[ONE-SHOT] Only In The Dark - Athos/d'Artagnan (ENG)

[sevenswells]

Title : Only In The Dark
Author : sevenswells
Beta : breathtaken (on AO3)/crabsandlobsters (on tumblr)
Rating : Explicit (NC-17)
Fandom/Pairing : BBC The Musketeers (2014), Athos/d’Artagnan
Warnings : PWP, foot fetish, shoe fetish, leather kink, anal play, slight BDSM
Summary : D’Artagnan wears stilettos to bed, and Athos has a fetish (modern AU).
Comments : This fic is a remix of FunkyInFishnet’s The Glitter On And Under Skin ; not exactly a missing scene, but set in the same universe and more or less respecting her characterization. I really recommend reading her fic first, I loved it.
All my thanks to my very supportive beta breathtaken/crabsandlobsters, she’s amazing.
First foot fetish fic ever ! Which is surprising, considering I have the hugest kink for anything feet myself. Self-congratulations are in order. Well done, me.
Word count : 1 747 w.

Also available on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1800940

They were lying top-to-tail on the bed, d’Artagnan on his back in the V of Athos’ legs, ankles resting up against Athos’ collarbones ; both naked, but for the high stiletto heels d’Artagnan was wearing.

Athos was slowly caressing d’Artagnan’s shins, undoubtedly appreciating their newly-shaved smoothness; d’Artagnan had to admit he loved the sensation himself. Nor was he in a hurry.

It seemed they’d been lying in this peculiar position for hours and he’d been only half-hard the whole time, enjoying this sustained, mild arousal that made his skin pleasantly tingly, the plug in his arse to keep him open almost forgotten, not uncomfortable any more.

He was relaxed, drowsy even, breathing deeply in the silence and darkness of the room. Maybe he could have fallen asleep like this, semi-erect, butt-plug inside and all, except that he could feel Athos growing gradually hard under his thighs, especially when Athos’ fingers wandered down and down d’Artagnan’s legs and caught in the web of thin leather straps that covered the top of d’Artagnan’s feet.

Athos’ growing arousal was starting to feed his own arousal in a loop ; he helped it along by stroking himself from time to time, producing the barest noise of slipping flesh over flesh. It was a shame that Athos couldn’t see, but at least in the dark, their sense of touch was heightened : when Athos lowered his head to kiss d’Artagnan’s ankles on each side, his beard bristled against smooth skin, electrifying him. Not just the touch, but the idea : Athos’ beard, such a masculine attribute, contrasting with the femininity of his shaven legs. It made him shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin just as his erection rose to full-mast.

Ridiculous. How did Athos manage to get him in such a state when all they did was lie there and barely exchange a few caresses ?

He held onto Athos’ knees for balance and nudged the side of Athos’ face with one shoe, then awkwardly tried to caress Athos’ cheek with the top of his foot, the leather straps gripping against his facial hair and cheekbones. He heard Athos take a deep breath in through his nose, and felt fingers dig into his ankles. Athos turned his head to the side and inhaled deeply again ; only then did d’Artagnan realise it must be the smell of the leather affecting him, as much as the feel of it against his cheek.

Taking hold of d’Artagnan’s stilettoed foot with both hands as though it were something precious, Athos peppered with quick kisses the few open expanses of skin in between the leather, then set to kissing d’Artagnan’s toes, one by one, kisses as intense as the ones he usually gave d’Artagnan’s lips.

He reached d’Artagnan’s big toe and, instead of a kiss, touched his tongue to its tip; d’Artagnan couldn’t help but let out a short cry of surprise. He kept moaning through the sensation of Athos’ tongue twirling lazily around his toe, and even louder when Athos applied his lips and drew it inside the unbearable heat of his mouth. Athos sucked on d’Artagnan’s toe with abandon, like it was candy, groaning in delight in time with d’Artagnan’s own cries. The sensation was nothing like having his cock sucked, yet d’Artagnan felt all his nerve endings concentrated into this one point being lovingly serviced ; all pleasure converged to this single extremity where it was trapped inside Athos’ gluttonous mouth. He felt oddly vulnerable, having his foot inside Athos’ mouth, as though he had to place his trust in Athos more than ever, abandon himself even further.

As the sucking went on and the sensation kept building instead of fading, d’Artagnan had to stop himself from writhing, afraid of inadvertently hurting Athos; he was clutching Athos’ thighs like a drowning man to a straw, body taut and back arching impossibly above the mattress. Athos finally let go just as d’Artagnan thought he was about to snap in two without even finding his release.

D’Artagnan’s toe was throbbing, still tingling from the stimulation ; d’Artagnan thought with amusement that it had spent so long in Athos’ mouth, it had to be wrinkly by now. Still, now that the center of his universe was no longer reduced to just his toe, obliterating all other sensations and thoughts, it was as though the rest of his body came back online. There was a patch of wetness underneath d’Artagnan’s thighs where they touched Athos’ cock, and d’Artagnan’s nipples had shrunk and hardened to the point of being painful. D’Artagnan tweaked them between his fingers, hissed when the pain peaked then relented a little. He touched his cock, which was just as sensitive ; the touch made his anus tighten around the plug which moved slightly in him, igniting fire in his belly, leaving him wanting more.

He moved his fingers past his balls and tapped them against the base of the plug, whining each time the little shocks reverberated inside him. Above him, Athos was back to kissing his ankles, more and more passionately, then he lifted d’Artagnan’s leg by the heel and… D’Artagnan couldn’t see, but he felt Athos fellating the long stem of the stiletto heel, rocking d’Artagnan’s foot back and forth with the force of his suction. That brought d’Artagnan’s hand curling around his cock again ; again, the idea : Athos so affected and wild with lust that he was sucking on the heel of the shoe like he would a cock, worshipping it with his mouth and tongue… D’Artagnan was so turned on he could barely breathe.

Probing fingers came to join d’Artagnan’s own hand on his prick, even as Athos kept on sucking, and moved down his balls to play with them, alternating between rolling them firmly and lightly brushing over the puckered skin. They skittered along d’Artagnan’s perineum and landed on the base of the butt plug, drumming playfully.

D’Artagnan couldn’t bear it any more, and he didn’t think he could keep his dangerous reflexes in check much longer : mindful of the possibility of injuring Athos’ lovely mouth, he drew his foot back and let it rest back against Athos’ chest, Athos releasing it without a fight. In the meantime, Athos had got a grip on the rim of the plug’s base with the tips of his fingers and was already twisting it out, degree by infuriating degree. D’Artagnan made a tighter channel with his hand for his prick to fuck into, picturing various parts of Athos’ anatomy at once, and worked it faster and faster as Athos twisted the plug in earnest, pulled it half-out, then pushed it back in, repeating the motions, fucking him with it at an increasing pace. D’Artagnan came with a roar with one last push of the plug inside him, come splattering all over his torso and up to his chin.

As he was still riding the tail end of his orgasm, Athos resumed his gentle caressing of d’Artagnan’s calves, rubbing his beard against them like a cat and leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, waiting for d’Artagnan to catch his breath back -- but the beard thing was not helping.

Eventually, d’Artagnan felt steady enough to move without falling right out of bed and, still extremely cautious of the stilettos, he marshalled his limbs into a straddling position over Athos’ lap, a hand on the mattress for balance and the other fumbling behind him in order to pull the plug out. He was still panting heavily and his muscles trembled with fatigue, but in the end he managed, biting his lips and blushing in the dark when his arsehole yielded with an obscene squelching sound.

Ever the gentleman, Athos guided him patiently to his prick, with small, polite touches that were not too insistent, and they both heaved a huge relieved sigh, like finally having an itch scratched, a craving fulfilled, when d’Artagnan sat on him and took all of him inside in one go.

He’d chosen the plug to be smaller than Athos’ girth -- on purpose : he relished the slight burn of being stretched and filled to accommodate his lover’s cock. He wanted to be tight for Athos, and feel the breach, the penetration, still feel it the day after, not just the fullness, but the movement, like one could still feel the rolling of the waves after a day at the shore ; he wanted to feel it at work too, as he watched Athos from his desk and remembered what they’d done together.

Lost in sensation, he only realised too late that the stiletto heels were digging into Athos’ thighs and must be hurting him. Mortified that he’d finally gone and hurt Athos with the stupid things after taking so many precautions, he tried to move them away and opened his mouth to apologise, but Athos’ hands wrapped immediately around d’Artagnan’s ankles, immobilising them. D’Artagnan clapped his mouth shut again.

He rose to his knees, gripping Athos’ cock with his internal muscles on the way, pulling himself almost completely off until just the tip remained sheathed, stopped, breathed, made a point of relaxing, then lowered himself again and let gravity do the rest, his heels digging a little more into Athos’ flesh on the descent -- which he did not hear him protest.

D’Artagnan preferred coming before Athos, precisely so he could do this, pleasure the man like this, milking him without any other reward for himself than having Athos inside him and feeling him come, so intimately. He only regretted not being able to see Athos’ face, but he only had himself to blame for insisting on keeping the lights off – him and his stupid complexes. He shook his head. Enough.

Picking up the pace, rolling his hips with renewed fever despite the tiredness turning his blood to honey and threatening to take over his whole body, he sought out his lover’s elusive face with fingers and lips. He swallowed down every passionate cry, felt each tremor of Athos’ eyelids under his fingertips, and when d’Artagnan touched his forehead to Athos’, their panting breaths mingling, he felt his lover’s ever-so-serious, ever-frowning brow smooth over as he reached completion, Athos’ hands wound tight around his ankles.

D’Artagnan wore the stilettos until morning. In the light of day, when he took them off, there were red imprints left, from where the straps had dug a little too deeply into the flesh of his feet. He traced them for a while, before putting his socks and men’s shoes on to go to work.