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 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."

Porthos grins as he turns his head towards Aramis, kissing up and down his neck slowly. "I make the noises I do because you're torturing me," he protests, idly stroking his belly with his free hand as he stretches and draws Aramis in closer, staring around the beautiful hotel room and in disbelief that they're honestly back here.

"Not nearly as much as you deserve," Aramis tells him, sprawling half across his body as he settles. "You won't let me tease you for very long, but if I did - " Aramis hums. "Such noises."

"I might pass out from need if I let you tease me the way you want to," Porthos protests, grinning as suddenly he's got very full arms of Aramis, holding him protectively close despite the weight and heat of it. "Hello, gorgeous," he drawls, in little more than a seductive growl. "I suppose I should've planned something special, shouldn't I have?"

"More special than those excellent cakes?" asks Aramis, lying peacefully in Porthos' arms. It is damp and close, and soon they'll be in need of a shower, but not yet. "You have only to turn up. That is enough to delight me, always."

"I didn't even bring anything for us to play with," he admits, stroking his fingers absently over Aramis' back, barely a touch as he holds him close. "No costumes or playgames. I figured we'd be creative once we got here," he admits. "I didn't even fetch you a piece of jewellery."

"Do you want me to pout?" asks Aramis. "I like my ring well enough for every piece of jewelry in the world. That, this suite, your cock. What more could I want? Well." Aramis grins. "Athos' cock. But that would confuse the theme of the evening."

"You're very pretty when you pout," Porthos promises, leaning up to kiss Aramis, tangling his fingers in the rosary so he can haul himself in for a deeper kiss. "God, you're beautiful," he growls, rolling them so he can lie on top of Aramis. "And we'll celebrate with Athos when we get home," he insists. "Maybe even tie him down?"

Aramis laughs, shrugging a little, but in truth Porthos' weight bearing him down makes his stomach leap pleasantly. "Suppose I want you to tie me down?" he asks, gently lifting a knee to nudge between Porthos' own. "It's been ages."

He always forgets to do it. Arching a brow, Porthos eases back from where Aramis is lying and thinks to his scarf (discarded by the door) and now that he's had a moment to think about it, he gives Aramis a speculative look. "Wanna?" is all he asks.

"Only if you like," replies Aramis, sliding a leg around Porthos' waist to draw him in again. "This is a night for both of us, not for the fantasies swirling about in my head. Although - " Aramis raises a brow. "I'd love more of that chocolate cake."

"You have to let me go to get it," Porthos protests, his voice light with laughter as he tries to wriggle out of Aramis' hold, grinning at him as he breaks free to fetch the cake and some forks, along with a tablecloth and the scarf. He brings his pile of gifts back to the bed and throws the cloth over the sheets before handing the fork and cake to Aramis.

"Here," he says. "Let's start this way."

Aramis levers himself up on an elbow, grinning for the sudden proximity of both the cake and Porthos. He forks a bite of the cake into his mouth and nearly collapses again against the sheets. "By God, this cake is sinful," he sighs. "I hope it never ends."

Porthos winds his own fork through the frosting and licks it slowly off the tines, happy to enjoy it, but definitely not as sinfully aroused by it as Aramis seems to. "It has to end eventually," he points out. "Or you'll be sick from too many sweets. And then what will I do with you while our anniversary goes on?"

"Rub my stomach until we must give up the room," replies Aramis, and for a moment it seems almost a decent use of their time, but then he sees Porthos' tongue against the fork.

"Very well, I will pace myself," he promises with a smirk.