Round 1

Feb. 8th, 2014 10:08 pm
[personal profile] bbcmusketeerskink
Welcome to the BBC The Musketeers kink meme

The lowdown: You post your prompt, anon or not. Someone else will hopefully fill it (also anon or not). Not for profit, just for fun. And in this case, for king and country.

Anon is on, IP logging is off.

No wank
No kink-shaming
Be respectful to everyone
The mod is not your babysitter
Use the warnings

Mandatory trigger warnings/warnings for both prompts and fills:
abuse (physical and mental)
issues such as racism, sexism, homo-/trans-/-bi-/ace-phobia etc
character death
eating disorders
extreme physical or mental illness
substance abuse (alcohol, drugs, medication)
gore and horror

If this list misses anything, do let me know, though please understand that if absolutely everything is added this list will never end.

You are encouraged and advised to add additional warnings at your own discretion.

Please make use of the subject line.

If your prompt alludes to the book or any of the other adaptations, please let us know which one.

Lastly, prompt freezes (which I have to say I’m really not fond of) etc will be at the mod’s discretion. I will decide on a prompt cut-off point for prompt posts once I know how fast the meme moves.

Rule addition: No more discussions on the prompt post. If you want to discuss something, we have a discussion post. If you want to wank about a prompt, that's not what the discussion post is for. That's what your scroll bar and that little red x in the top corner of your browser is for.


Discussion post:

Official fill post (I strongly suggest you use it for better visibility of your fills):

Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-02-11 08:44 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Desperate, confused and reluctant reunion sex.

Re: Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-03-18 04:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I'm working on a fill for this, OP - it's come out a lot more reluctant on Aramis' part. Maybe not non-con, but I would say it's running close to dub-con at the moment. Is that okay?

Re: Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-03-18 10:23 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
OP here.

Sounds fine to me. I'm looking forward to it. I'm into most anything that puts Aramis through angst.
From: (Anonymous)
Sorry, this short fill isn't probably quite what you were looking for OP, but hopefully it will do until someone else writes something more fitting.

WARNING for elements of dub-con. I hope it comes across that Aramis isn't being threatened or forcibly coerced here. He isn't actively seeking this particular encounter, but given another time and another place, he has and he would. I hope that makes sense?


Marsac watched closely as Aramis produced a cord to bind his hands. He waited until Aramis had crouched down to carry out the task, then he seized Aramis' wrist; Aramis froze. Marsac nudged up the other man's sleeve and rubbed a gloved thumb over the exposed pulse point. He smiled triumphantly at the shudder that passed through his friend's frame.

"This is a bad idea," said Aramis, without looking up.

Marsac leaned forward to whisper. "Tell me you don't want to." Aramis' sharp inhale told him all he needed to know. "Take me out."

"Marsac." It came out as part warning, part plea.

Marsac ignored him. He released Aramis' wrist and placed a hand on his shoulder, gouging his fingers into the muscle. "Do it," he instructed.

"Let me at least lock the door."

"Be quick."

After turning the key, Aramis returned to kneel at Marsac's feet. Marsac smiled coolly and with a flick of his wrist knocked Aramis' hat to the floor. He ran his gloved fingers roughly through the flattened curls. "I always liked you better without it. You can begin."

Aramis worked in silence to free Marsac's cock. He didn't waste time on preliminaries; he kept one hand curled around the base and took the remaining length into his mouth. Marsac made an approving sound and tightened his grip on Aramis' hair. He allowed Aramis to control the pace until he was fully erect then he took over, savouring the feel of his friend's throat muscles constricting around the head of his cock.

Marsac found it reassuring that even in a world gone mad, this one delightful facet of Aramis' character remained unchanged. He wondered if the others had any idea what their charming, confident friend truly craved. His fingers tightened in anger. Then he relaxed as he realised that it was unlikely. He had seen the way Aramis had looked at them. Aramis wanted their approval, their respect, he would never have allowed this secret to slip. It was only through good fortune that Marsac had himself only found out. It had worked for them both - Aramis wanted to be given orders and he liked to give them - what could be more perfect. Of course, it didn't hurt that Aramis was blessed with the face of an angel and a mouth like a Parisian whore.

He had never understood it when his friend had once tried to explain. It was freeing, Aramis had told him, to be able to give up all thoughts, all desires, to only follow the wants and wishes of another. He had likened it to being in a battle, when one only had time to act, not think. Marsac had always resented having to follow orders - to be told where to march and when to sleep. If fate had marked a different path for him, he would have been the one giving orders, not taking them. However, here and now his birth, his rank, none of it mattered. He was the one in control, the master of his fate, and of the man kneeling at his feet.

Marsac's tongue poked the cut on his lip from where Aramis had struck him; along with his other scrapes, it made him disinclined to be gentle. He fell into a satisfying rhythm, but it had been too long and his body wouldn't wait. "I'm close. Be ready." It wasn't so much a courtesy to Aramis as it was a reminder of what was expected of him. Marsac eased back and thrust more shallowly; he didn't want to spill his seed down Aramis' throat, he wanted the other man to taste him.

He groaned, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Aramis struggled not to let anything escape. It had been a while since he had felt any inclination to pleasure himself, let alone seek release with another. He felt a burst of satisfaction at seeing Aramis work so hard to take it all. When he was done he tapped Aramis on the cheek. The air felt cool after the wet heat of Aramis' mouth. However, before his friend could move away Marsac took hold of his chin. "Remember?"

Marsac pressed harder until the glint of defiance faded and Aramis obediently lowered his gaze and opened his mouth. Seeing it was empty, Marsac released him. "Good, boy. Don't want you spitting it out. That'd just be rude."

Aramis stayed silent, but Marsac felt the shift in the air as the musketeer retrieved the cord from where it had fallen on the floor. Just like that, their roles were reversed, and he found himself once again at the mercy of his old friend.

FILL: Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-04-03 09:50 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
This isn't really what I intended it to be, but it's what I ended up with, so thought I may as well post it anyway.


Aramis had untied the rope joining them as soon as they entered the room. Despite everything, it felt wrong to treat Marsac like a criminal.

Marsac took off his gloves and dropped them onto the bed, rubbing his wrists and stretching his fingers as he surveyed the room distractedly.

Aramis watched him from the door for a moment, before closing and locking it decisively and crossing the room. He pulled out his handkerchief, dipped the end into the water basin and held it out to Marsac. “Clean that blood off.”

Marsac looked at him dumbly, but eventually took it on Aramis’s insistence. “I don’t know where…”

“Here,” said Aramis, taking the handkerchief back. “Where I hit you.” Marsac cracked a weak smile and Aramis couldn’t help returning it.

“Not going to apologise?”

Aramis raised his eyebrows.

“No,” agreed Marsac. “I suppose not.”

“Hold still.” Aramis wiped the cloth gently over the bridge of Marsac’s nose. The injury was no more than a graze, cleaning it a matter of a few seconds’ work, but the burn of Marsac’s gaze made it seem longer.

Aramis tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket but didn’t step away. “You…” He lifted his hand back to Marsac’s face, ghosting the tips of his fingers over the cut at his lip. “You look like you’ve had worse fights recently.”

“Most days,” Marsac replied. His voice was a fraction above a whisper, and Aramis felt his lips move under his fingers.

Marsac had not objected to the intimacy, and perhaps subconsciously Aramis had expected him to, to flinch from his touch, or at least show some hostility to the man who fully intended to leave him locked in this room. Perhaps that’s why he indulged the gesture in the first place: the assumption that Marsac would reject it. The assumption that one of them, should they find themselves in this situation, would reject it.

The way Marsac was looking at him, warm and attentive, was unexpected and achingly familiar. He should have stopped it then, dropped his hand and backed away, but he had forgotten - purposely forgotten - that he had once loved the way Marsac looked at him, and now the memory of that held him in place.

“I - thought of you,” said Marsac, and a slight tremble was audible in his voice, though he was clearly fighting to keep it out.

Aramis knew how this went. He knew how to end it, and that he should, but to respond to such a confession with the required indifference felt intolerably cruel. He stroked his thumb against the line of Marsac’s cheekbone, an acknowledgement, nothing more. In that moment's hesitation, Marsac leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Aramis sank into it instinctively, turmoil momentarily swept away in the rush of adrenalin. He opened his mouth to Marsac’s, and felt him push closer. He felt Marsac’s hands on his waist, a possessive grip that caused a rush of arousal.

He pulled back violently. “No,” he said, but it came out in a harsh sigh, unconvincing.

Marsac flinched, but swallowed and nodded. His hands still rested on Aramis’s waist, looser but unwilling to let go. “It’s just - to see you…” His voice was tight and faltering.


“I’ve been…I didn't know.” He let go of Aramis with some considerable effort, but almost immediately, as if unable to help it, took hold of Aramis’s shoulders instead, lending weight to his words. “I didn’t know how it would be, to see you.”

Aramis had a thousand replies to that, many of which mirrored Marsac’s sentiments. There was spite in his choice not to voice them, he knew, but self-preservation too.

Marsac accepted his silence. He nodded again, and lowered his gaze. “Forgive me, Aramis.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. Aramis had heard Marsac say them numerous times in the months after the massacre, in fevered dreams and indulgent fantasies, and it was crushing to realise that there was no satisfaction to be found hearing them in reality. That there was no consolation in an apology from a broken man. Instead he felt a rush of bitter anger. He was angry that Marsac wouldn’t look at him, that he was here at all, that he had changed, and that despite everything, he still made Aramis want.

He was angry still when he cupped Marsac’s cheek, and when he slid his hand into Marsac’s hair, fingers buried in knotted curls, and when he used the leverage to angle their mouths together.

In so many ways he was nothing like the man Aramis had known; his ragged appearance spoke of a life far harder than that of a musketeer, there was a hollowness to his eyes that suggested years of poor sleep and the frayed edge of madness that comes with it, and his voice, the way he spoke, had lost the confidence and levity that had been so integral to his character.

But his eyes were still the same blue, the brief glimpse of his smile, though weaker, had still hinted at its former charm, and his hands - the feel of his hands, dragging down his back, was almost the same.

It was close enough.

Aramis pushed Marsac back against the wall, the impact enough to force a soft grunt from him, and Aramis found some satisfaction in the violence of it. He kissed him like he was trying to bruise, and Marsac fought back.

Aramis’s hand had found the buckle of Marsac’s belt, clinging to it with a fierce strength but not making moves to unfasten it until the feel of Marsac’s teeth closing hard on his lip shocked him into a decision. He undid the buckle swiftly and without grace. Marsac gave a quiet moan and let his head fall back against the wall.

Aramis studied his face; the rapid flutter of the pulse in his throat, the familiar curve of his mouth, the creases at the corners of his closed eyes. It seemed suddenly unreal, like looking at a ghost. He had accepted, eventually, that he would never see Marsac again, know where he was, or even whether he lived. He had rebuilt his life on that certain knowledge, and in an instant it had collapsed.

He hated Marsac for leaving him, and he hated him for coming back.

At the same time, he was filled with a choking, desperate desire to pleasure him; to share something, as they once had, other than their status as survivors. His strokes were rough and efficient, but not inexperienced. If he knew nothing else about Marsac now, he at least knew how to give him this.

Yet as he watched, Aramis felt suddenly separate from him - an already tenuous connection slipping away. Marsac's eyes were closed, rapt, but in what Aramis could not be sure. The idea that he might be somewhere else, with someone else, in his head, made Aramis feel slightly sick. With his free hand he tugged hard on the hair at Marsac’s nape. “Look at me.”

The action jolted Marsac back from wherever he had drifted with a gasp of pain, and he blinked at Aramis through a veil of confusion and lust, before hooking his fingers firmly between Aramis’s belt and coat. He hesitated, then pressed a brief, messy kiss and a muttered “Let me…” against Aramis’s mouth.

Aramis had not noticed quite how hard he was until the lust in Marsac’s voice shook him to the core. He altered his position immediately to allow Marsac better access.

Even clumsy with arousal, Marsac made impressively quick work of navigating his way into Aramis’s clothing. Aramis had teased him, once, joking that Marsac could get into another man’s uniform more deftly than any woman he had known. Marsac had laughed. Aramis could remember the sound of it.

Marsac’s hand was hot on his skin. He groaned involuntarily, surprising himself and, judging by the intensity of his expression, Marsac. He pressed his face against Marsac’s shoulder, not embarrassed exactly, but feeling more exposed than he had been prepared for. He didn’t want this - this crushing, painful intimacy. The rawness of it panicked him.

The shock of pleasure though, the unfurling, long-dormant desire, was difficult to resist. He craved contact, tracing messy kisses down Marsac’s neck, tugging the scarf down in a partially successful attempt to access more of his skin. There were two long white scars there, over the ridge of his clavicle, that were new to him. He was struck with nauseous fascination; that he did not know what had caused these additions, and that he had once known Marsac’s skin well enough to notice them now. He covered them with his mouth, earth and sweat and gunpowder acrid against his tongue.

Marsac was clinging to him, the fingers of his free hand digging into Aramis’s back, and there was something terrible about it, the hopeless eagerness of it. Aramis realised he was clinging to Marsac in the same way.

Marsac was quiet, quieter than Aramis was managing to be, everything sharply hitched breathing and harsh whispered words Aramis couldn’t make out. Aramis lifted his head to look at him, needing to see him. As soon as he could, Marsac was kissing him again, messy and fractured as he neared release. Aramis’s free hand found Marsac’s hair and pulled again, gentler this time, separating their mouths and allowing him to watch Marsac’s face, familiar and strange, as he came.

Aramis could feel the beginnings of something like shame creeping in at the edges of his mind, and he raced to block it out. Marsac’s grip had faltered with his orgasm, and Aramis pushed his hand roughly away and replaced it with his own. He held himself against Marsac, as close as he could while still having room to stroke himself, his knuckles grazing the fabric at Marsac’s hip. He pressed his face against the crook of his neck, slightly damp with sweat, and breathed him in.

He felt Marsac’s hand, warm and heavy, against his neck, holding him in position, and Marsac’s mouth against his ear, wordless, living breaths. Aramis gave in.

His release came quickly and forcefully, dragging a groan from his throat which was muffled against Marsac’s skin. When he came back to himself he realised he was breathing so hard he shook with it. He lifted his head, dazed, to find Marsac watching him with half-lidded eyes. He stroked the hair at Aramis’s temple with firm fingertips, the echo of an old affection.

For a fast-fading moment there was relief, but it slipped from Aramis as the shame finally crawled into his veins.

He thought Marsac might have wanted to kiss him again, and another memory forced itself from the back of his consciousness - long, lazy touches on warm, rumpled bedsheets - and he stepped back out of Marsac’s hold before it could settle.

He offered his handkerchief again without comment or eye contact, then turned his back to rearrange his clothing.

He didn’t turn around until he heard Marsac’s footsteps, a hesitant creak on the floorboards, and even then, he found he was unable to look him in the face.

“Put your gloves on,” he said, finally. He caught Marsac’s questioning frown before dropping his gaze again. “I don’t want the rope to burn your wrists.”

Marsac straightened, his whole stance tightening. Then he picked up his gloves from the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress before pulling them on.

Aramis took up the rope. Marsac looked at him, long and unreadable, before lifting his hands for Aramis to bind.

Re: FILL: Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-04-03 10:13 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Oh my GOD you COWBAG, I cannot believe you've been trashing this for so long and it turns out to be so BLOODY AMAZING! You dick, I ought to kick you in the shins! And then hug you and weep into your hair while I sob about how they're so BROKEN, augh. Neither prepared to see the other, neither prepared for how much they still want each other. I love the descriptions of Marsac in particular, how he's a mix of familiar and changed and how Aramis simultaneously knows him so well, and knows nothing of who he is now - his new scars in particular punched me in the soul. And oh god, this might be my favourite bit, for both Marsac and Aramis' reaction to him:

“I’ve been…I didn't know.” He let go of Aramis with some considerable effort, but almost immediately, as if unable to help it, took hold of Aramis’s shoulders instead, lending weight to his words. “I didn’t know how it would be, to see you.”

Aramis had a thousand replies to that, many of which mirrored Marsac’s sentiments. There was spite in his choice not to voice them, he knew, but self-preservation too.

Marsac accepted his silence. He nodded again, and lowered his gaze. “Forgive me, Aramis.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. Aramis had heard Marsac say them numerous times in the months after the massacre, in fevered dreams and indulgent fantasies, and it was crushing to realise that there was no satisfaction to be found hearing them in reality. That there was no consolation in an apology from a broken man.

F U C K. God. This broke my heart, smashed in my soul. I AM SO GLAD YOU FINISHED, and so proud of you for doing so! YOU SHINING STAR x!

Re: FILL: Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2014-04-03 10:34 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Thanks, anonymous reader who I definitely don't know!

The bit you quote was one of the last bits I wrote, in one of the many, many edits. Glad you think it works.

Seriously, this is so kind. I'm going to get "cowbag" put on a badge and wear it always.

[2nd Fill] Aramis/Marsac reunion sex

Date: 2016-12-28 07:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

Hope you'll like it :)



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