du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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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."

Porthos is actively writhing and sobbing for the touch of Aramis' tongue and lips, his hot breath so close. He's close to thrashing, but he winds both hands up in the sheets to prevent that, desperate and crying out Aramis' name in jagged breaths. "Please," he begs. "Aramis, don't tease me, not like this."

"You went to all this trouble," says Aramis, dragging his finger through the frosting a second time, "I want to appreciate your efforts." He takes some small mercy on Porthos, though, pulling down his boxers to spread the frosting on just the tip of his cock.

Lowering his head, Aramis sucks at it lovingly.

His back arches off of the bed wildly for the touch, raising both hands to grab the pillow above him, swearing under his breath as he realizes how sensitive he truly is right now. Smirking, he closes his eyes and lets loose an invective stream of swearing that has Aramis' religious icons in the midst of a terrible amount of profanities.

Ears prickling, Aramis lifts his head and raises a brow. "On your own head be it," he replies, spreading frosting in the curve of Porthos' hip now, licking it neatly until he gets close to Porthos' cock again, upon which time he goes to retrieve more frosting for the other side.

"If you would," he starts to pant, desperate and whiny, "just do something about getting your mouth on my cock, maybe my soul can get saved already, so I get to spend eternity with you too," he pleads.

"My mouth can save your soul now, can it?" asks Aramis, pleased. He lifts his head and grins at Porthos. "I'll certainly do my best to move you to raptures," he adds with a nip to Porthos' side. Forgoing the frosting this time, Aramis wraps his lips around the head of Porthos' cock and sinks down, beginning to stroke him slowly against his tongue.

"If it gets to the work it's meant to be doing," he snaps back, hissing for the nip to his side, but that complaint turns to pure joy when Aramis finally does what Porthos wants, moaning wildly for the touch of hot, wet heat around him. "Aramis," he sings out with relief. "God, finally."

Aramis would chuckle if he could, joy blossoming as it always does to hear Porthos in the throes of pleasure. He favors him with long, deep strokes into his mouth, cheeks tight and hollow to keep the suction at its peak. Porthos' flavor bursts against his tongue, and Aramis doubles his efforts, hastening his pace to make Porthos cry out again.

Porthos swallows back the desperate plea in his throat, mainly because Aramis is finally giving him what he wants and needs, and there's no sense in being greedy now (except that he always, always is when it comes to Aramis). His moans soften, turn into something devoted and delighted, and he writhes as another cry comes out.

"Am I vanilla tasting now?" he questions. "Or just me?"

Aramis does not think Porthos would thank him for freeing his mouth to answer, so he tangles his hand with Porthos', squeezing to let him know that he tastes only of himself now, a flavor Aramis loves more than any. Humming around the firm flesh in his mouth, Aramis takes him deep, swirling his tongue against the head each time he pulls back.

Porthos squeezes back against that hand holding his, so stupidly in love with the man who, a year ago, had only been his fiance and is now his husband, for him to hold and protect, for as long as he possibly can. He swallows hard, and all the patience he's been holding back vanishes, so close to the edge "'Mis," he gets out. "I'm gonna...soon, I'm close."

Aramis brushes his thumb against the center of Porthos' palm, working him harder than ever with his mouth so that these last few strokes will drive him mad. He wants to taste it, far more than that frosting, far more than that chocolate at dinner - Aramis wants Porthos to spend down his throat where he can savor every drop.

Porthos feels the shiver of Aramis' thumb on his palm, seemingly more sensitive than he's ever been in his life. It takes little time at all before he's coming, gasping out Aramis' name and wondering why they hadn't just done this at the same time, but then, Porthos does enjoy pinning Aramis to a hard surface to keep him down.

"God," he moans, when he's spent. "That was incredible."

Porthos' body surges to its completion, and Aramis swallows fervently, waiting until Porthos' bucks have faded before he pulls off, resting with his forehead pressed to Porthos' hip.

"Was it?" he asks roughly, smiling against his skin. "I couldn't tell if you enjoyed yourself or not."

Porthos huffs out an exhausted laugh, shoving at Aramis' face when he gets cheeky like that. "I dunno, I suppose your mouth is okay at that," is his coy retort, but he fumbles to try and grab Aramis to haul him up to rest beside him. He feels sticky and hot, breathing in so hard that his chest is heaving. "That was amazing," he praises, honestly.

"We are rather good at getting one another off," Aramis agrees, smearing another streak of frosting across Porthos' belly to lick it off. "It's a bit salty now that you've begun sweating," he notes.

Porthos laughs warmly, flinching for the frosting on his belly, given that he's ticklish there. "Next time, we should just get each other off at the same time, with our mouths," he inclines, given that it's the best idea for efficiency. "On a bed, nice and comfortable, working at each other's pace," he murmurs, running his fingers through Aramis' sweaty hair.

Aramis laughs, lapping away the last of the sugar. "I like to hear you," he admits. "It is difficult when your mouth is both full and far away. I cannot help it." He rubs his cheek against Porthos' damp skin. "You make the sweetest noises."