#expressing his wants and desires and then redefining them further and further to the realisation that his faith is most important to him

[hellokafkiana]

When Did It Start? (or It Won’t Be Happening Again p2)

“Anne…?” a loud voice called her “Anne…?” the man repeated closing the door behind him carefully. She opened her eyes just to meet her friend’s staring at her with a confused expression “Anne…?” “Porthos?” she hissed “Why are you here?” “D’Artagnan send me, he needs the letters you’ve stolen from Conde.” “Right, I totally forgot that,” she said putting a hand on her forehead “I’m sorry.” “You've been distracted lately,” he remarked sitting in front of her.

And she had, they both knew he was right, but the whole the Athos’s drama, all that on-off relationship had taken all the strength from her.   And she had tried to prevent that, and she had tried to stop that, she had tried to never think about that again. But how on earth could she have achieved that? That was Athos. Her first love, her only love. The man that had redefined her reality, the first one with whom she had really wanted to be, the first one that had made her heart beat fast, the first one that had ever awaken feelings in her, the only one that had been capable of making her feel… wanted, and loved, and safe. The only man with whom she had ever thought to… settle in, have children, live peacefully, maybe even to move, to go away,  away from that madness of their lives, from their jobs, their duties. Obviously, he had destroyed everything, and they had spent years apart and yet…

"Are you ok?" Porthos asked eying at the bucket that was next to her. "Yeah" she reassured him "It's just... something I ate, I guess." He nodded unconvinced, before daring to ask what he had been wanting to “Has this..." he started hesitantly "Has this anything to do with what I just saw?” Porthos concluded, interrupting her thoughts, looking at her with a gaze she knew very well, his serious gaze “Anne!” he called again, and she rolled her eyes in return before speaking once again “What have you just seen?” “Athos... leaving your house, just now” the man explained “He seemed upset, and it looked like he had just put his clothes on” he added with a tone, that sound much more judgemental than she had expected. “And…?” she answered, unimpressed.

Porthos stared at her for some instances, shocked from what Anne had secretly just admitted, it was so clear, and she wasn't denying that. Oh, my God, he thought, this is happening “Are you SLEEPING with HIM now?” Anne didn’t move, but her silence was eloquent enough, so he grasped before continuing “How long?” “Porthos…”

“When did it start?”

“I…” Anne hesitated. When did it start? Restart? She knew when. She remembered it far too well. She could almost still hear Athos’s voice screaming at her, his feet following her. Yes, she still remembered it, no matter how much she had tried to forget, to move on. It had happened after a mission; he was furious at her, he had practically pushed her into an empty room of the Garrison. Anyone could have walked in at any point; anyone could have heard… everything. It had been reckless of him, but probably he had not… predicted how that night would have ended. She closed her eyes, remembering everything, almost feeling her husband’s presence behind her as she was entering the empty room.

That memory was so clear.

“What was that? What the HELL were YOU thinking?” 

Athos’s voice echoed through the room as he was following her “What were you even…” he continued, heightening the tone, but this time she had turned and stared at him for some eternal seconds before answering. Her eyes cold as her voice, harsh as her tone “I saved you, Athos. You and your useless brothers. I don’t really see how you can complain, after all…” and at that moment Athos’s words cut off hers, possibly in the roughest possible way “You…” he started taking a step closer “D’Artagnan almost died! And Porthos… he could have ended up with…” he continued moving his body imperceptibly towards the woman. Anne raised her eyebrows, and Athos felt almost frightened from her icy gaze “Constance had the Gascon's back” she hissed “and I” Anne continued fearlessly after a short pause “I… I would have never allowed anything happen to Porthos, you’re worrying for nothing.”

Their bodies were dangerously close, so close that Anne could almost remember how Athos’s lips felt on her, so close that she could almost remember how capable his hands were of moving around her body. Those thoughts were dangerous, she knew that.

Especially in a moment like that, she knew that too.

Those thoughts were so dangerous that she had to force herself to breathe in and out, finding extremely difficult not to look at his lips, not to think about the way he used to touch her, the way he used to hold her, protect her, love her, made her feel safe, and wanted, and loved. The way he had her. Damn the man. He always made her lose control in the most inappropriate moments.

“You’re in over your head, Anne!” he screamed looking down at her scar, strangely exposed, and doing that he stopped for a moment. Only a moment, but at that moment Anne almost saw... pain in his eyes. And grief, and resentment, and guilt. But it lasted only an instance; then he went on “You’re putting everyone’s life at risk, my men…” “Not yours” the words came out of her mouth harsher than she had expected them to but she couldn’t help that. As he couldn’t help but look at her with a shocked and disgusted gaze “Excuse me?”

“They are not yours” Anne repeated, “Not anymore, you left the job, eager to leave with your pregnant mistress, elated to be finally a father, have you forgotten?” “This is not about Sylvie.” he said taking a step closer and Anne’s chin went up to meet his gaze “No," she whispered, "If it were about Sylvie you would probably be choking me right now.”

A strange silence fell between them, neither daring to say a further word, neither daring to dig further. Their gasps were the only sound hearable there, then he broke the silence, and he did that with words that hurt Anne more than a blade ever had “I do love her.”

At that moment Anne wanted so badly to roll her eyes, but instead, she simply stared at him, trying so hard not to cry, showing herself as strong and indestructible as always, while instead, she was falling apart “What are you doing here, then?” her voice cracked. “I’ve no idea.” “Go away” she warned him, her voice half a threat, half a please “Just go…”   “She’s a good person” he whispered, without losing eye contact with her and then Anne couldn’t control herself anymore “SHE... SHE wants YOU to be the better men, SHE judges you, SHE wants to change you, and in doing so, SHE misses the best part of you.” “She’s a good person” he repeated “A faithful partner, a trustworthy companion, a…” “She’s the Virgin Mary, I get it,” Anne replied hurt. It hurt. Every-time he said how good his lover was, how incredibly kind, and gentle, and pure she was, Anne felt another small part of her dying slowly.

She hated him, and her and herself for not being enough, for never having been enough. He had just hurt her, and she was responding fire with fire “Except for the fact that she got pregnant with an incredible fastness, didn’t she?" she whistled "Maybe there is also some Mary Magdalene in her, are you even sure to be the father of that child?”

Those words had the effect she had been looking for. Athos’s eyes angered, she saw the pain and the rage in his pupils as he was pushing her against the wall, his elbow putting pressure on her neck, allowing her to barely breathe. “Do you want to kill me, Athos?” she mocked her one-time lover “Please, I’ve been dead for years now, this would be just a formality.” “I loathe you, Anne. I detest you, you’re a vicious, envious creature, an abomination” he replied with all his anger, all disgust but she smiled in return, giving him a simple question “Why are you still here, then?”

“I don’t know,” he said separating from her, turning slowing, finally realising that he had almost killed her, again. Damn the woman, she always made him lose control; she still had that influence over him. He took some steps away, with the aim to leave that room - leave her - as soon as possible, when it was still possible, before doing something that he would have regretted.

“Come-on, Athos. What do you want?” she provoked him in an impetus of rage, not sure why she was saying those words “To fuck me or to kill me, which will it be? We both know that you’re only capable of one.” “I detest you,” he said bitterly, but incapable of moving. Incapable of letting her go “You and your lies…” he started hesitantly “Your lies have destroyed my life.”

“Yeah” she agreed taking a step closer. She had no idea what she was doing, her hands were moving towards his shoulders, holding it hesitantly. Her hands were moving, but her brain could hardly register that, something else was taking over “Yeah, my lies destroyed your life, but before that my lies made you feel alive for the first time in your pathetic life, am I wrong, Oliver?” He heard that he heard her and after that, something strange happened. He turned, meeting her eyes, his grave face illuminated by desire. At that moment he knew it, he just knew. Anne was right, she was, she’s always have been the only one that truly made him feel alive. She had unlocked something in him, she always had. She was his wife for a reason.

Before he knew it, Athos was grabbing her, harshly, her head against his hard chest, his arms tightening around her back. Without saying a word, she started rubbing her forehead against him, in an attempt to free herself, not sure of his intentions, not sure if he wanted to kill her, to hurt her, or to fuck her.

Then he started unlacing her corset, with a frenzy that Anne had almost forgotten and his intentions became suddenly clear. For a moment she considered pushing him away, there was not coming back from that, and it wasn’t like that would have changed their situation, it was not like that they would have come back together, it was not like that he would have left Sylvie for her after that. But it was just a moment, then his hands reached her buttocks, lifting her up, as she was wrapping her legs around him. It all happened so fast, before she could even process that he had laid her down on the bed, his hands suddenly impatient to get rid of his breeches and her underwear, while Anne was taking his shirt away. God, she thought, he’s still beautiful, there are new muscles and scars, he’s not so young anymore, but God, he still looks like a young God, what a waste he must be in the hands of that dull gir… but she didn’t manage to finish that though, or any other thought. 

A moment after he was pressing down upon her, entering her. Brutally, without caring, without patience, without a single word said, with only a deep sigh, as if he had been holding his breath years for that crazy instant. Anne gasped against his naked body, God, she had missed him more than she had thought she would have, more than she should have. He didn’t even look at her as he started moving inside her. He was ashamed, Anne could sense that, and he was impatient, and angry and hungry, so she opened her legs wider and heard her breath coming short as he was trusting, her nails started scratching his skin. 

Then as it had started, it came to an end and he collapsed next to her, still without saying a single word. They stayed like that for a while, separated and yet near, the bed’s space incapable of fitting them both comfortably. They stared in silence at the ceiling for a few more moments, and Anne started to feel almost… comfortable with that, then he spoke.

“What have you done?” he hissed with a broken voice, closing his eyes, desperate. Anne could almost sense his despair, his agony “Me?” she replied exasperated. She hadn’t done everything on her own and he must know that, she thought.

Except he didn’t.

“This can’t happen again” he continued “It won’t happen again, do you understand?” “Of course not” she replied bitterly. A mistake, that’s what she had always been for him, a huge, life-changing, devastating mistake. She closed her eyes, broken, then he did even worse. “She’s such a better person than you. And than me. She doesn’t deserve… this” “Go away.” “Anne…” “Leave” she insisted, but he didn’t move, so she decided to do what she could do best, hurt him as he had hurt her “Leave, Athos, your bastard and your mistress are surely waiting for you, such an honourable man, right? The one that puts his beloved above everything, even above the Law but that can’t keep his breeches on when he sees his wife.”

Those words. He looked at her, and she just knew she had accomplished the mission. Now he hated her, with every fibre of his body, he hated her because she had told the truth. And hearing that, being forced to face that... she knew it was the best way to hurt him. And it worked, he stood up immediately, he stood up with the intention of getting away from her, to collect his clothes, to go back home, go back to Sylvie and their child. But as he was doing so, as he was adjusting his belt, and fixing his shirt he, without even realising he was, started speaking. “Always better than a street whore, a liar, a cheat, a killer that tricks her way into a Comte’s bed, a Comte that loved her! A Comte that would have done anything for her!”

Here we are again, she thought, my God, how we always come back here? How? “She loved the Comte back” she screamed at him “She destroyed her life for that love!” “I won’t hear this again,” he said collecting his pocket. “Why? Because it hurts?” “No, because it’s false,” he said, without even looking at her “It was all a lie.” “How can you think that, after everything that’s happened, after…?” she started, repressing the tears she was feeling so clearly trapped in her eyes, but his actions stopped her. In a second he turned towards her, meeting her eyes, then he reached into his pocket and took out some money, throwing them at her, cruelly, disrespectfully, with a wave of anger and disgust that had almost scared Anne. “Here, your payment, Milady. That’s how it should have always been, my whore, not my wife” he screamed before leaving the room and when he finally did Anne wanted to die. What had she become?

“When did it start?” Porthos’s voice brought her back to reality in the harshest possible way. “When did it start?” her repeated once again, looking at her with a shocked face “When…?” “Some… months ago,” she replied sadly. "Let's not talk about this"

#milathos #milady de winter #athos #post season 3 #post canon #angry sex