du_vallon | (no subject)

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The day it hits Porthos, it all comes into the clear. The money in his account doesn't have to be a payoff. It doesn't have to be wasted. It can used for the thing he and Aramis have been wanting, but also for what Porthos wants. That's the day he makes his first donation to the Darrow Orphanage (it's got a fancier name, but Porthos calls it the way he sees it) and then goes to begin a laundry list of items.

There are a dozen roses, chocolates, and wine in hand for when he goes home to Aramis, an apology for being so stubborn and muleheaded and not letting Aramis and Athos convince him to spend the money like he should have. He drapes his coat over the chair when he lets himself in the flat, petting Captain on the head as he balances the wrapped roses in his arms. He listens for the shuffle of Aramis' feet in the bedroom before getting down on his knees, arms outstretched with his gifts in them so Aramis will come and find him like this, prostrate and apologetic.

"Chou, come in here for a second," Porthos coaxes. "We've got something to talk about."

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Propped over a magazine he has not mustered the attention to read in long minutes, Aramis looks away from his vision board and towards the door, smiling faintly when he hears Porthos call him. "That sounds serious," he says, rolling off the bed to pad barefoot into the living room.

He nearly goes to his own knees to see Porthos all but prone, his panic staved off only by the flowers and wine in his hands. "What's happened?" Aramis asks, recovering his smile, brow furrowed as he approaches. He's not missed an anniversary, he's certain of that, and trails his fingers against the soft petals of the roses. "These are lovely."

Porthos had bought the nicest he could find, that first little vault over his issue in spending the money. Once he'd seen the larger sum leave the account in order to pay for the month of food and beds and activities, extravagant roses hadn't seemed a trouble at all. Maybe that helped. He grins as he leans onto one knee and presents out his gifts. "They're apology flowers, for being a stubborn arse," he admits.

"And wine, and your favourite chocolates."

"I like any chocolate you buy me," Aramis says with a small laugh, but he takes the box, realizing that he does like these hazelnut chocolates in particular. He raises a brow. "Are we to pretend you are not always stubborn?" he asks. "These are all wonderful, Porthos, but what is the occasion?"

"These are from the same shop that did our honeymoon ones," Porthos says, crawling to his feet to poke at the box, finding a vase for their flowers so that he can arrange them properly, wanting to remember this day because this is a big day, now. Now that Porthos is willing to spend the money, this is the first day in knowing, actually knowing, that they can start having kids.

"I went to the shelter today," he says, sitting on the chaise and beckoning Aramis closer with a pat on his knee.

"You've adopted them all, haven't you?" asks Aramis, only half joking as he sets aside the wine. He boggles a touch at it - Porthos is given to extravagance now and then, but this wine would make even Athos pale.

Turning to Porthos, Aramis curls himself in atop his knee and cards his fingers through Porthos' hair. "What's happened?"

Porthos laughs warmly as he wraps his arm around Aramis' waist and leans into the touch to his hair with a happy little moan. "Don't joke. There was a boy there, all of six and barely fed, and if he didn't have family in town that sometimes neglected him, I might have snuck him under my cloak," he murmurs. "I went to the shelter to make the first of what's going to be a lot of donations. I'm hoping to give money every month, because that's what money should do. Even money that might be from my erstwhile father."

"Money should do good," Porthos says firmly. "So I'm putting it all in an account. Twenty-five percent of it will always go to the shelter, or to other causes that need it."

"A large sum," says Aramis, and as much as he'd held out hope the money might be used for their own family, he can hardly fault the children Porthos seeks to help. He ducks his head, but smiles when he lifts it, spreading his fingers against Porthos' chest.

"I would expect no less from this heart of yours," he says sincerely. "Those children are fortunate you were whisked away to this place, Porthos."

Porthos gives Aramis a questioning look as he ducks his head down to catch Aramis' gaze, clasping his chin to hold him in place as he leans up for a kiss. "When did you get so bad at numbers?" he wonders. "I mean, I know I was self-taught, but I shouldn't be that much better than you," he points out, though he's already brimming with warmth to think of his money doing good.

"Twenty five percent means seventy five is left," he says.

Aramis' fingers tremble against Porthos' chest. Seventy-five percent is left, yes, but Porthos has been so against spending it. It is no surprise that orphans could change his mind, but even with the roses and wine and the celebratory air, Aramis cannot bear to hope. He has wanted family for so long, has been through so many highs and expectations, only to see them dashed. It will be too devastating if he is wrong, and he clears his throat, voice uneven when he asks, "What will you do with it?"

Porthos reaches for Aramis' fingers to twine them together with his, stroking them slowly as he gently eases them to rest just over Aramis' heart, hearing the fast beat of it. "Chou, do you really have to ask me that, when you know I'm ready to spend the money?" he wonders, even if he knows he'll tell him. "I'm going to spend it on our family. Our home."

Aramis gives a half-sob before he can stop himself, the sound punched from him by words he has wanted to hear for so long. He feels afire, or doused in ice, as overwhelmed by Porthos as he had been when he first proposed, and he rests their foreheads together in an attempt to get a hold of himself. "Truly, Porthos?" he asks, though he knows Porthos would not lie. Aramis simply wants to hear it again. "Now?"

Porthos curls into Aramis that much tighter, always drawn to Aramis with the affection shown so outwardly. He wants to share in it and bask in it. Cupping Aramis' cheek, he leans in to press his lips to Aramis' forehead, down over his cheeks, and then to his lips. "I've decided that if De Foix means to leave me money, then I'll do what's right by it. I'll give some of it away and use the rest to start our family," he says firmly, "and help provide a home. If he meant to pay me off, then I'll spite him with our happiness. And if he meant to make a lifetime up to me, I ought to build a lifetime."

It is a beautiful sentiment, one whose symmetry and poetry Aramis would marvel at if he were not preoccupied with clutching at Porthos, following his mouth with his own and kissing his cheeks, eyelids, and brow in turn. "We may start," he says, eyes wet when he laughs and kisses Porthos again, tears slipping over as his cheeks crease. "Thank you, Porthos," he exhales, leaning back to marvel at him. "You are giving me everything."

Porthos soaks up every inch of affection greedily and happily, leaning into the kisses and parting his lips for a proper kiss when Aramis gets close enough. "Only because it's everything I want, too," he promises, heart pounding as he thinks about how this is no longer a dream they both have. It's reality. "With that sum, we've got the money to easily pay for a bit of the house and the first steps of the surrogacy," he says. "Aramis, we won't be in debt and we're ready, financially."

Hands curled in Porthos' shirt, Aramis attempts to drag him closer, but there is nowhere else to go. "We're ready," he says, "We may start. Mon dieu, Porthos, we may call for an appointment right now." If his hands could operate a phone at the moment, Aramis likely already would be. "I can hardly believe it."

Porthos is already pressed so intimately tight to Aramis, nudging at his nose to breathe him in happily. "You can let go of me anytime you like, dear," he deadpans with a fond smile, because his heart is bursting and aching with the reality. "We can start anytime, have an appointment, pick our surrogate and interview her."

Aramis hushes him, or tries, for it is difficult when he cannot stop smiling. "It is not every day I learn I am finally to be a father," he says, and thank heavens for the wine. Few other things could settle Aramis' nerves right now.

"As fine as your gifts are," he says, "Next time bring something I can drink right from the bottle, for it seems impossible to rise and fetch glasses just now."

"Everything can be drank from the bottle," Porthos promises, but he knows he has to open it. He leans in to kiss Aramis so firmly that he pushes him back against the cushions, grinning as he nuzzles his neck and settles him into his arms so he can pick him up, carrying him to the kitchen and setting Aramis atop the counter so that he can keep him close as he uncorks the wine and pours them glasses.

The chocolates, he opens and extends out as a token. "Hopefully, in just a short while, we'll be keeping wine from our little one, who wants to know what the red stuff her Papa is drinking."

Aramis laughs, more than content to be carted about wherever Porthos wishes. He reaches for the wine first, swallowing a gulp that's far too large for its fineness, and marvels a little when it does not sting his eyes at all. He takes another drink and reaches for the chocolates, pulling Porthos to him by the hand as he does so.

"And one drink will send us to bed," he says with that same, unwavering grin. "When did you decide? This morning?"

Porthos slings his arm around Aramis' waist while stepping in between his legs with a comfortable smirk on his face, happy to be so close to Aramis while they talk of such happy things. "I doubt one drink will ever send me anywhere," he says, draping his other arm with the wine in it around Aramis' neck as he kisses him slowly. "Yeah, this morning. I did my volunteer shift at the hospital, saw the babes, and I just...I wondered why I was letting my stubbornness ruin our future."

"You could never ruin it," says Aramis, stubbornly defending Porthos when it is not the point. "But I am glad it led to this. I love that you work there. I love that you began with the babes for me, I love that you fell in love with them, too." Aramis laughs, ineloquent in his joy. "I love you. My God, cariño, I don't know how I will ever make you as happy as you have made me today."

Porthos wants to be recording every moment of this with a camera or something, but he doesn't want to move away from Aramis, which puts him in a bit of a predicament, he'll admit. "You made me this happy the day you sat here with your legs just a little too wide and looked at me like I might be the answer to your prayers," he admits, confesses. "Aramis, you already made me this happy. You did it ages ago."

"Then it is a wonder you do not burst every day," Aramis tells him, shifting a leg up against his hip. "For I feel I might. I want the first to be a girl," he says in a rush. "If it is a boy I know I will suddenly wonder that I ever wanted otherwise, but now I want a baby girl."

"Even in my limited knowledge of how these things work, Aramis, I know that you don't get to just decide like that," Porthos says wryly, He feels his heart beating ever harder, always faster, and he thinks that he might faint were it not for the way he's leaning into Aramis. "You'll give her all the love in the world, won't you? I'll have to start competing for anything."

"I'll love you both," says Aramis, curling a palm against Porthos' flushed cheek. He is deliriously happy just to think on it, Aramis can only imagine how it will feel when they hold their child at last. "Between the two of you I truly will burst."

He sighs, eyes going distant for a moment until he laughs. "It won't be me interrupting your yoga anymore."