entrancelogs | [CLOSED] It's all fun and games until somebody gets laid.

Buckingham's casual demeanor is gloating enough. That he could act so blasé about it is phenomenal - under any other circumstances the duke might be howling with laughter.

His near-silence is almost worse, and Athos watches, stock-still, as Buckingham pulls out his chair.

It grates across the floor.

The duke sits.

Stiffly, after what feels like an excruciatingly long moment, Athos gets to his feet and steps around the table. He pauses for an instant, looking down and swallowing before getting to his knees. On another day the musketeer would hem and haw, perhaps make a fuss about the matter.

This afternoon, he doesn't see the point.

Palms flat against the floor as he takes a shallow breath, Athos leans over, hovers an inch away, and licks the tip of Buckingham's boot.

Buckingham's inner goddess is laughing with near maniacal arousal, and guides the duke's hand greedily between his thighs. Buckingham's inner narration is cursing the previous tag's subject line. Buckingham himself merely exhales with blissful smugness, and slides his foot just a little closer.

"Old habits die hard after all, eh?"

He cannot feel the tongue leaving its trail on the leather, of course he can't, but oh, how very sweet to have just the sight of it.

"Don't forget the kiss now," he purrs sweetly, his voice like bells forged from pure molten schadenfreude.

This wasn't a good idea, but credit where credit is due - everyone is feeling exceptionally uninhibited and Athos has decided to sacrifice a good portion of his dignity in favor of following through with his bet. It was his idea, after all. It would be dishonorable not to follow through.

He doesn't react to Buckingham's jibe, not vocally. Athos takes a very deep breath and lets it out through his nose slowly, patiently, before complying with The Bet: Part Deux, offering the boots a chaste kiss.

He then sits back on his heels with a wrinkled nose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I should be so lucky you remain fastidious."

"I did say you had the advantage," Buckingham points out mildly, and pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve.

...not to offer it to Athos, of course, merely to cleanse his boots of the smudge the man's saliva has left on them. He'd make a show of giving them an especially slow and thorough polish, but he'd much rather finish the business quickly, so that he might get to his feet while Athos still kneels. An even lovelier sight from here.

"You'll stay for another round, I hope?"

He reaches down, and offers Athos a hand.

Edited 2014-04-24 17:10 (UTC)

A distant part of him thinks it's a very nice gesture, Buckingham offering to help him to his feet with an outstretched hand. The louder voice in Athos would really rather die than accept that assistance, so he makes a show of getting to his feet all by himself and smoothing the rumpled fabric of his doublet.

Ahem.

"I don't know, what are we betting this time?"

If it wasn't obvious already, he's staying.

It's fair, Buckingham supposes, considering he was still uncertain whether he ought to lend his strength to pull the Musketeer to his feet, or to take the opportunity and drop him mid-rise. With the choice removed he is free to discard of the used handkerchief, and fetch a new one from his wardrobe, before returning to take his seat at the table.

"I thought your last bet rather inspiring. Perhaps this time the defeated might..."

The duke keeps to a rule, golden and unwritten: To make as great a nuisance of himself as he can to further his own amusement, yet never so great that he might dissuade the Musketeer from keeping him company. On an average day he'd fear his thoughts in violation to the rule, would think them to pander to the court's rumours and above all, would not quite see himself eager to pay the price of loss.

But today he feels exceptionally daring and exceptionally more-cups-of-wine-than-he-should-have-had, and as he pours himself yet another cup mischief already steers his tongue, without allowing any dissenting thoughts to catch up.

"...put his tongue to the victor's cock, instead of his boots."

Inspiring.

To be frank, Athos still doesn't know where the last bet came from. Perhaps he simply tires of the games they've been playing - after all, there are only so many times you can trade a family heirloom or similarly important belonging. When neither of them possess any legitimate means of wealth in Wonderland, finding something worth betting on is increasingly difficult.

Reaching for his own (now empty) cup of wine with the intention of refilling it, Athos starts at the new suggestion, knuckles bumping the glass dumbly.

"You jest."

Charming smile as ready as it ever was Buckingham obligingly leans forward, and steadies Athos' cup. He lifts he bottle, and happily offers more wine; more and more, until the richly red liquid has filled the cup to the brim. Judging by his expression Athos may need it.

"Did we not want a more... interesting challenge?"

The duke helps himself to a drink from his own cup, and lets his eyes wander away from the table.

"My apologies, do your knees ache already? You would... lose, of course, but I didn't mean to strain them beyond your bearing. Shall we try our rings again instead?"

Athos, for what it's worth, isn't necessarily opposed - not with the current state of things in Wonderland, where every decision sounds fairly reasonable even if it happens to be 'jumping off a roof' or 'wrestling with a horse' - in fact he's almost disappointed he hadn't thought to suggest it first. How much lower could one stoop, really?

Buckingham's presumptuous plan for the outcome of this particular hand only serves to ignite Athos' desire further.

...his desire to win, of course. Obviously.

"You may just eat your words," he replies with a smooth, unruffled tone before pulling his cup closer and taking a sip.

Buckingham smiles sweetly.

"As long as it's just my words."

He sets down his cup, and deals them both their hand. One after another he makes a show of discovering his cards' value, before setting them all down on the table, and waiting for Athos' move.

Ha, ha.

The smile that Athos offers in return is sharp, one his friends would classify as 'dangerous.' Not that Buckingham cares, of course - and neither does he. The air of competition weighs in heavily around them, the desire to impressed spurred on by a lack of inhibitions.

The desire to win supplanting any caution Athos might have left.

He glances at his cards. Already he displays a fine hand, one he wishes he had had for the last round. This is no different, really, it's all a matter of showing off for the sake of showing off. The musketeer taps his fingers on the table once, twice, and reaches for another card to exchange.

"I'm not certain I can raise the bet from what it is," he chuckles, shuffling the new suit into his hand.

"It needn't always be more," Buckingham muses, and helps himself to a card in return.

The improvement to his hand is perhaps not... quite as magnificent as he would wish it to be, but he thinks their value suitable enough. Athos' is seldom a creature of good fortune, and given their proposition, why, the duke might even raise his way towards victory yet.

"At times... subtraction might raise the stakes just the same."

He shuffles the cards in his hands, and slowly drifts to meet Athos' gaze.

"The loser mustn't spit."

Athos snorts and rolls his eyes at the new caveat. Of course Buckingham would have experience with that, only Buckingham would be the one to suggest such a thing. The musketeer shrugs and accepts the addendum, tapping a finger along the edges of his cards.

"The loser mustn't be a poor sport about it," he chides quietly, swapping out a numbered card without thinking about it and picking up a replacement.

His expression betraying nothing but boredom, Athos tucks the new Jack of Spades into his hand and waits.

How good of Athos to remind himself! Buckingham laughs, and raises his glass to toast the latest stakes. Sipping on his wine he glances from his own cards to the offers on the table, and reaches out greedily... before reminding himself of the price the exchange required. Thoughtfully he taps his chin with the edges of his deck.

"In the next six months to come," he begins slowly, "the winner may request and be granted today's... service as many times as desired."

Mmmmh, just the very thought of it, not... the Musketeer on his knees, mind - although that certainly carries its sweetness as well - but rather the knowledge that he could dangle the wager in front of him whenever he pleased, oh, what an extraordinary delight. Buckingham smiles, and exchanges the cards.

...an interesting yet unsurprising addition. Buckingham is nothing if not crass when it suits him. To his credit, Athos is being an exceptionally good sport about the wager.

"Agreed," he replies mildly, switching two of his cards in his hand with each other. He looks at them for a long moment, dragging it out, and then glances to the pile of cards between them. He has no more need for any of those in front of him, he can't imagine adding another stipulation to the already-inflated bet.

With a sigh, Athos slumps back into his chair and drums his fingers on the table.

"...I see no reason to prolong the inevitable. Shall we show?"

"With pleasure," Buckingham retorts instantly.

He leans forward in his chair, and drinks the last of what remains in his cup. A glance at the bottle, but he won't pour more, not just yet. Better to fill their glasses in celebration, in just a moment now. He plucks one card from his hand, and slips it between two others. Fans them all out carefully, because this time he should like the reveal to be instant.

Six, seven, eight, nine, and ten of hearts, all laid out in a delicious line. Buckingham smiles widely, and reaches to pour them a generous serving from the bottle.

It is with no small amount of (apparent) dismay that Athos observes Buckingham's hand. It's very good. Painfully good. A Straight Flush is no laughing matter, not in any other poker game. Letting a breath out slowly, Athos chews his lip for a moment's hesitation before leaning in.

With a pained shrug and a sound of discontent, he tosses his hand face-up onto the table.

Ten, Jack, Queen, King, Ace of Spades.

"Royal Flush."

Mmhh, in the chair, or on his bed? That will be ever so difficult to decide. Standing, perhaps? Anything to get a good view of Athos' expression - yes, just the one blooming so delightfully on the Musketeer's face at the moment of his defeat. Buckingham observes with a grin, takes the cup to his lips, and savours the wine like sweet, liquid schadenffffffffffffffff!

--goes his triumph, almost spit across the table, as he stares down at the cards and sputters with his hand pressed over his own mouth, coughing loudly in an effort not to choke on his wine or wager, though it seems that at least the latter is suddenly rather inevitable.

Buckingham braces himself with a sharp breath, and absent-mindedly wipes his lips on his sleeve.

"Quite the... lucky hand."

The corner of his mouth twitches peevishly.

"You can call it luck," Athos admits, because that's what Poker is - there's no strategy, at least no discernible one. It's the point of gambling, after all: whether or not you've Lady Luck on your side. Fortunately for Athos, he has her today.

"Refill my cup, would you?"

With a bland smile, Athos nudges his glass across the table, rather enjoying the sight of an all-too-flustered Buckingham. The duke is managing disappointment poorly if the wine dripping down his chin is any indication.

The duke breathes once more, and his smile returns. Wide and bright and tense, like angrily carved marble. "Of course," he barely just pressed through grit teeth, and lifts the bottle to Athos' glass. His hand moves stiffly, like a puppet dissatisfied with the pull of its strings. Another serving for himself as well. He puts the bottle down, and empties his cup in one gulp; when it slams down on the table, Buckingham finally reanimates.

"I expect you should like to collect your winnings without delay."

His voice is kept level only by strained deliberation, but when he rises from his seat the pained stiffness in his motions is gone. With a swift shrug he slides off his doublet, and drapes it across the chair. Then he stands up straight, lifts his chin, and looks down at Athos (for the last time in a while, his mind adds grudgingly).

"Where... would you have me?"

"Unless you think you'll forget," Athos replies with the utmost sincerity, because rubbing salt into the wound simply isn't his style. Idly picking at the trim on his cuff, he observes a curious transformation in Buckingham's body language - this must be the sort of thing he pulls on when dealing with loathsome courtiers.

Athos clears his throat (and his wineglass in little more than a few sips), pursing his lips in thought.

The bed is too intimate. The chair, too lazy. No man can stand in the middle of the room receiving the sort of treatment he is about to receive, so Athos gestures toward one of the tapestry-covered walls.

"Would you prefer a pillow, for your knees?"

And just there Buckingham is at least treated to the opportunity to offer Athos' a somewhat... pitying look. He nods along with the Musketeer's choice of locale, but his grin turns a little lopsided. Poor him, if he truly thinks he'll be left standing by the end of this. But... the chaise longue is near enough his spot by the wall, so he'll see no reason to object.

"Let my knees be by own concern," Buckingham chides.

He takes a flat cushion from the closet all the same, and if the suggestion was meant a mockery alone, then he'll gladly brush it aside in favour of his own comfort. And the best results, of course, otherwise wouldn't that make him a bad sport? And they did bet against that, alas.

He saunters across the room, and waits for Athos to take his place.

While Buckingham's cavalier attitude is enough to bother him tremendously, Athos does a fair job of ignoring it in favor of unfastening the buttons on his own doublet - for comfort, obviously. His sword belt has already been removed; it remains draped on a side table where he left it when he came in earlier.

"Right, I forgot how very generous you are."

Sure enough, Athos has already considered the chaise lounge and situates himself next to it. Leaning up against the wall, his fingers pause on the fasteners of his trousers, and he gives the duke a suspicious look.

"...you're not going to bite, are you?"

"Well."

Buckingham clicks his tongue, and drops the pillow at Athos' feet. As soon as the Musketeer has taken his place he follows, stepping closer and slipping his own fingers past Athos' hands, robbing them of the task they began.

"If that is your concern, then perhaps you... should have raised the bet accordingly, shouldn't you? As it stands you will simply have to..."

The motion is swift, fluid, practiced. With one tug Buckingham is on his knees, and Athos stands in front of him bare, trousers and breeches pulled down to his ankles. Buckingham looks up grinning, and bares his teeth.

"...pray that your luck holds."

Athos should be concerned.

Athos should be exceptionally concerned, because not only is the Duke of Buckingham following the stipulations of their bet to the very letter, but the Duke of Buckingham also has a penchant for revenge (and Athos remembers dying, multiple times, quite painfully). Any sane man in his right mind would have called the game off several hands ago, but not them, of course - not when it seemed like such a good idea at the time, not when it still seems like a good idea.

An eyebrow nearly reaches his hairline as the duke promptly divests him of the important garments in a manner that suggests he has done this many times before.

Of course he has.

"To what god?" Athos snorts.

Hell is probably missing several demons, and they're all here with him.

[CLOSED] It's all fun and games until somebody gets laid.

this is some 50 Shades of Erotic Fiction right here

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can't believe that this is reeeeaaaaaaal

♥

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im crying at that icon

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