#*clenches fist* *aramis voice* he's strong

[raevenlywrites]

Favorite Lines from Ties That Bind

In no particular order, and with zero context, some favorite lines from my Hawksong Fic

Take Zane Cobriana as your alistair.

I still couldn’t process the idea. “Alistair” was a word that meant so many things to me, none of which matched the fiery cobra. My first alistair, Vasili, had been taken from me too young to truly remember him. And after that, alistair was a word most often followed by the ragged grief of a newly made widow.

It was not a word I could fathom associating with Zane Cobriana.

-

You want your peace, but do you even know what it would look like?”

Of course not. None of us did. We’d been locked in this war for generation upon generation--or, at least, those of us of the Keep. I was beginning to suspect that my castle walls were built just a little too high. Or that I’d not tried hard enough to peer over them.

-

Zane smirked, a sardonic twist of his sculpted lips. My mind kept focusing on the most inane details--the perfect press of his cupid’s bow, the strong line of his jaw--as he folded himself elegantly onto a cushion. His long legs glittered in the moonlight and for a moment I thought he must have been in armoured form. But no, merely snakeskin pants. My gut filled with ice. The prince of the serpiente in snakeskin pants. Yikes.

-

Like a scar on the land, those stretches of forest and field lay empty of any habitation for generations. I wondered nonsensically as I prepared for bed if all those years of blood would yield richer crops, or anything could be grown there at all.

-

“Rei, this has to stop!”

We stood in the violence charged aura of the room, muscles still singing with unused adrenaline. The tension trembled through me, a humming string just waiting to be released. I couldn’t help but see Zane’s coiled readiness in Rei’s tensed hands, as he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to burn off some of that fighting edge.

-

“I am Danica Shadae, heir to the Tuuli Thea. The only person in the room who is even remotely qualified to argue with me is Zane Cobriana himself. And as I believe he intends to propose marriage to me, it is within my right to demand a little privacy for this intimate moment.”

-

He had seen me cry over countless deaths, until I had grown up enough to no longer let the tears show. We knew the shape of each other’s grief; and we knew how important it was to have somewhere safe to let it out, to be weak. He was weak with me now, and I sank into that uncertainty gratefully.

-

Pain creased lines at the corners of those familiar brown eyes, and I had a flash to see the man my alastair might have become, the way pain and joy and time might have painted lines on the face I only remembered as an unfinished boy’s.

-

The scene in the farmhouse was almost too surreal for belief. Zane Cobriana, Arami of the serpiente, was serving as a yarn swift.

-

I stared at him wide-eyed, eyes lingering on impossible details--the stray strands of hair that fell across his face, the thick, sweeping curve of his stunningly dark lashes--as the world paused between one heartbeat and the next. I was utterly frozen, drowning deep in radiant red, the hypnotic gaze of the Cobriana garnet.

-

Zane had a way of making the astounding seem perfectly plausible, of the daring to be his absolute right, and would you like to come along and seize it with him?

-

“I think I could learn to love you, Danica, impossible as it seems.”

The dream’s voice sounded directly in my ear, the breath of my guilty apparition brushing across my cheek. I thought I felt the barest caress of lips on my temple, as if this facsimile of my enemy could somehow absolve me and release me from my nightmares. He leaned over me and pressed something into my hand, a talisman against further bloodshed.

“Come chase better dreams with me,” he whispered, closing my clutching fingers around something smooth and hard. I gripped it the way I wanted to grip him, to hold any hand in this unending morass of memory and horror. It was said the first hawks could sing beautiful visions into their dreams, the first songs of my people being more spell than sound. Apparently all that remained of those gifts was a penchant for lucid mocking nightmares.

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 012

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey all! Billy and Evie continue their strange mating ritual. TW: Mentions of past abuse and student/teacher relationship. Heavy petting. SMUT. Phone sex. ;)

TAG LIST OPEN. Chat with me if you have the time xoxo

Chapter 12: Cupid and Psyche

   Evie groaned the next time she woke.

   Pain blared like the morning sun streaming on her face. Flames licking supple cheeks.

   Billy gone in the bed upon turning over.

   His scent apparent all over her damn sheets. Seeped into the pillows. Aramis. Hairspray. Paco Rabanne Pour Homme. Evie wondered if Billy liked to leave parts of himself where he goes. An impression similar to hands in wet concrete. 

   Sometimes a warm body pressed up against you was the only thing reminding you that you were here.

   She curled around his pillow to inhale. Felt butterflies flutter her stomach. Landing on delicate organs to decorate them in jewel toned wings. Iridescent glows that washed harsh reds away.

   Evie wondered what it would be like to crystallize. Utterly.

   Feet touched the floor to leave such fantasies aside. Those butterflies decayed upon seeing her face in the mirror. Hissing, fingertips gingerly touched the skin on fire. Upset welts around her puffy eye. Lungs gave a shudder before Evie was scrambling to replace the emptiness.

   Needy fingers went for her drawer and pulled out a box labeled “FB + EF.” Pushed all the way in back hidden under sheer and lacy panties. Hands clicked around the little pieces of jewelry she wasn’t able to wear in the open until she lifted a brooch to the light. A sparkling ladybug. 

   Fredrick got for her during the first month of that magical summer. They went to some dirty adult party three cities away where people in their twenties and thirties were doing cocaine out in the open. Evie shared a tab of acid with Fredrick that unlocked her entire psyche. Draped herself into him to watch colors spin along the TV. Felt his hand palm her breast before they found a room.

   “Do you think I’m fat?” Evie asked between kisses, coming down from her trip and sweltering with heat. Trembling too hard.

   “What?” He actually laughed into her mouth, came out and pulled her body flush. “You’re not fat, love, you’re so beautiful.”

   At the time, Evie wasn’t sure how that answer made her feel worse. 

   But, the lady bug pin was now scuttling into her stomach. She nearly broke the drawer with her clenched fists pushing it down.

   Exhale.

   Oh, how she moaned like a wanting slut that night. Rode Fredrick hard and turned over afterward for him. Started to cry when he tried to take her home afterwards because she didn’t want to go.

   Didn't want the dreaming to end. She wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever.

   It was their first fight. He screamed she was being a child and manipulating him. They both shouted about telling her mother the truth. 

   Evie really started to sob that she hated him and he just held her wrists and kissed her deeply. Softened suddenly as she fell into his arms. Told her she was too pretty to be so upset. That she had a hold on him. That he was starting to fall deeply and madly in love with her.

   And that made her feel like a god. 

   They ended up back at his place. Evie got home the next day to Mona hiding her pack of smokes behind a picture of Dolly Parton. Not asking where her daughter had been all night. Just said to get ready for her next talent show. 

   Hungover, Evie still won the prize money that went into some new clothes, her future fund, and fresh paint for the salon. Talent scouts cooed to keep growing.

   “Evie!” A knock startled her daydreams. The drawer smacked shut. Heather poked her face in and frowned. “Oh, honey...you need some more ice on that. We made pancakes.”

   “We?”

   “Steve and I. Billy went home to shower, he had to give Max a ride somewhere. Come on, eat some breakfast.”

   Evie changed, rubbing her throat on the way out. Steve blinked at her and tried not to wince.

   “I know it’s not pretty.” Evie pressed her lips. 

   “You saw me after Hargrove kicked my ass.” Steve reached over the little island counter to give her chin this encouraging tap. Darling smile curling. Heather put a big plate down so Evie slid onto a stool.

   “Thanks, sorry I passed out last night.”

   “Ice cream will be a good pick me up later.” Heather kissed Evie’s good side. “Want us to stick around today?”

   “Ah, we can hang out tonight. I gotta clean up and I wanted to go talk to Billy about something.” Evie took a bite and sighed. Steve and Heather exchanged looks. “Nothing happened. Perverts.”

   A beat before laughter erupted. It felt so needed this hour

** ** **

   Evie tried to use makeup to cover the easier welts. Felt useless with her eye socket the size and color of Jupiter. A huff before she flicked a brush aside and stood. She left Blue on the couch before venturing out. Frost and slush marked the unforgiving winter outside. Evie had waited until Neil’s car left and crossed over. Knocked.

   Susan poked her head out.

   “Oh, Evie, I... Dear, what happened?” Susan’s wedding ring caught the light as she touched her lips with worry. Red hair piled up upon her head and a sea foam sweater dress.

   “I slipped on the ice.” Lashes batted. “Sorry, I caught you in the middle of something.”

   “No, I was unpacking the last few boxes in our garage. Shifting some furniture. Think we’re finally moved in. I was just going to change and catch the bus, our shelves are bare.” Susan held the door back. 

   “I was here to see Billy, is he…?” Evie trailed off when she heard it. The blasting music from the farthest bedroom. Shut tight.

   “Yes, in his room. Evie, he’s… He’s in a mood and might not come out.”

   “A mood?” Evie studied the woman. Thin hands clasping so hard that they paled.

   “Maybe a friendly face will be good.” Susan decided, not convinced but too polite to turn Evie away now. “Go on ahead.”

   It appeared Max was out with friends. Susan disappeared into the kitchen after gesturing so Evie crossed down the hallway. Knocked and wasn’t heard. Pounded harder.

   “I’m busy, Susan!” Came the bark.

   “Not Susan.” Evie shot right back. There was a curse before some scrambling and the door yanked open. Billy in a white tank tucked into some jeans with grey socks. Lax. Chain shifting as he breathed. “You look real busy.”

   Eyes screwed up at her. Seemingly irritated. 

   “What are you doing here?”

   “You left, I just...wanted to hang out. Talk, I mean.” Her feet shuffled before she matched his taller posture. Chin lifting. 

   “Getting clingy on me.”

   “As if you have any business talking about that.” She joked, arms crossing. 

   “I spent the night in your bed. We shot the shit, I’m not your boyfriend.” His clipped tone etched some surprise over Evie’s face.

   “Okay, asshole, when and where did I ask if you wanted to be my damn boyfriend? You going to ease up a little bit? I don’t need that.” Evie flared and he sucked in his cheeks before pulling her into his room and shutting the door. “The fuck is your problem all the sudden?”

   Billy had gone to turn the music down a bit, head craning to see her pressed into his door. One of his hands was idly rubbing his ribs. Some of their anger died. A tense expression crossed his face.

   Evie realized she’d never really seen the inside of his room. Smelled like Billy. Smoke, hairspray, and cologne. Random plates and beer cans with smashed cigarette buds. A little vanity made of crates. Near empty shelves. Weights laying round. Laundry mostly in a basket propped up in the corner. Curtains that were really clipped up sheets. Something somber about it all. Like nothing was his. Like he had to make the space livable. Bearable.

   “I don’t plan for guests.” He plucked up a pack of cigarettes. 

   “Bullshit, I see girls climbing in and out of your window.” Evie lightened the tension. Billy hitched as if he might chuckle. Felt guilty instead.

   “Well, help yourself to a seat.” Billy kicked back into a beaten brown couch so Evie nudged her shoes aside and joined him on the other end. “Well?” He lit himself a smoke and scratched his chin, eyes on the window.

   “About last night, that stuff I said...”

   “Weren’t drunk so you can’t take it back.” The white hot cherry pointed to her.

   “I’m just saying," Evie gestured at air, "it was a lot.”

   “Me beating the fuck out of our second period teacher was a lot.” Billy got his cigarette snatched before he plucked it back. “Think of your pretty voice, yeah?”

   Evie pouted, made this rumbling sound at him before she sat back.

   It clicked in Billy’s head.

   “You’re looking to drown your sorrows. Finally something I can really help with.” Billy reached over the couch and came up with a bottle of amber liquid. There was an unmistakable sound of the front door closing, signalling Susan had left. 

   “Heather and Steve wouldn’t approve.” Evie took the bottle anyways. Gulped.

   “Easy, jesus.” Billy drank after. One quick swig. Watched her bring her legs up to cross them. Leggings and a thick, violet sweater with wool socks. Curls spilling. “Small drinks, don’t be an idiot.”

   “Strong words from you.” She sipped that time. Savored the woody burn as it went down.

   “Don’t I know it?” He puffed. Evie offered him the bottle and sighed, relaxing before she spoke.

   “Did Fredrick cry when you hit him?”

   “Like a bitch.” Billy exhaled smoke. “Drove past his place after I dropped Max off at her friend’s. Cleared the fuck out.”

   “Oh.” It still ached. This person who touched her life was suddenly gone. Maybe never to return. Like her father. It should have been a fucking comfort and instead everything ugly swimming under Evie’s skin pushed to the surface.

   “Did you like it?” A whisper.

   “I always do.” He spoke, drank about it. Evie thought back to leveling Tannen’s face. Silently agreed. Wondered when he would break his chains to get revenge.

   “Do you think I’m fat?” Her tone droned next.

   “Why are you asking me stupid questions, Evie?” Billy’s cigarette was hanging lazily from his lips. Bold, crystalline eyes appeared bored at her as an arm came up on the couch. She blinked at him.

   Evie liked that reply. She was fat. She was pretty, too. She hoped. They can coexist. Billy could just be crass about it. Obscene.

   She enjoyed that about him, too. Even if she wouldn't admit it.

   “Do you think about fucking me when you masturbate?” She said in the same controlled tone.

   Billy choked, almost inhaling his lit stick, and spit it on the floor. Still coughing, his head snapped with bulging eyes. Stepping on the cigarette to kick it under the beaten sofa.

   Pride swelled.

   “What the fuck, Evie?” He set the liquor aside. Evie was on her feet lightning quick so he got up also. Just as quick. “Hey, why’d you come here?” 

   She had the door open when his palm smacked it shut. Evie spun there, pressed between him and the wood. Billy breathing into her space. One arm still outstretched. Too intent.

   Evie thought for a moment, she heard his pulse begin to race.

   Her heavy eyes flashed at him. Waiting there for something to crack. 

   And then trembling fingers dipped and clicked the lock on the doorknob without breaking eye contact.

   This shrewd look crossed his eyes. Filled his whole expression with neon light.

   God damn, he was just too beautiful. Stunning like ethereal Cupid about to revive Psyche with true love's kiss after their trials. Wings unfurling all delicate and feathery. They both crystallized.

   “I should go.” Evie said without trying. Not moving an inch. Billy dropped his arms and stepped back to see her. Flicking his eyes before he let his light burn. Leaned forward and bit the inside of his cheek. A rasp.

   “Take your fucking clothes off.”

   Evie threw herself at him.

   Knocked Billy back into the bed while their lips collided. The boy caught fire. He pushed her to turn them over. Already shoving between her legs. So hard, he figured he might blow his load right there. Evie’s lips on his neck made it worse. Made him moan until his leg shook like a dog’s would.

   Yeah, it had been awhile.

   “Fuck.” Billy pulled up, left Evie pawing for him. Fingers under her sweater to yank.

   “Wait.” Evie gasped out so he stopped. All her fervor hid under the bed. Unable to meet those eyes.

   “What?” Billy sat back on his knees. “Scared I won’t like what I see?”

   “It’s too bright in here.” She turned to let the sheets fall over the blinds. Went for the other.

   “Leave some light. Wanna see you.” Billy batted his lashes as he said that. Made her melt. Quickly, he pulled his own shirt off. Flashed the reason for all this anger earlier. Splotchy bruises along his ribs where Neil’s knuckles pushed in for whatever reason he picked that morning.

   Evie paused to see them. Saw Billy’s rock hard chest sink in. Reached out and got her wrist snatched. Gentle as can be.  

   “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes averted.

   “Don’t worry about mine.” Evie asked so Billy cupped her face and pushed her back into the sheets. She paused only to sit up and remove her top. Covered in fracturing rosy marks across fleshy curves. Before she had a chance to get insecure, Billy cut in.

   “Leggings, too.” He winked, snapping the fabric. She scowled instead.

   “You first.” Evie undid the loop of his belt, teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she did. Billy felt himself shudder. Stood up so she followed.

   They stared at each other. Didn’t touch and undressed there in the too soft lights down to their underwear.

   Billy’s eyes followed the swell of her breasts. Everything about Evie was plush. Dark curls hung over her shoulders. Really looked like a twisting goddess from a painting. She had her hands in front of her stomach and dropped them when he crossed. Inching her back into the wall.

   A hand cupped her jaw before their lips opened. Arms went around his shoulders. Unafraid that he was looking at her in daylight. 

   Alive. Both of them felt alive. 

   Billy pressed further, let their bodies melt together. Tested how she felt against him. Flesh on flesh. 

   Several sensations erupted the moment his mouth was on her neck. Clouds bursting with rain. Fireworks splashing the night sky. Petals unfurled within Evie’s stomach. Gemstones grew out to crystallize. She wondered how pretty she’d be if Billy took a chisel to her flesh. Cracked the shell open. She ran her hands over his arms and felt the soft hairs there. Pulled him even in closer.

   Fingers slid one bra strap down. Evie coaxed him further with digits woven into golden curls. Maybe Billy had a point about her being molten because she was about to spill hot between his fingers. 

   He came up. Moaned into her mouth. Palms gripping at flesh. Like he had to feel all of her at once. Evie bit her lip, neck craning back so he could inch lower again. 

   Billy Hargrove is about to fuck me, she could have giggled, and I’m going to fuck him hard and thoughtlessly. 

   She hitched a gasp just as his fingertips inched into cotton panties. Got ready to pull him back into bed.

   Billy’s head lifted. The earring dangled almost violently when a door slammed. Evie’s dreams were sent scattering before they frozen together. Marble. 

   Water pouring over red hot iron to elicit the tempering sizzle.

   “Fuck.” Billy recognized the sound. “Fuck. My dad.” He kept saying, pushing Evie’s clothing at her. “You need to go. Out the window.”

   “What?” Evie barely had time to get dressed while he helped her. Both of them bursting at the seams. Billy yanked his jeans up and got the window open. Guided Evie over it as she was still forcing her sweater on. 

   “Billy!” Came a bark at the front of the house. Stomping followed. Evie plopped into the snowy grass with a groan as Billy dropped her shoes into her lap. Evie scrambled back up around the back of her house. Slammed the door and fell back against it like she had to hide too.

   Lungs sputtered.

   “What the fuck?” Her cheeks were an obscene cherry shade. She felt Billy all over her. Ached all between her thighs even in wet clothing. Huffed because she was unfucked and her sweater was inside out. “Shit.” Evie scrambled to her bedroom. Blue scuttled out to a food dish as Evie jerked the curtain open. Couldn’t see anything in Billy’s room.

   Her phone rang.

   “Yes?” A cry into the receiver.

   “Cute that you worried for me.” Cool and even. Almost macho.

   She puffed, sinking.

   “Shut up.”

   “Guess my dad’s beer run wasn’t as long as I thought.” Billy blew air out his lips. “Was hoping he’d be working today. They cut his hours down this week for some reason. Made him real fucking happy.”

   “Come over here.”

   “No, I’m locked in for playing my music too loud and for being disrespectful this morning. Gotta wait till later, he’ll get drunk enough and forget.” Billy reclined on his bed. Something horrible there because he was used to this. Music was playing softer behind him. Mingling with Neil in the living room watching some show play on. “You’re...intense.” His blase attitude and joke almost set Evie at ease. She fell into bed, eyes rolling.

   “Uh. So, are you." A beat. "...Were you surprised?”

   “Yeah, actually. I had you figured for a shy, little birdie.”

   “Everyone thinks that about me. I sing and dance. I like sex and stage lights. I get mad. I’m not shy. Maybe at times about my...but, I get over it. Women can be as intense as men in the sack, you know?” Evie sounded insulted.

   “Don’t worry, I’m a quick learner.” He’d mused. “Learning new things about you every day.” 

   Evie couldn’t explain why that made her blush. Hard. The silky timbre of his voice lulling her into genuine security. 

   “Learned that I can make out your accent more when you’re sleepy, on the phone, and in lust.”

   “In lust? Shut up.” She mocked. “Don’t have an accent. You probably can’t even tell the uptown and downtown accents apart in N'awlins.” Ah shit. Billy found that hilarious as Evie cringed.

   “That so, N'awlins?” Billy countered. “Just say the word, bayou, for me.”

   “...That’s a hard pass. Are all Cali boys this insufferable?” She rolled over to swing her legs up.

   “We are, actually. But, I am the prettiest.” His smile dazzled with no one to admire it. Evie saw it in her mind and wanted to just toss him over town.

   “I’ll give you that for admitting it.” A breath followed. Evie toyed with one of her curls. Tugged. “I had you all shaky there.” His tongue clicked.

   “No idea what you mean.” That cheekiness she enjoyed dripped from his rich tone. “Bummed, I was this close to seeing your tits.” 

   “They’ll be the same later. I think. I don’t know, I always thought they were shaped funny.” Brown eyes turned to the ceiling as she rolled back. one arm behind her head. 

   “Later, she says. Huh. And I’ll be the judge of that. I’m a professional and I’m not picky. Any shape is good, I’m in this for the taste.”

   “Sleaze.” Evie pouted and a chuckle sounded. Billy sighed. "How'd you get my number, by the way?"

   "Begged it from Heather on my way out. I can be smooth." He said. “You really want me over tonight? Steve and Heather won’t approve, am I right?”

   She let out an aggravated sigh and Billy smiled again to himself. Imagined that scrunchy pout she liked to make. Fingers tapping his bare stomach.

   “I mean, we can…hang out. Nothing wrong with that.”

   “Like you came over just now to hang out, chica?”

   “I didn’t come over just for that.”

   “Sure. As if you also didn’t wet your blue panties for me.”

   “You’re so gross.” Evie rubbed her legs together. Remembered his hands worshiping her flesh. Her flesh that she was conditioned to hate. Adjusted the phone and licked her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

   “I’m just saying we can easily pick up where we left off, Evie.” The name rolled sinfully from his tongue. She swallowed. Flashes of Billy across her brain. His peachy tanned skin. His gold curls. His lips kissing her. 

   “Remind me where that was? Landed pretty hard there when you pushed me out the window.”

   “Shit, yeah. About that-”

   “I get it.” Evie didn’t need to make him explain. “I didn’t land on my head. Still raw from…” Where Fredrick tossed her into the wall. They both went silent. Just listened to each other breathe. Evie gave this dreamy sigh. “I like...your arm hair and I like the way you smell.”

   He laughed.

   "You're a funny girl, Evie."

   "It's just...that intensity you have, I don't know. You are pretty." She rubbed her face. "I don't know what I'm saying."

   “Your perfume goes right to my dick. You know that, too.” His joke lightened them both again. Evie rolled her eyes. “Explains why you practically crawl into my skin at night.” Billy remembered suddenly that he’d spent two nights with Evie and hadn’t screwed her. That was a rarity.

   “You snore a little. Couple of grunts. Sorta adorable.”

   “Don’t even get my started on how dead silent you get.” Billy’s eyes trailed over his room. He could still smell her honey amber scent lingering. Hummed into the pillow. Obsession by Calvin Klein. Odd scent for a teen, but matching him in intensity and she wore it so subtly. All they could do was battle and weave together. Obsession and Aramis. This strange dance he was thrilled to continue.

   “Never answered my question.”

   “Already forgot it. Was it where we left off or what I’d do to you next?” Lips curled as her breath hitched. “Let’s see. I had you against the wall. Moaning so pretty. Lipstick smeared.”

   Evie almost didn’t speak up when he paused before...

   “And?”

   “And I was gonna keep kissing down your tits. Get the rest of your clothes off. Tongue my way over your sweet nipples. Stomach too, I like to cover all the ground I can. See how shy you really are.” He licked his lips and Evie’s eyes got heavy. 

   “Not so shy when I tell you to keep going.”

   “No, I guess not. Not until I push your sensitive thighs open, I bet you’d quake and purr. Blush like you clearly are now.”

   Evie realized she’d been holding her breath. Didn’t even fight him. Clutching her sweater as he spoke so casually. 

   “It’s a real fucking tragedy. Me, waiting longer before I find out how you taste. That’s all I’m saying.” Billy’s breath was labored on the other end. “Still with me here, Angel?”

   “Is...this your private line?”

   Another snicker.

   “Obviously. Why?” Billy had his jeans open. Bit his lip while he pooled arousal around his tip. Watched it trickle down into his stomach. Again. No reply. “Answer was yes, by the way… What you asked early if I thought about you. I do a lot. Fucking you. Eating you out. I knew you were a hair puller, we have that in common.”

   “Not sure I trust you to last and get the job done with how worked up you get. All the trembling, it was kinda cute.”

   “You clearly haven’t ridden my tongue.”

   Fuck him.

   “You have to actually stop talking to do that, Billy.” Evie laughed in the open and Billy smiled brighter, eyes crinkling. He walked into that one. Idly, she ran her fingers up her thigh. “Between you and I, I never let guys eat me out.”

   Billy stopped to sit up.

   “No shit?”

   “It always made me nervous so I stopped them when they tried. All the mouth action comes from me.” Evie had sat up on the other end too. “I’m pretty good actually.”

   “You’d let me fuck that beautiful mouth after I taste you?” He’d cooed. “Betcha that lipstick won’t look half bad on my skin since you never did start buying waterproof.”

   “I guess it’s only fair.” Evie dropped her tone. “Still think you can’t handle it.”

   “There’s the ego I was hoping for.” He shook his head. “But, I have to say, sweetheart, you’re missing out. That’s the real crime, not letting yourself get tongue fucked once in a while. Do you not know how to treat yourself?”

   Evie mashed her face into the nearest pillow. 

   “I can’t stand you. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She muffled and Billy only laughed again, laying down. Imagined how cherry her lips and cheeks must have looked. Thought about tracing his thumb over her wet mouth. Smeared in slick red.

   “Don’t get shy on me now. We established you weren’t.”

   “It’s weird.”

   “Not weird. You just let a guy kiss down and nature takes over.”

   “It’s not that simple with me.”

   “Sure, it is. Let me walk you through it. Take your leggings and panties off.” He licked his lips. “C’mon, we got time to kill now.” There was some shuffling.

   “It’s not a big deal,” Evie undressed anyways, “it’s just...I think about the angle and guys looking up and seeing my stomach and I get freaked out.”

   “Sweetheart, my mouth will be buried in your pussy, I ain’t worried about your flesh. I’m more worried about my technique. These things you get so worked up about. Guys really don’t give a shit, the good ones anyways.” His vulgarity sent these fizzles all down her nerves. Actually made her feel better. “You just...tip your head back and enjoy it. Although, I don’t mind a little praise and eye contact. Make me feel like a good boy for once.”

   “And I can’t like...play with myself to help?”

   “You can, but just relax and let me take over. You can trust me to make you feel good, Evie. Might be nice to give up some control.”

   He had no idea that he’d hit a nail on the head.

   “So, kisses. Thighs open.” Evie settled into the pillows, free hand twisted into fabric with a cool breeze on her thighs. Breasts rising. “Would you use your fingers too?”

   “If you ask me sweetly.” Billy saw beads of precum all over his abdomen. Throbbed and tried not to grunt. “I’d like to. I’d like to lick my way inside you. Hold your legs open and kiss your clit until you’re begging for more. Love the view of you. Spread open and wet for me. Like how you feel.” 

   “You’ve never been with a girl my size.” Evie broke into his daydreams.

   “You don’t know that.” He paused. It was true.

   “Yes, I do, Billy.” Evie didn’t know why the thought was stark and gnawing. “I’m bigger than you. Wider. Maybe even heavier.”

   “Bet, I can lift you just fine.” He rubbed his face, eyes searching. “I liked it. Touching you. I wasn’t shy about it, was I? Fucking soft. I’m not used to that against me. You’re warm and when I squeezed you against me, I wanted to throw you on my bed so fucking bad. Can't explain it.”

   She went silent so he found a joke. 

   “If it makes you so nervous, I promise to let you suck me off after.”

   “A dashing gentleman if I ever saw one.” She broke out of the nerves.

   “Just think about it, Evie. You ever just take the time to appreciate how wet you made someone? Up close. It's a thrill.” Billy hitched as he palmed himself. Evie swallowed a lump.

   “Are you…?”

   “Am I, what?” Billy’s labored breathing made it obvious, but he wanted her to say it.

   “Did I make you wet?”

   “Jeans are ruined for the day.” He offered, husky under the music. “Should have risked hiding you in the closet.”

   “We would have so been caught.”

   “His problem.” Billy gruffed, changed the subject to work himself up. “Two clasps away from those tits. I won’t forget that.”

   “Maybe I’ll play with them since you’re not here to.” She moved a hand under her sweater and Billy outright groaned.

   “What do you taste like?”

   “I recall you predicting heaven.” Sarcasm etched out. “It's possible you’ll find out if I’m in the mood again. I could be just now realizing this was a lapse in judgement.”

   “Ah huh.” Billy gave himself a few strokes. Evie listened to him sigh too soft and husky in her ear. Pictured him atop her. Rock hard and moaning. Gorgeous like Apollo. Sun streaming upon his back. Illuminating curls.

   She slid her fingers down. Hitched a sigh because she was soaked and aching. 

   “Would you kiss me after I sucked you off?” Evie played with herself. Let him hear the moan.

   “With tongue. You could spit directly into my mouth for all I care. In fact, I might like that.” Billy hummed, tone changing to give an order. “Slip your fingers in if you haven’t already. I know what you’re doing, Evangeline.”

   “You were doing it first.” Evie’s head pressed back into the pillows. She spread her legs and drew circles into herself, pressed two fingers in and moaned.

   “Who’s fucking you right now, Angel?”

   “Oh, you.” She was forward about that. Heart thumping. “Want your mouth and hands.”

   “Told you.” His head tilted back. Tried to stay immersed in the lingering scent of her. “Play with your clit again. That’ll do until I get my tongue on you.”

   Evie cursed that time. Accent lacing her tone. It made him smile brighter.

   “If I had it my way, you won’t play with yourself at all. Know that? You want to get off, you just come to me and let me take care of you.”

   “What a chore.” Evie sped and started to rock into her own touch.

   “I’m always up to the task.”

   Billy worked himself on the other end to every little mewl and sigh. Dirty talk went out the window as she gasped. Started to build herself up. Pictured Billy slicked and surrendered against cotton sheets. Stunning and batting his lashes while he opened his mouth and pumped his fist.

   “Get yourself there, Angel, don’t wait for me.” He heard her curse louder and almost drop the phone back. With Billy’s little murmurs of dirty encouragement, she rubbed perfect circles. Imagined his fingers and tongue. His sly eyes and those fucking lashes. Muscles bulging hot under her grasp. Evie cried out, succumbed there and hitched to shake and shudder. Billy closed his eyes while she got off. Couldn’t wait to be the one who got her there.

   “Fuck, Evie. You’re killing me.” One fists jerked up and down. Unable to get close because he was distracted with her. “I can’t...fucking shit. I was almost there a moment ago when you were here and now, ah…fucking hell.”

   “Sounds like you need help.” Evie stretched like a cat against her pillows. Still trembling.

   “Or another hand.” He sighed. “Or a mouth. Think about how you’d leave that red lipstick all over my dick.”

   “I got an idea. If you give me shit, I’ll end you.” Evie pushed her blissful body up. “Come up to the window.”

   “What…” Billy shoved a sheet aside to see her. Out of breath and curls sticking all over. Blushed and fucked. Gorgeous. “What are you doing?” He was still slowly jerking himself to keep the momentum. Evie looked around the grass and shrubbery. Rolled her eyes before lifting up her shirt and moving the bra down.

   Billy’s mouth dropped along with his phone so she giggled as he disappeared to grab it.

   “Fuck!” Billy caught himself and returned.

   “Are they everything you pictured?” She bit her lip and winked. He was dead intent on her tits. Mouth open. Working himself harder.

   “Push them against the window.”

   Her hard, dark rosy nipples pressed there and Billy moaned. Wished he had them in his hands. Wished he would fuck her mouth and shoot his load on them.

   “Yes, Evie, fuck.” He submitted. Almost sounded like a zombie. Under her spell. Typical boy. Working himself until… “Gonna cum.” Strings of release hit the wall as Billy dropped the phone again to finish. Evie still heard his muffled moans on the end and brought herself back down, giggling at the same time Billy fell into his pillows.

   “Did I lose you, Billy?”

   “No, but if you could pick my balls up off the floor, that’d be great.” He puffed and felt around for a tee to clean up with. “Okay. I’m gonna say this. We’re going to fuck. Hear me? I am going to fuck you. Can’t today. But, it's happening.”

   “So certain. What, are you spent already?”

   “Not gonna plan that far, we hang out as you say...and see what happens.” He caught his breath. “Can’t do it here and your two guards are going to be on you this week.”

   “You thought awhile about this.” Evie licked her lips, still fixing her bra in place. “Maybe my common sense comes back.”

   “Maybe you admit you’re warming up to me again. Sizzling fuse.”

   “Yeah, yeah.” Evie rose out of bed and paused to sigh. Tone shifting. "Billy?"

   "Hm?"

   “What if he comes back?”

   “He’s scared. He won’t. I stopped him.”

   “I feel like I’m going to be constantly looking over my shoulder. You know?” Evie didn't want to touch the floor again.

   “Then, I guess I know where to stand for your attention.” His quip had Evie biting her lip. Roses bloomed up her thighs and cheeks. “I also left my number under your lamp, by the way. Use it.”

   Evie blinked and lifted it to see a torn slip with his handwriting. Slippery bastard.

   “Yeah, I got it.” She bit back a smile. “I’ll...ah, see you later, Billy.”

   “Yes, you will.” He paused. “One more question. More of a courtesy.”

   “What?”

   “Preferred method of birth control? Have a couple rubbers. I’m clean, by the way. But, are you an in or out type of girl?” 

   “Also clean. And I’m an avid user of the pill, smartass. Use that information however you like.” She hung up, leaving Billy to laugh on the other end. He brought the phone away, still so stupid happy. Dreaming himself away.

   Psyche went through so many trials for Cupid. Billy wondered about the after. About Eros picking up some trials of his own to keep a girl that tangled him so ardently. About how it felt worth it down to the beating core. All’s fair...

   Evangeline Fenny might really be the end of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for tuning in!! That was actually my first full phone sex scene, it's so fun to write these two and their weird dance. I just love them more by the chp. xx Stay and chat with me if you can! As is open :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch​​ @nottherightseason​​ @orxhidshavana​​   @alagalaska​​ @alongcamedolly​​ @kellyk-chan​​ @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber​​ @charmed-asylum​​ @unmistakablyunknown​​

[flowers-creativity]

Whumptober #13 - Delayed drowning/intubation

Fandom: The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos, Athos, d’Artagnan

Warnings: Modern AU (Police) (only mentioned in passing)

Summary: Porthos takes an involuntary bath that has consequences - good thing Aramis had taken the guestroom for the night and is right there ...

Notes: So that’s the last Whumptober fic in October. I’m a bit sad that it’s over and that I didn’t write more but I had fun, and I hope you did, too! (There might be more Whumptober fics in November. Or Comfortember. Or something else. The point is, I’ll keep writing 😉.)

As always, not a medical professional (nor intimately familiar with French hospital policy), so please forgive any inaccuracies!

AO3 link

Aramis had to suppress a smirk as Porthos closed the door of his flat behind him and turned to make his way towards the bathroom. There was no other way to describe the sound of it than as “squelching”.

“You go on ahead and sit down,” his best friend called over his shoulder before he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Sure thing,” Aramis replied easily. As he walked to the living room, his face turned serious, though. At the moment when the suspect they had been chasing had managed to topple himself and Porthos into the Seine, it hadn't been very funny. Two struggling men in frigid water and nothing they could do from the river bank … But even if Porthos was not an accomplished swimmer, his superior fighting skills had allowed him to overpower the hooligan with only some minor dunking. The guy had certainly swallowed a lot more water.

He shed his coat and holster and picked up the remote, turning on the TV and making himself comfortable. Belatedly, he snagged his coat again from where he sat on the sofa, fishing for his mobile phone, then settled back and flipped lazily through the channels while internally debating if some hot Chinese soup or pizza was better for comfort after an involuntary bath.

By the time Porthos emerged, freshly showered and in a fuzzy bathrobe, he had placed the order and immediately reported: “Food should be here in twenty minutes.”

Porthos grunted and dropped into the sofa cushions next to him. “What'd you got?”

“Chinese.” Aramis smiled. “It's not chicken soup but won ton soup might still be good for warding off a cold.”

Porthos nodded. “Sounds good.” He let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

Aramis leaned forward and looked at him critically. “How are you?” he asked. “Honestly.”

The other man opened one eye again and glanced at him sidewise. “I'm fine, 'Mis,” he replied. “You looked me over already, remember? Just tired and still cold, and y'know, bit bruised here and there. Don't fuss.”

Aramis raised his hands and sat back again, smiling. “You know me,” he said mildly. “I always fuss. Just let me know if anything changes, okay?”

“Will do,” Porthos promised. He looked at the TV and frowned. “What's that, Truffaut? You're not serious. Gimme that remote.”

Aramis let his smile widen into a grin and held up the remote in a challenge. “Come and get it.” Porthos released a low growl and ducked in his seat, tension coiling in his powerful muscles, and Aramis was quick to scramble to his feet and flee before he could throw himself at him.

Aramis opened his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling, confused for a moment before he recognised the familiar silhouettes of the furniture in Porthos' guest room. It had been late by the time they had eaten and finished the film they had agreed on in the end, so he had opted to stay over – which was something that occurred at least twice a week, and if he didn't, it was Porthos staying with him half the time. They were really living in each other's pockets …

He sighed and turned around, wrapping an arm around his cushion. It wasn't a bad thing, even if he dreaded the day Porthos would find a woman he wanted to stay with. He knew it would happen one day, and he'd long accepted the fact that it wasn't in the cards for him – he would be happy for Porthos, of course, but losing this closeness would still hurt. “Don't borrow trouble, Aramis,” he murmured to himself. So far, it hadn't happened. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

A loud thump from outside made them fly open again, and he sat up, immediately alert as he reached for his phone and gun on the night-stand. Who or what had that been? If someone was breaking into the flat, he was about to be unpleasantly surprised by not only one but two police officers. One of which had had a hard day and would be particularly bear-like about being woken up in the middle of the night.

Sliding out of the bed, he tiptoed towards the door, trying hard to make as little noise as possible while he strained his ears for more noises. There was a rough cough – whoever it was wasn't actually trying to be quiet, and it took an embarrassingly long moment for Aramis to remember that the much more likely explanation for the noises was not a burglar but the man the flat belonged to. Maybe he needed to take some time off if he was seeing criminals everywhere.

He placed his gun and the phone on the floor and opened the door. In the low light of the hallway, he could just make out a large figure which he now easily recognised as Porthos. As he watched, his friend took another stumbling step and threw out an arm to catch himself on the wall.

And in the next moment, he was falling.

“Porthos!” Aramis jumped forwards but didn't manage to catch him in time. The sound of Porthos hitting the floor reverberated jarringly through his bones. He caught himself just in time before he followed Porthos down to the floor and stumbled to the light switch. Bright light flooded the hallway when he turned it, and he squeezed his eyes shut – only for a second, though, then he sprinted back to Porthos who was on his stomach and was trying fruitlessly to get up again. His fingers scrambled on the hardwood floor without finding purchase.

Aramis fell to his knees next to his friend and grabbed his shoulder. “Porthos, what is it?” he asked urgently. “What's the matter?”

Porthos tried to reply but what came out of his mouth instead of words were a series of harsh coughs, followed by wheezing breath. His eyes were wide and desperate as he gasped for breath.

Aramis breathed in and steeled himself before he started speaking: “Porthos, I'm here, I'm here. I've got you, okay? I'll figure it out.” He grabbed one of his friend's flailing hands and squeezed, trying to be and sound as assured as possible to calm him down. “I'll turn you on your back, okay?” Without waiting for a reaction, he did just so, grabbing Porthos' shoulder and hip. The big man's body was tense but he didn't fight him. Once Aramis had turned him, he bent over him, his hands and eyes searching for an injury. There was none he could find – all that was there was the rattle of Porthos' breath in his lungs, punctured by painfully sounding coughs that had him curl up on his side, bracing his abdomen. Finally, the medic sat back and told his friend: “I'm going to call for help. Hang on, Porthos. We'll get through this. Just hang on.”

He darted back into his room and snatched his phone, already halfway back to Porthos' side by the time he had unlocked it and called the emergency number. He started speaking as soon as the operator at the other end picked up: “Aramis Herblay, police officer, 13th Arrondissement. My partner, my, my friend can't breathe.” He took one of Porthos' hands in his free one and squeezed it, urging him silently to hang on. Porthos' lips were starting to turn blue, and while his eyes were on Aramis without wavering, he could see confusion and fatigue starting to creep in and replace the fear, clouding his gaze and tugging at his eyelids. “No, his mouth is not blocked. I think it's water in his lungs. We're off duty but he fell into the Seine yesterday afternoon--” He stopped his rambling with effort to listen to the operator.

But any answer she had to that went unheard because in that moment, he felt all tension bleed out of Porthos and, looking up, just caught a last look at his friend's eyes as they slipped close. “He lost consciousness,” he told the operator, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Please send someone!” He rattled off Porthos' address and waited until she had confirmed it, then dropped the phone and bent over Porthos again, tapping his cheek. “C'mon, Porthos, don't do that!”

There was no reply, and Porthos' eyes remained stubbornly closed. The only visible sign that he was only unconscious was the sharp rasp of his breath, each intake of air a hard-won battle. Aramis placed a hand on his neck and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the pulse there, much too fast but at least still strong and rhythmical. He pulled out his crucifix and kissed it in silent prayer, then settled down at his friend's side, ready to jump into action if his faltering breath were to cease entirely but praying with all his might that it wouldn't come to that.

The doors to the emergency room opened with a pneumatic hiss, and d'Artagnan came storming into the waiting area, Athos on his heels at a slightly slower pace. “Aramis!” their youngest called when he caught sight of him, hurrying over. “How-- What's-- How is he?” he asked as he dropped into a crouch next to Aramis' crumpled form.

Aramis clenched his fists – his hands were still trembling. “I don't know,” he replied bleakly. “They took him back a while ago and didn't tell me anything yet.”

Athos stood before the two of them, his hands deep in his coat pockets. “But he made it so far?” he asked, and Aramis marvelled again at how good their lieutenant was at keeping control in situations like this. From his tone, Athos sounded implacable, almost uncaring, but they all knew to read the signs that showed he was anything but. He was sure those hands in Athos' coat pockets were clenched into tight fists, too.

“Yes,” he hurried to reassure the others, “and I'm sure he'll be fine. He held on until the EMTs got there.” There had been a few terrifying times when it had seemed as if he'd stopped breathing but before Aramis had even started rescue breathing, he'd started up again.

Athos sat down next to Aramis, took a hand from his pocket and placed it on Aramis' shoulder in silent support, while d'Artagnan got up from his crouch and slid into the seat on Aramis' other side. The sharpshooter leaned into Athos' touch a little, unashamed of the comfort it brought him. His friends, his brothers, had only been there with him in this room for a minute, tops, but he was already feeling much calmer.

“Actually, can you tell us again what happened? Athos was a bit fuzzy on the details, he mostly knew that something happened to Porthos and you were going to the hospital with him,” d'Artagnan asked.

“Huh?” Aramis shot a sidelong glance at Athos who only raised an eyebrow and shrugged expressively. Fair enough, he supposed – to be honest, he barely remembered what he had said on the phone call himself, standing in a corner of the hallway and watching with eagle eyes what the EMTs were doing with his unconscious friend. “It must've been because of his fall into the Seine yesterday. Secondary drowning. Basically, some of the water he'd swallowed went into his lungs, and--” He broke off when a doctor entered the waiting room and looked around before he called: “Monsieur Herblay?”

Aramis was on his feet in a flash and strode over to the man, the other two at his heels. “That's me,” he told the doctor.

The doctor nodded but regarded the other two men with a raised eyebrow, and Aramis made an impatient gesture. “Everything you can tell me, you can say in front of them,” he said. “We're all the family Porthos has.”

The man looked somewhat sceptical but finally shrugged under the weight of Athos' glare, clearing his throat. “Well, I'm happy to tell you that Monsieur Vallon is doing fine, under the circumstances,” he said. “There was fluid in both lungs but we drained them without any complications. He's on the ventilator right now and should stay on it until the irritation has gone down a bit – I expect that we can wean him off by morning. There is a risk of pneumonia, of course, so we're looking at two days as an inpatient, maybe three, so we can keep an eye on that.”

Aramis blew out a relieved breath. All of this wasn't fun but it wasn't too bad. Porthos would be okay. “Can we see him?” he asked.

The doctor hesitated. “Well, he's sedated, and it's hardly visiting hours...” he began.

“We'll be quick,” d'Artagnan said, “but you must understand, getting a call in the middle of the night that something is wrong with our friend and rushing to the hospital – we just need to see him with our own eyes.” He turned the full force of his puppy dog eyes and painfully earnest expression on the doctor, and Aramis could not suppress a smirk. Maybe one day, their youngest would have learned all that Athos had to teach him, including how to glower, but until then, this combination was also surprisingly effective.

The man made a valiant attempt to resist but finally relented. “Ten minutes,” he told them strictly as he motioned for them to follow. Aramis did so, holding out a hand to d'Artagnan at his side with a grin as he passed him. The young man gleefully slapped it in a low-five, then fell into step behind him, Athos bringing up the rear.

Of course, Aramis almost regretted it immediately when the doctor opened a door and stepped aside to let them in, repeating again the ten-minute time limit. He always forgot how much he hated hospitals – and seeing people he cared about in the hospital. Porthos looked surprisingly small in the hospital bed, a stack of monitors next to him beeping their discordant rhythm, and there was the tube going into his slack mouth, secured against his cheek with some tape. He had regained some colour but was still looking grey and washed out, dark shadows beneath the fan of his eyelashes.

They approached the bed slowly, almost hesitantly. Aramis sat down in one of the straight-backed, hard plastic chairs and took Porthos' hand, squeezing it. “Hey Porthos,” he said, “that was quite an experience. Don't do that again, you hear me?”

d'Artagnan looked at him a bit strangely. “He can't,” he pointed out, “he's sedated, right?”

Aramis returned the look unapologetically. “Maybe,” he conceded, “but maybe not. The human brain is a mystery, d'Artagnan, and science can only tell us so much. I might not know if he can hear me but when I want to talk to my friend, I'm going to talk.”

d'Artagnan shrugged. “Fair enough,” he conceded, sitting down on the edge of the bed and slipping a hand in Porthos' unruly curls. Athos took the last remaining chair and Porthos' other hand. He did not speak but his thumb stroked small circles on Porthos' skin. And for a bit, they sat in silence, all of them just drinking in the sight of their fourth. He was not okay right now, not yet, but he would be.

[anamariamauricia]

I can’t believe I’m only realizing now that little Louis channeled BOTH his parents when he was at the tavern in 3x09 like:

Step One: What would my mother do? Look out a window.

Step Two: What would my father do? Exit via window.

[ezrisdax-archive]

it's either hell or high water (let's get outta this place)

it’s late but for @thefemalemusketeer, a start of season two au. (also here on ao3)

~~

London wasn’t all that different from Paris, the streets were the same cobbled stone and the rich turned down their faces at the poor. Porthos watched it all from his corner, frowning at the nobles that walked by. Next to him Constance also looked dismayed by the marketplace, her lavender and red dress stood out amongst the blue fashion that was the interest of London currently, and she moved her hand jerkily as though to run her fingers through her curls and only then remembering she had it pinned up.

 Neither of them belonged there, they were as far from their element as they could but there wasn’t much of a choice. The Queen had sent them to retrieve her diamonds and their intelligence gathering had brought them straight to London. It was Flea who had tracked down a woman named Sylvie who then used her experiences to find out that there was a dark haired woman seen fleeing the building that had housed Suzette, in possession of the Queen’s diamonds.

 It hadn’t taken much for them to find out that woman was Milady de Winter and had struck a deal with the Cardinal once more upon her return to Paris. It had been harder for them to discover that the plan was for Milady to frame the Duke of Buckingham as the Queen’s lover to turn the King against her. Constance had skulked in certain areas of the palace to overhear whispers for days before she finally figured it out.

 Which lead them to England, standing in a corner of the market and watching the bustle go by. Porthos squinted when the clouds shifted and the sun shone down on them, it was unbearably hot, that much it shared with Paris in the summertime. He felt unusually exposed, his pauldron which marked him as a Musketeer had to be left at the inn they were staying at so as not to draw attention. It hadn’t helped at all, people continued to stare at the odd coupling they made but they ignored it.

 Constance shifted behind him and Porthos glanced back at her, asking silently what she was doing.

 She grinned at him, “I may as well get some value from your height,” She teased, standing in his shadow to cool herself.

 Porthos snorted in amusement, “Be better if this contact would arrive already.” He didn’t name her in fear that someone else might have overheard him. In fact he shouldn’t have spoken that but the heat was irritating him.

 Constance hummed her agreement, the heat had clearly sapped most of her energy, he could see the beads of sweat that dripped down her neck. Porthos felt his impatience rising, sighing heavily and scrubbing at his face to try to reinvigorate himself.

 He looked up in surprise when Constance snatched his bandana and watched her as she made her way to the fountain in the middle, dunking the piece of fabric in the water and walking back with it.

 “To cool you off.” She explained, trying it back on to his head and though the water was warm he had to admit it still felt nice. Constance had to stand on her toes to reach, pressing close to him and he could almost feel her breathing in tandem with himself.

 He cleared his throat to take a step back when she was finished, resolutely ignoring the confused look on her face and scanning the market one more. He nudged Constance lightly when he saw who he was looking for, like them Sylvie stood out with her dress a much darker blue than anyone else’s.

 “How unexpected!” Constance called out when Sylvie was close enough, acting like it was a surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you in London.”

 “I was visiting family, what brings you two here?” Sylvie ducked in closer, the paper in her hand slipping in to Constance’s when they embraced.

 “We were just seeking a break and heard London was lovely this time of year.” Constance replied, looking back at Porthos and smiling widely. He returned it with an easy affection, their story was after all that with the death of Jacques Bonacieux, Constance had been seeking some peace and she and Porthos had started a romance that would only last as long as it took them to get the diamonds back.

 “This fair city has its appeal.” Sylvie stated but she didn’t at all look like she meant it and Constance knew that given her choice she too would return to Paris. Her mouth turned down slightly when she said the word ‘fair’, like it hurt to say that and Paris was no better but at least it was home.

 “Porthos and I were just about to get going, we can’t stay long. We were just…” She paused for the word and nearly made a face at it. “Admiring the markets.” Next to her Porthos snickered when he caught her hesitation and she almost elbowed him, shooting him a dark look instead that just made him guffaw louder. “Excuse him. I think the heat has gotten to him.” She said through clenched teeth.

 Porthos coughed and nodded, “Heat, flies, it’s a damned shame there isn’t a fight to be had or it might feel like home.”

 “Give it time.” Constance said, low enough for only Porthos to hear and couldn’t help but grin back when he did.

 “You two best be on your way then.” Sylvie drew their attention again, “Get out of the heat while you can.” As she leaned in to hug Constance a goodbye she whispered in Constance’s, “Best of luck to you.”

 “Safe travels.” Constance whispered back, letting go. They watched Sylvie step back in to the crowd and then off the street down an unused alleyway.

 Without speaking they walked in tandem back to their inn but along the way Constance saw girls fluttering their eyes at Porthos. She felt a stab of jealousy that she tried to brush away, Porthos was after all only her false romance.

 Constance glanced up, knowing what it was those girls saw when they looked at Porthos; it was easy to be lost in his eyes that promised an adventure. Coupled with how well he fit his uniform and his roguish smile… she sidled in a little closer, telling herself it was only right she’d be jealous of the attention he was given since she was supposed to be his lover.

 Porthos turned to look at her, a question in his gaze but she ignored it, looking ahead instead. She still caught the slight hurt in his eyes that she had turned away from him and guilt bubbled up inside her. There wasn’t any time for this, she told herself, they had a job to do.

 The inn was no cooler than the outside and their room offered little sanctuary to eavesdroppers but it was the best they had. She reached into sleeve where she had hidden the paper Syvlie had passed her to unfurl it so they could read it.

 Porthos stood behind her, his bulk should have been uncomfortably warm but Constance found herself wanting to lean in. Instead she focused on looking at the information in her hands.

 “She was in the palace.” Porthos said idly, frowning at the paper. “No doubt placing things where they don’t belong.”

 “It is her specialty.” Constance remembered her kidnapping with a slight shudder.

 Porthos’ hand came up to rest on her shoulder, he looked like he wanted to say something but apologies weren’t his strong suit.

 “I’m fine.” She said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek in appreciation. “We should go.”

 There was never any time to rest, to think about events in the past, and Constance almost preferred it that way. If she was in Paris she’d have to act like the grieving widow as expected of her position. People would be vicious to her when she came back, scolding her for not doing her duty to mourn and leaving for London instead with another man, but she’d deal with that when it came.

 It wasn’t like there was much left to her name and the Queen at least had promised Constance would always have a position and home with her.

 They reached the back of the Duke’s place by the time night fell and the air was cooler.

 “Suppose we can’t just go barrelling in there.” Porthos sounded sad he couldn’t and Constance knew he’d rather the direct approach.

 Aramis perhaps would have been better suited for this mission. Even d’Artagnan had proven himself to be sly when he’d tricked Milady. Porthos had been confused when she’d picked him to come along with her, despite that he had been the one Flea had given the message to.

 “I need someone who won’t expect everything of me.” She had told him, thinking it harsh to say that of d’Artagnan but true nonetheless. “And who understands.” She hadn’t needed to say that he’d understand what it would be like not having the best reputation in the eyes of Paris.

 “Well.” Constance said then, “Maybe we could.” When Porthos looked at her she grinned wolfishly, “Don’t ever speak of this to others.” She pulled him with her, throwing herself into the situation. When they were close enough to the guard Constance turned to kiss Porthos, trying not to think about how his hand settled on the small of her back. How he drew her in to the kiss like they were the only two people that mattered, giving it his full attention.

 She pulled back only long enough to say “now” and Porthos’ swung, his fist connecting the guard who’d come to investigate them and taking him out for the night.

 He had to smother his amused laughter that just seemed to come naturally, his other arm still wrapped around her so she tugged him closer to smother his laughter with another kiss and hide her own in it. She had done it without thought though, there was really no reason to since the guard was out and the rest patrolled the front of the house.

 Porthos pulled away first, letting her go and holding up his hands to silently say that he understood it was the heat of the moment that drove her to it.

 Constance bit her lip, ready to move on like she should have but then swore.

 In the pale light from the house it was hard to make out Porthos’ face but she’d stared long and hard enough over the ride to London. Her thumb touched the very bottom of the scar, just below his eye, and her fingers spread out over his cheek as she stroked it in affection.

 “Constance.” Porthos said, his already raspy voice lower and her shudder this time had nothing to do with fear.

 “I know.” She had to pull away but didn’t. Constance swallowed hard and between one breath and the next Porthos swept her in to another kiss. She had expected ferocity but it was gentle yet passionate all the same. She left her breath be stolen, leaning in to the kiss and standing on her toes for a better angle.

 This was what those girls in the market were missing and what Constance wanted for herself.

 When he pulled back he twisted to catch her wrist and kiss her palm before letting her hand go. Porthos licked his lips and averted his gaze back to the house, “Should do what we came to.” He said regretfully and Constance took one faltering breath before she nodded.

 Porthos made quick work of the lock at the back door, letting them in. Every step they made felt too loud in Constance’s ears but Porthos looked confident as they trailed down the hall and up the stairs to the main bedroom.

 The Duke wasn’t there, Constance was betting he was still taking dinner somewhere in the bottom level of the house and prayed he wouldn’t decide to come upstairs. If he did they could explain it to them, she held a letter that had been sealed from Anne but that would take time that they didn’t truly have.

 They needed to get the diamonds back to the Queen before Milady reached Paris once more and informed the Cardinal she had succeeded.

 Porthos growled lowly as he rifled through the Duke’s closet, Constance glanced his way in warning as she went through his drawers.

 “Constance.” Porthos whispered after a few minutes, she turned to see he was holding the jewellery box with the diamonds in it and grinning victoriously. They opened it to take a quick peek inside to make sure and breathed a sigh of relief.

 She slipped the letter onto the Duke’s bed, issuing him a warning that Milady had attempted this and was shocked when they made it back outside without complications.

 As soon as they were a great enough distance away Porthos’ arm slipped around her waist, hoisting her in the air as he chuckled. With his other arm he still held the box at his side, an unintentional show of strength that he could lift her like that.

 “Porthos.” Constance tried to complain but laughed. “I can’t believe we got away with it.”

 “Not bad.” Porthos agreed as he set her down.

 “Do you always do that when you succeed?” She smoothed her skirts down, “I’ve certainly never seen you throw Aramis about.”

 Porthos scratched at his cheek and looked like he was about to apologize so Constance cut him off, pulling his hand down to push herself up and kiss him on the cheek.

 There were more things they needed to discuss but it would all have to come later as they rushed back to the inn to gather their things and make the long ride back to Paris.

 “You ready?” Porthos asked as she mounted, the diamonds safely stored in a saddlebag.

 “Yes.” She looked over at him and smiled softly, “I think I am.”