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Pour another round

There are many descriptors that can be applied to Milady deWinter. Perhaps the most important is the term survivor.

She will always do what she needs to do to survive. She's not surprised that things turned out how they did. Not really. She has learned to expect the worst.

But here she is back in this place. This strange, modern place where she can, if she wants, be anything she wants to be. Milady supposes now is the time to figure that out. Surely, it's only a matter of time before Athos lives through what she has. Will he still want her?

Someone will. Surely.

She sits at the hotel bar, draining one glass of sharp, bitter alcohol and signalling for another, her skirt - the finest Parisian silk - covering the barstool, the curve of her shoulder gleaming in the low light.

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At this point, his exhaustion is running into his bones. He bows his head forward in order to curl into her body, his hands sliding up the warmth of her skin. He rounds and cups her shoulders, holding on and peppering soft kisses along her neck, hesitating where he knows the scar to be.

"What's waiting for me?" he finally asks.

As much as she wishes to stand up straight in the face of the truth, Athos can feel Anne curve, nearly bow. "Must we speak of this now? Can we not have this moment?" she asks in a whisper.

Then it must be bad. He cannot imagine that she would put it off unless there is a fear of the events and how he will react. Sighing, he continues to touch her, his hand descending lower as it slips between her thighs. "You will have to tell me sometime," he points out.

With her cheek against his, Anne doesn't have to look at him and to stay close as her breath catches at the touch. "No, I won't," she whispers. He'll live it soon enough, won't he?

Not that she will shirk her experience. She is no coward. "But let us talk after."

Let them have this.

He gives a soft hum and a nod of agreement, seeing as he greatly understands the need to isolate and treat the wound with whatever medicine applicable. His hand moves and he allows his thumb to begin rubbing slow, teasing circles. "You are counting on having the ability to speak, then?"

He can feel her smile against his cheek, her own hand wander down his chest, his belly, and lower. "That sounds like a challenge..."

"What would life be without its challenges?" he dares her, thinking that if he can rob her of her breath and speech, then it will be an accomplishment indeed. He begins his work now, with a twist of fingers and a careful slide of them with the water to help.

There is little in Milady deWinter's life that isn't political. Sex is no exception. It's only been with Athos that she has let herself appear vulnerable. Even now, she holds to his shoulder with one hand, his manhood with the other, and lets her eyes fall shut. Her muscles clench around him as she starts to rock.

That robs a soft gasp of him, unable to do much more than allow himself to give in to the physical relief that being in her presence allows him. Sometimes, he thinks she could have him out of his head and forgetting the world, which is what he needs now.

The blissful sound he lets out is proof of her control now.

If given the chance for control, she will take it, smiling when she hears that noise. Whatever will come, will come. Now? Now, they have this.

She leans down, ghosting words over his mouth. "To bed," she not so much urges as commands, gently easing off of where he touches her, even as her whole body tingles with it. Then she rises, a hand in his to rise too. It will be much more comfortable in bed.

He must be clean enough, then. He gives her a light nudge and reaches for her hand when offered to him, giving a nod of his head as he knows that they will be more comfortable when they reach the sheets. He stops for a towel only to wipe off the majority of the droplets before continuing on, waiting for her to arrange herself on the bed first.

Is that for her benefit or his? Still smirking, Anne moves to lie down, hair splayed behind her when released from the pins, arms spread. He can come and get her. And perhaps she can hold tight to him and not let him go.

Athos stands at the edge of the bed and watches her for a long moment. For all their strife and complications in the past, he knows that there is a bond between them that will never be severed. Now, at least, they can enjoy the physical aspects of it.

He slowly crawls atop her with a glint of idea in his eye, ready for more. "Ready?"

The only response to that is to bite down on her lower lip and for Anne to pull Athos down over her, a leg hooking around his hips even as she can feel his hardness between them. God, the desire that tightens her belly is enough to make her breathless. Yes, she's ready.

He lets his gaze slide over her body to enjoy and appreciate, having been starved of feminine affection and contact for so many months, now. Porthos had enjoyed himself when he could, but even that has become a rarity. "Will you have me in you?" he asks.

"Of course," she whispers in reply, her fingers sliding down his back to the curve of his buttocks to urge him closer still. So very close. So nearly complete.

Athos buries his face in her neck as he holds tight to her waist, not wishing to let go as he eases inside of her, his eyes falling shut as he breathes out softly, that warm heat something he's dreamed of, but not had for so long. "Anne," he exhales.

Head falling back, Anne exhales in tine, her body giving around him and taking him in. Her legs tighten around him and she whispers, "I love you."

"And you," he promises as he sets to a rhythm that might feel rushed and frantic, but it has been a terribly long time since he's been with her (or anyone, for that matter) and he feels a bit needy for the contact. Groaning, he finds himself practically on the edge and wills himself back off it.

They can take their time; Anne can feel him close and she's not surprised. She wouldn't mock if that even were the case. He feels good like this; the need feels good too; to feel wanted and needed touches something deep in her.

Athos feels like his body is shaking and it must be from the withdrawal from this. Shaking, he mouths kisses up the skin of her neck as he slides deeper inside her, soft gasps sliding past parted lips. "When was...when was the last time you had this?" he asks.

He doesn't want to know that. Not really. Anne knows this. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. "Too long," she whispers. It's not true; Treville will know this soon enough; does he tell Athos? She doesn't know.

Her own body shakes as the angle of his thrusts changes. Her fingers dig into his back.

She will mark him, he's sure. Athos isn't entirely sure that he cares, though, arching into her nails before his next thrust as if to give her permission to score him in whatever way she pleases. It's hardly like anyone will see and if they do, they know better than to ask.

She will remember that; she will know. That is deeply pleasing. Scratching into his back, she pulls her legs up higher on his hips, which again changes the angle and she gasps out his name.

Athos buries his face in her neck as he works, knowing that it won't be much longer before he loses all control and comes. Breathing out, he tries to hold on for just a little longer. "You first," he coaxes, half an order. "Come for me."

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