du_vallon | (no subject)

Aramis' furrowed brow does nothing to diminish his grin, and he claps Porthos' shoulder when he reaches it, heedless of the cloud of dust that follows. "The view from the porch was marvelous," he says, "I could hardly pull myself away. And there's a tree, just here," he says, pointing, "We could tie a swing to it, keep an eye on the children from the front windows with ease."

Porthos leans to the side to inspect whether they're talking about the same windows, but they are. The most prominent one has a splintered crack through the glass, which is possibly a bit of a damper when it comes to how they'll watch children play. He doesn't mind doing the work to fix things up, but he can't help but think about how many supplies that'll take.

He draws his arm around Aramis' waist to steer him back to where they've left the horses, fetching a bottle of water from his saddle-pack that he throws to Aramis. "The porch was lovely," he concedes, "but the second floor tried to kill me while I was in the kitchen."

Aramis catches the bottle and drinks deeply, too flush with excitement to be bothered with the chill of the air as a stray drop drips over his chin. "Yes, the ceiling did look a bit off in there," he says. "But the size of the kitchen was promising, was it not? You could fit a stove large enough to hold six gas burners! And two ovens, and a large sink. Do you know they call them French Country Sinks? Fitting, is it not?"

Aramis knows exactly what Porthos wants to hear. He twists up his lips, as if holding onto a grumble that he wants to let out, but the thought of the ovens is a promising thing and two ovens at that. Not to mention the stove that Aramis speaks about. He starts to unwork the knots to get the horses free, ready for the next stop, but he does want to consider this one a bit more.

"It's got vines, too," he admits. "We could do wine, of a sort."

"It is Athos you have to sell on the place, not me," says Aramis, gazing out at the sloping hill. "Is it warm enough here for wine? Surely the snow will kill the vines. Yet another reason to hate it," he mutters, swinging up onto his mare.

Porthos watches Aramis rise up, giving his thigh a last touch softly before going to his own and perching in the saddle for a long moment. "Ice wine, maybe. It's sweeter. We tried some for the wedding," he reminds Aramis settling his hat back on his head. He's not sure he wants to remark on the run down nature of the house, so instead he looks on the positive side.

"Did you find out how much it would cost?" he asks.

Aramis recalls the ice wine, not unpalatable, even if he prefers a nice port or a brandy. It would be helpful to make something they might be able to sell, for he does know how much the sprawling farmhouse and land will cost them.

"Hmm?" he hums in answer, gathering the reins to nudge his horse forward. "Yes, I did."

Porthos hauls himself up onto his horse with little aid, swinging himself up and over the saddle, leaning forward as he studies Aramis expectantly while getting the steed closer to him, leaning in to fiddle with his lapels and slide his thumb over his neck. "And is that a number you're planning on sharing with me, anytime?" he wonders.

"Certainly," says Aramis, but it's a moment more of indulging in Porthos' touch before he adds, "Nearly four hundred thousand. But I'm certain we can talk them down - I've read they ask for more than they truly want, and the price is negotiated down. And many places will include the cost of repairs. The land's value, however - I believe that is much of the price."

Porthos has never heard a number like that about something he intends to purchase. For a second, his eyes widen with shock, but then he dismisses that worry in order to breathe in and out slowly, getting himself calm in the face of the money. "It's a beautiful bit of land," he concedes. "And it's got things that are nice, but Aramis, the place is falling down," he reminds him bluntly, given that he can't look past that.

"In places," says Aramis stubbornly, but he sighs, touching Porthos' shoulder. "Perhaps it is best to buy the land first. Build something small, and add to it as we are able. We only need one room while our first child is small."

"They shouldn't be asking that much if it's that run down," he says stubbornly, aware that he's griping because he had liked it and could see himself starting up a big kitchen and a big life in there. "I'd prefer if there were the bones of a house," he says. "I don't know anything about a whole framework, but I could learn about walls and such."

"One year, right? Until the baby?"

"In a perfect world," says Aramis, but he would not like to see that nauseous look on Porthos' face again, nor be the cause of his strain. "Perhaps we will learn it is not possible, the speed with which we want these things." If anything, today has taught Aramis that land in the countryside is beautiful, and the homes upon it near unattainable. "We are not wealthy men, nor are we likely to become them."

Porthos has rarely even been well-off or comfortable. He nods towards the direction of the stables. "Want to head back, get the horses set up, and we can head back to town? Maybe we'll look at our place again and see it anew," he suggests. "Maybe it's plenty room for the child and us and Athos in those two stories? We'll just have to save up for a while."

"Solid floors and walls may indeed prove better than space," says Aramis, dragging up as bracing a smile as he can manage. Practical though it might be, he cannot help the disappointment that swells in him, weighing at his shoulders. "We could focus on a child for now." Surely that could not be as bitter a disappointment.

"There's a lot of money that needs to go into that," Porthos agrees, grasping the reigns as he works to heading back to the stables. He stops talking while he gallops, but when he arrives, he peers curiously over his shoulder to Aramis. "I figure we need about fifteen thousand," he says. "And that if I take enough fights, I can get us five in a week," he says, eyes bright. "One week a month of fights and it'll only be three months before we can do what we want. That's no time at all!" he insists, hauling himself off the horse without even using his hands -- only his core and his legs swinging around.

"A week of fighting is too much," says Aramis, brow pinched. "Not even under siege at home have you fought close combat for so many days at a time. If you are grievously injured in pursuit of our child - "

Aramis stops and shakes his head. "One fight a week is better. I will take more of those photos to make up the loss."

He purses his lips together because one fight, one day, will earn something, but not enough and it will take longer. He acquiesces with a nod, though, wandering over to help Aramis dismount by extending his arms to the man. "Should we ask if Athos means to want to put his money towards it as well? I'm not sure what the right thing to do there is."

Aramis swings his leg over and drops forward into Porthos' arms, lingering there with both arms wrapped around Porthos' middle. "We may as well ask," he says. "Athos will not think it charity, and he wouldn't like to think of us doing without if he is in a position to help."

Aramis rests their foreheads together. "I have yet to decide how I think he truly feels about us having children."

Porthos is always happy when he's got Aramis close to him and now, he presses his forehead against Aramis', hands around his shoulders as he leans in for the kiss he's been wanting since they set out. "I haven't even broached the subject," he admits, thinking about their recent conversations. "Well, I did once," he admits, and eases back to give Aramis a wary look. "When I might have been having some cold feet about our wedding," he says, a bit wary, but wanting to be honest about what had been spoken about.

Aramis frowns at him, and despite the fact that they are already married and Porthos has yet to leave him, he can't help the spike of unease that makes his heart beat faster.

"When was this?" he asks. "You never said you were having second thoughts." He purses his lips together, hearing himself ask the next question with some horror, "What was it about me?"

"It's not second thoughts about you. It wasn't," he clarifies, because they're gone now. He doesn't have them anymore. He slides his fingers over Aramis' shoulder as he studies him carefully, not meaning to upset him. "I got wrapped up thinking about the fact that you and I have been together a short while compared to others," he admits. "And I guess I started to think that maybe, you'd figure out that I'm not as exciting or beautiful as your former lovers. I worried that I'd be a bad husband or a bad father and you'd stop tolerating me."

"I guess the cold feet was about me worrying that I wouldn't be enough for you," he says. "And then I realized I was being stupid because you'd tell me if that were the case."

Edited 2015-03-04 04:17 (UTC)

"Porthos." Aramis takes both his hands, lifting each to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I meant what I said. My whole life was spent in waiting for the chance to love a man like you." He peers anxiously at him. "You do know now, that I will never tire of you, yes?"

He nods assuringly and his smile is so easy and loving and carefree, knowing that he would never think otherwise. "I know," he promises. "I told you, it was a moment, only that. I know even if I'm the worst father in the world, you'll still love me, and I know I won't be because I'll have you and Athos to guide me." He rubs his hands up and down Aramis' shoulders when he breaks them free of Aramis' hold, staring at him fondly.

"C'mere," he murmurs, drawing him in against the post so he can lazily kiss Aramis, wanting to repair any little cracks his doubt might have made.

"You will not be the worst father," Aramis agrees, an assurance he has given many times, and will not tire of giving until Porthos believes it of himself. He closes his eyes and allows himself to drift in the kiss, comforted by Porthos' warm weight bearing him against the post.

Breaking the kiss after a long moment, Aramis nuzzles at Porthos' jaw before pulling back to look at him. "Was it Athos who put those momentary fears to rest?"

It's a funny thing how small and simple this level of comfort is, but still he clings to it, sliding his large hand over Aramis' back to soothe and steady him, rubbing gentle circles from his shoulders and sliding down to the small of his back, easing him a little closer into his arms. He nods, for the question. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "He promised that I'm more than enough for you, no matter what I'm like in the future."

"Then we started talking about kids, and us having them. And us taking them in," he says.

Aramis smiles, gazing over Porthos' shoulder in the direction of town. He would gladly heap assurances and praise on Porthos every moment of the day, but it is comforting to know that when he is not there, Athos will act in his stead.

"And what did he say of that?" he asks, looking back to Porthos.

Porthos huffs out a breath as he grasps for his things, now, unwilling to let go of Aramis' hand just yet, sliding his fingers over the other man's. "I don't think he really wanted to pay much mind to it," he admits, cautious because he's talking about someone else's thoughts and feelings and he doesn't want to assume. "He sort of...well, he told me I'd be a good father, but he didn't want to talk about it. I don't know if he thinks it's happening as soon as we want it to."

"Perhaps he wanted children with his wife," says Aramis. "Another dream that soured with their marriage. He came around to other things in time," he says, lifting a brow. "Perhaps he'll come around to this as well. If he does not, our infant's first cries will certainly send him screaming into reality."

Porthos hadn't thought of that. It instantly sobers him in a way that has him clasping for Aramis a little harder, grateful that at least they won't have to worry about falling out of love, though that does beg a point of conversation that they haven't talked about. "The infant will send me screaming into reality with the cries," he points out.

He tugs at Aramis' hand as he begins their walk back to the Bramford. "You said something, while you were a woman, about your fears. You were worried you wouldn't be able to give me kids. Was that just you then?" he wonders. "You don't think that's all I want of you, is it? Of us?"

"I still fear that," Aramis admits, "If not in the same way. I know that is not all you want of me, Porthos, but it is what I want to give you. You deserve a family more than any of us."

He brushes his thumb over Porthos' knuckles as they walk. "When I was a woman, I believed Étienne left because he thought I could not bear his children, and the shame of that was..." Aramis trails off with a shake of his head. "It makes me sad for Isabelle, wondering if she felt the same."

"But she left you, you didn't leave her," Porthos is firm and dedicated to reminding him of that little fact. He keeps Aramis close by drawing him in every time he gets the opportunity, a worried look on his face as if Aramis might forget that. "You wanted that family, more than anything. And it's part of why I want to give it to you now," he swears. "Because you deserve it." He lifts his knuckles to nuzzle them and brush kisses there.

"Besides, I've told you. You're my family. No matter how many or how few we add, I'll be happy."

In truth, Aramis thinks that must be part of why she left, to give him the opportunity to try again with another, but the thought lies too sour in his gut to dwell on long. He smiles sadly at Porthos, shoulders lightening for the reminder that his life is different now, and infinitely better. "I will be happy, too," he promises. "Permit me some greed, hmm? I want us to have it all."

Porthos grins as he tugs Aramis in sharply against his side, watching the way he crashes in. "Talk to me about your greed," he coaxes. "Won't you? I want to hear all about your greedy happy future while we're walking back."

Aramis laughs, throwing an arm around Porthos' waist to balance himself. "Our perfect children?" he asks. "In my heart, there is one of my blood, and one of yours. Both girls, I think. If we manage a third, a boy," Aramis muses. "And our found family - the children without homes, I do not know what to expect of them yet, but they will be happy." Aramis squeezes Porthos' side. "We will make them so."

Porthos grins as he thinks of their children. He would enjoy, so much, to have children that look like Aramis running underfoot, bringing him the kind of happiness he had always seen in others. Other people with their happy families, their happy lives. "Ana Lucia, another girl, a boy, and our foundlings," he laughs happily. "Athos is going to lose his mind," he jokes.

"Any child of ours is going to be ridiculously attractive," he vows with a low laugh. "God, Aramis, what are we going to do when everyone realizes our progeny is the best looking thing around?"

"The very opposite of what is happening now," Aramis laughs. "Anxious couples will flock to us, begging for our exceedingly handsome blood. It is well the girls will live out in the country - only the most energetic of suitors will make it out this far."

His gaze grows thoughtful. "Very easy to pick off from the kitchen windows."

Porthos' stomach swoops to think of sitting on a chaise with Aramis and Athos lingering above them, staring down at their childrens' suitors as they try and win their hearts. It's something he has no earthly idea how to imagine or cope with, but he finds he wants it with all of his heart and soul. "We won't need pistols," he murmurs, turning to kiss Aramis' nose and grin against his lips.

"We'll just set Athos to glaring at them. It ought to do the trick."

"They will drop dead on the spot," Aramis agrees, shaking his head with a smile. "We will have to broach the subject with him again," he sighs. "Before we begin with the search for a surrogate. He'll know we are up to something, and we might as well prepare him early."

"We still need to find a lawyer," he says, his expression weighed down with concern over all the things that require money and could go wrong. "I'd like to have that in place before we go to the agency and start with the interviews." And oh, how he's worried about that, how he thinks they won't find anyone they like or anyone close enough and now that Aramis has teased and teased about their child, he's not sure he could accept anything less.

"So many steps, so many people to talk to." Strangely, it is Athos he fears speaking with most of all, if only because a part of Aramis still fears he will call them foolish. They are fools, and frequently, but they have found their way through so much - they will find their way through this, too.

Aramis slides a glance at Porthos. "Do you want to just steal one?"

Porthos barks out a laugh, eyes widening as he stares at Aramis, weighing whether he's joking or being serious and he does hope this is just a joke. "My days of thieving are over, darling," he deadpans wryly. "If I can't even take coin now without feeling guilty, I don't think I could manage a whole child."

Aramis laughs, too, pleased that they are able to, that they are in this together. Porthos will not allow Aramis to pine, and Aramis will not allow him to hurt himself to speed the process. It will not be easy, but they will look after each other.

"They are rather bulky," he agrees. "I could pretend your cooking has finally fattened me up, and spirit one away beneath my shirt."

"If ever you got to the point where you thought I was actually damaging your waistline, I'd hear about how we have to switch to nothing but broths and vapours," he jokes knowingly, arching his brow upwards as if making his point. "Or, we could save our money much more and make it a priority to have our petit chou faster than we might have planned."

"It could be tomorrow," says Aramis, "And I would still be ready." He curls his arm around Porthos to chase away the ache of empty arms, pressing his chilled nose into the crook of his neck. "Let us begin with a lawyer," he says. "Then we will know precisely what we must save, and decide if a house is feasible in the near future at all."

Porthos curls into Aramis' touch, helping by sliding his arm around his waist, bowing his head so he can brush kisses to the top of his hair. "We'll need the lawyer for the house," he says. "It was sort of nice, wasn't it. That last one," he clarifies. Now, with a little distance, he's able to ignore the falling beams and think on other things. "A bit of wine, lots of rooms, and I really did like that porch," he admits, a touch wistful.

"The porch was perfect," says Aramis, just as dreamily. He has already envisioned their entire lives there - it will be difficult, now, to let that dream go. "As was the land." He takes a deep breath. "We will simply have to gather the life we want in pieces. One day it will all come together."

Porthos thinks he'd like to put in a swing. Something he can pile blankets on and sit on to read, to rock the children to sleep, or just curl up with Aramis, kissing him for hours until the sun sets and their bottles of wine are empty. "We'll have to build a stable, of course," he says, thinking of it. "And maybe a little space, where the kids can roam free and run around."

"Maybe even a range out back, for target practice? Or a gym inside the barn to spar."