[This story is dedicated to Joelle-Sama ;) ]

The events of this story tie in with the end of Chapter 27 of L'amante de Porthos.

Mature content

An Experiment

She came upstairs with two glasses of wine and handed one to Gerard who had resumed his position on the edge of the bed.

"You haven't slept in days, have you?" she remarked.

He shook his head and took a few sips of the wine, twirling the glass in his hand. He coughed.

"This is terrible."

"I'm a musketeer, not a duke."

He chuckled.

"I almost forgot…" he rose and went towards the corner of the room where he had deposited his travel sack. How had she not noticed that before? He could have had more weapons in there!

"More surprises?"

"You'll like this one, I promise." He grinned at her. He fished in his bag for a while. She could hear the sound of glass bottles tinkling against one another.

"Don't tell me you have wine in there?"

"Better! Ah, there it is!" he pulled out a small dark bottle that was tightly corked. He waved it at her and made his way over to her.

"What in God's name is this infamy?" her nose wrinkled in disgust as he opened the bottle, letting out a pungent odor.

"This, my dear Aramis, is a special tincture."

He put a few drops on his fingers and approached his hand to her face. She grimaced and slightly recoiled.

His charming smile seemed to calm her and she let him tend to the gashes on her face. They stood so close to one other, she could feel the warmth that was emanating from his body. The circular movement of his index finger on her face electrified her. But the feeling was short-lived because not long after, the tincture began to burn. She winced.

"Don't worry, it's supposed to do that. It helps accelerate the peeling of the skin to prevent any scarring," he said calmly, concentrating on the next gash.

"Did you make this?"

"I did. From an old recipe in my father's book. But I made my own personal tweaks to it," he grinned with pride.

"Was he an apothecary, your father?"

"A doctor, actually. There, we're all done."

His fingers lingered on her face, tracing invisible lines with his index fingers while his thumb hovered dangerously close to her lips, eliciting a tingling down her back towards her pelvic region. Her breath accelerated. Her eyes, half-closed, longingly stared at his lips. Those lips whose taste she once knew and now craved beyond anything. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, and they were so accessible. All she had to do was just extend herself but a millimeter and… But they had been down that road before, hadn't they? And it was clear that he was… that he wasn't…Which was it?

Despite herself, she turned her face ever so slightly and parted her lips so that his thumb moved along her lower lip. He could feel the moisture from her mouth. He wanted to drink her lips, to taste her again, he wanted to know. He swallowed with difficulty. How was this possible? All these years and he thought he could only be aroused by men. And yet here was this woman, with the most androgynous absolutely mesmerizing presence he had ever seen and probably ever will see. Was he attracted to the musketeer Aramis? Or to the mysterious woman behind Aramis? Her body seemed to naturally call out to him, even after he had discovered her true nature.

"I didn't come back just for Marianne, you know," he whispered.


Their eyes locked and he could see the desire burning in hers. It ignited him beyond anything he could have imagined.

"You're the first woman that I ever felt this way about…and I don't know if it's you or… or the musketeer you pretend to be," he went on. He had to tell her the truth. As he said those words, she, too, questioned herself.

"It's just that, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about you. Even after everything was said and done," he went on.

Me neither, she thought. But did she truly love him? Or was this just a passing fancy like Porthos had said?

Only one way to find out.

"What I'm trying to say is… je veux essayer…"

Nothing more needed to be said. She pulled him rudely by the waist, her pelvis clashing into his, sending a shockwave through his being. Her lips urgently pressed onto his and he parted his mouth to let her explore him. How delicious and sweet it was! He could feel her tongue moving ardently with such force and determination. For a moment, he wanted to lose himself in this sensation. In the sensation to be completely possessed by this goddess. But before long, his body began to react and prompted him to wrap his arms around her, bringing her even closer to him so that he can begin to explore her. Their tongues danced in a back-and-forth movement, each one taking turns in allowing the other the privilege to penetrate and explore the other's mouth.

With her strong hands still fixed on his waist, she turned him around such that the dresser was now behind him. He lightly reclined on it, putting himself at a slightly shorter height than hers, reveling in her tall and grand figure. He looked up at her with such admiration and longing.

With his hand behind her neck, he pulled her to him rudely and they continued to embrace heatedly.

Her hands hurriedly pulled out his chemise that was tucked into his pantaloons and she slid them underneath. He moaned gently as he felt the contact of her hands on his bare skin. Her fingers moved up and down his chest, getting a feel of the terrain. They lingered on his nipples and she pressed on them lightly. He groaned through their kisses. He reclined further onto the dresser and she followed, pressing her pelvis onto his lap, as her legs stood one on either side of his waist. As she began to feel his erection underneath her, she sighed with pleasure. He was responding to her, to her caresses, to her desire. He wanted her too. Oh, all she wanted was to rip all the clothes and unite herself with him. Her body moved lasciviously on his crotch.

She crumpled his shirt in her hands and began to lift it up. It was almost off when she felt a slight resistance from him.

And then she realized.

There was the mark of the cross burnt on his chest, the one he had shown her before. He was embarrassed, she could tell. Up until now, she had been under the impression that he was a man with considerable experience in this aspect but she wasn't sure anymore. His prudish ways, his delicate personality and the trauma in his past had probably prevented him from ever trying. Just like her. And it dawned on her that this could just be his first time. She slowed down. Should she keep going? Is this how he wanted it? But he would not have come here, nor lingered for so long if he hadn't.

Sensing her hesitation, he took over and removed his chemise, discarding it casually on the floor. She stared at him and he stared back in a quiet defiance. Defiance that was not directed at her, but at confronting his own shame. He stood up. Now he was taller than her, more imposing.

The sight of his bare chest took her breath away: he was absolutely gorgeous! He was muscular but in a lean way. He was athletic, nimble, he had developed the small muscles in the body, which could be seen protruding from his forearms and from his abdomen. And then there were these gorgeous undulations on his lower abdomen that pointed downwards. Downwards towards his crotch.

"Aramis," he whispered.


"Gardez votre pourpoint… ," he blushed as he said this. But she understood.

He wasn't ready to confront her femininity just yet. But she didn't care. She wanted to devour him, to melt within him. He was hers.

She attacked him once more. Her tongue tracing a line from his neck, down to his chest. She did not leave a spot untouched. She wanted to worship his body. Wherever her lips did not go, her hands went and vice versa until she could no longer find a place she hadn't explored. Meanwhile, his senses were on fire; he sighed and groaned in harmony with where she touched him. He was losing control and any last shreds of prudence he had had were about to be severed.

Her hand finally rested on the one place that had been neglected this whole time. The one place that had been throbbing, crying out for her touch for her body. She straightened up to face him. She could see beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. Slowly and tantalizingly, while she held his gaze, she began to pull on the strings of his pantaloons and culotte until one by one, they came undone and she slid them down. He groaned and shivered as the air caressed his now naked sex.

For a moment, she was mesmerized, her breath completely taken away by what was revealed: it was spectacular, as if sculpted from the same divinity that formed the rest of his body.

Her hand encircled it. Good God! How good it felt in her hand. He groaned loudly upon her touch and she was electrified by the control she had over this man. This man who had obsessively occupied her fantasies of late but who had been otherwise unattainable.

Her hand glided on it in a back-and-froth movement. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His palms held on to the dresser, his nails digging into the wood. He was beyond intoxicated.

She closed the distance between them once more and kissed him ever so slowly, lingering on his lower lip, drawing yet another throaty groan.

"Take me," she whispered.

"Take me like a man."


His eyes flit wide open. Did he hear what he thought he heard? That could only mean one thing.

He swallowed with difficulty. Once with a young man in the village, Gerard had tried, but his docile nature had prevented him. He had never tried again. Yet now, with this "travestie" who was both man and woman, at least to him. No, he couldn't… could he?

She disengaged from him and walked decidedly towards the bed. She stopped and threw a glance at him over her shoulder as she faced the bed.

As if in a daze, he followed her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He began to kiss her neck, his hands traveling to her pantaloons, undoing the laces. Gently, he bent her over on the bed and lowered her pants. She shivered at the thought of being so completely exposed to him, completely offered to him in that way. But she had never been more curious. She had never gone this far with Athos. It was different with him. The first months were spent initiating her to the art of love, exploring each other gradually. They hadn't had the opportunity to reach this stage.

Gerard held his breath as he took in the sight of her bottom. So perfectly round and firm. So… feminine and delicate.

He didn't know what to do. He placed his palms on her cheeks and she sighed at the contact. He moved them lasciviously up and down before his left hand slid down to her sex.

"Ahhh," she moaned, crumbling the sheet underneath her.

He continued to feel around, exploring. Gosh, it was warm and… moist. They had never mentioned that in any of his anatomy or medical books. Female sexuality was always a very cold medical topic.

He continued rubbing her sex up and down, albeit clumsily, until his finger was lubricated enough and he inserted it in her rear.

"Oh God!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. She wanted more.

His hands began to tremble. He began to panic. What should he do? He didn't want to hurt her or disappoint her. She was ever so delicate.

He quickly removed his finger, grabbed her waist and knelt over her, whispering, "I can't, I'm sorry."

To be continued...