du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

Porthos had lost his shirt ages ago. On purpose, at least, but the humidity has been killing him and in combination with the hard physical labour he's been after, it all boils together to become one very big bad idea to be too clothed. He keeps the shorts on, mainly because they're loose and breath and he needs something to protect him from too many splinters. He keeps prying off the ridiculous hat Aramis had foisted on him, mopping up his sweaty face and curls with his t-shirt, exhausted but knowing this is saving them money.

It just seems silly to pay someone to move the beams out of the rooms when Porthos has two working arms. That said, after two hours of labour and getting the wood to the yard for pick-up, he's beginning to think he ought to take on a side job and just pay for it. Ducking to pick up a bottle of water, he only drinks half before he douses himself with it, giving Aramis a suspicious look.

"You'd better not be lifting too much," he warns, still anxious even though it's been weeks since the hospital stay. "I'm gonna be cross if you throw out your back."

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"Of course not," Aramis answers, lifting his own hat to drag a hand through his sweaty hair. He grimaces in distaste, looking not for the first time out towards the pond. He has left his clothes on - however much he enjoys a bit of marking up in the bedroom, he'd rather not receive any from a plank of wood, and Aramis feels truly foul with sweat.

"I've let you have all the heavy ones," he lies brazenly, for he's been just as concerned with Porthos throwing out his knees or back. "Surely we are done now?"

Porthos follows Aramis' gaze to the pond, unable to stop his small sound of yearning for the water that looks so cool and inviting. He's hardly brought anything to swim in, but he's so hot and overworked at the moment that he doesn't think he needs anything at all. "There's a bit left in a few more rooms, but I don't think I can muster up any more for the day. I'm riddled in dust," he says with disgust.

From one look at Aramis, he knows he's not alone in that.

"We needn't do it all at once," Aramis reminds him. There's no sense in Porthos wearing himself out, when apparently this will all take an age no matter what they do. He plucks at his shirt, finally giving into the urge to tug it over his head.

"We ought to clean up before he head home," he says, shaking his hair so that it at least unmats from his skull, and turns to smile at Porthos. Raising a brow, Aramis nods towards the pond.

"It's easier if we want to get the workers in to start doing repairs," Porthos replies, groaning as he collapses down on the blanket of things he'd brought with them, knowing he doesn't want to touch the food until his hands are clean. He gives Aramis a curious smile, then glances to the pond. "This seems like a trick," he says suspiciously. "You, willingly going into the water?"

"I can see its beginning and its end," laughs Aramis, "Which makes it a damn sight less intimidating than the ocean. Besides." He sticks his thumbs in the sticky hem of his trousers and pulls them down next. "I can't feel like this a moment more. Will you be joining me?"

Porthos grins as he wanders to the shore's edge, knowing they have only the blanket and a few small towels and drying off is going to be hell, but he doesn't honestly have it in him to protest. He stands at the edge of the water, bending over to pry off the heavy boots he's been wearing, socks going next.

"Am I joining you or throwing you in?" Porthos asks warmly.

"If you throw me in I'll throw your clothes in as well," Aramis warns him. He strips off his boots and socks and finally his boxers, striding into the water before Porthos can have any more ideas. He means to go slowly and tease him, but the instant the cool water hits Aramis' flesh he can't help but rush forward, diving beneath the surface as soon as it's waist high.

Porthos grins as he dips his toe in, waiting for Aramis to surface again. "If you throw my clothes in, I walk home naked," he challenges, which might get them a little more attention than they're used to. He strips off his shorts, no underwear, and kicks them far, far away before he charges into the pond, causing waves and a great deal of splashing as he sprints for Aramis, tackling him and letting the water absorb most of the force.

Startled by the thunder of Porthos' approach, Aramis does his best to scramble out of the way, but the water catches at his legs and makes them slow, and all he can do is yelp as Porthos' arms envelop him.

"Well," he sputters, holding himself upright with both arms thrown around Porthos' neck. "At least it is not saltwater."

Porthos grins as he guides Aramis' legs around his waist, wading just a touch deeper (as deep as the little pond goes, really) and holds onto him tightly as he sinks down so they're covered to the shoulders in blissfully cool water that fights off the heat. "Who knows what sort of gunk is in here, but better than the Seine, and I've taken a dip or two in that," he admits, thinking of those days as a child. "Never without a rope, though. I always feared drowning."

"Only wise," Aramis tells him, "Rivers are unpredictable." He happily clings to Porthos in the water, letting his body relax as it begins to cool at last. "This is quite a sacrifice, cariño," he murmurs, resting his forehead on Porthos' shoulder. "Putting your feet in the gunk while I float above."

"I like you in my arms," he admits, which shouldn't be such a quiet thing, but ends up being so. He knows he shouldn't treat either Aramis or Athos like women, but there's something simple and calm and good about being able to bring them in like this and hold onto them so tightly. He sighs with relief for the coolness, glancing around and beginning to slosh them towards a few of the rocks. "We'll have to trawl this and clean it up, then maybe we could put some fish in it."

Aramis likes being held in Porthos' arms also. He's never had any qualms about being cared for, and indeed, savors the way that Porthos makes him feel cherished. "The sort one fishes for and eats?" he asks, kissing Porthos' cheek as they slosh towards shore. "Or the sort to entertain the children?"

"The sort to entertain the children and the cat," he admits, setting Aramis down when it's shallow so he can ease back out, holding his breath deeply as he sinks and sinks, letting himself grow wet and cool. When he surfaces, everything is dappled with water -- lashes, curls, and skin -- and he scrubs both hands through his hair until the water shakes out and he continues his slow exit from the pond.

"Not through yet, are you?" Aramis asks, making no secret of the way he drinks in the sight of Porthos, emerging from the water like every fantasy a lonely Aramis ever comforted himself with at night. He leans back on his elbows, letting his own hair trail through the water. It will need a scrub, but this feels heavenly for now. "Perhaps you should do laps for my entertainment."

Porthos barks out a laugh as he heads for the nearest rock to haul himself out and perch on the edge, leaning back so that the sun will catch each part of his skin and give him an even darker glow, if he's lucky. "I may enjoy the water, but I'm not a strong swimmer, chou," he confesses, stretching his whole body out until it's elongated as far as it goes. "This is nice," he sighs happily, casting his eyes open to watch Aramis in the water. "You should come up here, get some sun yourself. You'll look good, golden."

"I might burn," Aramis protests. "But if you drape yourself along the rocks like that, how am I to resist?" He pushes forward with a chuckle, easing himself carefully onto the rocks with a mind towards not getting anything sharp digging into his arse. "We had best practice, the both of us," he says. "Suppose one of the children find their way into the water?"

Porthos helps Aramis to carefully ascend the rocks so that he stays safe, cautious to ease him along so that he's positioned just to Porthos' side and able to reap the benefits of being so very close. "Maybe Athos knows how to swim?" he suggests, feeling a thousand times better for the sweat and dust being wiped off him by the pond. He wants to dry fully before he puts his clothes back on, and even the thought of the dirty ones makes him wrinkle his nose.

"Or you could tell them frightening tales of witches who live in the pond. They'll be too fearful to ever get near, until they get too curious."

"I don't like the idea of frightening them," says Aramis with a frown, even if it is for their own good. "At least not with tales. Myself, I was frightened of my mother's stirring spoon. I knew very well that she would whack me across my backside with it if I was wicked."

His frown deepens. "But I would not like to strike them with a spoon, either." Aramis sighs. "Children are immensely complicated."

Porthos' eyes are closed as he basks in the warm, bright, perfect sun that's beating down on them. He remembers his own childhood as stern. Storeowners rapping his knuckles and swatting his arse, punishment in the form of starvation and slaps, but it had just taught him to be a better thief until he'd become the very best of them. "We're going to have to discipline them somehow," he says logically. "Or else they'll grow up like the King."

Aramis shudders. "He grows even worse," he mutters, though he is quick to chase those memories from his mind. "We will puzzle out a way," he says. "I am not certain we should use whatever methods Athos' family did. He does not speak of it much, but I think his childhood was not a happy one."

Porthos shifts on the rock carefully in order to drag Aramis to his torso, winding his fingers into his hair to carefully stroke through the hair there, shifting his shoulders as he gets even more comfortable. "Suppose we set rules and tell them of the punishment for not following them straightaway. Teach 'em about consequences and why doing the right thing is important. We'll have to set good examples, of course."

Aramis hums, closing his eyes as Porthos' fingers pass through his hair, stretched out on the rock and on Porthos like a very content cat. "That seems wise," he agrees. "Not cruel punishments, but ones that will frighten them all the same. Bed," he suggests, "Without any of your wonderful desserts."

Porthos laughs as he thinks of warm chocolate chip cookies being denied to the children. He also knows that he's very weak-willed and a pleading look will be good enough to make him give in, if he isn't careful. "I'll need Athos to stay strong for me. A wobbling lip and tearful eyes, and I'm bound to fold," he confesses.

"Thank heaven for Athos," Aramis agrees. He likes to think he will be firm with the children, but true strictness must surely come from Athos. "It will be even harder," he imagines, "When we have the orphans. Surely the discipline they are used to will vary."