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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Aramis follows him down eagerly, blanketing Porthos' body with his own. "Making them pancakes, perhaps," he says, pressing wet, sucking kisses along Porthos' throat. "Opening one of those great, double doored refridgerators, hip cocked as I survey its contents."

Porthos lets out a helpless sound as he rocks his hips upwards, desperate and rough. "Don't taunt me like that," he breathlessly replies, biting his lip hard as he throws back his head to let Aramis at his neck. "To think of it all gleaming and shiny, with so much lovely food in there, and high stools for everyone to sit on."

Aramis laughs in delight, nipping at the tendon in Porthos' neck. "This truly does excite you," he says, snaking a hand down between them to wrap around Porthos' cock. "I think I'd like to have you," he admits, "Right here in front of our home, while you tell me of the kitchen that turns you on so much. What of the counters?" he prompts, stroking Porthos. "Are they marble?"

Porthos hadn't brought anything to help them, no lube or lotion and he tries to think in a scramble for what might do in a pinch, but he's having trouble thinking of anything. "Granite," he murmurs, thinking of how sleek they had looked in his mind. "Warm tones, though. And I want a big, big window that lets in all the light, no matter the time of day." His hips hitch forward into Aramis' hand, little gasps escaping past his lips.

"And what color is warm?" Aramis asks him, smiling for the pinch between Porthos' brows. He knows very well what the man is thinking of, just as Aramis knows he would never be so foolish as to follow Porthos into the country without oil.

He does not pause in his stroking as he finds it in his pants, not even when his fingers slick, Porthos sliding easily through his fingers. "Red? Brown?"

Porthos lets out a sharp cry of delight and surprise for Aramis' clever planning ahead. He tangles his fingers into Aramis' hair to draw him in for a passionate kiss, a thank you for being so perfect and clever and thoughtful. He shifts his hips upwards, eyes closed now for the thought. "No, no, something that matches everything. Ivory? Or maybe an off-white. Taupe?"

"Ivory would be a nice, clean look," Aramis muses, trying to picture it when his eyes are filled with the beautiful sight that Porthos makes. He leans down, murmuring in Porthos' ear. "You have a choice to make, cariño. I can prepare you with the oil, but I will have to stop stroking you. Or I can keep stroking," he continues, flicking his thumb, "And only slick my own cock."

He likes the idea of ivory cabinets and countertops, with a dark floor to hide the mess and give contrast. Though, it will get dirty very quickly and for all that Porthos enjoys mucking about in the kitchen, he hates cleaning up after himself. He breathes hard for Aramis' breath against his ear, making him harder by the second. "The last," he pleads. "The last, where you keep touching me."

"Are you certain?" Aramis asks him, pulling the shell of Porthos' ear between his lips. He mouths at it, breaths coming quicker for the thought of being buried inside him. "I will go slow, but it will be a harsher stretch than you are used to."

Porthos knows he'll thrash and make sounds of complaint and whine, but he'll enjoy it. He nods, eagerly. "Yes," he begs, staring at the house in the distance and imagining a day when they won't be able to do this so easily. "I want to feel that. No matter how much I shout."

"I know you'll stop me if I hurt you," Aramis tells him, and he can't bear the wait a moment more. Pushing more oil into his free hand, Aramis slicks his cock, easing his body up over Porthos'. "Legs up," he urges, positioning himself at Porthos' entrance. Propped on an elbow, he keeps stroking Porthos, even as he begins to very slowly press inside. "Bear down."

Porthos breathes in slow, deep, and heavily as he bears down and gives a sharp little sound of a whine because Aramis hadn't been wrong and this is a bit more than he's used to. It's still not bad, though. He breathes harder, with less rhythm, and tries not to let it affect him. "Just...just go deep and hold there," he begs. "I want to feel you fill me up."

Aramis nods, sinking deeper at a glacial pace. "That's it," he praises as Porthos' body gives around him. "Just keep breathing. Breathe and tell me more of our kitchen, querido," Aramis pants. "Do we have curtains?"

Porthos spares a thought for how strange their sex life truly is, but soon he's lost all thought between the process of Aramis filling him up, the pain and strain he has to fight through, and then the pleasure that rewards him after. He gives a moan, grasping at grass around them and uprooting it for his slow movement. "Billowy white ones," he agrees. "Not to the floor, though. Just enough to give us some privacy."

"Privacy," Aramis hums, shifting ever deeper. The grip of Porthos' body is incredible, and Aramis gives a whine of his own, fighting the need to thrust. "God willing, we will not have our privacy long." Pushing forward, Aramis feels himself bottom out at last and gives a deep sigh. "Not once there are children."

Porthos shivers, wincing just once for the tightness and the mild discomfort for the lack of preparation, only so noticeable now because they're usually so very good about this. He's so, so glad to hear Aramis talking about children again like this and it makes him give a sharp whine of happiness, pushing against Aramis as he fumbles to wrap his hand around Aramis' to help with the strokes. "We only have to make a call," he reminds him. "Well, and convince Athos."

"Soon, Porthos," Aramis tells him, beginning to rock into him, letting his body adjust before he attempts more. "Now that I can see them again, I want to begin soon." His fingers stroke Porthos' cock with finesse, eager to distract him from any pain. "Please."

His breathing starts to get deeper, a little more relaxed, but he still wants for more. His mouth is dry and he leans up to steal whatever kiss he can from Aramis, desperate and eager for more and more. "We'll call," he promises, in the middle of a low moan. "We'll call and we'll ask them to send a new book, an updated book."

Aramis kisses back, tucking a next press of lips against Porthos' throat where he can feel his moan. "Perhaps Athos will look," he says, finally beginning to thrust, taking Porthos in earnest. He lets his cock slide through his fingers with every motion of his hips, moaning when Porthos grips him so sweetly. "If he likes."

Porthos frowns when Aramis' face is hidden, not wanting him to see how conflicted and wary he feels about that. He thinks that Athos still wants no parts of this, knows that Athos hates the process, and doesn't want Aramis to feel upset by it. "Or maybe ... maybe we tell him after," he suggests quietly, at odds with the sharp breaths he keeps taking.

"That will hurt him," Aramis argues, lifting higher on his elbow so he can thrust harder, eager to make Porthos' feel good. "Even if he refuses, we must tell him first. Push your leg higher," he pants, "Knee up, like that." Using the deeper angle, Aramis begins aiming his thrusts for Porthos' sweet spot.

Porthos still isn't sure that there's any good way to deal with this and he hates feeling at odds. So instead of thinking about the problem at hand, he lets himself simply indulge in what he feels, pushing his knee up like Aramis has instructed, starting to see white spots for the pleasure he feels. "Aramis," he moans out, eager to let go of his doubts, even if they linger.

"Yes, my darling," Aramis croons, feeling new bliss steal over him for the sight of Porthos' own. "You are so hot, so perfect around me, Porthos." Following the pattern of his moans, Aramis changes his angle and pace to see Porthos' expression screwed in ecstasy. "So beautiful when I'm inside you."

Porthos scrambles to grab hold of Aramis, now, hands trying to find any part of him. He tries shoulders, hips, and settles for one hand tangled in hair and the other wound around the small of his back as he gets out a choked sob for the compliment, the pleasure somehow more than he's ever experienced. "I can't hold out," he gasps. "Aramis, please."

"Go on, cariño," Aramis urges, stroking his cock in doubletime, his own breaths ragged in his throat. "I love to watch you fall apart, so beautiful when you come for me." Thrusting hard, Aramis pulls back to look at him. "Let go, Porthos."