du_vallon | (no subject)

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Book in hand, it feels like it's been ages since they'd first picked up the thing at the office. They've paged through it from time to time and Porthos has made it a point to scribble notes on post-it notes, affixing them to the book until the whole thing looks multi-coloured and ridiculously full, but this is important to him and he knows it's nearly the most important thing to Aramis and after everything they've been through, it seems right to take the next step, at least. That means picking and starting the long process of contracts and meetings and evaluations.

He'd bought them some cookies from the closest bakery, little blue baby ones and has been nibbling idly (he's not a stress-eater, exactly, but his appetite does grow incrementally whenever Porthos is a touch stressed). Brushing away the crumbs, he's deep in thought as he flicks back and forth between two of his top choices, reaching for his pen and another note so he can make a comment about the curve of a nose or the hang of an ear.

It might seem minor and silly, but they're all such beautiful women and they're going to pay one of them a lot of money for her time and a part of herself, and Porthos wants to make sure they do right by this process.

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Porthos frowns a touch, but only because it's a lot of money and it's all at once. Not to mention, it's right after they bought the house. "Maybe so long as the cheque isn't in my hands. I might hesitate and not hand it over when I'm meant to," he admits, but purely because it leaves his inheritance from De Foix practically emptied but for the quarter he'd put in savings.

"I will hold it," Aramis promises, kissing Porthos' furrowed brow. "And I will take another contract so we do not feel the hurt." He laughs a little. "And we will hope our little Ana does not find the photographs that prepared our household for her, for every prospect I have been sent is shirtless."

"I don't mind doing some, either," Porthos promises, and he feels like he can take a few more jobs at the consulting office. "It's just giving away a lot at once between this and the house." Not to mention they already have to make payments on a house that's still needing to be rebuilt.

"It is," Aramis agrees. "But we are gaining a lot in return." He kisses Porthos' cheek, hoping that he has a swift way of dealing with the rest of the potatoes, for Aramis couldn't give a toss anymore. "A home for all of us, the start of our family. It is worth whatever ghastly sum they charge, is it not?"

"I know," Porthos admits, it's just a lot to hand over, which is why Aramis is going to do it for him. He peers over his shoulder and pinches Aramis' arse. "Okay, switch with me. I want scalloped potatoes with dinner and the rate you're going, we'll have them for brunch." He takes the slicer to get the peel off, working at it as he stares at Aramis. "I might have to buy a new suit, if we're meant to impress."

"Not too fine," says Aramis, for he has thought on this. He shifts to let Porthos work. "We don't wish to appear to be putting on airs, or living beyond our means when a child is to come. Wear your dark gray one, and the green tie. I can't imagine a person exists who could refuse you anything in that suit."

Porthos keeps at the peels as he imagines the suit Aramis is describing, knowing the green tie. He knows they can't go in uniform or they'll be thought mad, but he misses the comfort that idea brings. "I was going to suggest steel grey for you," he admits. "With a dark skinny tie. Then, you look fetching in everything."

"So long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself," says Aramis, for he knows full well what normally happens when he wears that suit. It is a wonder the thing is not in tatters. "A blue tie for Athos. His eyes could move mountains."

"I'll vow not to touch you until we're home," he promises, and that will be near-torture in itself. He finishes peeling the potatoes, turning to slicing them next in easy movements, thinking of blue ties and Athos' eyes and it's suddenly almost too much to bear. He shivers for the gorgeous image. "I should just send the two of you to sit there and look pretty while I sign papers."

"Between the three of us, they'll be too dazzled to refuse us anything we desire," says Aramis, taking advantage of his free hands to see to his mustache, ensuring that it curls just so.

"We ought to make him a dessert he'll like," he says, gaze drifting to the refrigerator. "Do we have any cream?"

"Some in the back," Porthos confirms, because he'd bought it for coffee in case they had to entertain anyone or anyone wanted a bit of a rich treat when it came to their glass. He grins as he watches Aramis preen, ducking his head down to hide the laugh because he's not mocking Aramis, it just amuses him to see him in his peacock element. "I'll need some for the potatoes, but not much."

"What're you thinking?" he asks.

"That thing with the strawberries and the cream," says Aramis, for he knows he's seen strawberries, and maybe even those spongy cakes that go all liquid and gooey when the sauce is poured over them. He looks up, eyes narrowing in suspicion for the mirth on Porthos' face. "What?"

Porthos grins as he takes the cream and pours out what he needs for the potatoes before handing it back. "You're a peacock," is all he says, fond and accusing as ever. "God knows how the ones in the palace ever let their precious son go," he teases, hand to his heart in mock-lament.

Aramis laughs aloud and pinches Porthos' rear. He carries the cream dutifully to the counter and assembles the bowls that must be right, but he looks doubtfully back at Porthos before attempting anything. "Am I do assemble it?" he asks. "There's no cooking, is there?"

Porthos grins, having deserved that pinch, and he laughs warmly. "You need a bowl and to whip the cream until it gets frothy. You'll need to add a touch of the sweet sugar in the high cupboard," he instructs. "And then, you'll put that excellent hand of yours to work."

"My excellent hands are used to working something quite different into a lather," Aramis replies, but he does as Porthos has instructed, attacking the sugared cream with all the vigor he possesses. "How do I know when it is done?"

Porthos can't help licking his lips, indulging in the moment before he gets to unleash what he says next. "Keep going until it's good and stiff and hard," he drawls out the words, prying them out. Except, he's honestly serious. He grabs a casserole dish to start loading up the potatoes with bacon and cream and cheese and herbs. "It'll thicken up, the longer you do it. Eventually, I'm going to buy us a mixer," he says, a touch dreamily.

Aramis' brows climb as Porthos speaks, and he takes a break from frothing to adjust his trousers. "What is that?" he asks, "Just as it sounds? What about my excellent hands?"

He looks down at the cream. "I've gotten quite stiff already."

Porthos smirks at him and rolls his eyes fondly, peering into the bowl. "It's a machine that does the mixing so you don't get wrist cramps." He swipes his pinky into the cream and sucks on it thoughtfully. "Mix it a touch more, I think," he says. "Then we'll dollop it onto the cakes with the strawberries, maybe make a sauce."

"Alright," Aramis murmurs, tongue between his teeth as he works. "We might say," he adds hesitantly, reaching for the cakes, "That I've made this." He did think it up, and he's done at least half the work. "I made a dish."

Porthos watches him with the same besotted, stupid look on his face he feels he wears all the time now, but he agrees readily. "You did," he agrees, digging out the pan for the cakes. "Here," he says softly. "We'll bake them for a touch and let them cool, and you can boil the strawberries on the stove with some sugar to dissolve them for the sauce."

Aramis beams and goes to warm the oven. "Just what I was going to suggest next," he declares, going to retrieve the strawberries next. "And perhaps chop the strawberries to help them dissolve. Doesn't that help?"

"It'd speed along the process, yeah," Porthos agrees, but there's nothing but pride when he looks at Aramis, so pleased that Aramis is finally finding a comfort level with cooking. He finishes with the potatoes and rinses his hands, sliding in the trays once the oven is warm, leaving space for dessert.

"See? And to think, when you woke up a woman, we lost near everything to burning."

"When I was a woman, all I could think about was riding your cock," Aramis returns. "Although..." He grins at him over his shoulder where he's assembling the strawberries. "That's not much different from now, is it?"

"Not very different," Porthos informs him, grinning as he remembers wandering back to find all the bread missing but for a few pieces. He's also remembering how that green sweater had looked on Aramis, which is a hard thing to forget for how lovely it'd looked. "But see? Now you'll be able to cook some dinners while I rest up and be surprised."