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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"Naked," says Aramis, warming to the idea. He wraps his knees around Porthos' hips to help steady himself. "Where I can watch, pillowed on the towels myself." He grins. "This is beginning to sound like morning yoga."

Porthos shakes his head, a delighted smirk on his face. "Is there anything you wouldn't like to see me doing, nestled in a nest of pillows?" he points out dubiously, smirking. "Darling, you're predictable. I love it."

"If you could see yourself through my eyes you would not blame me," says Aramis, kissing each of Porthos' dimples when he smiles that glorious smile of his. "I see now why the wealthy always commissioned great portraits of their loved ones. Your image ought to live forever, even if it is in one of their museums."

"We already know your image is going to last forever in those ads of yours," Porthos points out, but he does like the thought of being in some of them himself. "You could always commission a painting of all three of us," he teases. "Hang it on the bedroom wall to forever stare at us. Or I could just take some very personal photos for you."

"Why not both?" asks Aramis with a sly grin. "I do like the idea of our portrait," he muses, squeezing Porthos with his knees. "Of the three of us, before a child comes and changes our lives forever. Do you think Athos would sit for it?"

Porthos thinks that maybe, it might happen. Then again, La Fere is sort of a reason to believe that it might not convince him. "How about we take a lot of photographs of him and frame them in a big collage?" he suggests, if Athos won't sit for the portrait.

"That does not seem quite so regal," says Aramis with a frown, but if it is the best they can manage, it will have to do. "I will try very hard to convince him," he says. "I like the thought of us together so much, preserved in our handsome youth to the end of our days."

"He ripped the one at La Fere," he quietly reminds Aramis, not having realized it until later what the pictures had been. "But we can talk to him and suggest it, though I have no idea what sort of painting it would be. In our uniforms, I think, but isn't that a touch boastful?"

So, perfect for Aramis and himself, but poor for Athos.

"Not boastful," argues Aramis. "He equates that uniform with honor. I only fear that it will bring him sadness." He nuzzles Porthos' cheek, as much to comfort Porthos as himself. "But it feels right. The first way in which we found ourselves the Inseparables."

"Then we'll have to bring up the idea," Porthos agrees, resolutely as he finally decides that he's worked open Aramis enough to give it a shot. "And see if he'll agree to sit for a portrait. Him sitting in a big chair, you think? With us standing at each side, like loyal soldiers as we are?"

"All together," says Aramis. "That is how I see us. He has so often been our leader, yes, but I do not like the idea of him removed. It troubles him already."

Leaning in, Aramis kisses Porthos' cheek. "Now let us leave off of talk of portraits for a time," he says, taking Porthos in hand to stroke him in the water.

Porthos lets out a brief laugh, filled with soft joy. He knows that he's going to definitely take some very private pictures for Aramis, too, but that will come in time. He shifts and moans when Aramis takes him in hand, eyes a touch wild as he looks up for Aramis to ground him. "You going to settle atop me?" he asks, breathlessly.

Aramis nods down at him, holding Porthos steady while he lifts and positions himself. It takes some doing, but he manages the angle, finally sliding down onto Porthos. He closes his eyes, for the water helps, but without oil it is still a snugger fit than Aramis is used to.

"You must like that," he notes, breathless, "So tight around you, my love."

Porthos lets out ragged cries through the effort of Aramis finding the right position, which seems difficult and half impossible right up until he's so perfectly surrounding him, and then the sounds turn to other cries all together. "Fuck," he curses, hand clasping at the edge of the tub, nodding a touch frantically. "I do like that. Feels so different," he marvels.

"Like another first," says Aramis, opening his eyes to grin at Porthos and his desperate grasping. "I like it, too," he murmurs, gripping Porthos shoulders to lever himself slowly up again, sinking down at a pace he would not manage out of the water. "You fill me so slowly, I can feel every inch."

Porthos swallows hard, staring up at Aramis with a star-struck look on his face, filled with adoration and love as he works to thrust up, but the water prevents him from going too fast. "God," he chokes out. "Aramis," he gets out, his whine hardly decent at all, but it's the only sound he can muster right now.

Aramis grins as Porthos' moans fill the room. "Marvelous acoustics in here," he notes, guiding them through another tortuously slow roll of his hips. He finds that this way, he can shift them in a faint corkscrewing motion, treating Porthos to a new friction around his cock.

Porthos gasps and gives Aramis an accusatory, angry look for the sudden change, mainly because he hadn't been prepared and it feels like he's being torn apart with pleasure, now. His fingers find purchase, grabbing Aramis' skin as he growls out his name, pushing up and thrusting into him as fast as he possibly dares, now. "Villain," he curses out. "You're a wicked thing."

Aramis would chuckle for the vehemence in Porthos' voice, but those quick thrusts from below drag Porthos' cock in just the right spot, and Aramis feels his own cock swell harder. "Shall I stop?" he asks, voice tight but determined to tease Porthos.

He shakes his head fast and hard, holding onto Aramis as he drags him down onto him a little more. "No," he gets out, knowing he'd be sweating a storm if he weren't in the water. "No, keep going, keep doing this." He breathes out with such content. "You're so handsome," he praises, running his pinky over the profile of Aramis' face.

Aramis opens his mouth, catching Porthos' pinky to suck between his lips. He laves at it with his tongue, mouth hot around it as he continues to ride Porthos' cock. "Sometimes," he allows, even as his body trembles with pleasure, "I think it's a pity I can't ride your cock and suck it at the same time." Unbidden, his hips pick up the pace. "I suppose Athos' would do."

Porthos nearly blacks out for the image Aramis presents, overwhelmed with how perfect it is. He gasps and lifts one hand to tangle in Aramis' hair, gripping on tight as he thrusts up, watching the water turn to waves as if responding to the new frantic pace. "Our bed needs to see so much more," he agrees.

Aramis groans for the grip to his hair. "We have time," he gasps, whining when his cock brushes Porthos' tight belly, the touch too faint to be more than teasing. "There is so much more of that book of yours to try out, especially now that there are three of us."

Porthos feels the drag and it reminds him to stop being so selfish, to pry his hand off of the edge of the tub and reach down to wrap it around Aramis' cock, inelegant in his fumblings, but hopefully offering some relief as he jerks Aramis off, causing a new flurry in the water.

"Whole chapters," he agrees, excitedly.

Aramis' whine becomes a mewl, and were he not so practiced at riding Porthos' cock he would falter for the pure bliss that is Porthos' hand, rough and calloused in the slippery water. "Porthos," he pants, and even for the buoying water his thighs are beginning to burn, muscles pumping faster in time with his building pleasure. "I fear I won't last."