FIc: In which a visitation turns into a gift followed by philosophizing
“Like a fragrant rose?” Athos inquired, snapping the plumed hat off his companion’s head, and tossing it carelessly onto the table.
“Albeit it is a rather fetid one,” Aramis mouthed, bringing his face within an inch of the face of Athos. The older musketeer cocked an eyebrow in response and, picking up one of Aramis’s hands, slowly extricated the young man’s delicate fingers from the glove ensconcing them. “And rather wilted, at that,” Aramis added, as Athos brought the liberated hand to his lips and kissed it in a way that would have been gallant had it not been tinged with his usual air of sauciness. “And worm-ridden,” Aramis concluded.
“I love it when you compare me to carrion, having freshly arrived from the bed of your mistress,” Athos smirked, throwing Aramis’s glove gently but precisely into its owner’s face.
“Alas,” Aramis responded with mock resignation, “That is not whence I come, or else I would not have this forlorn look about me.”
“Aramis, my love, are you actually worried about equipping yourself?”
“I’ll have it be known, that I’m sufficiently well equipped,” Aramis snapped with feigned indignation, and pressed his body against that of Athos, to prove his point.
“Oh my,” was all he received in response, in addition to another raised eyebrow.
“But as I said,” Aramis continued dismissively, “Seeing as I come not from the bed of my mistress, nor anyone else for that matter, lest you were wondering…” he trailed off momentarily to allow his lips to brush against those of the other man. “We best be doing something about all this pent up frustration before Porthos and the boy get here, shall we?”
“Hard to avoid, aren’t they?” Athos responded, in a rather non-committal fashion.
“Like the pox.” Aramis removed his other glove and pulled Athos’s face roughly towards himself to be insistently kissed.
“I don’t quite know how you can stand to touch me, finding me as you do in such a fetid state,” Athos mumbled under breath, as his friend’s lips trailed over his Adam’s apple.
“Why are you being so difficult? Shall I woo you with poetry first?” Aramis took a step forward, maneuvering Athos’s body closer to the bed. The latter simply opened his arms and allowed his body to be relocated, like an obedient marionette. “Shall I tell you how nauseatingly beautiful you look? All… rumpled and… unwashed?” He pushed Athos down onto the bed and momentarily towered over him until he allowed his body to come toppling down to pin the other man underneath his weight. “I want you,” Aramis concluded.
“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“You first.”
“Well, unlike those of us who were put on this God’s Earth to annoy the rest of humanity, I do not have to be asked twice!” Aramis exclaimed, seeming to tear off his doublet, belt and shirt with practically one sweeping gesture. Then he kicked off his boots and, climbing completely onto the bed, dragged the other man by the arms all the way up to the headboard. “What am I going to do to you?” He said, inquisitively, bending over his friend like a particularly perverse version of the weeping Madonna.
“There isn’t much time for you to get creative, I’m afraid,” Athos smiled in response.
“Don’t you ever underestimate me,” Aramis admonished, eyeing the bedposts with an expert eye.
“I have just banished the thought.”
“Do you trust me?” Aramis asked, playfully running his hands along the other man’s arms.
“To an extent,” came a surprisingly honest reply.
“At least with your body?”
“Oh well… that. Without reserve.”
“Hold on to this railing and close your eyes.”
Athos chortled.
“We don’t have time for girlish giggles. Do as you’re told.” Athos scooted up the bed and wrapped a hand around a wooden piece of railing on each side of the headboard, the entire time eyeing his companion amicably yet suspiciously. “Close your eyes,” Aramis repeated, “and don’t let go no matter what.” Athos knitted his eyebrows together, stretched his neck, and finally sank back against the pillows, his eyes shut tightly. “Excellent,” he heard Aramis say, followed by soft shuffling, and then something silky, and reminiscent of one of Aramis’s fine shirts, was applied over his eyes and tied behind his head.
“What happened to trust?”
“I never said I’d trust you to keep your eyes shut,” Aramis explained.
“Insulted!”
“Save your righteous indignation,” Athos heard mumbled somewhere beneath his belt.
“What are you… doing?” he asked, cautiously, despite the fact that it was relatively obvious what his friend was doing, seeing as his trousers were being slipped off his hips. A soft chuckle was the only response to this question. And then his thigh was licked and he did let out something quite akin to a “girlish giggle” after all. For a few seconds he felt nothing at all and then his other thigh was licked. “I see you’re so appalled by my current state,” Athos said, suppressing more laughter, “that you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands and give me a tongue bath?” A slap on the behind was the only response he got that time. “Hey now!”
“Don’t… speak,” Aramis’s voice commanded, hovering somewhere just vaguely out of reach.
“But…”
“I will gag you.”
Athos bit down on his lower lip, demonstratively baring his teeth.
“That’s better,” he heard, and was rewarded instantly with hands gliding up his chest to cup his face again, and the taste of his lover’s lips filled his mouth. And then the lips were gone and Athos’s face felt lonely and exposed again. He wanted to speak, but instead he pressed down harder into the railing. The lips reappeared suddenly in, quite frankly, the place he would have been the most happy to have them reappear, and he had to bite down on his own lips again to keep from breaking his vow of silence. Then things were just hot and moist and delightful for a bit and, suddenly, different and confusing and not what he was expecting at all.
“Um,” he couldn’t help but utter. Angry fingers dug into the sides of his legs, and he just emitted a frustrated moan from somewhere inside his nostrils. “Mmmm!”
“What… did… I… say about gagging you?” a devilish voice inquired.
“Mmmhmmm!” Athos shook his head and laughed nervously.
“Yes, oh yes.”
“Mmmm!”
“No one is asking your opinion,” the voice concluded and the lips and tongue resumed their ministrations.
Athos found his thoughts meandering somewhere in between “This is so wrong” and “Please don’t stop” with a bit of “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” thrown in for good measure. And then the tongue was gone and replaced by something much more familiar and he felt Aramis’s hot breath against his face.
“Don’t even think about kissing me with that mouth,” he finally let out, gasping for air, no longer able to restrain his speech. This was exactly when his wishes were utterly disrespected, and his mouth was penetrated by a probing tongue. Athos was suddenly aware that for a moment he had forgotten about not being outfitted for the campaign, then a feeling much like gratitude washed over him, followed by surging lust, then something else unidentifiable, followed by a climax that seemed to rip through his entire body.
He must have been rendered unconscious for a few moments because when he was able to think again, the blindfold was off, and his hands were no longer holding on to the railing.
“Um… thanks for… that…” he mumbled to the room because he wasn’t quite sure where his lover had gotten himself off to.
“Happy birthday,” Aramis replied from the foot of the bed, putting his clothes back on.
Just as the two friends were getting close to finishing readjusting each other’s clothes, the flush from the heat still visible on both their faces, they heard a familiar step alighting the stairs. “D’Artagnan,” they mouthed at each other and scrambled to make themselves look presentable for company. Aramis quickly and automatically brushed the hair out of Athos’s face and plopped himself down in a chair by the table. Athos, whose legs were still shaking, leaned against the windowsill and assumed what he had hoped was his most nonchalant pose.
“I think I shall rejoin the priesthood,” Aramis commenced the well-rehearsed conversation.
“Interesting,” Athos responded on queue. “Tell me more about that.”
“Well, you very well know how I view the world,” Aramis proceeded, mechanically.
“Yes, I hear it is a tomb and all the lovers… er… people in it are demons.”
“Shades,” Aramis corrected.
“Shades, I stand corrected,” Athos made a grandiose gesture of turning towards the door. “D’Artagnan! What a surprise!” And turning back towards Aramis, he continued to say his lines until such time that Porthos appeared, thus restoring the balance and easing the tensions that may or may not have been felt by all. Athos managed to sneak a furtive look at Aramis, wondering if this could turn out to be the last time and prayed that God would grant it were not so. If he had believed in making wishes, his birthday wish would be that the world would not be a tomb, and he would not be one more shade silently stalking its ossuaries.
“Albeit it is a rather fetid one,” Aramis mouthed, bringing his face within an inch of the face of Athos. The older musketeer cocked an eyebrow in response and, picking up one of Aramis’s hands, slowly extricated the young man’s delicate fingers from the glove ensconcing them. “And rather wilted, at that,” Aramis added, as Athos brought the liberated hand to his lips and kissed it in a way that would have been gallant had it not been tinged with his usual air of sauciness. “And worm-ridden,” Aramis concluded.
“I love it when you compare me to carrion, having freshly arrived from the bed of your mistress,” Athos smirked, throwing Aramis’s glove gently but precisely into its owner’s face.
“Alas,” Aramis responded with mock resignation, “That is not whence I come, or else I would not have this forlorn look about me.”
“Aramis, my love, are you actually worried about equipping yourself?”
“I’ll have it be known, that I’m sufficiently well equipped,” Aramis snapped with feigned indignation, and pressed his body against that of Athos, to prove his point.
“Oh my,” was all he received in response, in addition to another raised eyebrow.
“But as I said,” Aramis continued dismissively, “Seeing as I come not from the bed of my mistress, nor anyone else for that matter, lest you were wondering…” he trailed off momentarily to allow his lips to brush against those of the other man. “We best be doing something about all this pent up frustration before Porthos and the boy get here, shall we?”
“Hard to avoid, aren’t they?” Athos responded, in a rather non-committal fashion.
“Like the pox.” Aramis removed his other glove and pulled Athos’s face roughly towards himself to be insistently kissed.
“I don’t quite know how you can stand to touch me, finding me as you do in such a fetid state,” Athos mumbled under breath, as his friend’s lips trailed over his Adam’s apple.
“Why are you being so difficult? Shall I woo you with poetry first?” Aramis took a step forward, maneuvering Athos’s body closer to the bed. The latter simply opened his arms and allowed his body to be relocated, like an obedient marionette. “Shall I tell you how nauseatingly beautiful you look? All… rumpled and… unwashed?” He pushed Athos down onto the bed and momentarily towered over him until he allowed his body to come toppling down to pin the other man underneath his weight. “I want you,” Aramis concluded.
“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“You first.”
“Well, unlike those of us who were put on this God’s Earth to annoy the rest of humanity, I do not have to be asked twice!” Aramis exclaimed, seeming to tear off his doublet, belt and shirt with practically one sweeping gesture. Then he kicked off his boots and, climbing completely onto the bed, dragged the other man by the arms all the way up to the headboard. “What am I going to do to you?” He said, inquisitively, bending over his friend like a particularly perverse version of the weeping Madonna.
“There isn’t much time for you to get creative, I’m afraid,” Athos smiled in response.
“Don’t you ever underestimate me,” Aramis admonished, eyeing the bedposts with an expert eye.
“I have just banished the thought.”
“Do you trust me?” Aramis asked, playfully running his hands along the other man’s arms.
“To an extent,” came a surprisingly honest reply.
“At least with your body?”
“Oh well… that. Without reserve.”
“Hold on to this railing and close your eyes.”
Athos chortled.
“We don’t have time for girlish giggles. Do as you’re told.” Athos scooted up the bed and wrapped a hand around a wooden piece of railing on each side of the headboard, the entire time eyeing his companion amicably yet suspiciously. “Close your eyes,” Aramis repeated, “and don’t let go no matter what.” Athos knitted his eyebrows together, stretched his neck, and finally sank back against the pillows, his eyes shut tightly. “Excellent,” he heard Aramis say, followed by soft shuffling, and then something silky, and reminiscent of one of Aramis’s fine shirts, was applied over his eyes and tied behind his head.
“What happened to trust?”
“I never said I’d trust you to keep your eyes shut,” Aramis explained.
“Insulted!”
“Save your righteous indignation,” Athos heard mumbled somewhere beneath his belt.
“What are you… doing?” he asked, cautiously, despite the fact that it was relatively obvious what his friend was doing, seeing as his trousers were being slipped off his hips. A soft chuckle was the only response to this question. And then his thigh was licked and he did let out something quite akin to a “girlish giggle” after all. For a few seconds he felt nothing at all and then his other thigh was licked. “I see you’re so appalled by my current state,” Athos said, suppressing more laughter, “that you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands and give me a tongue bath?” A slap on the behind was the only response he got that time. “Hey now!”
“Don’t… speak,” Aramis’s voice commanded, hovering somewhere just vaguely out of reach.
“But…”
“I will gag you.”
Athos bit down on his lower lip, demonstratively baring his teeth.
“That’s better,” he heard, and was rewarded instantly with hands gliding up his chest to cup his face again, and the taste of his lover’s lips filled his mouth. And then the lips were gone and Athos’s face felt lonely and exposed again. He wanted to speak, but instead he pressed down harder into the railing. The lips reappeared suddenly in, quite frankly, the place he would have been the most happy to have them reappear, and he had to bite down on his own lips again to keep from breaking his vow of silence. Then things were just hot and moist and delightful for a bit and, suddenly, different and confusing and not what he was expecting at all.
“Um,” he couldn’t help but utter. Angry fingers dug into the sides of his legs, and he just emitted a frustrated moan from somewhere inside his nostrils. “Mmmm!”
“What… did… I… say about gagging you?” a devilish voice inquired.
“Mmmhmmm!” Athos shook his head and laughed nervously.
“Yes, oh yes.”
“Mmmm!”
“No one is asking your opinion,” the voice concluded and the lips and tongue resumed their ministrations.
Athos found his thoughts meandering somewhere in between “This is so wrong” and “Please don’t stop” with a bit of “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” thrown in for good measure. And then the tongue was gone and replaced by something much more familiar and he felt Aramis’s hot breath against his face.
“Don’t even think about kissing me with that mouth,” he finally let out, gasping for air, no longer able to restrain his speech. This was exactly when his wishes were utterly disrespected, and his mouth was penetrated by a probing tongue. Athos was suddenly aware that for a moment he had forgotten about not being outfitted for the campaign, then a feeling much like gratitude washed over him, followed by surging lust, then something else unidentifiable, followed by a climax that seemed to rip through his entire body.
He must have been rendered unconscious for a few moments because when he was able to think again, the blindfold was off, and his hands were no longer holding on to the railing.
“Um… thanks for… that…” he mumbled to the room because he wasn’t quite sure where his lover had gotten himself off to.
“Happy birthday,” Aramis replied from the foot of the bed, putting his clothes back on.
Just as the two friends were getting close to finishing readjusting each other’s clothes, the flush from the heat still visible on both their faces, they heard a familiar step alighting the stairs. “D’Artagnan,” they mouthed at each other and scrambled to make themselves look presentable for company. Aramis quickly and automatically brushed the hair out of Athos’s face and plopped himself down in a chair by the table. Athos, whose legs were still shaking, leaned against the windowsill and assumed what he had hoped was his most nonchalant pose.
“I think I shall rejoin the priesthood,” Aramis commenced the well-rehearsed conversation.
“Interesting,” Athos responded on queue. “Tell me more about that.”
“Well, you very well know how I view the world,” Aramis proceeded, mechanically.
“Yes, I hear it is a tomb and all the lovers… er… people in it are demons.”
“Shades,” Aramis corrected.
“Shades, I stand corrected,” Athos made a grandiose gesture of turning towards the door. “D’Artagnan! What a surprise!” And turning back towards Aramis, he continued to say his lines until such time that Porthos appeared, thus restoring the balance and easing the tensions that may or may not have been felt by all. Athos managed to sneak a furtive look at Aramis, wondering if this could turn out to be the last time and prayed that God would grant it were not so. If he had believed in making wishes, his birthday wish would be that the world would not be a tomb, and he would not be one more shade silently stalking its ossuaries.