suzie_shooter (suzie_shooter) wrote,

Fic - Seduction By Degrees (The Musketeers)

Title: Seduction By Degrees
Pairings: Aramis/D'Artagnan
Rating: 15
Wordcount: 923
Summary: For the kinkmeme prompt "No matter how many times d'Artagnan tells himself it must never happen again, Aramis somehow always manages to seduce him. Because I really want to see toppy, seductive Aramis with a reluctant d'Art." Basically, four times Aramis seduces d'Artagnan and one time he (sort of) fails.
AN: Yes I know I'm supposed to be finishing God knows how many other things, but I saw this prompt and it just sort of happened. Although I'm not sure how close the fill is to the actual prompt. Oh well.


The first time it happens d'Artagnan is drunk, off his face in fact, and he assumes Aramis is too. Certainly, they've both been drinking for the same length of time, and it never occurs to him that Aramis might have a harder head. So when Aramis follows him into the bunkroom and tumbles to the mattress with him, d'Artagnan doesn't push him away but allows the fumbling at his groin with a hazy amusement. He's never been into men, but since coming here he has found Aramis has a liking for it, and if the man wants to suck him off, who is he to complain?

Aramis unlaces him with fingers that are steadier than d'Artagnan notices, and goes down on him with enthusiasm. And if d'Artagnan comes a lot more quickly than he expects to, he's too inebriated to process the fact and afterwards promptly falls asleep. Aramis watches him for a while, a faint smile on his lips.


The second time, they're holed up in a shack miles from Paris, cold and hungry and in d'Artagnan's case, shaking from exhaustion and reaction. He may have a natural and breathtaking talent with a sword and a brave and daredevil approach to danger, but this is the first time he's seen proper warfare, experienced the soul grinding effects of hour after hour of noise and blood and death.

Aramis takes him in his arms and wraps them both in the single blanket, and d'Artagnan is speechlessly grateful for the silent comfort and understanding that he offers. When Aramis' kisses move from d'Artagnan's brow to his lips, he doesn't flinch, and what Aramis does with his hand after that is never mentioned between them afterwards.


The third time d'Artagnan is angry and disillusioned, with life and with love. When Aramis dares to suggest that maybe women aren't all the world has to offer, d'Artagnan drags him out of the inn, calls him all the filthy names under the sun and duels him up and down the road for an hour until they're both worn out and bleeding from a dozen superficial cuts.

They retreat to Aramis' rooms, where despite d'Artagnan's protests he insists on treating their grazes before letting d'Artagnan bend him over the bed and take out the rest of his lingering fury on him. It's rough and fast and brutal, but despite being the aggressor, by the time he spends the last of his anger into Aramis' willing body, d'Artagnan is the one fighting back tears.


The fourth time it happens at midsummer. It's Athos' birthday, and they've convinced him to let them celebrate it, even if he'll only agree to it being the four of them. They've ridden out of the city and are drinking by the river at dusk, watching the last swallows and the first bats swooping around each other over the water.

Aramis is quietly reciting poetry from memory, with his gaze fixed somewhere downstream. A short distance away Athos is sitting with his back against a tree, Porthos' head in his lap. D'Artagnan can't quite tell if they're both asleep, but suddenly Aramis' words feel very much just for him. He sits up, not wanting to interrupt but his heart swelling so confusingly that his head swims with it. Aramis falls silent, and d'Artagnan has only a second to realise he's stopped in the middle of a line before Aramis' mouth is on his.

The long grass hides them as they lie back under the rising moon, and there's a sense of unreality to it all that mingles like a drug with the heady effects of the wine. Aramis is murmuring again, but this time it's a hymn to the beauty of d'Artagnan's body as he unclothes him inch by inch. Aramis takes them both in his hand and d'Artagnan clings to him as he comes, promising himself this will be the last time.


The fifth time almost doesn't happen. D'Artagnan is by now determined that he's not going to fall for Aramis' well-honed techniques, he's seen them used on too many other people. He tells himself that he is not a lover of men, that the other times were all aberrations with their own excuses, that he has no intention of becoming just another notch on Aramis' bedpost.

Aramis counters this with a dedicated campaign of attrition. When flattery and sweet words have no effect he tries insults and goading. When d'Artagnan holds his temper, Aramis tries humour and teasing. When d'Artagnan remains aloof he tries ignoring him, but they live and work too closely together and anyway Aramis keeps forgetting and smiling at him.

It's this that finally wears down d'Artagnan's resolve: not Aramis' plan of attack but the fact Aramis can and does laugh at himself every time something else fails. That he keeps trying regardless of how many times d'Artagnan knocks him back, and that he clearly bears d'Artagnan no ill will or resentment no matter how many times he does. This may be a game to Aramis, but it's one in which he sees d'Artagnan playing with him, not against him.

Resigned for once to a rare failure, Aramis is therefore astonished to walk into his lodgings one evening and find d'Artagnan waiting for him, naked, in his bed. He can only stand there speechless, and it's d'Artagnan who smiles.

"I'm not a prize to be won," d'Artagnan says quietly. "But I can choose to give myself. And I do. If you still want me?"

Aramis does.

Tags: fic, the musketeers
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