#robert angier

He had finally done it. Finally, after an age of losing his mind over that stupid trick, he'd done it. Bested Borden, won the war.

“I'm magnificent.” He whispered against your lips, hands gripping the sides of your head. “Tell me. Tell me I'm magnificent.”

“You are.” You murmured back, his lips meeting yours the moment you said.

“Yes…I am.”

You'd spent so long ignored by him, living in the shadow of the machine. Nothing existed to Angier outside of the tunnel vision he had on Borden, no matter how long you'd lingered, gazing at him through hooded eyes, hoping for a moment of his attention.

Scraps came and went when his mania peaked, when he could taste success and he celebrated with a brazen kiss to your lips when no one else watched. No one else could watch- you'd both be damned. The Great Danton, a sodomite. He'd never get a booking again.

You assumed that was why, in part, you'd spent so long being so close, yet so far to Angier. No world would bear to see a man like you, a stagehand, in the arms of a great magician.

You'd had many close calls with Angier. Celebratory kisses that became too hungry, only interrupted by Cutter or Olivia. But nothing like this. Nothing so visceral, passionate, as he celebrated his long awaited success.

He tore off his vest with one hand, lips still sealed to yours while his other hand gripped you tightly, using you as a support instead of his cane that had been dropped long ago. You knocked a plethora of things over as you reached the dressing room's vanity desk, but you didn't care- nothing mattered more than him.

“I'm unstoppable,” He continued to sing his own praises, breathless, as he kissed you. “Invincible. Unreachable…”

“Yes,” You sighed back against his lips. “Yes, Angier…”

You didn't know if you were spurring him on, or reacting to the way he was steadily grinding your hips together. Sometimes you forget about his damn broken leg. How did he manage to move like that, when the rest of the time, he was limping around in pain? Maybe he faked it. Like he faked everything else.

His hands roved your hips and waist, your back and your chest as he kissed you over and over and over, making sure you felt every hardening inch of him against your thigh, his hips stuttering forwards.

His lips parted on a silent moan when your hips returned the press, making him shudder and grab onto you tighter.

“Oh,” He gasped, body going from tense to loose again, melting against you. “God, that's good…”

Angier fumbled for the button of his pants while you helped him remove his bowtie, unbuttoning his shirt while your lips scarcely left one another. You both parted with a moan when his hips caught just the right angle, your mind feeling fuzzy for a split second.

A bit more struggling with the clasps and buttons of his expensive clothes later and Angier's chest was bare before you, your hands running up to caress his body in a worshipful manner that stroked his ever so fragile ego.

“You're beautiful.” You told him, and he almost preened at the word. “Perfect…”

“I know.” He whispered back, as he reached up to pull open your waistcoat. “I know I am.”

He'd never thank you, you knew that much, but in a way, you didn't care. Being around Angier so long had conditioned you to think- no, to know- that it was an honor in and of itself to get to be with him like this, to have your praise acknowledged at all. It was nearly impossible to get his stubborn mind off of Borden and the machine, so times like these were special, to you. Maybe there would be more, now that this stupid war he'd waged was over.

He roughly shoved you back against the desk, making sure you were firmly pinned there, his skilled fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt in quick succession. You'd seen what those hands of his have done. Vanishing tricks, card tricks…you'd seen the way his fingers ran through his hair when he got impatient or tired, how he slowly rubbed his hands together, flexing each and every finger before a show. And now, you saw what those hands did to you, making quick work of your clothes.

Soon enough, your shirt was hanging off your shoulders, your chest exposed to the heating air of the room. Next came your pants, the clasps of which he unfastened, before pulling the garment down your legs.

“Mister Angier…” You breathed, as his middle and ring finger slid under the garter around your thigh, almost absentmindedly as he leaned in to capture your lips again.

“What?” He responded distractedly, focused on your lips, barely letting you speak between kisses.

But after a few, he pulled back, and for the first time since you'd ever met him, looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his entire world. His gaze lingered on your heaving chest, on your strained undergarments and the garter he'd been toying with, before flicking back up to meet yours. Your breath shuddered in your chest, and you shook your head.

“Nothing.”

Because whatever you had to say wasn't important now, not with the way he was finally looking at you. Robert Angier was finally yours…at least, until his next obsession took hold.

His lips twisted into a smile, and he captured your lips again, wrapping his arms around you, scratching his nails down your back. Your hands found his hair, following the smooth lines of the thickly gelled strands until you found the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers there. His hips kept making slow, needy circles against yours, kisses getting sloppier and sloppier the longer they went on.

“The world is mine…” You heard him whisper as he moved from your lips to your ear. “And- And Borden…he's nothing now…”

“Yes…”

“I'll never have to work again.” He breathed, kissing down your neck feverishly. “I can retire…watch his world…burn…”

“Yes, Angier…”

“Spend every day…God, every day lost in you.”

Your breath hitched. Angier had gone crazy plenty of times, had lost himself and begun madly whispering about how he'd keep you, love you, how he wanted you in his bed to make every problem he had go away. Every time, it was temporary.

This didn't feel temporary. It felt real.

Every day. Forever.

“Oh, mister Angier.” You groaned, head falling back as his lips pressed firmly to your Adam's apple.

“That's right…pray for me…I should be…everything to you…”

He was. He truly was, as much as you knew you shouldn't flatter his manic mind, as much as you knew you should take him down a peg before his God complex flourished further, you couldn't bring yourself to do it as he obsessively kissed down your chest, hand squeezing your hips with bruising force.

To be on the receiving end of Angier's pure, concentrated obsession- you suddenly felt violently jealous towards Borden's journal. How long had she spent under Angier's watchful eye? How many times had his deft fingers caressed the binding, turned her pages? How much time had he spent, obsessively whispering to her…?

It didn't matter, you realize, as you felt his lips climb back up your neck, to your ear once more. Because you had him now. And you would be keeping him.

“I suppose…yes…I suppose, now that it's over…I am freer than I'll ever be…” He whispered against your ear, hips swaying against yours as he clung on to you. “I'll take you away…away from hotels and foreign, temporary rooms…home…you'll be home…with me…”

His hips jerked slightly, and he let out a groan that was half pained, half ecstatic.

“God, yes…it'll be perfect…and while I drown in success, Borden can grovel at my feet, beg for my tricks…but he'll never have them…no…”

He pulled back, cupping your face with his hands. You'd only been half listening, his raspy, whispering voice like heaven to your ears no matter what he was saying. You dumbly nodded along.

“He could lick my shoes to a mirror shine and I'd never tell him a thing.” Angier murmured, staring at your lips with a distant, elated look in his eyes. His thumb swept over your lips, tugging on the lower one, before he leaned in, sealing your mouths together.

“And you'll be there,” He added between breaths, “basking in the ease, the glory beside me…you'll never want for a thing…ever again.”

A million times, he'd whispered lies like this in your ear. But for the first time, it felt true- perhaps it was because it was the first time he truly made love to you.

Time would tell if his obsession with Borden had finally, blessedly shifted to you. Time would tell if tonight truly meant anything. But for now, as you watched him fumble with the zipper of his pants, the dim candlelight of the room reflecting off the gel in his hair and the sweat on his chest, he looked like the picture of truth, the promise of an eternity reliving this moment with him.