du_vallon | (no subject)

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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.

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"You know you are. I have half a mind to make you hide your face with the menu," Aramis tells him, reaching for the glasses of ice water next to their champagne. For a moment he is tempted to dump one over his head and the other into his lap, but in the end Aramis makes himself take bracing, measured sips.

Porthos grins broadly and lifts up the menu to do precisely that, but he only ends up covering the lower half of his face, his eyes still sparkling and spirited with mischief. "I still remember when we were first dating and found whatever alleyway to sate the kisses we wanted. I doubt we could even manage that without finding our way to the floor, now."

"Yes, well, now we know what we are missing when we are patient, don't we?" asks Aramis, leaning over to test the new distance of the port. It is still loathsomely far, and he gulps down more cold water.

"I can feel you looking at me."

"That's because I am looking at you," is Porthos' wise retort. "You should just be grateful I haven't got my foot up your thigh," is what he feels inclined to remind Aramis, seeing as he could be behaving so very much worse right now. "Do you not like my eyes on you?"

"I like it too much," Aramis tells him, something Porthos knows very well. He loves those eyes, at times warm, at other times fiery, but always beautiful. "Sometimes I think you could look at me long enough and I would spend right then and there."

"Flea used to say the same thing to me, you know. Except, it wasn't that she could feel me looking, she just told me to watch my eyes," he says, doing his best imitation of her with a wry smirk. "I told her about you, you know," is what he says, setting the menu down, knowing Aramis will be strong enough to ignore temptation. "And your beautiful face and body and heart."

"And was this while you lay in bed together?" asks Aramis, not opposed to the idea. "I am surprised she allowed it. Flea seemed like the sort of woman who preferred to command one's singular focus when in her presence."

Porthos snorts, because she would have allowed it, but tormented him for the inattention. He shakes his head. "No. This was before, when the three of us were getting deep into our cups. At one point, I think I started to ramble a touch too much about you and about Athos, and in the course of the night, I imagine she heard a lot about you that I didn't intend to say. Namely, your arse and lips."

"I hope you did them justice," Aramis replies, daring to drink his champagne again now that the dock is finally coming into view. He gestures at Porthos with the glass, wrapping his lips against the rim of it after. "What did you say of them, precisely?"

Porthos has to strain to recall this. Groaning, he gives Aramis a pitiful look. "I was so drunk in the Court when they rescued me," he protests. "I probably confessed the depths of my feelings to Charon in the middle of everything, babbling to Flea about how I want nothing more than to get my hands on your arse."

It's definitely not dignified, he knows that.

"Well at least it was honest," says Aramis, standing abruptly when he feels the engine slow. He stares at Porthos in alarm, realizing they will have to move quickly to secure those cakes. "Move quickly, man," he says, "Time is of the essence."

Porthos laughs as he dredges himself to his feet, groaning for the ache he still feels, but is quick to dig out his money and hurry to the counter. "You go make sure they keep the plank down for us," he instructs to Aramis, wanting to surprise him with the cakes that he's picking. Biting his lip, he grins as he looks at the array and picks up the chocolate one, but also a vanilla one with heaps and heaps of frosting.

Aramis journeys hastily to the place where the gangplank will be deployed, wearing a face of such intensity when Porthos appears that it is a wonder the sailor has not fled over the side. "Just in time!" he says, grabbing Porthos by the elbow to escort him down.

Porthos holds onto the bag of cakes that much tighter when Aramis gets suddenly enthusiastic and excited and grabs onto him. "I'm here, I'm here!" he protests, laughing as he secures his scarf before wrapping his free arm around Aramis' waist, possessively holding him tight before nosing at him at his neck. "I hope we got that big room again. Those sheets were divine."

Aramis whines for the mention of the sheets. In truth, he can't remember a thing about them, but he does remember how Porthos had looked against their creamy white, and all the wonderful things they did on them together.

"I booked the same one," he says. "There is champagne there, and sandwiches lest our energy run out before our lust does. I already have the key and our overnight items are there."

"You're going to kill me," Porthos comments under his breath for the whine that Aramis has let loose. He walks a little faster as Aramis describes exactly what it is they're getting and he thinks fondly back to a year ago. As if reminded, his gaze drops to his ring. "That whole night, the ring felt so strange on my finger, but perfect. I wasn't used to the weight of it, so I kept looking towards it."

"You make me want to give you one for every year," says Aramis, breathless as they hurry towards the hotel. "You will run out of fingers, cariño." He nearly shouts when they round the corner and see the tall building come into view. "And toes."

Porthos is starting to stalk after Aramis with the gait of a man who's very close to getting what he wants. There's determination in every movement and he's grateful when they come into the lobby, because it means they're so, so very close. "One day, maybe we'll even go through with my threat and I'll pierce one of your rings into my nipple," he teases.

"Not in those fighting rings," Aramis returns, shuddering to think of someone ripping anything off Porthos in one of those bloody fights. He punches furiously at the elevator button, ignoring the stares of others in the lobby until it opens and they are hidden inside.

Exhaling a deep breath, Aramis resolves himself to waiting the interminable moments before they reach their floor.

"I'd make sure I could take it out," Porthos promises, winding his arm around Aramis' waist as they step into the elevator, his head still bowed down, but he's grinning like an idiot. "You said in the fighting rings. Does that mean you're willing to concede a few matches against Oliver or Tommy?"

"I told you that I was," Aramis replies, and it's a wonder he can think to remember at all with his blood racing so. "It is Athos you must convince. So long as it is a friend who will not cause you real harm, fight to your heart's content.""

Porthos lights up, holding onto Aramis that much tighter, wrapped around him from behind. "I'll ask him later this week," he murmurs. "And maybe I won't get a ring, but a little golden stud. Though, Athos might have a heart attack if he discovers what I've done. It'll definitely have to come out," he says, hitching the bag of cake higher as they reach their floor.

"Thirty more seconds," he breathes out, mostly to himself.

Aramis all but flees the elevator when it opens, hauling Porthos in his wake. Fumbling out his keys, it is only his marksman's accuracy that gets the key into the lock, and Aramis bursts into the hotel room, immediately shedding his shirt and both shoes.

Normally, Porthos might tease, but it's been a very long few hours and of that time, he's wanted to go down on Aramis for at least ninety percent of it. Shoving the cakes onto the table, he pushes at Aramis until he pins him to the wall as hard as he can, sinking down to his knees in front of him as he fumbles with the button of his trousers, shoving them down as fast as he can. "I wanted to do this in the restroom," he complains, but doesn't wait at all before he swallows Aramis' cock down as far as he can, already in an aggressive rhythm.

Aramis cannot help a needy whine as Porthos approaches him, pulling his trousers down so roughly it is a wonder they do not tear. And then, it is a wonder that Aramis does not fly apart from that first touch of Porthos' mouth, no tease at all but a long and punishing slide of his tongue deep into soft, wet heat.

"Am I - " he tries, sinking fingers into Porthos' hair. "Am I to stay silent here as I was there?" Aramis gasps, knowing it will be quite impossible.