du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

With Aramis' birthday around the corner, Porthos has taken to doing a great deal of shopping. Who'd have known it would take so very long to find a proper Naval Officer's uniform in the exact blue he's after. He finds it, though, with only a few days to spare. When Aramis' birthday is actually upon them, he sets the outfit on the bed and makes himself scarce while Aramis is in the shower, leaving a note that informs Aramis he's to wear it and then he's to go to a little shop on the outskirts of town near the docks in order to pick up some office supplies.

For Porthos' part, he's done up his nails in black varnish and smeared his eyes with kohl, changing out his normal earring for something a touch gaudier. The bandanna is tied up and he's wearing only a leather vest over nothing at all (and though Porthos had debated piercing a nipple, he hadn't gone quite that far, though he did buy a clip-on). Leather trousers from the shoot and his own thick boots finish the appearance, along with his sword affixed to his belt.

He whistles as he wanders through town with the rest of the supplies he needs. There's a boat in a slip waiting for them and all he needs is his pretty young lieutenant prince to kidnap.

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Aramis cannot help the bark of laughter that escapes him when he exits the bathroom, still dripping in his towel. There is a suit on the bed, and Aramis hardly needs to read the note to know it's for him. He dries himself quickly, still taking time with his hair before he pulls at it, tying it back on a whim. It will fit better beneath the hat, meant to be navy if he is not mistaken.

Examining the suit, he pulls it all on, bemoaning the lack of stockings beneath the breeches, but he has something for that, does he not? Smirking, Aramis makes an addition of his own to the uniform. It looks very good, and he nearly breaks something in his haste to leave the apartment.

It is not a long ways to the docks, yet it certainly feels it. Aramis smiles, though, tipping his hat to every questioning eye he passes, and earns more than a few giggles and smiles. A little giddy with it, Aramis is still beaming when he enters the marina, looking down at the note for what it is he's meant to find.

Porthos has been waiting since the morning, chomping on an apple while he leans his weight up against the nearest barrel. He's tried his best to do this as privately as he can, luring Aramis down to the docks where they can easily get onto the boat and from there, Porthos means to take them out onto the bay where they won't be disturbed (and the boat is equipped with supplies, spare clothes, alcohol, and food). He brightens up when he sees Aramis in his navy suit, the brocade and blue of the jacket a fine thing on Aramis' skin.

Easing through the crowd, Porthos melts into it, embarking on old thief skills as he slides across Aramis to unhook his wallet and swords belt, prying each to himself as he wordlessly slides a dark bag over Aramis' head, using the sword belt to tie Aramis' hands behind his back. Using the roughest English he's ever heard, he mutters 'walk,' and tries to disguise his voice as he has the rest of him (even his scent, tempered with rum and the sea).

Aramis is still smiling like a fool when his sword belt falls away, but before he can even look down there is something pulled over his head, obscuring all but the faintest light. He gives a shout, reaching for a gun that is not there, but then his hands are trapped, too, caught against unyielding leather.

He goes stock still at the sudden voice in his ear, mind rushing wildly. It sounds as if it could be Porthos, and the fingers were certainly fast enough. It is hard to tell within the bag, but Aramis doesn't think he much smells like Porthos, nor is he gentle at all.

Deciding to walk and discover more, Aramis attempts to move smoothly into motion, yelping a little when his boots catch an uneven plank below. "Perhaps you might tell me what this is about," he tries as he recovers.

Unable to help himself, Porthos gropes Aramis' arse as he 'helps' him up onto the sloop, binding him to the mast with thick ropes around his legs and chest. The arms, he unties, only long enough to retie them in front of his body before Porthos begins his work. The plank is hauled aboard and he begins to work on the sails of the small vessel, easing them out into the bay with a little work.

Only when he's done and they're far away from land does Porthos return, hand on the bag (but not prying it off just yet). "Pretty little prince like you doesn't come along every day, poppet," he murmurs, stroking his index finger over Aramis' chest. "And I'm in need of a ransom figure."

He is tied - tied - to something large and round, his protests and queries soundly ignored, and then he is left for long moments while the floor pitches and heaves beneath them.

An infernal length of time later, Aramis does not need to fake his ire, snapping at that roving finger from beneath the hood. It must be Porthos. No one else would mistake him for being a figure of worth, not unless they know of their suddenly large bank account.

Aramis furrows his brow beneath the hood, a little uncertain yet, even if he knows in his heart this must be Porthos. "What makes you think anyone will pay you?" he asks, lifting his chin. "His Majesty's Navy does not negotiate with brigands."

Edited 2015-04-21 04:11 (UTC)

Porthos' laugh is going to give him away, but it's about time. He lets the rude, rolling thing pass over his lips as he yanks off the hood, prying his bandanna from his oil-soaked gleaming curls to give Aramis a pointed look as he holds it up in the air. "If you're not good, I'll gag you," he warns, tucking it into the belt of his leather trousers as he drags over a barrel and sets it opposite Aramis as he sits down on it.

"And they'll pay for you, my pretty little prince," he assures. "You're important, after all. Skilled with a shot, talented linguist, and the prettiest man to ever wear those trousers. I've heard rumours of you and your captain," he says salaciously with a wink, which shows off his painted eyes all the more.

Aramis squints into the sudden light, his eyes widening as they adjust. With kohl-blacked eyes and a gaudy earring, Porthos looks the role. Aramis' gaze rakes over his clothing, the jewelry in his chest that he doesn't even know if it is real or false, those leathers and that smirking, salty wink.

Aramis flushes despite himself, for a moment looking precisely his role, and opens his mouth a few times as he takes in the distance to land beyond Porthos. By God, they are actually out in the water, and he doesn't need to engineer the faint tremor that goes through him. "Whatever you have heard," he says with a swallow, "I assure you it is not true." Inspired, Aramis looks a touch regretful, pining for the Captain who has yet to notice him in this way. "No one will pay you. You'd best leave your game and turn for shore."

Porthos raises his brow, snorting. "No? Because I've noticed his pretty blue eyes," he murmurs. "Thought about them plenty of nights when I'm docked in port and you aren't the one occupying my thoughts," he says, getting close enough to work at his hands. "You walk around the docks without knowing you're the prettiest thing there, I think," he admits, working at the knots. "I'm going to untie you, but if you shout, you get tied again. If you try to escape, same thing," he warns.

"Thing is, your King has been asking for more taxes," Porthos denotes with disdain. "Especially for those with my skin. So I need the money and I thought, with your reputation, you might be kind enough to help. And if you're not, then someone will want you back."

Blue eyes. Aramis colors all over again when he realizes who the pirate must mean, his face for a moment transfixed with true longing. A quick glance around the boat confirms that Athos is not here, and Aramis stands a little straighter.

"Don't speak of him that way," he says sharply, forcing himself not to draw back when Porthos comes forward to undo his hands. "You've kidnapped me, tied me up, steal from the ships I am meant to protect - tell me, why should I want to help you?"

Porthos gives him a long look as he swallows back the pride he feels, trying not to let it show. "Because they're going to kill me otherwise and you're..." He lets out a sharp sound, digging out his knife to undo the ties. "You're my last chance, okay?" He exhales longly as he stares at him. "I suppose I thought I saw you staring at pirates in the port, coming in. I must have made that up," he says, settling on the barrel. "And I don't steal from your ships," he growls.

"Not unless you carry slaves."

"Never," Aramis hisses. "We do not lack in honor, and we certainly do not lack in humanity, monsieur." He is softened despite himself, however, by the way his pirate slumps atop the barrel, watching him with sadder eyes than ought to be lined by kohl.

Aramis pulls at the last of the ropes that bind him, stepping away from the mast to rub at his wrists. Still, he keeps a wary eye. "What have you done, then, to earn death?"

Porthos laughs derisively and knows that his next words are depressing because of how close they are to the truth. "I freed slaves from the governments that wanted them to work their land, and ruined their economic prospects," he says, spitting out the words. "And I'm a dark-skinned pirate. Porthos, the pirate," he introduces himself, wondering if his reputation precedes him. "You always seemed to have connection. I figured if I snatched you and sailed you around, they'd pay to have you back."

"I never meant to harm you," he promises. "Tying you up was as far as I'd planned. I'm not a very good pirate, sometimes," he confesses. "If it weren't for the gold I bring in and my quick fingers, my crew might abandon me."

"Lieutenant de vaisseau d'Herblay," Aramis answers, "But perhaps you know that." As a seaman, it will not do to look afraid of the water, so Aramis stays well clear of it, perching himself mid-way up the small set of stairs opposite the mast.

Shaking his head, Aramis replaces the hat he'd lost, feeling better with it atop his bound hair. He studies Porthos from his perch. "You haven't harmed me," he says. "Believe me, I've had worse when bound. And - the law is worth fighting for, but it can be wrong," he allows. "Towards slavery in particular."

Porthos has set down anchor so that the sloop only sways with the waves. He's made sure to keep them away from the onslaught of the current as best as he can, but he's still cautious about whether Aramis looks fine to continue on. He sets his hands between his legs, pitched forward as he keeps his intent gaze on Aramis. "So, you'll help?" he asks hopefully. "Find me some way of earning a few coins? I'd do anything for it," he vows. "Really," he says, his look extremely serious.

"Anything at all."

The way Porthos says that makes Aramis' mind rush immediately to unclean acts, and he lowers his gaze, cheeks burning for the thought of both engaging in those with Porthos, and for the thought of the man selling himself. Pirate or no, no man deserves that.

"Take care with that offer, monsieur," he says. "Lesser men may twist it." Still, he does not like to think of Porthos suffering for a valiant act. "You have kidnapped me," he says at length. "Perhaps I could say it was another, that you rescued me. It might be enough to earn a pardon."

"A letter of marque," Porthos huffs out the words, the dream every pirate has as he thinks of what it would be like to sail without fear of being arrested and hung at any point in time. He shifts to pry off his vest when the sun beats down on the waves and warms him, but he doesn't pay attention to d'Herblay's comment for lesser men. "If you wanted that of me, I'd give it to you before breathing," he admits. "I find you so very gorgeous," he confesses.

"I do my own watching, at the docks. I see how you are with people." He breathes out deeply and gives the land a long look. "I didn't think. I saw you and reacted instantly, but it's wrong. It's all wrong, I need to take you back," he insists.

"It's too late for that," Aramis murmurs, watching Porthos with wide eyes. He'll not trade favors for sex, but Porthos' words put a rush to his blood, speaking of acts he's thought many times of doing with his Captain but never has, or filthier still, for Porthos is surely a man of the world.

"I was to meet my Captain," he says. "I'll already have been missed - what's done is done. If you have a better plan that pretending at my rescue, I'd like to hear it."

Porthos chastises himself for his hastiness, wishing he could take it back, but knows what's done is done. "I'll drop you off at port and make for the Black Sea, maybe the Aegean," he suggests. "No one will run the slave-ships ashore, but I'll be alive," he says, as if he's trying to convince himself. His gaze slides over Aramis, head to toe, and knows that the vision he's been watching for months, nearly years, will haunt him.

He heads for the anchor to start hauling it up. "Only a shame I didn't do the right thing and buy you a drink instead of kidnapping you, but this was a bit quicker." He nods to the flask as he starts to haul, sweat trickling over his bare chest while the muscles in his arms and shoulders work. "There's rum there, if you'd like."

Watching Porthos with the anchor chain, Aramis finds he very much would like, and goes for the rum at once. He feels rather daring, drinking it right from the bottle.

"Your crew is not here," he points out, trying and failing to feel elated about returning home. "How fast could you sail? Porthos." Stepping near to him, but well away from the railings, Aramis frowns. "Please don't run."

"No, I didn't want to involve them in this, especially since I knew it might be trouble, deep down," he says, breathing a little sharper for the proximity of the man next to him. "If I'm going to exile, there's only one thing I really want and normally, I'd just take it, but I've already abused you enough." His eyes slide down to Aramis' lower lip, staring at it fondly.

"Maybe I didn't just take you because of the money. Maybe I just wanted a way to meet you, as stupid as this way of it was."

"You'd have been arrested on sight," says Aramis, watching the heave of Porthos' broad shoulders. How strong they must be, bent to tasks such as these all day.

"But not by me. Please, Porthos, you haven't roughed me up. I understand your motives." Aramis swallows, unable to stop himself wetting his lips when Porthos is staring at them that way. "I want you to be safe. How - how long would it take you to sail if there were two of us?"

Porthos' face turns gentle with the smile, but he stops with the anchor, feeling it hit the wet sand through the lack of tension in the line before he returns to Aramis. "I could never take you away from that Captain of yours. Those beautiful blue eyes of his, the way he speaks so dryly," he says, a bit enamored (and embarrassed) for it. It won't do for a pirate to have developed a crush on two Navy men, and yet here he is.

He shifts closer to Aramis, one of his large hands resting on those breeches as he drifts in. "I won't take this until you say yes," he growls, "but I've wanted to since I saw you come in with your ship, wet and sopping and giddy that fall day all those months ago."

Aramis smiles faintly, as if remembering the day. "Would that they could all be so happy," he says, looking away from Porthos for a moment.

"The truth is, I may not be a free man much longer. The rumor mill is a dangerous thing for men of - " Aramis pauses, looking at Porthos as if drinking from a well he doesn't dare to tap. "For men like me. My Captain may not be able to protect me much longer."

Porthos feels the eyes on him and he flushes, hard. "What about your Captain?" he asks. "Does he want to run away, too?" he wonders, swallowing back his fear. He drifts closer and rubs his palm over Aramis' waist slowly, back and forth. "I'd protect you, if I could," he vows, eyes flashing with it. "Even if you could never dare to dress like that on my vessel."

Aramis closes his eyes, unable to open them while Porthos is touching him so sweetly. It is everything he has wanted and barely dared to take, and something tells him this is only the beginning, or could be, if he dared to begin it.

"He will not abandon his duty," he says, "Even if he were like us." Almost unbidden, his hand closes over Porthos', thumb rubbing at his knuckles. "How would I dress, then?"