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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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?"

Porthos bears in a little more for the encouragement, his lips curving up sweetly with delight. "You could look to me for inspiration," he suggests, knowing he isn't wearing much at all. He grins, his dimples showing as he knows that his problems still await, but right now he enjoys this little escape in their bubble.

Drifting closer, he turns them so it's Porthos' back up against the mast. "Are you a forward pretty thing, then?" he wonders. "You'll have to be, to survive at sea."

"That is not how it is done in the Navy," Aramis exhales, drawn towards Porthos as he is invited to examine him, and he knows he'd never look half as good in trousers like that. "One is not forward about anything, unless invited by the Captain."

He smiles a little, wondering if he would look ridiculous with smudges of coal. "I do not even like to go barefoot on deck. What is wrong with my jacket?"

"You can still wear boots," he promises, because he's never given up his own and wouldn't dare. He smirks as he lingers closer to the man, as if invited. Sneaking the flask of rum away from him, he grins mischievously at him, starting to snag his fingers on that jacket to pry it off. "You're probably pale as anything under there. Anyone would know you as Navy," he tuts.

"You will soon see, if you don't stop," Aramis murmurs, watching Porthos' throat work against the rum. His uniform feels too hot now, despite the breeze, and is beginning to grow a touch tight. This is forbidden - he's told himself time and again, trying to avoid a court martial, but he can't seem to stop his roving eyes. Nor his desires. "And if you don't stop, I might be able to, either."

Porthos keeps going, brazenly popping off the next brass button and sharing a look that says he's apologetic and yet so very not about it at the same time. He leans in slowly, lips perilously close to Aramis', but he lingers and doesn't kiss him just yet. It wouldn't do to rush this. "I don't want to stop," he admits. "Let me have one last joy and victory before I have to leave the Parisian ports."

"You speak of me as if I were spoils," replies Aramis, unable to suppress a shiver. Without Porthos' vest, there is nothing to grab hold of, nothing to cling to but leagues of smooth, dark skin. He cannot quite bring himself to take what he so desperately longs for, knowing that if he does, his fate is sealed, but Aramis drags his nose against Porthos'. "Booty, I believe you call it."

Porthos' eyes have been shut for some time, intoxicated by the man before him and the confession that he's like Porthos. Except, on the high seas, no one gives a damn what you do and who you do it with. Leaning in that last bit, he kisses the Navy man, with more sweetness and gentleness than he might have otherwise, letting out a whined moan as he raises his hands, but lets them fall before they grasp anything.

Aramis trembles, hands reaching up to clasp Porthos' face and hold him to him. Remembering that this version of him is not as practiced as the other, he lets need drive him, kissing Porthos hungrily and without art, just as he might if starved for this for ages at sea. "Porthos," Aramis pants, pained and seeking, but he isn't yet certain what for, only that they must be closer. Curling an arm around Porthos' neck, Aramis keens into his mouth.

Porthos takes that as a sign and as invitation to plunder and pillage where he's been gentle before. Now, he grabs hold of the lapels of Aramis' coat and pins him to the mast again, darting forward as if to clamber and climb him, eagerly seeking him out. He shoves the jacket aside, now, off as he peels it away. The sun is gleaming on Porthos' skin, now, making him sweat and shine, his tattoo even brighter.

He leans in for another desperate kiss before he eases back to start working at those trousers, a heady look in his eye. "I'll show you pleasure," he promises. "Let me?"

Aramis knows this is a game, but lit up like the sun as he is, skin and curls gleaming, eyes burning behind their kohl, Porthos looks otherworldly, a temptation Aramis can't help but break to. "Please," he says fervently, hands gripping at Porthos' hips. He is thankful for the mast, holding him upright when he wants to reel, and it is not hard to be the man desperate for more of Porthos' touch. Aramis catches Porthos' chin, staring helplessly at his mouth. "What will you do?"

Porthos rolls his hips up into Aramis' body, grinning as he bears in for a heated, brand of a kiss. He slides in against him before he begins to sink, fumbling with brass buttons as he rests on his knees on the swaying deck. "Have you ever had this done to you?" he asks, palming heatedly and broad.

Aramis groans aloud, unable to help himself thrusting forward. "Once," he admits, laying his hands on Porthos' shoulders to keep himself steady. "Not nearly often enough. It is difficult to find privacy in my line of work." He cups Porthos' cheek again, watching his own thumb shift to press at Porthos' mouth. "Your lips are so full. You hardly seem real."

Porthos is pleased for his full lips right now, especially if it gets him this much affection and attention. He cocks his brow upwards, gesturing to the empty ship around them as he mouths at the fabric of the tenting trousers before him, eager to continue in his work. "Then let me show you what I can do," he suggests. "And then I'll bring you back to the docks, citing that I found you at sea, hmm?"

He takes care not to rip open Aramis' trousers, though he desperately wants to. He has to stick to the narrative, after all.

Porthos must not, Aramis knows that, just as he's beginning to suspect that once he and Porthos have their fill of one another in this manner, there will be no parting ways. "Don't speak of that now," he says, for he can't bear the thought of Porthos in danger.

He can feel the brush of Porthos' fingers below, and soon he will be bared to light, to Porthos, and Aramis pants like an unskilled youth, but he can't help himself when Porthos' lips are so hot against his fingertips. He pulls them away, curling them around the back of Porthos' neck instead. "Please show me."