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Wearing the scarf that had been purchased for him last year, Porthos has managed to recreate his outfit as best as he could. It's not exact and it's hardly the same (honestly, he doesn't remember much about the night beyond the scarf, the food, and Aramis bending down on one knee while the land passed by). It's all those things he's glad to recreate as he settles onto their table on the boat, fidgeting as if he's expecting yet another proposal.
Like an eager child at a party, Porthos' eyes are casting about everywhere they can, desperate to find the waiter for champagne, though he remembers to check in with Aramis, because being at sea (even so limited) can't be enjoyable for him. "Are you okay?" he murmurs quietly. "Should I get you something stronger to get your mind off the water?"
He's practically bouncing from eagerness, so happy to be back as he is.
Like an eager child at a party, Porthos' eyes are casting about everywhere they can, desperate to find the waiter for champagne, though he remembers to check in with Aramis, because being at sea (even so limited) can't be enjoyable for him. "Are you okay?" he murmurs quietly. "Should I get you something stronger to get your mind off the water?"
He's practically bouncing from eagerness, so happy to be back as he is.
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He takes Porthos' hand and leads them to the floor. "Not even I thought to hope for such luck."
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He grins and lets out a quiet huff. "Only you and Athos might recognize it, though."
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Apparently, the brand had been the important thing, not how they even fit.
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"You're better at dancing," he accuses, now that he's tracked the thought back.
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He's pleased for the dip, delighted as a matter of fact, but when he's back on two feet and done being kissed (which always takes him a second to cope with), he gives Aramis a slightly narrow-eyed look. "And exactly how many partners were you practicing with?" is what he has to ask.
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There's genuine jealousy for a moment as he praises this woman so very much, of his being dazzled, but that slips away when the truth reveals itself. Shooting Aramis a dubious look, he wrinkles his nose. "And here I'd thought maybe you were actually out charming young women and making them fall in love with you. Now I find it's just the older ones. She'll go to her grave madly passionate about Aramis d'Herblay du Vallon," he laments.
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Unprompted, without meaning to, Porthos exhales a sharp puff of breath for the name spoken in his ear like that. "I'm starting to think you carry around our wedding photos with you, that full book," he teases with a wry smirk. "Not that I mind. You were the handsomest thing I've ever seen in your suit that day, with Athos only a remote second." He runs his thumb slowly over the curve of Aramis' collarbone, now, eager as he is to touch him. "I'm already wooed, dear. You managed that years ago."
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Porthos swallows hard, feeling a touch like he won't be able to last much longer if Aramis keeps kissing him like that. "How about I do a little bit of the wooing?" he asks, a touch breathless as he widens his eyes and gestures with his chin towards the bathroom. "Hmm? I know a year ago, we couldn't, but what about tonight?"
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