Kink - Joker - fürs Team

[nessaniel.livejournal.com]

Team: Morpheus
Challenge: Kink – Joker von dieser Challenge (k)ein Gentleman – fürs Team
Fandom: BBC The Musketeers, Season 1 (ich glaube ich bräuchte ein neues Tag :D)
Titel: Longing
Inhalt: Athos and Aramis talk about how Aramis fucked up everything by sleeping with Anne.
Anmerkung: Story is in English and everything is a mess. I have no idea where I was going with this but it started as a manual for "How to still love your problematic fave". Kinda sorta graphic m/f-sex?



Longing

Aramis dreads the conversation that is bound to come. He is sitting in Tréville’s office, dragging his report out to the point that the Captain is actually groaning at him.

“For the love of Christ, Aramis, I do not need to know the colour of each and every sisters’ hair, I assure you! The queen is safe, and that is everything that counts, at least for now.”

He dismisses him with exasperation evident in his every gesture and if Aramis wasn’t so afraid of stepping outside the captain’s office and facing his inevitable fate, he would feel sorry for causing Tréville even more pain.

The courtyard is abandoned when he finally leaves. Most of the men have gone home or to the taverns to share the newest gossip about a kidnapped queen and the king on a hunt with a beautiful German lady. It’s alright, Aramis supposes, that the rumours can never be as outrageous as the truth. He falters in his steps as he suddenly remembers Anne’s little moans as she was writhing beneath him, guiding his hands to her breasts and welcoming him deeper inside her body. Lust and a raw poisonous longing suddenly surge through his body, making him blush like a maiden, drawing a surprised gasp from his lip.

This is getting ridiculous.
He clears his throat which must look stupid with him still standing on the staircase in mid-step but luckily nobody is there to see him. He can hear laughter and curses ring from the kitchen, where Serge is entertaining the scullions with greatly exaggerated tales of how he got the scratch on his shoulder during their fight. They probably don’t believe him, but Old Serge is nothing but kind to the servants so they humour him good-naturedly, drawing in sharp breaths, exclaiming “No way!” and “You devil!” whenever Serge pauses for effect.

Aramis sighs as he turns towards the stables. It would be easy to hide in the kitchen but neither does he want to ruin Serge’s fun nor is he stupid enough to believe that his tormentor wouldn’t find him there. Better to face his inevitable fate with his head held high. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all, Aramis thinks, laughing bitterly as soon as he finishes the thought.

Who is he kidding? It will be so much worse.

He enters the stables quietly. Porthos and d’Artagnan are still there, pretending to tend to their horses as the stable boy has been given the day off after his display of unwavering bravery during the attack. Tréville has a soft spot for misfits and underdogs, after all.

“Finally”, Porthos says as soon as Aramis steps inside. “I was sure Tréville would keep you overnight.”

“He even tried to make me bet on it”, d’Artagnan says with a sly grin. “But I didn’t accept.”

“A shame really”, Porthos quips.

“I know better than to bet against you.”

“Wise choice”, Aramis says, trying to slip right back into his friends’ carefree banter but it rings hollow even in his own ears. His body feels foreign to him ever since they left the convent and he quickly hides his frown by turning towards his horse. The others keep rustling behind him, exchanging quips on how Porthos still thinks that d’Artagnan’s uniform would look so much better with a little mud on it followed by a “Don’t you dare!” and a barking laugh.
Aramis listens to them for a while, pretending that everything is fine but right as he feels himself relax a tiny little bit the stable door is opened and Athos stomps inside. Aramis winces, bravery be damned, and peeks up weakly from behind his horse’s back.

Athos stands in the middle of the stable like a vengeful god, ready to smite anyone on sight and right now his fierce look is resting on Aramis. When he finally opens his mouth, his words are carefully polite though.

“D’Artagnan. I’d appreciate it if you left us for a moment.”

The protests follow immediately. “What? Why?”

“Because I said so,” Athos answers not taking his eyes off Aramis for a single moment. “Now go. Porthos will join you shortly.”

D’Artagnan opens his mouth – only to close it again right away. He takes his pistols and leaves without another word, sparing neither of them so much as a glance, causing Porthos’ jaw to drop. Ever since he gained his commission the boy has been suspiciously obedient, almost pliant, and Aramis wonders briefly when Athos will focus his attention on that.

Right now, Athos is staring at the door with an incredulous look on his face. He obviously wasn’t prepared for d’Artagnan surrendering so quickly and it takes a moment or two before he schools his features back into the very image of rightful anger.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

Athos begins to shout, startling the horses and Aramis alike. His face is taut with anger as he points an accusing finger at him. “You are a god-forsaken fool! What were you thinking?!”

Aramis doesn’t know what to say, although one should think that he had had enough time to prepare an answer. But he just plays for time, patting his horse on the neck and calming it down again. “I thought you were good”, he finally answers feebly but even when they were still in the convent he of course knew that Athos was far from good. He probably had merely kept his thoughts to himself so as not to cause a scene in front of the sisters.
And because he needed me to kill the bandits, Aramis thinks, waiting for Athos to scream at him again.

Athos ignores him though, instead looking at Porthos who seems utterly confused.

“Did you know?” Athos inquires, waving his hand around as if he can’t decide on a word that is not too insulting, they are talking about a highborn lady, after all. “About his… infatuation with the Queen?”

Porthos’ eyes go wide and comically round in his face and he throws a shocked glance at Aramis, forfeiting every chance of feigning innocence.

“What happened?” he asks horrified, but Athos interrupts him impatiently.

“You better go and find d’Artagnan. I cannot keep an eye on both of them tonight.”

Porthos steps forward, but then he hesitates.

“I can’t leave you two alone”, he murmurs, looking between Athos almost trembling with suppressed rage and Aramis who still stares intently at his horse’s mane.

“Yes you can and you will”, Athos says but Porthos doesn’t move immediately. Aramis sighs and finally looks up.

“Go. We’ll be fine”, he says with a false smile so wide it’s probably horrifying to look at. Porthos begrudgingly gives in and leaves the stables as well, shaking his head, while making sure that the door behind him falls shut.

They are alone now. Aramis knows that he deserves the thrashing he is about to receive. He just wishes that it were already over so he can go back to finding out what the hollow feeling inside his heart means and why it hurts so badly no matter where he turns.

“Go on”, he says to fill the silence that stretches awkwardly between them. Athos sighs, rubbing a hand across his face but his shoulders stay rigid all the same.

“I cannot believe you”, he finally says flatly. “What devil possessed you to do that?”

There are a thousand quips he could make about devils and convents but Aramis is not suicidal and Athos is probably barely keeping himself from punching him as it is. So he merely shrugs.

“It was…the heat of the moment”, he says which makes him feel horrible as soon as the words leave his mouth. It was so much more than that. He quickly hides his face again but he still catches Athos looking at him utterly horrified.

“Don’t lie to me”, he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare lying to me.”

Aramis groans. “What do you want me to say?” he snaps, turning around and facing Athos fully for the first time that evening. “That she was sad and lonely and afraid? That we both comforted each other?”

“So you fucked her out of pity? How noble of you!” Athos isn’t shouting but his every word drips with vitriol and rage.

Maybe it’s the swear word which is so uncommon for Athos but an image of Anne flashes through Aramis’ mind wholly unbidden. He sees her big eyes and her charming blush as she told him about the ‘depraved things’ she had heard her maids talk about, the different ways a woman could lay with a man. He remembers the tone of her voice, shy but firm, as she asked him whether he would show her those things. The light of the candles had painted her skin golden when she had propped herself up on all fours, looking back at him over her shoulder with an excited proud smile on her face. Later she had been leaning against the headboard, her long, beautiful legs parted for him, and when he put his tongue to good use, she threw all caution to the wind, driving him deeper into her, demanding “more” and “faster!” until they both collapsed on the bed completely exhausted and satisfied beyond belief.

Aramis bites down hard on his tongue but the haze in his mind doesn’t vanish completely and for a short, terrifying moment he fears that Athos might have guessed what he is thinking about.
Hastily he crosses his arms in front of his chest, hoping that the dark will conceal his heated face.

“That’s… none of your business”, he says defiantly.

“Of course it’s none of my business!”, Athos cries. “But you made it mine when you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself for half a night, breaking every vow you’ve ever taken! I swear, Aramis, if the queen should give birth to a child in nine months, then…”

At this Aramis lets out a bitter laugh. “Then what? Will you shout it from the rooftops that Anne has been unfaithful? That the heir to the throne is nothing but a bastard?”

Silence falls between them, only broken by the rustling of hooves and occasional laughter from the kitchen.

“Of course I wouldn’t”, Athos finally says as if that wasn’t blatantly obvious and then he is the one who starts to look nervous. He opens his mouth and closes it again, heaving a sigh. “Imagine what Porthos would do if I got you hanged.”

It’s a silly attempt at making peace at least for Athos and Aramis cannot believe his ears. There is no way Athos would let him off that easily. Aramis squints at him, like he would at a mad street dog that has come to softly nuzzle his hand all of a sudden. Athos avoids his gaze, stepping up to Aramis’ horse and petting its neck.

“You… are a fool, Aramis.” Athos sighs. He looks like he would prefer be in one of Richelieu’s numerous dungeons right now and Aramis shares the feeling. "You made a terrible mistake."

"I know," Aramis whispers. Of course he knows. He knew as soon as he started stripping down in the convent and the dreadful bitter knowledge of how he most definitely ruined Anne's life is the only thing that is swirling through his chest right now, crushing the empty burning place, where his heart is supposed to be.

Aramis has always liked pining for the very things he could not have as a musketeer, be it a family, be it peace with God. He likes the pain that comes with not having his dreams fulfilled and now he broke as many vows as he had taken for nothing but misery.

He doesn't know why he prefers this bitter longing over the sweet smile of an unmarried lady or why he can only ever aim for the unattainable. It drives him mad.

It drives him to sleep with the Queen of France in a convent.

"For what's is worth: I am sorry" Aramis finally whispers. "And not just because you found out", he adds hastily when he sees Athos furrowing his brow, but then his friends just shakes his head.

"I am very sure that that won't be enough."

Aramis nods, not daring to look up. He might start crying if he does. Athos puts his hand ever so carefully on Aramis'. They have long stopped pretending to pet the horse and Aramis finally stops pretending everything else as well.

He entwines their fingers, trying to calm his shaking hands in Athos' strong grip.

"Will you…" Aramis begins, and he smiles desperately when he finds that he has no idea what he wants to say.

Leave me perhaps, or help me which is more appropriate and absolutely not what he deserves.

Athos sighs. "One for all", he whispers. "And if all else fails, it's me for you."