du_vallon | (no subject)

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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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."

"Only the one, just yet," says Aramis, "And it is only dessert. Though I have heard," he continues as he chops, thinking of Porthos' complex potato dish, "One may put the potatoes in the oven whole and leave them, and enjoy them some time later with butter and salt."

He could manage that.

"See?" he encourages, grinning as he's already making plans in his mind to take a night off and let Aramis create whatever he sees fit. "Maybe sometime next week, I'll work the evening at the office and you can make whatever comes into your head." It's a first step and a big one, but he's got faith that Aramis will be great at it.

Aramis blanches for the thought of an entire meal, but he does his best not to let Porthos notice. A stew might be best. No matter what type it was, Serge's stews had always been his most passable meals, and that speaks to their ease. "Alright," he says carefully, committing himself to research later in the evening.

Porthos catches most of that look, pressing his lips together with amusement as he gets back to the meal, lounging on the counter with his hip cocked out. "Or we can start with a side dish?" he suggests, shrugging. "Just a thought."

"A whole meal," says Aramis. "Next Wednesday, after you've been at the gym and your appetite is up." He's setting the bar rather high, but Aramis is stubborn, and reckless enough to commit himself to the task.

Porthos still gives Aramis a dubious look, but the man seems committed to the task. "You know I eat twice as much on Wednesdays after the gym," he reminds Aramis, wanting him to keep that in mind. "I'll be starved."

Aramis opens his mouth to tell him to invite a friend, but he realizes that's pushing things rather far and closes it again. "I'll just have to make lots, then," he says, bending to look at the cakes.

"How long do these stay in? Won't they have to cool before I put the cream on?"

"They will," Porthos agrees, leaning backwards to the counter. "But they'll be a touch fluffier. Or that's how I feel when I do it." He's already imagining what Aramis will make them, eager for it as he cooks up concoctions in his mind.