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It is ironic, perhaps, that the hat was the first thing to go…
A smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips as she had opened the door. He stood tall, thumbs hooked into his belt, the crested guard on his shoulder, his blue mantle draped to the floor… and the feathered hat on his head.
Constance gasped, matching his grin, throwing her arms around him, unable to contain it, even in full sight as they were. The hat had no regimental meaning- only the shoulder guard could prove that- but it was a symbolic gesture. The others teased him, good naturedly of course, about the lack of head wear, Aramis insisting that he was not ready for such a responsibility. She wondered how long they had been waiting to give it to him…
She wished she could have been there, to see his face. But this was their moment, true acceptance into their brotherhood. She was so proud of him, but she knew it was nothing compared to the pride he must be feeling. It was written all over his face in that grin.
And as another prize, of course, she pulled him inside, pushed him back against the door and sent the hat flying across the room in her haste…
So as she now lay on her back, lazy smile on features, hair loose across the pillows, sheets crumpled around her waist, his arm across her bare stomach, his fingers dancing over her smooth skin, she remembered the fine gift…
Without so much as a warning, she pulled herself out of his grasp, despite his muffled protests, tugging the sheets with him, leaving him completely exposed on the bed. She gave herself the luxury of looking back over her shoulder, smiling at the sight she was greeted with. His smirk told her he knew her game and decided to make most of it, sighing deeply and relaxing back on the bed, eyes closed, arms behind his head, never losing his smile. She allowed herself to take in the sight, for she deserved a little indulgence, before chuckling softly and padding through the house to find her quarry…
The hat lay upside down just inside the doorway. Clutching the sheets tight against her, she bent down to pick it up. For a moment, she stood, turning it over in her hands. It was beautiful, truly. A fine piece of millinery. Fine, heavy leather in a dark grey, a black belt with a silver buckle and a tall, black feather. She brushed her fingers through it, letting it tickle her skin with a giggle, before she brought it back upstairs…
Perhaps she was still lost in her daze, her skin still tingling from the touch of his fingertips, the brush of his lips, his hot breath as he gasped her name. Perhaps it was knowing her husband was still in Calais and would be there for at least a few more days. But she felt just bold enough to try the idea that struck her…
"What do you think?" The hat rested on her head, much too big for her and she had to lift her chin to smirk at him from under the brim. It was his turn to stare; her auburn curls fell lightly across her bare shoulders and in her wanderings, the sheet had slipped and she had not bothered to correct it, exposing enough of her soft, pale form to his wandering gaze to leave him open mouthed and wide eyed.
He was quiet for a long time and she did not flinch as his eyes trailed over her. He swallowed, his mouth obviously dry and his voice was husky when he spoke. “I think it suits you…” His hand moved across the bed towards her, reaching out, a silent plea for her to join him…
She grinned, not quite giving in yet, and turned to the looking glass. She placed a hand on her hips, eyes narrowing as she looked herself up and down, canting her hips as if inspecting a very fine dress. She nodded in approval. “Good. I think so too…”
Slowly, she moved towards him, holding the heavy leathered hat on her head. She crawled across the bed, shifting to sit on top of him, the sheet all but gone now. He had no protest to give for these latest developments, his hands trailing over the soft flesh of her thighs to rest on her hips, a dopey half smile on his mouth. He moved to reach up to her, anxious to kiss her, a dark hunger in his eyes, but she pushed him back down with a quirk of her brow. Instead, she lowered herself, eyes bright, mischievous.
"So am I now supposed to play the dashing rogue?" She pressed a soft kiss over the taught muscles of his stomach. "Defender of France, protector of the King…" Her breath was hot against his skin and she felt him shift beneath her, his hands slipping from her hips to fist in the sheets. Her lips found a scar on his ribs. "A libertine… seducing married women to their beds…" She heard him let out a shaky breath, the faint whisper of her name and she smiled against his skin, lips burning a trail over his chest, his neck, over his jaw…
Until she pulled away suddenly and he practically whimpered. Removing the hat, she placed it, albeit awkwardly on his own head, before pulling back to inspect him. She scrunched up her nose and shook her head, snatching it back once more.
"No. It looks better on me…"
That broke him. He surged forward, pulling her tight against his chest and she gasped at the sudden movement, the intensity in his gaze as his lips crashed into hers.
"No, it doesn’t…"
For the second time that day, the hat lay disregarded on the floor…