Look up to the trees

She starts on the decorative lacing of her bodice, untying the silk ribbon and loosening it so she can slip the bodice off over ger head. Then her long sleeves, attached at the shoulder straps of her stays; the points come away with a quick tug, and the sleeves join her bodice on the footboard of the bed.

She's just starting on her stomacher when Aramis finally stands and approaches her.

"May I?" He asks, hands held out just a little.

"Please," she says. Her fingers are beginning to tremble, and she's grateful his steadier hands can pull out the pins holding her stomacher on one by one, sticking each one into her bodice like little fenceposts.

"Ah," he hisses on the last one, suddenly pulling his hand away.

"Did you prick yourself?" She says, amused.

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, holding up his hand so they can both see the ruby bead of blood on his finger, "The only people I undress these days are myself and children too young to do it themselves. "

"Your children are..." she thinks of his little pack of orphans and aches, "They’re sweet, you're very good with them."

"Thank you," he says, pinching his thumb and forefinger together to stem the blood, "They are my light in this place."

There's a pause, and Ana pulls out the last two pins and tosses her stomacher aside. If they stop too long they might start thinking and she cannot allow that.

His hands join hers on the lacing of her stays, tugging the cording loose and helping her lift the whole garment off over her head. Ana forwent her padding and extra petticoats for the trip; frippery and conspicuous luxury felt unseemly for what she intended to do, so she only needs to untie and drop two layers of skirts until she's down to her chemise. Aramis pulls back for a moment to look at her. It's chilly in the little cell, and her flush at being so frankly admired feels like fire across her skin.

He guides her to sit on the bed, and kneels to remove her slippers and, trailing his palm reverently up her calves, unties her garters and rolls her stockings down.

Again, he simply looks at her.

"Ana," he says, and then looks down and away, "Forgive me, I-- if this is to be the last I see of you--"

"Don't talk about that," she says, cupping his face in her hands. "I can't bear it, please don't."

He nods, then stands.

"I appear to have you at a disadvantage," he says, then swiftly unties the knotted rope at his waist. He drops it to the floor, and with a few swift tugs he rucks up his sackcloth habit and draws it off over his head.

He's wearing a chemise and rough trousers underneath, which he sheds along with his shoes and stockings, leaving him bare before her.

He is unashamed, and has nothing to be ashamed of, in his nakedness. He's was a soldier, used to living intimately with others, using his body as a tool and a weapon.

He's also still as beautiful as he was two years ago.

"Please," he kneels at her feet, sliding his hands up her calves, "Can I--"

"Yes," Ana says, "Yes."

He breathes out, grabbing the hem of her chemise in both hands and pushing it up her thighs. Ana leans back on her elbows and Aramis presses kisses to her knees.