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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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.

"I wouldn't mind rubbing your belly," Porthos feels inclined to promise, but he knows that Aramis whining about his full gut wouldn't be fun for either of them when there is plenty more to be done. "Still tastes salty," he says with a smirk and a waggle of his brows.

"The chocolate cake or your chocolate skin?" asks Aramis, smirk deepening. He forks another bite into his mouth, eyes closing for the taste. "Are we to have a body shot incident all over again?"

"The cake and the taste of you on my lips," is his deliberate reply, laughing as he sprawls out and winds the scarf around his palm again and again as he gets to his knees to shake the headboard a few times, trying to see just how that old wood will hold up.

Aramis opens his eyes, tracking Porthos' movements with a laugh. "Oh dear, is it very sturdy?" he asks, stealing a bite of cake from Porthos' share. "If had the foresight, I would have imported our bed into the suite as well."

"We only just got that thing where it belongs," Porthos protests, but he's secretly pleased to find the headboard is sturdy. He clambers back to where Aramis is sitting, grunting when he sees that his side of the cake is somehow more diminished. "Is this another item I'm going to have to start making at home?"

"Could you?" asks Aramis doubtfully. Porthos is a wonder in the kitchen, but this cake is beyond anything he has tasted. He gathers another bite, this one from his own side, and sucks on it innocently.

"Maybe I'll have to show up on the boat and bribe them with offers of work until they let me know how they make it," he suggests, imagining himself with the ropes and the ship as he works just to find out about a chocolate cake. "I could even get myself a little sailor's outfit," he adds with a wink.

"If you wear it you'd better bring that cake," laughs Aramis, grinning as he pictures Porthos in a sailor's outfit. Somehow, it looks rather like when he'd played at being a pirate. "Between the both of them you might actually kill me."

Porthos thinks of the company's uniform with their knee-length shorts and hats and guffaws for the ridiculous picture it makes in his head. "I'll definitely see to making a few chocolate cakes. Should have had this as our wedding cake, I think," he admits, wrapping his arm around Aramis' waist to hold him closer.

"I don't know," sighs Aramis, somehow just as happy to abandon the cake and curl in against him. He dips his head and kisses Porthos' neck, tongue flicking out to taste more of that salty skin. "There might have been a scandal if you had fed me any of it in public."

Porthos hums happily for the kiss to his neck, loving the warmth they have. He plays with his fingers up and down Aramis' shoulder, now, as he imagines their wedding with this exact cake. "We definitely would have made a mess of those suits and whatever room was closest that we could find," he opines, shifting the scarf so it's just in Aramis' vision to be seen."

"Better that events unfolded as they did," agrees Aramis, laying his head back. The ends of the scarf flutter as they shift, and Aramis' eyes widen. "Are we to make a mess of me now?" he murmurs, eyes darkening.

"Not just yet," Porthos thinks, because he's enjoying lying here with Aramis, sated and spent and a bit messy. "After this next round, I think we'll get the tub working," he says. "Give us the chance to relax and clean up at the same time."

Aramis hums and nods, for the idea of sinking into that large bath with his husband is enticing indeed. Reaching, he smears a last streak of frosting across Porthos' chest and laps it up, his tongue unhurried this time, dutifully finding every last bit of sugar.

Porthos laughs when the tickle is a dulled, hardly there thing. He keeps stroking his fingers through Aramis' hair, thinking back to a year ago when they'd come here for the first time. "Sometimes I wonder, what if we didn't get married," he muses. "And we'd just lived together like this permanently."

"What on earth for?" asks Aramis, lifting his head with a frown. He likes nothing better than knowing that Porthos belongs to him, and he to Porthos. He can't imagine a world where that is no longer true, or never was at all.

"So that we could prolong this notion of when we would make it official?" he guesses, but he's more than happy wearing Aramis' ring and being in his bed. "I think some modern people do that, but I prefer this. Feels like I belong."

"Quite right," Aramis mutters. "I had all the anticipation I cared for, thanks very much." Between the proposal and the near interminable wait for their wedding, Aramis could not have born another moment. "The only thing more satisfying than having a fiancé is having a husband."

"I think you go around telling everyone about me, just because you love to say it," he teases, but grins as he eases off Aramis, coaxing him onwards with a lift of his brow. "Go on. Go ahead. Call me my full name."

"You know you like it, too," Aramis tells him, lifting his head from the pillow to kiss him deeply, so deep, in fact, that he almost forgets what he's meant to do. "Porthos," he says against his lips, "d'Herblay du Vallon."

He shivers and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss because he does really, really like it. He loves being a d'Herblay, loves it because it makes him Aramis' and more of a musketeer, it feels like. "I know it was terrible when I was in the hospital after the fight, but when they gave me the bracelet and it had our name on it, I felt so whole and happy and loved."

"They would not have let me in to see you without it," says Aramis, shuddering for the thought. That night had been hard enough - if there'd been a question of his being allowed in Porthos' room, Aramis doesn't know how he would have born it. "Not without a fight, at least, which I would have given them."