du_vallon | (no subject)

"None of your magnificent cock?" asks Aramis, disappointed, and he cards his fingers through Porthos' hair while he is near. "I suppose that's for the best. I might get jealous and purchase every pair in the city."

"I'm sure the pictures have my cock straining the fabric of the things, but those aren't coming to me for another week from the printers," is his reply, grinning as he lets out a needy moan for the touch of Aramis' fingers in his hair. "The briefs are at department stores in the next little while. I don't get commission for every additional pair you buy, though," he admits, with some disappointment.

Aramis looks around for that moan, but the other dancers seem to be enthralled by their romance rather than afraid they might soon tear each other's clothes off, and he continues to dance, peeling away from Porthos so that he can guide him into a quick twirl. "I'd like to see those as soon as they arrive."

Porthos almost stumbles when Aramis leads him away, but as soon as he's meant to reply, another thought comes to mind and he holds onto it stubbornly. "You do know that you can see it anytime," he says. "They gave me some free samples," he boasts, as if proud of such a meagre thing.

"You're better at dancing," he accuses, now that he's tracked the thought back.

"Am I?" asks Aramis with a sunny smile, and though he feigns innocence, he does not have to feign his delight that Porthos has noticed. He draws Porthos close again with a hand against his back, turning them both together this time for a brief view of the sunset. "The benefits of a handsome partner to dance with me, no doubt."

Porthos leans back into the hand, laughing because he's quickly realized that he's not leading and he doesn't mind at all. In truth, he's just happy to be held and to remember how they danced last time. "You're going to get whatever you want if you keep calling me handsome," he praises fondly. "Where did you learn?" he asks. "Did Athos go with you?"

"A small place near the park," Aramis admits, "And no." He looks disappointed. "I did not consider that he would agree, but I should have. He must have learned a number of dances growing up."

Porthos is still selfishly happy to benefit from these lessons, an eager look in his eyes. "You going to dip me, then?" he asks, having seen other couples doing that and being impressed by what it took to get them into such positions. He thinks they can probably corral Athos into some dancing later, given that he'd seemed good at it, at the wedding.

"Just the once," says Aramis, laughing for the thought of it. "You are not as petite as my practice partners." He moves Porthos around the floor, and after another twirl that should look ridiculous between two large men and yet somehow does not, Aramis braces himself, guiding Porthos down into a dip to kiss him.

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.

"Three or four, all told," replies Aramis with the hint of a smirk. "They were all so beautiful, I was too dazzled to tell them apart. Particularly Madame Rothchild, there to learn to dance for her sixtieth anniversary. Eighty years old, and what a firecracker."

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.

Aramis laughs, drawing Porthos in close so he can nuzzle at his cheek. "And Porthos d'Herblay du Vallon," he murmurs in his ear, "They were quite delighted to hear the reason for my lessons was to woo my handsome new husband. After I showed them our wedding photos I imagine thoughts of us warmed more than a few beds."

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."

"That is no reason to stop," Aramis replies, shivering for the touch, Porthos' sweet words still sounding in his ears. He kisses Porthos' shoulder, and then his throat, wishing for a moment that they were far from public eyes. "I mean to woo you every day of our lives, cariño."

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?"

Aramis follows Porthos' gaze and his heartrate spikes, heat pooling in his groin in sense memory for the last time they had visited one together. "I'm not certain spending the night in jail will count as wooing," he whispers, nervous.

"Not if we close the door behind us," is whispered back, with a near-frantic, manic, determined look in his eyes that insists that they can do it and get away with it, but also insists that it's something they need. "Aramis," he begs. "We'll make it a game. I go to my knees and you keep quiet."

"Another tale for the children, hmm?" asks Aramis, and it is such a tempting thought, but Aramis cannot quell his nerves. "If we are caught they will not let us have any," he reminds Porthos, voice tight with desire and trepidation.

Porthos lets out a soft exhalation, but it's a whine that's giving in to Aramis, nodding in consent because he doesn't want to get into trouble now. He does huff out a laugh, kissing Aramis' neck. "I can't believe you're actively easing us away from mischief. I hardly recognize your words."

"I am becoming responsible in my old age," says Aramis with a breathy laugh, shuddering bodily as Porthos kisses him. "Sangdieu, how long is this bloody boat ride?" he wonders aloud, laughing again as the shore passes slowly by, so near and yet impossible to get to.

Porthos grins even wider as he eases back, taking hold of both of Aramis' hands to tug him along towards the table again. "C'mon, let's go have some cake and I can stare at chocolate on your lips," he encourages. "And think about smearing it on other parts of you later."

Aramis follows with both disappointment and relief, a little weak kneed when he sinks into his seat at the table. "Oh, you will be the death of me," he says, chuckling faintly. He reaches for the cake as it if might bite him, for it takes very little from Porthos to push Aramis into reckless acts, be they prurient or dangerous, and he lifts a bite with trembling fingers.

"Only if it's decades and decades from now, I hope," is his delighted reply, laughing warmly as he slides into his seat and steals a fork so he can start to poke and prod at the cake, more eager to watch Aramis enjoy it, a besotted look in his eyes.

"Good?"

Aramis cannot stave off a moan as the chocolate bursts on his tongue, and he casts a startled look at Porthos, as if expecting to see the man's clothes already somehow gone for the noise.

"Very," he manages, offering the next forkful to Porthos.