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.

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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.

He slides closer to her, though he does not touch her again yet. This is simply to be close and in her proximity, not willing to hold onto her tightly so much as look at the skin revealed at her shoulders, her arms, and each part of her that's been away from him for so long. "Have you missed this?" he asks, voice low as if this is yet a secret they are exchanging.

That question feels oddly more personal than the one about the King. It's asking her to reveal a vulnerability: something she's long out of habit of doing. So once again, there is the tiniest of hesitations and she nods. How can she not? She cannot lie, not now.

"There has been no one like you, Athos," she tells him, her voice a raw whisper, her eyes meeting his.

He knows the same is true of her. There has been no woman that is of her equal, even though at times he feels worried that he had been cursed (he had thought this especially with Ninon, when he had been presented possibility again). He pulls away her corset and bows his head to begin a line of kisses down her shoulder, easing them towards the bed.

Arching her back, Anne cards her fingers through his hair, breath catching when she felt that tickle of his moustache, the touch of his mouth to her skin.

When she feels the bed against the backs of her thighs, she sits, then leans back, urging him down over her.

Athos is careful to remove another layer before he does so. Away goes his belts, then his gloves, and his pauldron is carefully set aside. He has all the markings of a Captain, yet, but they are soon littering the floor as he becomes the man he'd thought he left aside so very long ago.

Now, he crawls atop her and snags his fingers in her shift, twisting up the fabric to bring her close for a hard kiss.

His ardor calls to hers and she leans into the kiss, teeth glancing along his lips when she pulls away. The shift can come away easily enough, baring her to him. She is not embarrassed, watching his face for the reaction. He's still got a good many layers to remove and she is at a distinct lack of clothes. She thinks this as she leans up, kissing him again, letting him feel and taste her hunger.

Athos feels as if this swallows him whole. He has always felt that way around her and this is no exception. Weak to her, he is unable to do anything but submit and let the desperate cries accompany his every move as he bears down for deeper kisses, longer touches, and increasingly possessive holds.

It is familiar and yet new-again enough that Anne feels breathless and heady. Even as they move together, she pushes at the last of his clothes until they are both bare and she can feel the press of his skin against her. It makes her muscles tense, her core soften as she hooks a leg around his waist.

He feels somehow on display when she gets them both into the nude. Struck by their proximity and the closeness between them, Athos takes a moment to simply run his hands up and down her hips, holding onto her waist as he swallows back old nerves.

"I suspect this has not changed," he murmurs quietly.

"I would hope not," she says and her meaning is two-leveled: she sincerely hopes that what they feel when they are together is the same, and she thinks that really nothing can have changed.

She kisses him, urging him closer still. "Athos," she whispers in invitation, in desire, in love that never has had a chance to die.

Athos' gaze flickers lower over her lips, sliding back up in order to be closer to her, clasping onto her hip firmly. He's wanted her since they began this, and now the evidence presses against her firmly enough that he feels his cheeks flush beneath the hair.

"Are you ready?" he asks, once he has stolen yet another kiss.

He has not the only one whose desire has been present from the start. She has been more than ready. She nods, cradling his face. She wants to see him - to be looking at him - when she feels him press inside after so long.

Athos bends down to press slow kisses to her clavicle, brushing his beard against the soft skin as he eases his way in, subduing the choked cry that he wishes to release. For all that he has missed this and for all that it is perfect, he doesn't want to give away how much he had missed all of it. Instead, he bears down and slides into her as deep as he can go.

Holding on tight, he stays inside, not moving, for just a moment.

Anne's breath hitches and catches too and she's glad he's still; she can adjust, take him in. Her eyes close, her head falling back. For once, she's not hiding anything, letting him feel her reaction. When she takes another breath, it's slower, deeper. Good.

Athos wishes to hide, yet, but fears it is impossible. Everything is laid bare on his face, the expressions of need and love and lust and hope all echoed in the set of his lips and the gleam in his eyes. He is on display for her as he pushes in and sets this intimate, excruciatingly slow rhythm for them.

Each of those slow thrusts is met by Anne's low groan. Athos has his own special kind of beauty and what she sees in his face touches something in her. For so long, she hasn't allowed herself to feel much of anything, but now, she does, feeling her body respond as it always has to Athos's.

Soon, there is little control left. He has guarded it so close to him over the years that now that it is tumbling away, he hardly knows what to do and finds himself panicking slightly to see it broken apart piece by piece. At the same time, though, he is grateful that they are in this together.

She knows him. Every part of him, good and bad. And so he keeps going, even as the composure on his face falls away.

It doesn't take much for Anne to start crying out. There's not been anything like how this is with him. Her body is tightening around him, her fingers digging into the muscle along his spine.

He's lost his composure, she's lost her control. But they are together.

He gasps when her fingers find their groove, pushing ever deeper as if he had any more room to go, wincing as he feels as though he is hurting her, but then again, she seems impossible to wound or hurt or harm, an invincible presence. "Anne," he gasps out, speaking her name like this in the first time for five years.