had the power to manipulate ice."

"Well, I have agreed to go on something called an 'away' mission,' she tells him quite wryly. "It seems simply to involve exploring the various doors." And really, that is the extent of her experience here.

Perhaps the only mystery remaining is her youth, the start of everything.

"You do drink too much," she adds, her finger tracing his chin.

"I do have my reasons," Athos feels compelled to point out, a hush to his words as he regards her with something nearing criticism, as he had only begun to dive down that long hole when he'd thought his life in shambles and his wife dead by his own hand. "Once you begin that, it's difficult to stop, but I have been easing away from it. Ever since I banished you," he admits.

"And now that I'm back?" she asks, resting her hands on his chest again. She asks, not to be cruel, but because, really, if they do this, their lives will be so very different from what they have grown used to. "What will the others think?"

Neither of them is reckless or romantic enough just to rush into things, it seems. Life has taught them not to be very careful, hasn't it?

"I do not know," Athos admits, somewhat rough. He has heard their opinions and knows it will not be easy to tell them that he wishes to try once more with Anne, but he does not think they will understand the severity of a bond made between husband and wife; especially when it is as tumultuous as theirs.

"I believe d'Artagnan may understand," he says calmly. "Aramis and Porthos may be harder to convince. They saw me at my worst, after all."

"Does that matter?" she asks. The question may seem strange and seem indifferent, but she can't help but feel it is legitimate. Where does she stand? Where do they stand?

At least, she tells herself, she has acquitted herself quite admirably in the time just before she came here.

"It matters, but in both ways. They are my best friends and their opinion matters to me. However, you are my wife and I will not have them interfering in matters they do not understand." It is perhaps too much to ask that they all get along, but Athos wishes it to be a possibility, given that he cannot imagine a future without all of them in it.

That's reassuring. Anne lets herself feel just that little bit of hope. It's just new and old at the same time and foreign that she doesn't quite know what to do with such a sensation.

"Do you love me?" she asks, her voice a whisper between them.

"I never stopped," he confesses, which is why he had slipping into the drink so much and had been why his life had been a shambles for five years without her, still only barely reacting now that they are trying again. "You are my heart, despite you trying to break it or stop it multiple times. But I suppose in that, we are even."

And if they are even, they are at the ground level and can start over.

That Anne loves him is not in question: she lets it show on her face even as she leans in, stealing a gentle, fleeting kiss from his mouth, keeping her eyes open to watch his face.

Every time they touch, now, he feels it as though she is ripping through the parts of him he thought long closed off, and she is tearing them open anew. He feels that same love, though it's tempered and somewhat bitter, but starting to offer the faintest of hopes.

He rubs his thumb in circles along her cheek, careful not to touch near her throat, as he's not sure either of them are ready for that just yet.

No, not yet. Nevertheless, she shivers at how he touches her, so gently, and she cannot but kiss him. Kiss like she has wanted to, like she needs to. Leaning into him, it is like it always was: instant heat.

Athos turns them so that he is the one to the wall, knowing she could overpower him or threaten him or even harm him, but perhaps this is the most telling thing about this second chance -- he trusts her and he allows this trust to show here.

No, not at this moment. Anne doesn't want to hurt Athos. She has hope for once and while she may not be entirely sure what to do with it or how to trust it, she will do all she can to keep it.

The kisses deepen and she pulls at his clothes, urging them away. Her dress laces in front and he can do as he wishes or she can undress for him: one show of trust deserves another.

Athos allows his gaze to fall down to the laces at the front of her dress, where his attention has now been drawn. There is only one thing to do, he fears, and his fingers are already working at them while his heart beats rapidly. "You want this, yes?"

"Yes," she says in a way that might seem entirely foreign to her: not sardonically, not sarcastically, but honestly and sincerely.

Yes, she wants this.

Her fingers slip to the laced tie of his trousers and she pauses there, not pulling yet. She can be somewhat patient after five years.

He is careful, now, careful of the laces because he imagines that it would be all too easy to break this new alliance or either of them if he does not do it correctly. He bows his head lower and begins his slow exploration, though he pauses when he has loosened midway.

"Did the King do this?" he asks, a bitter echo in his words.

He can feel her stiffen where he is and Anne recognizes just what Athos does: this can go wrong in so many ways and here is another one of those moments.

She smiles a little if only because she knows that it will take him some time to move beyond that. "No," she tells him and she's not lying. She always undressed herself for him; it was part of the appeal for Louis.

Somehow, it is unable to be shaken from his mind. Now that it has happened, he suspects it will always be there at the back of his mind, but he is going to strive to ensure it stays that way -- merely at the back of his mind. "Good," he says firmly, with an edge of jealousy and mild possession as he continues, yanking firmly to pry them loose.

Her smile then is different, deeper, more sincere; that tinge of jealousy she hears pleases her. She wants that, petty as it may be. As he tugs, she's moved with the pressure before the corset gives, falling loose on her shoulders; she shrugs it off, then, letting fall to the floor, leaving the silk part of her dress looser and shimmering.

That's when she undoes the laces of his trousers, letting her fingers glance along the the skin of his belly. There is possession in that movement too. Hers.