du_vallon | (no subject)

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With the bribe of a nice dinner, Porthos had managed to get Aramis to come out appliance shopping with him, eager to find something for the house even though it's not going to be a while before they need to fill it with anything. Part of him is just pleased to poke around and see what they've got, admiring features he doesn't really need but sound wonderful to have. "Here," he says distractedly, but frowns when he hears Aramis' phone going off.

Athos wouldn't call them unless it's an emergency, but after their last few appointments at the agency (with lawyers and surrogates and contracts), he's been nervous every time he hears the phone ring. Stopping and freezing where he stands, gripping Aramis by the shoulder hard, his eyes widen in hope.

"Aramis, maybe it's...?" he trails off, not daring to truly believe.

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No longer trusting his knees after such an exquisite orgasm, Aramis sinks to join Porthos on the floor, grateful that the blanket is still within reach. He tugs at it, wrapping it around Porthos' shoulders before he pushes him, riding him to sprawl on the floor. "We can," he says sleepily, "Until she is able to look over the side of the bassinet."

Porthos lets out a burst of warm laughter at the comment. He shakes his head fondly, pushing at Aramis until he's down on the blanket with him, wrapping both arms tightly around him, holding onto him protectively close. He nuzzles at his neck, breathing out slowly as he takes in all their plans for the future.

Well, most of them. The one gap exists yet where Porthos isn't sure what he wants to do for a career, because he can't shake the feeling that he can be doing so much more. "What do you want to eat tonight? I feel like we deserve a special treat."

"Everything you cook is a special treat," says Aramis without a hint of teasing, burrowing himself shamelessly into Porthos' arms. He cannot think of a single dish that is not both rich and delicious, and unlike Athos, Aramis can never choose just one to love the most.

"Something with duck?" he says. "And the creamed potatoes."

Porthos wraps his arms tightly around Aramis as he grins, nodding to think of the potatoes and the duck and all the things he can make for them. "That sounds perfect," he promises with a boyish grin. "Remember when we first got here? God, I couldn't cook to save my life," he reminisces.

"Better than me," Aramis replies, nosing beneath Porthos' jaw as they lie comfortably atop the blanket. "I thanked God you seem to have a knack for it once you began. I might have married you just to keep my belly full," he adds with a laugh.

Porthos laughs wryly as he rubs at that stomach now, giving Aramis an adoring, amused look. "Well, I'm glad I didn't end up getting a proposal from you that would've been along the lines of 'you can cook, so let's get hitched so you don't cook for anyone else'."

He pinches Aramis hip and nuzzles into his neck a little harder, laying kisses there. "You were very close to losing me completely, after that bit when I thought you were trying to steer me off you. After you fainted at yoga," he reminds him.

"Porthos," says Aramis, a hint of real chiding in his voice, "I all but stalked you, following you into a class of an unknown practice, enduring near inhuman heat and contortions, just to be near you. How could you think I was attempting to steer you off me?"

Porthos levels Aramis with an amused look. "I dumped you in that tub and you told me that there was something out there for me. I suppose I half thought if you really wanted me, you'd have dragged me into the water and told me that what I was looking for was right under my nose the whole time."

"The benefit of hindsight," Aramis tells him. "You forget that we were only freshly of Darrow, and I felt myself as much at risk of losing you forever by confessing my feelings as I did you returning them. It took some time more for me to pluck up my courage."

Porthos is so very glad that Aramis had brought such courage, but at the same time..."A week more and my aching back would have pushed me into bed with you, regardless," he confesses, recalling that awful ache and pain. "It's why I took up yoga in the first place, you know," he replies. "I was having terrible issues."

"You could have joined me long before," says Aramis. "We have slept together in holes dug in the ground, a bed would have been nothing. In fact," he says, "I probably would have enjoyed my nightly temptation to touch you."

Porthos tugs up the blanket to roll them up in it together, a snug and comfortable space for them. "I figured you'd be bringing back beautiful women into that bed. What on earth would they have thought to find me half-naked between your sheets, hmm?" he teases, smirking delightfully for the thought of scaring away Aramis' conquests.

"Thanked God for their good fortune if they had any sense," laughs Aramis. "You know how much I enjoy coming home to that very sight. Though I suppose it's you coming home to me, of late," he murmurs.

"You won't go out again to the gym tonight?"

Porthos' face goes from happiness to something closer to panic quietly and quickly. "I don't know," he admits, because the gym has been allowing him to work out his frustrations and worries about the money and now that the surrogacy is happening....

Then again, there's one surefire way to also work off that anxiety and he's lying right here with him. "Depends how much I end up eating today."

"Then I will keep you well in line," says Aramis, deciding to table the discussion for now. He has enough faith in himself that he can keep Porthos distracted from his worries tonight, and they need not dwell just now.

"Come," he says, kissing Porthos' lips. "I will help you prepare dinner."

Porthos lightly kisses Aramis back, giving him a nudge. "I might take a quick shower if you can get the oven started," he says. "And no," he already cuts him off. "No joining me. Otherwise we'll never start dinner and we've got some papers to look at, for what to expect, don't we? Of the surrogacy?"

Aramis tries very hard to look scandalized. "Don't wear my favorite apron and perhaps I'll keep my hands off you," he replies, levering himself up without planting any elbows or knees painfully on Porthos. He offers him a hand after. "You shower, I'll start the oven, then I'll shower whilst you cook."

"Which is your favourite?" Porthos wonders, standing in the doorway as he strips off his shirt, not aware that Aramis has been playing favourites when it comes to his clothing.

"The green paisley with the playful frills," says Aramis at once, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter as Porthos peels off his shirt. Head cocked, Aramis worries at his bottom lip as he enjoys the view. "Particularly with something tight underneath it."

"I'm not wearing anything that tight today," he promises, but makes a mental note to wear something other than the green one (like the sleek blue and white one that covers up everything). He finishes with his trousers and underwear, drifting back into the bathroom to shower. "I'll be quick!" he calls. "I just want a quick wash."

"Alright," Aramis calls with a last look, turning to crank the oven onto high. In lieu of clothing, he ties the soft blanket around his waist and goes to the fridge. He pulls the duck out and sets it on the counter, along with the knives Porthos seems to favor, then pulls out several potatoes. He washes them at the sink, humming faintly to himself.

Once he's out, Porthos grasps a loose fitting pair of sweatpants and one of the baggier sweaters he's got, wandering out to watch Aramis with the potatoes for a long, quiet moment, not giving away that he's standing there watching him. Not until he wanders behind him to wrap his arms around Aramis and hold onto him possessively, hugging him so tightly it aches, because he's so damn lucky.

"Your turn," he murmurs, tugging the sleeves over his hands.

Aramis leans into him, comfortable even when Porthos squeezes his ribs near to breaking. Instead of pulling away, he turns his head to nose at Porthos' cheek, sighing. "But you are so nice and clean smelling," he laments. "And warm and your sweater is fuzzy." It is a very hard position to give up.

"And you could be all of those things if you cleaned up. The water's already running hot," he promises, pressing an absent kiss to Aramis' neck. "Go on. Go get clean so we can make dinner and we can think up how on earth we tell the news to Athos."

Aramis gives a shameless whine, but he peels himself away from Porthos, tossing the blanket across the couch well before he's disappeared through the bedroom door. He showers quickly, running his fingers over the new bruises Porthos' fingertips have made, and is sure to select one of his shorter sweaters to pull on with a pair of soft pajama pants. It will certainly ride up and show them off.

"Now then," he says, returning to the kitchen with a stretch. "Where do you want me?"