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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"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.

Porthos doesn't answer him at first, intent to do nothing but bring him pleasure by way of his mouth until he's ready to ease off. "I'd rather you made noise," is his growled reply, eagerly coaxed on by Aramis' hands in his hair (now long and nearly twice the length it'd been when they first arrived here in Darrow). He pins him harder to the wall, hands on his hips, and returns to what he's been doing, desperate to bring Aramis pleasure.

Just as eager to give Porthos what he wants, Aramis does not have to feign his moan, ripped from his chest even as his knees tremble. "You - " he begins, but he cannot complete the thought, so firm and insistent is the pressure of Porthos' mouth. He will spend in record time, even for them, Aramis realizes, and he cries out, already mad with the dizzying spirals of pleasure.

They've been at this for so short a time, but they've been on the cusp of it for so long that Porthos has to shift on his knees, because the unyielding pressure of his cock against his jeans is starting to get truly painful, but he needs to wait and see this through, keeping his mouth firm and his tongue steady, fingers making their marks in Aramis' pretty, pale skin.

Aramis feels the blunt pressure of Porthos' nails, and he cries out again, those tiny stings whipping his frenzy into a gale. Holding on so tightly to Porthos' hair that it must hurt, Aramis struggles to keep his feet, and when the pleasure gathers suddenly at the base of his spine, Aramis knows he is lost.

"Porthos," Aramis sobs, spending so mightily down his throat that only the hard press of Porthos' hands keeps him upright.

Porthos coughs, choking a touch on it, but he manages to ease back and smear the back of his hand over his lips once he's swallowed back as much as he can. His scalp still stings, but he eases onto his haunches proudly, a delighted smirk on his face. "I've got a request for me, though," he says, licking his lips. "I'm not gonna last long, but I wouldn't mind you eating some of that cake off me."

"Yes, you dear man," breathes Aramis, throat raw for all that he'd screamed for moments only, and clumsily kicks out of his trousers. "Bring the cake, I fear I'll drop it," he says, dividing their labor in order to get himself to the bed without collapsing. "Are they both chocolate?"

Porthos takes slow, cautious steps, aching with every additional one as he fetches the second cake, the one that's more frosting than cake. "One's the chocolate, but that's for later. This one is all whipped and perfect for your tongue," he insists, bringing it to the bed as he fumbles with his scarf, throwing it across the room before bending over to yank off his boots.

Aramis molds himself to Porthos' back, moving his arms around him to divest him of his shirt. "That cake is monstrous," he says approvingly as his eyes flick to it. "It will look beautiful against your skin." Seizing Porthos' ear between his lips, Aramis asks, "Where will I put it first?"

Porthos moans for the position of Aramis' mouth, desperate for more and not knowing how to get more when he can barely even walk. He's left in very little and today, he did wear briefs, not sure why and yet it's one more layer for him to contend with. "So long as you know I won't last more than a few moments before I come," he warns.

Aramis shushes him, moving to guide Porthos back against the sheets. Strength returned to him, he settles between Porthos' knees, leaning down to nuzzle his cock through his boxers. "I wonder," he says, dragging his finger through the frosting to paint a line across Porthos' belly. "Is it vanilla, or lemon?"

Lowering his mouth, Aramis laps at Porthos' skin. "Mmm. Vanilla cream."