du_vallon | (no subject)

Aramis laughs, wondering if he will not have to secure Porthos in his chair lest he wriggle free of its hold and possibly even gravity itself. "I am not bothered," he says. "I have enough happy memories of this place that it could not make me feel ill."

Smiling, Aramis takes Porthos' hand across the table, providing them both with an anchor. "It is a nice evening," he says for the setting sun. "Just as last time."

Porthos squeezes Aramis' hand, trying to calm himself, which is proving to be a difficult task when it comes to such things. After all, he's so excited to be here that his mind is a buzz of energy and love. "What would have happened if it had rained? Would we have stood on the deck wet? Or do they have tarps to protect us?"

He still remembers the sparkling lights, though, set in his memory and immovable.

"They would have provided us with a refund," says Aramis with a chuckle. The boat has an inner section, but it is not big enough to fit all passengers, nor is it terribly elegant. "I would have had to take you to another fine dinner, with another fine scarf."

"I always thought you to be more of a man for scarves, at least until I wore one for the first time," Porthos confesses, fiddling with the same one draped around his neck to ease it into a new design, only until the waiter returns with menus. "Would you have been able to wait? Or would you have burst over yoga the next morning?"

"I would have waited," says Aramis, and he is often impatient, but of this he is sure. "I wanted the night to be special, just as you deserve," he tells him, lifting Porthos' hand to kiss his palm. "If I felt myself in peril of proposing at home, I merely would have gotten us naked to forget about it."

"It was a special night," Porthos promises, shivering for the kiss to his palm. He leans forward to steal a better kiss from Aramis' lips, eager for that. "Mm, but what if the sex was so abnormally good that you were moved to propose to me? Or I to you?" He flicks the scarf in Aramis' face. "That'd have been a sight. Me accidentally stepping on your proposal, all sweaty and sated."

"If those events transpired, I would be helpless not to accept," Aramis agrees with a shrug and a grin. "We would have used the plans for celebrating, and had a very different set of anniversary events to replicate. One we could not share with our children."

"Are we going to bring them on the boat?" he asks, shivering for the thought of bringing them in little carriers and slings in his arms, rocking them through the movements of the boat. "Not to the hotel room after, surely. And here I'd thought we'd just ask Athos to babysit and have them terrorize him."

"I meant share the tale with them, not invite them to be present for the physical events," says Aramis with a chuckle, wondering at the thought of chasing young ones around a perilous boat. "And certainly not the hotel. We would lose custody for certain."

He snorts for the very idea. "I think we'd be arrested for far worse than public exposure," is what he has to say on the subject. Biting his lip, he gives Aramis a hopeful grin as the champagne comes along. "I still can't believe you actually gave me the most romantic night of my life," he says, thrilled. "Nothing's compared since. Though, maybe the wedding. Or the bachelor night."

Aramis snorts, too, though not unkindly. "When you were a woman. A strange and heady night, to be sure. The wedding was remarkably romantic, I agree." Aramis waits for the server to depart. "A perfect day, and thank heavens for the return of your perfect cock, I was quite starved for it at that point."

"You were very, very good to me the night of the bachelor party," Porthos promises with a wicked gleam in his eye, but as he thinks of the wedding, he laughs for what Aramis has to say next. "You didn't put that in the vows. I kept waiting to hear about my perfect cock and you kept it respectable."

"For Allison's sake," Aramis promises, lifting his champagne. He clinks it against Porthos' glass. "And I believe I paid many respects to it on our wedding night, so it can hardly feel neglected."

Porthos leans in after the clink and the first sip, stealing a kiss from Aramis because the sun setting and the drink and the memory is all lending itself to a madly romantic atmosphere that he can't help but be swept away in. "I hope I gave to your elegantly wonderful cock in turn," he says, flourishing in speaking French in front of the rest.

"And your mouth. You always had the prettiest words and they were finally being used on me."

"I use my pretty words on you all the time," says Aramis. He licks his lips, unable to stop himself leaning in to lick a drop of champagne from Porthos' own. "You simply enjoyed them more because they were spoken for all to hear while we stood before them."

"For the ones who understood," he says, tweaking his scarf so the very ends of it flick Aramis in the face. He grins as he finishes his drink and looks to the dance floor and the dessert cart, not sure which one he intends to jump on first. "I used to fantasize you'd show up at my door in the middle of the night, in Paris, and admit you had been blind for so very long."

"Would you have let me in?" asks Aramis, for no matter how many times they speak of wooing one another in Paris, Aramis enjoys every permutation. "Or would you have assumed I was deeper into my cups than Athos?"

"I would have tugged you in by the scruff of your hair," is Porthos' delighted reply, grinning as he flickers his fingers through Aramis' hair playfully. "Put you to bed in case you were drunk, and then slid in with you," he says. "And if you pressed in against me, then I would have slid my hands over your arse."

"Bold," praises Aramis, "It is just what I would have done in your position. And of course, after you manhandled me and stripped me of my clothing, I squirmed a bit, pressing our bodies together in the hope of arousing yours."

"Oh, I like the idea of you squirming," Porthos growls, but knows he has to behave himself because they're in public. "You make the decision," he says. "We dance or eat, so which do we do first? Because if we don't get up or put something in our mouths, we're going to learn what the restroom looks like, after all."

Aramis hums, well able to see the virtue in all three of those options, but in the end he decides he'd like to press his body close to Porthos' on the dance floor.

And, as an added surprise, Aramis has taken a short series of lessons. If they play a slow number, Aramis will be able to lead Porthos well indeed.

"Better be dancing, then."

Porthos is a touch saddened that he'll have to wait for cake, but the thought of the press of Aramis' body against his isn't a terrible thing at all and he grins as he peers at Aramis, standing and offering his hand. "Can you believe it's been a year?" he marvels. "A year and a half since we got here. Sometimes, I barely remember life without being in your bed."

"I can," says Aramis, for those unwanted memories of home, of Anne and of their child are fresh in his mind, and he shakes his head as if to clear it. "I did not know how miserable I was. All those times I thought that I was happy were mere folly compared to this."

He takes Porthos' hand and leads them to the floor. "Not even I thought to hope for such luck."

Porthos sobers a touch when Aramis reminds him of those memories. He's been doing good about not feeling threatened by them, so he thinks that now he's able to talk about them a little and not feel like he might retreat. "Was there anything else that you wanted to share about what you remembered?" he asks curiously, following after Aramis as he unwinds his scarf for ease of dancing.

"Not tonight," says Aramis, for he does not wish to dwell on the life of that other poor wretch. "Though there are other tales to give you. Soon," he says, smiling for Porthos, "I will regale you with another of our mad adventures."