Fic, A Dangerous Practice, Part 2 of 2
Feb. 16th, 2015 06:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : A Dangerous Practice, Part 2 of 2
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 15
Characters : Athos/Treville, d’Artagnan,
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 2,425
Summary : Athos is drunk, the Red Guard have been obnoxious, d’Artagnan is happy to hand over responsibility and Treville is exasperated.
A/N : This is set in my Athos/Treville series, A Dangerous Liaison. Written for my very lovely friend,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evilmaniclaugh, with thanks for all your wonderful fic.
Treville looked up from the mess of papers littering his usually tidy desk, only half-visible in the candlelight.
The sounds outside in the courtyard drew his attention; both the dragging footsteps and half-cajoling, half-exasperated voice were all too familiar.
As usual, D’Artagnan was trying to be reasonable, adopting the tone of a long-suffering parent trying to reason with a recalcitrant child. In contrast, Athos sounded amused, but the careful over-enunciation of his words told Treville all he needed to know.
His subordinate was the worse for wear from drink again and, from what Treville could hear of d’Artagnan’s attempts to reason with him, had an injury that needed attending to. The young Gascon had obviously decided that Athos was safer in his rooms at the barracks than at his own rarely-used lodgings, but whatever had happened clearly hadn’t needed Aramis’ finely-honed needlework skills.
Treville walked out onto the balcony and stared down into the darkened yard, lit my nothing more than moonlight.
Athos was standing at the foot of the stairs, swaying slightly, but managing to remain upright. D’Artagnan, facing him, had hands on hips and wore an exasperated expression.
“You’re your own worst enemy, you know that don’t you?” the young man said, in the rhetorical tones of someone not really expecting a reply.
“Then I’m clearly a more formidable one than our friends in the Red Guard,” Athos replied, remaining upright by what looked like force of will alone. “I shall have to remember not to get on my bad side.”
Treville winced at Athos’ first words. He’d been on the receiving end of enough complaints from Richelieu recently to last a lifetime and even the King’s patience was starting to war slightly thin on the subject.
Having delivered his own version of wit and wisdom, Athos took two paces to the foot of the steps and turned around, sinking heavily down and putting his head in his hands.
“Come on,” d’Artagnan urged. “Not far to go now, then all I need to do is wind a bandage around your arm and you can go to bed and sleep it off.”
“’m fine here.”
“No, you’re not. Come on, the faster we do this, the faster I can get back to keeping the other two out of trouble.”
“You’ve never managed to stay out of trouble in your whole life,” Athos retorted, with the sudden occasional clarity so often found in drunks and children.
D’Artagnan grabbed his friend’s hands and attempted to haul Athos to his feel.
Athos, however, had other ideas. “Going to stay here. ‘s nice here.”
Taking pity on his latest recruit, Treville leaned on the balcony rail and said,” I’ll take it from here, lad,”
D’Artagnan looked up guiltily, obviously wondering if Treville had heard the remark about the Red Guard. “I can deal with him, captain.”
“I’ve no doubt you can, but you’ve probably been dealing with him all night.” Treville walked down the steps and clapped a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “Get off back to the others. I’ll make sure he gets patched up and put to bed. I’ll even make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.”
“I don’t think he’s got that much left to throw up, sir, He spewed most of it up after the…” D’Artagnan trailed off, looking far guiltier than Athos, who was now staring up at them with a faint air of injured innocence.
“After the fight?” Treville supplied. “I don’t doubt it. However, I would appreciate the rest of you staying out of trouble for what remains of the night.” Treville put his hands under Athos’ armpits and hauled him upright with practised ease. “Come on, let’s get you sorted out, then we can both get some rest.” He nodded to d’Artagnan who, relieved of responsibility, sensibly beat a hasty retreat out of the yard. To Athos, Treville said, “If I have to carry you, I’ll be annoyed.”
“I can walk,” Athos replied, with a failed attempt at a withering look.
“I’m sure you can. But whether you can climb stairs is another matter…”
With one hand on the balustrade and one on Treville’s shoulder, Athos managed the transition to the upper floor with surprising ease, but he nearly came to grief on an unexpected footstool in Treville’s private quarters. After manoeuvring Athos down onto a chair by the fire, Treville started to undo the fastenings on the front of his leather jacket.
“It’s only a pinprick.”
“It’s left an inch-wide hole in your jacket.”
“Madame Bonacieux will attend to that for me.”
“It’s not your jacket I’m concerned about. Now stop being difficult and let me see what’s happened to you. While I’m doing that, you can make your excuses for your latest violation of His Majesties edicts.”
“Nothing but a brawl.” Athos said, waving his right hand dismissively, and not quite managing to suppress a wince.
“How many of them were there?”
Athos thought for a moment, probably trying to work out if he’d been seeing double. “Five, I think.”
It was Treville’s turn to wince. “Plenty to go round.”
Athos looked up, mischief dancing in his vivid green eyes. “I fear I might have been a trifle selfish with my toys.”
Treville knew better than to question his lieutenant’s ability to deal with five opponents even after no doubt sinking enough wine to stop an angry bull in its tracks. He’d seen Athos practice often enough with both sword and musket whilst under the influence of alcohol. But even so, five was still an impressive tally. He made sure not to let that feeling show.
Slowly and carefully, he eased the black jacket off Athos’ strong shoulders and, eliciting a couple of mild curses, was able to draw it off, leaving behind a once-white linen shirt now stained with an unappealing mix of sweat and blood, with dribbles of red wine thrown in for good measure. The shirt followed the jacket onto the floor. If the laundry mistress got that clean she’d be deserving of more than thanks.
Blood had streaked Athos’ right upper arm, but he was correct, the wound was not deep, nor did it require stitching. Treville found a clean cloth, poured water over it from a jug on his chest of drawers and wiped off the blood. He made sure no fibres from Athos’ shirt had been driven into the cut and cleaned the wound itself with some cheap brandy before tying a bandage around Athos’ upper arm.
“You were lucky. An inch deeper and it would have been a different matter.”
“He was lucky. I was inattentive.”
Treville pushed Athos’ hair back off his face and ran his fingers through the unruly dark locks. “I should lock you in the guardroom until you sweat this lot out of your system.”
A slight smile curved Athos’ scarred lip, making him look both younger and more vulnerable. “I should prefer to spend the night in your bed.”
Treville’s hand fisted in the dark hair and he tugged Athos’s head back, exposing his throat. Athos remained unresisting under his hands. Treville ran his other hand over the dark hair on Athos’ chest, pausing to rub first one nipple then the other to pebbled hardness.
“I hope you’re intending to more than just tease,” Athos said, staring up through long, dark lashes that were the envy of many a woman.
“Not if it means risking you vomiting in my bed or over me.”
“I only did that once!” Athos looked outraged.
Treville continued to rub slow circles on his chest, the swordsman’s calluses on this hand rough against Athos’ skin but didn’t trouble to hide his grimace. “Once was enough, I can assure you. As foreplay, it leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Take pity on me, kind sir. I’ve been hard enough to knock holes in wood since I took the last of those idiots down.”
“As a seduction technique, that’s not much better. You got yourself into that situation, by rights I ought to leave you to get yourself out of it, not reward bad behaviour.” But despite his words, Treville knelt on the floor and hauled off Athos’ boots and socks.
Athos dropped his uninjured hand to the buttons at his crotch, flipping each of them open before getting unsteadily to his feet, using the arms of the sturdy chair as an aid to balance. He pushed down the supple leather, taking with it his linen underclothes, leaving him standing naked on the sheepskin rug in the flickering firelight, his hard cock jutting out of the nest of dark curls. He hadn’t been lying about the state of his arousal.
Treville grabbed the bottle of brandy he’d set down on the mantelpiece and picked up a small bowl. “One mouthful. Swill and spit. No swallowing.”
Athos looked pained, but did as he’d been bidden.
“And again.”
“Am I really not allowed to swallow?” The mischief was back, cutting through the haze of alcohol like a sharp knife through butter.
“Do as you’re told first, for once.” Treville refused to be seduced that easily. He also refused to kiss a man who’d recently vomited. Some standards had to be maintained.
He’d long since given up expecting the former Comte de la Fère to adhere to normal levels of discipline in the ranks and, despite the man’s frequent lapses, Athos never let his dependence on alcohol come between him and his duty. Treville allowed one hand to trail lightly down Athos’ back, feeling the ridged scars he’d left on the other man’s flesh on the notable occasion when he had believed – wrongly – that there had been a dereliction of duty. Since then, Treville had promised himself that there would be no hasty judgments, despite occasional considerable provocation.
Athos rolled the second mouthful of brandy around then spat into the bowl again. Treville rewarded him with a third mouthful for himself in the hope that it would go some way to settling the remains of the sour wine than was no doubt roiling in the other man’s guts.
“Fresh as a daisy,” Athos commented, huffing brandy fumes into Treville’s face with what could only be described as a grin.
Whatever demons had driven Athos into the arms of his liquid mistress had clearly been mostly dispelled by the fight, leaving him in one of his rare lighter moods. Treville would have given a great deal to see him like that more often.
“You stink of stale wine, leather and sweat.”
The grin broadened. “Then it’s fortunate you’re a soldier and not one of the queen’s ladies.”
“Fortunate indeed,” Treville agreed, before pulling Athos into a hard kiss.
What the kiss lacked in finesse, it made up for in intensity. Treville tasted the cognac as his tongue duelled with Athos’, gaining entrance after a distinctly half-hearted parry. One hand stayed tangled in the damp hair while his other dropped down to stroke the hard cock pressed against his thigh, no doubt adding to the collection of stains already present on his soldier’s leathers.
Athos gasped against his mouth.
Treville pulled back, staring into eyes that were now darkened by lust, the centre spread so wide that only a rim of green remained visible.
“If I get one single word of complaint about tonight’s activities from Richelieu, you’re on latrine duty for a week.”
“They’ll keep quiet,” Athos said smugly. “By now they’ll have bribed a whore to say they were acting in her defence against a horde of ruffians.”
Knowing Athos was almost certainly right, Treville stood back and waved his hand to the bed. He had no intention of ending up on the floor in a failed attempt to manoeuvre the man backwards to the same spot. He was not a courtier and Athos was certainly not a lady.
With Athos safely horizontal, Treville ensured that both the outer and inner doors were locked. He then stripped quickly, laying his clothes over a chair beside his bed. Athos looked up at him under hooded lids, stroking his own cock lightly with his left hand. Treville joined him on the bed, taking his weight on one elbow. He laid a light kiss on Athos’ lips then took his hard cock in hand, working the foreskin up over the sensitive head, the way he knew Athos like it. The taut skin felt silky smooth against his palm and he used the moisture beading at the slit to slick his movements. When that proved not to be enough, he spat quickly into his hand.
Athos’ eyes fell shut and Treville could start to feel the tension draining out of him. Only the slight, involuntary movements of his hips betrayed the fact that Athos was even still awake. The face that so often held a cold mask of indifference was now open and unguarded, holding no pretence. He watched, entranced, as Athos’ breathing quickened and his efforts were rewarded with a quiet moan.
“Do warn me if you’re going to be sick,” Treville said quietly, pressing a light kiss to Athos’ scarred mouth.
A gentle laugh greeted his words, causing warmth to settle in Treville’s stomach. It was not too hard to draw a smile from his taciturn lieutenant, but a laugh was a rare prize, and something Treville had come to treasure, although he would admit it to no one.
He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. This was not an occasion for finesse, not if he wanted to finish this before the drink took its toll and Athos slipped into quiet oblivion. Dipping his head, Treville took one of Athos’ hard nipples in his mouth, running his tongue over it and then nipping lightly with his teeth.
A jerk of Athos’ hips told him all he needed to know. He bit down again and then pulled back in time to watch Athos jerk up into the tight circle of Treville’s fist. Thick come shot from Athos’ cock, landing on the trail of dark hair that led from his chest to his groin. Treville watched his face at the moment of climax, seeing all tension finally drain away, leaving him looking far younger than his years as the burden of pain and guilt left him for but a moment.
Treville captured his lips and held them in a soft kiss, feeling Athos relax into his touch as exhaustion finally claimed him.
Pulling the bed covers up around the pair of them, Treville murmured, “You can return the favour in the morning, you little shit.”
As the candles burned low, Treville could have sworn that a slight smile quirked his lover’s lips even in sleep.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 15
Characters : Athos/Treville, d’Artagnan,
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 2,425
Summary : Athos is drunk, the Red Guard have been obnoxious, d’Artagnan is happy to hand over responsibility and Treville is exasperated.
A/N : This is set in my Athos/Treville series, A Dangerous Liaison. Written for my very lovely friend,
evilmaniclaugh, with thanks for all your wonderful fic.Treville looked up from the mess of papers littering his usually tidy desk, only half-visible in the candlelight.
The sounds outside in the courtyard drew his attention; both the dragging footsteps and half-cajoling, half-exasperated voice were all too familiar.
As usual, D’Artagnan was trying to be reasonable, adopting the tone of a long-suffering parent trying to reason with a recalcitrant child. In contrast, Athos sounded amused, but the careful over-enunciation of his words told Treville all he needed to know.
His subordinate was the worse for wear from drink again and, from what Treville could hear of d’Artagnan’s attempts to reason with him, had an injury that needed attending to. The young Gascon had obviously decided that Athos was safer in his rooms at the barracks than at his own rarely-used lodgings, but whatever had happened clearly hadn’t needed Aramis’ finely-honed needlework skills.
Treville walked out onto the balcony and stared down into the darkened yard, lit my nothing more than moonlight.
Athos was standing at the foot of the stairs, swaying slightly, but managing to remain upright. D’Artagnan, facing him, had hands on hips and wore an exasperated expression.
“You’re your own worst enemy, you know that don’t you?” the young man said, in the rhetorical tones of someone not really expecting a reply.
“Then I’m clearly a more formidable one than our friends in the Red Guard,” Athos replied, remaining upright by what looked like force of will alone. “I shall have to remember not to get on my bad side.”
Treville winced at Athos’ first words. He’d been on the receiving end of enough complaints from Richelieu recently to last a lifetime and even the King’s patience was starting to war slightly thin on the subject.
Having delivered his own version of wit and wisdom, Athos took two paces to the foot of the steps and turned around, sinking heavily down and putting his head in his hands.
“Come on,” d’Artagnan urged. “Not far to go now, then all I need to do is wind a bandage around your arm and you can go to bed and sleep it off.”
“’m fine here.”
“No, you’re not. Come on, the faster we do this, the faster I can get back to keeping the other two out of trouble.”
“You’ve never managed to stay out of trouble in your whole life,” Athos retorted, with the sudden occasional clarity so often found in drunks and children.
D’Artagnan grabbed his friend’s hands and attempted to haul Athos to his feel.
Athos, however, had other ideas. “Going to stay here. ‘s nice here.”
Taking pity on his latest recruit, Treville leaned on the balcony rail and said,” I’ll take it from here, lad,”
D’Artagnan looked up guiltily, obviously wondering if Treville had heard the remark about the Red Guard. “I can deal with him, captain.”
“I’ve no doubt you can, but you’ve probably been dealing with him all night.” Treville walked down the steps and clapped a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “Get off back to the others. I’ll make sure he gets patched up and put to bed. I’ll even make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.”
“I don’t think he’s got that much left to throw up, sir, He spewed most of it up after the…” D’Artagnan trailed off, looking far guiltier than Athos, who was now staring up at them with a faint air of injured innocence.
“After the fight?” Treville supplied. “I don’t doubt it. However, I would appreciate the rest of you staying out of trouble for what remains of the night.” Treville put his hands under Athos’ armpits and hauled him upright with practised ease. “Come on, let’s get you sorted out, then we can both get some rest.” He nodded to d’Artagnan who, relieved of responsibility, sensibly beat a hasty retreat out of the yard. To Athos, Treville said, “If I have to carry you, I’ll be annoyed.”
“I can walk,” Athos replied, with a failed attempt at a withering look.
“I’m sure you can. But whether you can climb stairs is another matter…”
With one hand on the balustrade and one on Treville’s shoulder, Athos managed the transition to the upper floor with surprising ease, but he nearly came to grief on an unexpected footstool in Treville’s private quarters. After manoeuvring Athos down onto a chair by the fire, Treville started to undo the fastenings on the front of his leather jacket.
“It’s only a pinprick.”
“It’s left an inch-wide hole in your jacket.”
“Madame Bonacieux will attend to that for me.”
“It’s not your jacket I’m concerned about. Now stop being difficult and let me see what’s happened to you. While I’m doing that, you can make your excuses for your latest violation of His Majesties edicts.”
“Nothing but a brawl.” Athos said, waving his right hand dismissively, and not quite managing to suppress a wince.
“How many of them were there?”
Athos thought for a moment, probably trying to work out if he’d been seeing double. “Five, I think.”
It was Treville’s turn to wince. “Plenty to go round.”
Athos looked up, mischief dancing in his vivid green eyes. “I fear I might have been a trifle selfish with my toys.”
Treville knew better than to question his lieutenant’s ability to deal with five opponents even after no doubt sinking enough wine to stop an angry bull in its tracks. He’d seen Athos practice often enough with both sword and musket whilst under the influence of alcohol. But even so, five was still an impressive tally. He made sure not to let that feeling show.
Slowly and carefully, he eased the black jacket off Athos’ strong shoulders and, eliciting a couple of mild curses, was able to draw it off, leaving behind a once-white linen shirt now stained with an unappealing mix of sweat and blood, with dribbles of red wine thrown in for good measure. The shirt followed the jacket onto the floor. If the laundry mistress got that clean she’d be deserving of more than thanks.
Blood had streaked Athos’ right upper arm, but he was correct, the wound was not deep, nor did it require stitching. Treville found a clean cloth, poured water over it from a jug on his chest of drawers and wiped off the blood. He made sure no fibres from Athos’ shirt had been driven into the cut and cleaned the wound itself with some cheap brandy before tying a bandage around Athos’ upper arm.
“You were lucky. An inch deeper and it would have been a different matter.”
“He was lucky. I was inattentive.”
Treville pushed Athos’ hair back off his face and ran his fingers through the unruly dark locks. “I should lock you in the guardroom until you sweat this lot out of your system.”
A slight smile curved Athos’ scarred lip, making him look both younger and more vulnerable. “I should prefer to spend the night in your bed.”
Treville’s hand fisted in the dark hair and he tugged Athos’s head back, exposing his throat. Athos remained unresisting under his hands. Treville ran his other hand over the dark hair on Athos’ chest, pausing to rub first one nipple then the other to pebbled hardness.
“I hope you’re intending to more than just tease,” Athos said, staring up through long, dark lashes that were the envy of many a woman.
“Not if it means risking you vomiting in my bed or over me.”
“I only did that once!” Athos looked outraged.
Treville continued to rub slow circles on his chest, the swordsman’s calluses on this hand rough against Athos’ skin but didn’t trouble to hide his grimace. “Once was enough, I can assure you. As foreplay, it leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Take pity on me, kind sir. I’ve been hard enough to knock holes in wood since I took the last of those idiots down.”
“As a seduction technique, that’s not much better. You got yourself into that situation, by rights I ought to leave you to get yourself out of it, not reward bad behaviour.” But despite his words, Treville knelt on the floor and hauled off Athos’ boots and socks.
Athos dropped his uninjured hand to the buttons at his crotch, flipping each of them open before getting unsteadily to his feet, using the arms of the sturdy chair as an aid to balance. He pushed down the supple leather, taking with it his linen underclothes, leaving him standing naked on the sheepskin rug in the flickering firelight, his hard cock jutting out of the nest of dark curls. He hadn’t been lying about the state of his arousal.
Treville grabbed the bottle of brandy he’d set down on the mantelpiece and picked up a small bowl. “One mouthful. Swill and spit. No swallowing.”
Athos looked pained, but did as he’d been bidden.
“And again.”
“Am I really not allowed to swallow?” The mischief was back, cutting through the haze of alcohol like a sharp knife through butter.
“Do as you’re told first, for once.” Treville refused to be seduced that easily. He also refused to kiss a man who’d recently vomited. Some standards had to be maintained.
He’d long since given up expecting the former Comte de la Fère to adhere to normal levels of discipline in the ranks and, despite the man’s frequent lapses, Athos never let his dependence on alcohol come between him and his duty. Treville allowed one hand to trail lightly down Athos’ back, feeling the ridged scars he’d left on the other man’s flesh on the notable occasion when he had believed – wrongly – that there had been a dereliction of duty. Since then, Treville had promised himself that there would be no hasty judgments, despite occasional considerable provocation.
Athos rolled the second mouthful of brandy around then spat into the bowl again. Treville rewarded him with a third mouthful for himself in the hope that it would go some way to settling the remains of the sour wine than was no doubt roiling in the other man’s guts.
“Fresh as a daisy,” Athos commented, huffing brandy fumes into Treville’s face with what could only be described as a grin.
Whatever demons had driven Athos into the arms of his liquid mistress had clearly been mostly dispelled by the fight, leaving him in one of his rare lighter moods. Treville would have given a great deal to see him like that more often.
“You stink of stale wine, leather and sweat.”
The grin broadened. “Then it’s fortunate you’re a soldier and not one of the queen’s ladies.”
“Fortunate indeed,” Treville agreed, before pulling Athos into a hard kiss.
What the kiss lacked in finesse, it made up for in intensity. Treville tasted the cognac as his tongue duelled with Athos’, gaining entrance after a distinctly half-hearted parry. One hand stayed tangled in the damp hair while his other dropped down to stroke the hard cock pressed against his thigh, no doubt adding to the collection of stains already present on his soldier’s leathers.
Athos gasped against his mouth.
Treville pulled back, staring into eyes that were now darkened by lust, the centre spread so wide that only a rim of green remained visible.
“If I get one single word of complaint about tonight’s activities from Richelieu, you’re on latrine duty for a week.”
“They’ll keep quiet,” Athos said smugly. “By now they’ll have bribed a whore to say they were acting in her defence against a horde of ruffians.”
Knowing Athos was almost certainly right, Treville stood back and waved his hand to the bed. He had no intention of ending up on the floor in a failed attempt to manoeuvre the man backwards to the same spot. He was not a courtier and Athos was certainly not a lady.
With Athos safely horizontal, Treville ensured that both the outer and inner doors were locked. He then stripped quickly, laying his clothes over a chair beside his bed. Athos looked up at him under hooded lids, stroking his own cock lightly with his left hand. Treville joined him on the bed, taking his weight on one elbow. He laid a light kiss on Athos’ lips then took his hard cock in hand, working the foreskin up over the sensitive head, the way he knew Athos like it. The taut skin felt silky smooth against his palm and he used the moisture beading at the slit to slick his movements. When that proved not to be enough, he spat quickly into his hand.
Athos’ eyes fell shut and Treville could start to feel the tension draining out of him. Only the slight, involuntary movements of his hips betrayed the fact that Athos was even still awake. The face that so often held a cold mask of indifference was now open and unguarded, holding no pretence. He watched, entranced, as Athos’ breathing quickened and his efforts were rewarded with a quiet moan.
“Do warn me if you’re going to be sick,” Treville said quietly, pressing a light kiss to Athos’ scarred mouth.
A gentle laugh greeted his words, causing warmth to settle in Treville’s stomach. It was not too hard to draw a smile from his taciturn lieutenant, but a laugh was a rare prize, and something Treville had come to treasure, although he would admit it to no one.
He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. This was not an occasion for finesse, not if he wanted to finish this before the drink took its toll and Athos slipped into quiet oblivion. Dipping his head, Treville took one of Athos’ hard nipples in his mouth, running his tongue over it and then nipping lightly with his teeth.
A jerk of Athos’ hips told him all he needed to know. He bit down again and then pulled back in time to watch Athos jerk up into the tight circle of Treville’s fist. Thick come shot from Athos’ cock, landing on the trail of dark hair that led from his chest to his groin. Treville watched his face at the moment of climax, seeing all tension finally drain away, leaving him looking far younger than his years as the burden of pain and guilt left him for but a moment.
Treville captured his lips and held them in a soft kiss, feeling Athos relax into his touch as exhaustion finally claimed him.
Pulling the bed covers up around the pair of them, Treville murmured, “You can return the favour in the morning, you little shit.”
As the candles burned low, Treville could have sworn that a slight smile quirked his lover’s lips even in sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2015-02-16 07:06 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much. I adore every single word of it. Now I'm going to run off and read it all over again.
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Date: 2015-02-16 07:23 pm (UTC)I like to think that Treville just does his best to manage Athos, knowing he's too valuable to loose, and equally knowing he's too still too damaged to stop, all the while hoping that eventually he'll come out of it in his own time. And in the meantime, clinging to what's left of his sense of humour!
I had a friend who threw up over someone during sex, which I always knew I;d use in a fic at some point. *g*
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Date: 2015-02-16 07:41 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much. I adore every single word of it. Now I'm going to run off and read it all over again.
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Date: 2015-02-16 07:47 pm (UTC)Hee. I chuckled at the vomit sex story. I'd die of humiliation if I did that.
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Date: 2015-02-16 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-16 09:18 pm (UTC)And I love writing long-suffering Treville.
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Date: 2015-02-16 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-17 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-18 08:48 am (UTC)“I shall have to remember not to get on my bad side.”
Ha!
“He was lucky. I was inattentive.”
How very Athos!
Treville calling him a little shit is so sweet, hahaha. Bless them.
Gorgeous fic.
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Date: 2015-02-18 06:36 pm (UTC)The tavern/street brawl is brilliant! It was fun to watch poor D’Artagnan fretting over the situation before Athos almost effortlessly dealt with the Red Guard. It was rather sweet to see D’Artagnan trying to deal with Athos at the barracks before Treville took pity on him. I love this exchange:
“You’re your own worst enemy, you know that don’t you?” the young man said, in the rhetorical tones of someone not really expecting a reply.
“Then I’m clearly a more formidable one than our friends in the Red Guard,” Athos replied, remaining upright by what looked like force of will alone. “I shall have to remember not to get on my bad side.”
You've written some marvelous banter and humourous dialogue between Treville and Athos. It's nice to see Athos so happy and playful. I can see why Treville can't help indulging him (in more ways than one) rather than deliver a lecture. This is a great bit of hurt/comfort.
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Date: 2015-02-18 06:53 pm (UTC)I was imagining Athos the way he was in the training yard, with d'Artagan, all cool and controlled, and wondering whether he'd been drunk then, too. *g*
I suspect lecturing Athos when he's drunk would be pretty pointless, and Treville probably thinks so, too.
Writing these two is a lot of fun.
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Date: 2015-02-18 06:54 pm (UTC)I wondered if the last bit was in keeping, but I'm glad I left it in. *g*
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Date: 2015-02-18 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-18 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-18 09:59 pm (UTC)“He was lucky. I was inattentive.”
Smooth Athos ^_^
“I only did that once!”
Eewks! Once is far more than enough. Bad Athos! ^_^
Great fic!
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Date: 2015-02-19 07:54 am (UTC)*g* Yes, I doubt I'll be writing that particular sex scene.