Fic: Tempus Fugit
“Well, you know what they say: cold hands, warm heart.”
“Who says that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then shut your mouth before I fuck it.”
Contrary to these explicit instructions, the mouth of Athos, in fact, fell wide open in a caricature of profound shock.
“Why, Brother René!”
“Forgive me,” Aramis spread his body over that of his friend as if some kind of an animated blanket. “I know I was just urging you to sleep. But now I need you to be awake.” He ran his hands up the length of Athos’s arms, drawing them over the other man’s head, and locking his hands firmly in his grasp and pressed into the ground.
“And you really cannot wait until we get to a bed?” Athos asked without any particular shade of protest but with an air of genuine curiosity.
“We’ve done it in the open air before, don’t be a spoiled brat,” Aramis responded by kissing all along the outline of his lover’s collar bone, tracing the sharper edges with his tongue, and sinking his front teeth gently into the side of the neck, eliciting a whimper.
“I’m simply trying,” Athos whispered, between small gasps that escaped him as his neck and ear lobes were getting accustomed to becoming another man’s afternoon snack, “to ascertain my situation, given you caught me by surprise.”
“My desire for you should never catch you by surprise.”
“I’ll file that under for future reference,” Athos promised.
“Do you even want me as much as I want you?” Aramis demanded suddenly, peevishly, lifting his face from the other man’s neck, looking intently into his still sleep-fogged eyes.
“A ridiculous question from a ridiculous man,” Athos chortled, and thrust his hips up to make his point.
“I see your body, at least, is willing, but I want you to tell me,” Aramis whispered, hoarsely, into the ear of the man he kept pinned to the ground with his own body.
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me everything.”
“I don’t understand,” Athos felt his eyes open very wide, which he hoped would convey sincerity, even though he had a pretty good idea what his lover wanted from him.
“Tell me you want me,” Aramis let go of the man’s hands and entwined his fingers in his lover’s hair, pulling him into a deep kiss. “And tell me how you want me.”
Athos had seen this Aramis before, and he allowed himself a self-satisfied and knowing smile of a man who understood exactly what he would be getting into. He knew things would get rough and that he’d probably be covered in bruises for the next week or so. He remembered those bruises very clearly now, like ghosts from the past, when he could actually make out the purple outline of Aramis’s fingers along the curves of his own hips. He liked watching them change color every day when he woke up in the morning, as they waxed and waned.
“I want you,” he sighed, returning his lover’s kiss. “I want all of it. I want you to take me. Now.”
Aramis flipped the other man over and onto all fours as if the latter was a rag doll. His mind was cataloguing several needs and circumstances as his hands traveled inside his lover’s clothes and pressed into the soft, warm valley of chest hair underneath his fingers. First, he needed Athos to be naked for him… immediately. Second, it was still rather chilly and he didn’t want his mate to get ill again. (At the thought of Athos as his “mate,” Aramis suddenly got, if possible, even harder.) Third, he was sure it had been a while since Athos allowed anyone near his dorsal flank, which finally brought him to number four - they had ridden out into the valley unprepared. All of this amounted to one simple fact.
“Oh my god,” Aramis sobbed into his lover’s back. “I’m going to really hurt you.”
“Get control of yourself, man! I still have to ride back to Bragelonne!”
Aramis realized he was going to have to use nature’s lubricant: his own spit. This option always seemed somewhat undignified to him, even in this state of seemingly bestial arousal. Nonetheless, this Daphne had to be claimed before she turned into a tree. He spat into his hand.
“Oh sweet Jesus!” Athos exclaimed, throwing his head back, and only getting it caught in the grip of Aramis’s free hand.
“Inappropriate,” the latter whispered into his ear, and gave another gentle tug to his hair, bringing their faces closer together. A groan escaped Athos. “I’m trying to be nice.” Athos groaned again at this reassurance. “Relax,” he was commanded. “Let go. It’s fine. You love it.”
“Oh…. god…” Athos moaned again, as he felt his insides being stretched by slender fingers. The mouth next to his ear gave him a gentle kiss right behind the earlobe and shushed him again.
“I love you,” Aramis whispered, losing his mind from all this preparation and delayed gratification, needing to be buried to the hilt inside the man whose body he was pressing so close to himself. “Surrender to me.”
“Yes,” came the halting response, and Athos reached up and wrapped his arm around the back of Aramis’s neck. He was pushed forward again, and probably would have hit the ground with his face if the man behind him had not also been doing his utmost to control his flailing body parts like the marionette he felt himself to be. For with the acquiescence of surrender, Athos seemed to have surrendered all of his faculties. He was being entered and he felt fingers digging into his flesh just around his hipbones, exactly where he was anticipating hand-shaped bruises to appear later. He was finding it difficult to get any kind of purchase on the ground. His ear recognized the sound of the slap before the pleasant pain radiated and registered in his brain as his lover once again asserting his dominance. Instinctively, a moan of desire escaped Athos’s lips, which resulted in him being slapped again, and with a greater force.
“Don’t hurt your hand,” Athos taunted, bracing himself for the unavoidable assault and hiding his smile from Aramis.
“Shut up, bitch!” the other man thrust violently into him. “I’ll do whatever I want to you!”
“Yes, please,” Athos whispered, predominantly to himself, and pushed back against the man behind him.
The sensation itself, of his lover riding him so hard, was intense enough, and Athos suspected he was probably going to climax from that alone. But it was that little triumphant thought that came into his brain just as Aramis leaned over and called him a “filthy whore,” that maybe, just maybe, he was actually still the one in control, that really pushed him over the edge, causing his muscles to spasm around his lover’s shaft.
“Jesus Christ and all that is holy!” Aramis was not expecting that, and he found himself collapsed on top of the other man, panting and disoriented, his hands still holding onto to the smooth, warm skin of his lover’s hips.
“Hmph, blasphemy,” Athos mumbled into the grass.
“My God, I love you.”
“I know,” Athos said, his words still muffled by the grass underneath them. “You’re here, aren’t you?” Aramis grunted something unintelligible. “And you always say these really romantic things to me when you’re inside me,” Athos added with a shade of amusement.
Aramis had no plans of moving, as his lover’s back seemed like a perfectly reasonable pillow to him, and he absentmindedly caressed the bare ass that he had been holding in his hands. Mmm… lust, he happily thought.
“You know, now that you’re no longer a soldier,” he spoke, with his eyes closed, “I actually think I look forward to watching you age.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you,” Athos snickered, “but I’m ageless.”
Aramis gave a little grunt of assent.
“Yes, you’re not bad for thirty-four.”
“Dick.”
“I love you.”
“Then prove it by getting off me.”
Aramis rolled off, but pulled the other man tightly into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.
“I’m scared because I don’t know how long you’re going to stay,” Athos confessed, abruptly. “Just long enough for me to forgive you, for example?”
“You know the answer to that,” Aramis whispered, pressing his arms more tightly around the other man’s torso, feeling a blissful heat emanating from the curve of his lower back.
“I really don’t. I don’t even think you know the answer to that.”
“I’ll stay as long as you want me here,” Aramis replied, sounding decisive.
“Forever then?”
“You’ll get sick of me before then.” Aramis smiled and gave his lover another quick kiss.
“Maybe. But I won’t admit it. I am a very stubborn man.”
“I… love you,” was the only thing Aramis could think to say under the circumstances, and he burrowed even further into his lover’s arms. He felt himself drifting off. A light breeze finally blew past them, ruffling their clothes, but rather than making him more alert, it only lulled him to sleep more. There was a sense of complete capitulation in their little camp.
“Who says that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then shut your mouth before I fuck it.”
Contrary to these explicit instructions, the mouth of Athos, in fact, fell wide open in a caricature of profound shock.
“Why, Brother René!”
“Forgive me,” Aramis spread his body over that of his friend as if some kind of an animated blanket. “I know I was just urging you to sleep. But now I need you to be awake.” He ran his hands up the length of Athos’s arms, drawing them over the other man’s head, and locking his hands firmly in his grasp and pressed into the ground.
“And you really cannot wait until we get to a bed?” Athos asked without any particular shade of protest but with an air of genuine curiosity.
“We’ve done it in the open air before, don’t be a spoiled brat,” Aramis responded by kissing all along the outline of his lover’s collar bone, tracing the sharper edges with his tongue, and sinking his front teeth gently into the side of the neck, eliciting a whimper.
“I’m simply trying,” Athos whispered, between small gasps that escaped him as his neck and ear lobes were getting accustomed to becoming another man’s afternoon snack, “to ascertain my situation, given you caught me by surprise.”
“My desire for you should never catch you by surprise.”
“I’ll file that under for future reference,” Athos promised.
“Do you even want me as much as I want you?” Aramis demanded suddenly, peevishly, lifting his face from the other man’s neck, looking intently into his still sleep-fogged eyes.
“A ridiculous question from a ridiculous man,” Athos chortled, and thrust his hips up to make his point.
“I see your body, at least, is willing, but I want you to tell me,” Aramis whispered, hoarsely, into the ear of the man he kept pinned to the ground with his own body.
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me everything.”
“I don’t understand,” Athos felt his eyes open very wide, which he hoped would convey sincerity, even though he had a pretty good idea what his lover wanted from him.
“Tell me you want me,” Aramis let go of the man’s hands and entwined his fingers in his lover’s hair, pulling him into a deep kiss. “And tell me how you want me.”
Athos had seen this Aramis before, and he allowed himself a self-satisfied and knowing smile of a man who understood exactly what he would be getting into. He knew things would get rough and that he’d probably be covered in bruises for the next week or so. He remembered those bruises very clearly now, like ghosts from the past, when he could actually make out the purple outline of Aramis’s fingers along the curves of his own hips. He liked watching them change color every day when he woke up in the morning, as they waxed and waned.
“I want you,” he sighed, returning his lover’s kiss. “I want all of it. I want you to take me. Now.”
Aramis flipped the other man over and onto all fours as if the latter was a rag doll. His mind was cataloguing several needs and circumstances as his hands traveled inside his lover’s clothes and pressed into the soft, warm valley of chest hair underneath his fingers. First, he needed Athos to be naked for him… immediately. Second, it was still rather chilly and he didn’t want his mate to get ill again. (At the thought of Athos as his “mate,” Aramis suddenly got, if possible, even harder.) Third, he was sure it had been a while since Athos allowed anyone near his dorsal flank, which finally brought him to number four - they had ridden out into the valley unprepared. All of this amounted to one simple fact.
“Oh my god,” Aramis sobbed into his lover’s back. “I’m going to really hurt you.”
“Get control of yourself, man! I still have to ride back to Bragelonne!”
Aramis realized he was going to have to use nature’s lubricant: his own spit. This option always seemed somewhat undignified to him, even in this state of seemingly bestial arousal. Nonetheless, this Daphne had to be claimed before she turned into a tree. He spat into his hand.
“Oh sweet Jesus!” Athos exclaimed, throwing his head back, and only getting it caught in the grip of Aramis’s free hand.
“Inappropriate,” the latter whispered into his ear, and gave another gentle tug to his hair, bringing their faces closer together. A groan escaped Athos. “I’m trying to be nice.” Athos groaned again at this reassurance. “Relax,” he was commanded. “Let go. It’s fine. You love it.”
“Oh…. god…” Athos moaned again, as he felt his insides being stretched by slender fingers. The mouth next to his ear gave him a gentle kiss right behind the earlobe and shushed him again.
“I love you,” Aramis whispered, losing his mind from all this preparation and delayed gratification, needing to be buried to the hilt inside the man whose body he was pressing so close to himself. “Surrender to me.”
“Yes,” came the halting response, and Athos reached up and wrapped his arm around the back of Aramis’s neck. He was pushed forward again, and probably would have hit the ground with his face if the man behind him had not also been doing his utmost to control his flailing body parts like the marionette he felt himself to be. For with the acquiescence of surrender, Athos seemed to have surrendered all of his faculties. He was being entered and he felt fingers digging into his flesh just around his hipbones, exactly where he was anticipating hand-shaped bruises to appear later. He was finding it difficult to get any kind of purchase on the ground. His ear recognized the sound of the slap before the pleasant pain radiated and registered in his brain as his lover once again asserting his dominance. Instinctively, a moan of desire escaped Athos’s lips, which resulted in him being slapped again, and with a greater force.
“Don’t hurt your hand,” Athos taunted, bracing himself for the unavoidable assault and hiding his smile from Aramis.
“Shut up, bitch!” the other man thrust violently into him. “I’ll do whatever I want to you!”
“Yes, please,” Athos whispered, predominantly to himself, and pushed back against the man behind him.
The sensation itself, of his lover riding him so hard, was intense enough, and Athos suspected he was probably going to climax from that alone. But it was that little triumphant thought that came into his brain just as Aramis leaned over and called him a “filthy whore,” that maybe, just maybe, he was actually still the one in control, that really pushed him over the edge, causing his muscles to spasm around his lover’s shaft.
“Jesus Christ and all that is holy!” Aramis was not expecting that, and he found himself collapsed on top of the other man, panting and disoriented, his hands still holding onto to the smooth, warm skin of his lover’s hips.
“Hmph, blasphemy,” Athos mumbled into the grass.
“My God, I love you.”
“I know,” Athos said, his words still muffled by the grass underneath them. “You’re here, aren’t you?” Aramis grunted something unintelligible. “And you always say these really romantic things to me when you’re inside me,” Athos added with a shade of amusement.
Aramis had no plans of moving, as his lover’s back seemed like a perfectly reasonable pillow to him, and he absentmindedly caressed the bare ass that he had been holding in his hands. Mmm… lust, he happily thought.
“You know, now that you’re no longer a soldier,” he spoke, with his eyes closed, “I actually think I look forward to watching you age.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you,” Athos snickered, “but I’m ageless.”
Aramis gave a little grunt of assent.
“Yes, you’re not bad for thirty-four.”
“Dick.”
“I love you.”
“Then prove it by getting off me.”
Aramis rolled off, but pulled the other man tightly into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.
“I’m scared because I don’t know how long you’re going to stay,” Athos confessed, abruptly. “Just long enough for me to forgive you, for example?”
“You know the answer to that,” Aramis whispered, pressing his arms more tightly around the other man’s torso, feeling a blissful heat emanating from the curve of his lower back.
“I really don’t. I don’t even think you know the answer to that.”
“I’ll stay as long as you want me here,” Aramis replied, sounding decisive.
“Forever then?”
“You’ll get sick of me before then.” Aramis smiled and gave his lover another quick kiss.
“Maybe. But I won’t admit it. I am a very stubborn man.”
“I… love you,” was the only thing Aramis could think to say under the circumstances, and he burrowed even further into his lover’s arms. He felt himself drifting off. A light breeze finally blew past them, ruffling their clothes, but rather than making him more alert, it only lulled him to sleep more. There was a sense of complete capitulation in their little camp.