All for One (6 page)

“Your shoulder won’t be injured forever, and in the meantime you have something I need,” Aristide countered. “You’re the only person who can identify who engaged you to deliver the letter slandering the captain of the musketeers. It is in both our interests to keep you safe and healthy until the plotters, whoever they are, can be foiled.”

Benoît shook his head. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. He had an accent, but I didn’t know where it was from. He was dressed well, but not in any notable fashion. He had dark hair, but so does half the country. You’re wasting your time with me.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Aristide replied easily. “You may remember more in time, or you may see someone you recognize once we get to Paris. It’s no hardship for me to have company on the ride back, in any case.”

“You haven’t seen how badly I ride,” Benoît quipped, “or how slowly poor Sagace trots. You’ll be tired of us before we even get to Auxerre, much less all the way to Paris.”

“Orphée will enjoy a more reasonable pace,” Aristide retorted. “My friends and I were rather eager on the way here and took advantage of the opportunity to gallop—we don’t have much chance for that in the city. But fast or slow, we’ll get there eventually. You won’t be in any shape for hard riding yourself, unless we wait another week or more, and I’m afraid my companions would come back in search of me if we tarried that long.”

“It must be nice to have such loyal friends,” Benoît commented longingly, stroking Sagace’s neck. “It must be nice to have any friends, actually.” Even in his village, he hadn’t had many friends, but he’d lost those few he had to the plague along with his wife. Leaning his head against Sagace’s strong withers, he felt the despair that never left him for long well up in him again. His hand moved restlessly over the chestnut coat, the familiar scent of the horse comforting him as it always did.

“Here,” Aristide said, handing Benoît another comb and joining him on the opposite side of the stocky horse. “I promise that once you finish brushing Sagace here, he’ll be even more your friend than he is already.” He scratched behind the chestnut’s shaggy ear, earning a whicker of approval. “He may not win any races, but he’s a good, strong horse—I wager he’ll bear you no matter how long the road.”

The appraisal won a rare smile from Benoît. “He’s borne me all the way from outside of Carcassonne.” Slowly, he ran the curry comb in big circles over the powerful flank. “We didn’t get here quickly, but we did arrive, so I suppose maybe I do have one loyal friend.” Flakes of mud and caked hair came off with each pass of his hand. “I’m sorry, Sagace,” he said softly. “I’ve been neglecting you.” He spent a few more minutes brushing before he looked up and asked, “So when do you plan to head back to Paris?”

Benoît’s eyes warmed and sparkled when he smiled, softening the hard lines of his face and making Aristide determined to find a way to win more such smiles from his new companion. “I would like to leave tomorrow if you feel strong enough,” he admitted. “Since we’ve agreed our progress will be slow, it will take us several days to arrive, and I would like to report to
M.
de Tréville as soon as I may.”

Benoît nodded slowly. “I won’t be good for a full day’s ride tomorrow, even at Sagace’s slow pace, but I think we could begin the journey at least. Some progress toward our destination is surely better than none.”

Nodding his approval, Aristide returned his attentions to the horse’s side. “Then we’re agreed; we’ll leave after breaking fast tomorrow.”

P
ROPPED
up against the pillows, bronzed skin contrasting with the white linen, Perrin cleaned the barrel of his pistol, blowing through it to make sure no dust had accumulated. Given the threat to
M.
de Tréville, he was determined to be as prepared as possible. Glancing up as Léandre came into the bedroom with a tray of cold meats, bread, and cheese, he smiled at his companion, wondering how quickly he could lure the blond out of his clothes and into bed. “How long should we give Aristide before we head back after him?”

“It’s been scarcely a week,” Léandre observed, setting the tray on the bedside table and perching on the side of the mattress. Perrin had removed his shirt and stockings, clad only in breeches that clung to his powerful legs as they stretched over the bed. The blond paused a moment in silent appreciation, watching Perrin purse his lips to blow through the muzzle of his weapon. As soon as they had eaten, he would have those lips pursed around something far more intimate. “As badly as the fellow was wounded, if he didn’t die the first night, it would take him at least this long to recover enough to travel,” he continued, picking up a piece of cheese to nibble as he considered. “It could be several days more before we should expect to see him.”

Perrin set the musket aside and turned his attention to dinner. “If we haven’t at least heard from him by the day after tomorrow, I think we should ride back toward Époisses, if only to see what’s going on. The scoundrel might be able to tell us something even if he isn’t well enough to travel yet,” he declared, reaching for a plate and filling it with meat and cheese. “Come eat,” he added. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m strong enough for you any time, never fear,” Léandre promised, piling a slice of meat on a crust of bread and taking a bite. “Though perhaps you’re right about riding out to meet Aristide. Staying here cooling our heels is gaining us nothing.”

“We could leave in the morning if you’d rather,” Perrin allowed seriously. “Not that I think he has anything to fear from a wounded messenger, but whoever sent that letter will expect to see results, and when they don’t get any, they’re going to start wondering why. And if they’re amoral enough to make up such lies about
M.
de Tréville, they won’t hesitate to take out a simple musketeer.”

“You’ve known Aristide long enough to know there’s nothing ‘simple’ about him,” Léandre chuckled. His knee tapped impatiently against the bedding while he tried to decide which consequence would be worse—the growing frustration of inactivity, or Aristide’s annoyance at their returning to “rescue” him. “He wouldn’t thank us for thinking he can’t take care of himself.”

“He wouldn’t thank us for not being there to back him up either,” Perrin replied. “Actually, in this case he probably would, wouldn’t he? He’d say something noble about it being more important for us to protect
M.
de Tréville than him.” He frowned. “All right, we’ll give him until the day after tomorrow before we go looking for him.”

Léandre nodded in reluctant agreement. “Just because it’s the right decision doesn’t make the waiting any easier,” he grumbled.

Taking the words as an invitation, Perrin pounced, rolling Léandre beneath him and pinning him to the bed. “Then I’ll just have to find a way to distract you,” he growled, grinding his hips against the blond’s. “We wouldn’t want you going off half-cocked or anything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Léandre rumbled, his reaction to the hard weight pressing him into the bed immediate and inevitable. He reached a hand up to brush the side of his fingers over Perrin’s full lips. “Besides, I thought you were hungry. You said something about keeping up your strength?”

Perrin shook his head, catching the wandering fingers in his mouth. “No, I said something about keeping up
your
strength,” he retorted, enjoying the feeling of the lengthening shaft against his stomach. “And I am hungry, but not for food. I’d much rather feast on you.”

“You don’t have to worry about
my
strength,” Léandre retorted, arching his hips upward to grind his pelvis against the younger man’s, rubbing his significant length against the matching hardness. “But by all means take what you need to maintain your own prowess.” He grinned up at his dark-haired partner salaciously. “I wouldn’t want Aristide to think I was depriving you.”

“If anyone’s deprived at the moment, it’s him,” Perrin commented, loosening the laces on Léandre’s shirt enough to pull it over his head so that their bare chests rubbed together. “We’ll have to make it up to him when he gets home.”

As arousing as were the possibilities of how they might “make it up” to Aristide on his return, Léandre had to admit he enjoyed the chance to have Perrin—and Perrin’s attentions—all to himself. Wrapping an arm around his lover’s back to increase the friction of their chests until dark hair mingled with light, he dropped his other hand to cup Perrin’s arousal, squeezing it through the fabric of his breeches. “This certainly doesn’t feel undernourished,” he agreed huskily.

How could it be with Léandre touching him?
Perrin mused silently, his lips attacking the curve of Léandre’s neck. He suspected there would be bruises in the morning, and if anyone asked—which he doubted they would—Léandre’s fiction of a mistress he refused to name would hold, and everyone would be happy with the status quo. He grabbed Léandre’s hand and pinned it to the bed. “If you get me too worked up, I won’t be able to fuck you properly.”

“You’ve never heard me complain yet.” The blond squirmed, more because Perrin expected it than for any real desire to pull free. It was true he might tease Perrin before they got started, but once that long, hard cock was buried inside him, his only desire was for more. Hitching his legs around the other man’s thighs, he scowled when the cloth between them dragged uncomfortably. “Why don’t you quit talking and get naked so we can fuck already?”

“I can do both,” Perrin retorted, rearing up onto his knees to rip open the placket of Léandre’s breeches, baring his belly and cock, already glistening in eagerness. He swooped down and caught it in his mouth, the resultant buck of Léandre’s hips all he needed to free him from his garments and give Perrin access to his partner’s magnificent arse. He slid his hands beneath the blond, supporting him as he continued to suck voraciously, his fingers kneading deeply into solid muscle. “On second thought,” he teased, lifting his head long enough to speak, “why would I want to talk when I can do this instead?”

Since Léandre was in complete agreement with that sentiment, he didn’t bother to answer, weaving his fingers into Perrin’s dark hair instead and pushing him back down onto his throbbing cock. Damn, Perrin had the most talented mouth he’d ever felt, better even than Aristide, and the long fingers roving over his arse, spreading his cheeks and teasing down the bared crease, were making it hard to think about anything but the growing need to fill that wet heat with his seed. “Close,” he grunted, while he still had enough breath left to speak.

The thought crossed Perrin’s mind that if he pulled off now, he might actually get to fuck Léandre to completion for once, but he hadn’t even begun to prepare the tight opening, and the oil was out of reach of the bed. Better to let Léandre come now and then get him worked up again for round two, even if it meant his coming before Léandre did yet again. Léandre never seemed to mind, though, since Perrin always made sure he came, too, one way or another, and it was definitely better than taking the risk of injuring his lover. He pressed hard on the spot behind the blond’s balls that he knew was so sensitive, swallowing deeply as Léandre shot heated cream down his throat.

His head thrashing with the fever of his release, Léandre’s fingers tightened against Perrin’s skull, holding him in place while he spasmed and shuddered. “That enough to satisfy you?” he rasped finally, knowing the answer but unable to resist tweaking his lover even in repletion.

“It’s a nice little snack,” Perrin retorted, smacking his lips, “but I’m still waiting for the main course.” He rose swiftly to retrieve the bottle of oil, dropping his breeches to the floor next to Léandre’s as he returned. He caught the blond’s hips as he returned to his place between his lover’s legs, lifting them so he could lick at the loose sac. Flipping Léandre over roughly, he parted the tight cheeks, driving oil-slick fingers deep into the clenching channel. “I want your arse.”

“Then take it,” Léandre prodded, pushing his hips up to underscore his readiness. His head burrowed into the pillows as Perrin pierced him, filled him, the fat head of his lover’s cock dragging over his most sensitive spot, making him start to harden again despite just having come. “
Merde
, yesss,” he hissed, squeezing around the blissful invasion. “Right there, Perrin, again.”

Perrin’s hips bucked wildly. He reached beneath Léandre’s writhing body to fist the filling shaft, but he could already feel his control deserting him and knew he’d never hold out long enough to make Léandre come again. He angled his hips, aiming directly for his lover’s sweet spot, determined to give as much pleasure as he could before he lost control. With a long, loud groan, his release spooled out of him, filling the clinging passage. He kept thrusting, hoping to prolong their mutual pleasure until his softening shaft slipped from the weeping hole. Sinking onto his knees, his hand never slowing, he lowered his head and licked at the sensitive flesh.

Clenching futilely around Perrin’s softening cock, Léandre groaned when it slid from inside him. He hadn’t gotten enough of that rough pounding—he didn’t think he’d ever get enough. Perrin’s tongue at his hole was a deliciously decadent pleasure, but Léandre knew he’d need more to bring him to a second climax. “Fingers,” he moaned, craving more of that touch deep inside. “Give me your fingers….”

Immediately, Perrin gave Léandre what he wanted, two fingers spearing deep and rough into the rippling channel, twisting and plunging in pale imitation of what his cock had done. He nipped sharply at the curve of his lover’s buttocks, hoping the little snap of pain would help bring Léandre undone.

“More,” Léandre demanded, uncaring that the groan sounded more like a plea.

Perrin added a third finger carefully, loving the way his lover twisted beneath him. He leaned in closer, inhaling the combined scents of their release. His tongue snaked out to circle the stretched hole, playing around his fingers as he sopped up the fluid seeping from Léandre’s body.

Hips bucking upward, Léandre writhed until the plundering fingers rubbed over the spot that ached for Perrin’s touch. Pushing backward, he fucked himself on his lover’s fingers until sparks exploded inside him, spreading along his nerves to engulf his entire body. His come sprayed over Perrin’s hand, the second release feeling endless, wave upon wave pouring from him as he shuddered between Perrin’s fist around his cock and his fingers spearing his arse. Finally emptied, he collapsed onto the mattress, trapping Perrin’s hand beneath him as he groaned in exhaustion.