du_vallon | (no subject)

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He's definitely walked into something strange.

Porthos had finished up with the gym and stopped at the grocery store to pick up the fixings for tacos made with tilapia and other salsas, picking up beer and wine too, and when he gets home, there's the sound of rapid Spanish and laughter, two voices that he only recognizes one of. Wandering inside warily, he hangs up his coat and then feels a touch like he should have changed, because standing there in his bike shorts and a tight t-shirt makes him feel suddenly on display.

"Aramis," he greets politely, gaze sliding over to the man with him. He's handsome, that's for sure, but that could just be Porthos' appreciation of men like Aramis talking. "I didn't know we had company for dinner," he says, glancing at the already exhausted bottles of wine, a touch jealous that he'd missed out on so much drinking.

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Porthos can't imagine what it would be like if Aramis or Athos had ever actually left him, of their own volition, like that. He fights back the icy awareness that it could happen if they vanished, because it doesn't make sense to dwell like that. "I'm sure it can't be as bad as you think it is," he offers, trying to be positive.

"But what happened?" asks Aramis, for if Lito will allow this much, he will surely tell them more. "What could you have done to make your lover leave you?"

Aramis shares a quick look with Porthos. "Did it have to do with keeping up appearances for your career?"

"It is a very long and complicated story, but yes. Yes, it was because I didn't want to tell the world who I was," Lito says. "I'm an action star and I'm known for my romance roles. If people knew that I was deeply in love with another man, I might never work again and acting is my passion."

"Only, I think Hernando might have been more," he says his name for the first time out loud, a grieving sob in his throat. "He left me, though. And I cannot fix my mistake here."

Porthos feels guilt and sympathy, now, upset that they've forced him into talking about this. "I'm sorry," he gets out hoarsely, pouring him more wine. He looks to Aramis, wondering how much of a wreck Porthos would be if Aramis were to leave him. It'd probably be worse than this, and so he knows how bad it can be. "So you're going to pursue a career again here? With the same front?"

Aramis, too, looks stricken by the full force of Lito's grief, and he rounds the counter, laying a hand on his shoulder. "That is terrible," he says, and even if he knows that he would always choose Porthos now, he can remember very well the choice to leave him for the Church, believing himself bound to it, the agony of taking those first steps away from him towards Douai.

"Are you certain you wish to start it all again?" he asks Lito.

"What's the point of anything else?" Lito questions. "The only person who will ever hold my heart like that is not here. If I cannot have him, then there is no reason to tell the world the truth. No," he says, determined and stubborn. "No, there is no reason for me to step away from the lie."

Porthos looks to Aramis, sensing what his thoughts have turned towards because his are there too, wondering how he's able to cope at home with Aramis gone and he can't imagine the grief and heartache that must assault that Porthos. "It's your choice," he says, which is more a reminder to Aramis than anything. "But would he be okay with that, if he did show up?"

"And would you, even if he did not?" asks Aramis, squeezing Lito's shoulder. "A lie of that enormity is such a burden. Why live under it if you do not have to, especially twice? You say you were a coward at home, but you could be brave here."

Aramis' lips thin. "Suppose it is the only way left to you to honor him."

Lito grimaces, thinking that all of this is too much to think about and process for him, when he really just wants to stew in his heartache and loneliness, lean into the empty void in his head and pretend he can deal with this. "And never work here? I would go mad," he says quietly. "No. No, no, no, unless he is here, then there is no cause for any romance."

Porthos can't help but be disappointed. He's always been a fan of people telling each other the truth and being honest and this seems against it, but then again, it's not like Porthos had told Aramis how he felt about him for years and years. So maybe he has no place to talk. "It's your choice," he reiterates. "Right, Aramis?"

"Your choice," Aramis agrees, for forcing Lito into anything will not help him, even if they had that power. Aramis drifts sadly back to Porthos' side. "There is freedom," he says, "And peace, in being true to oneself. I hope that someday you will find it, my friend."

Lito wants to believe it is that easy, but he cannot so quickly give himself over to such a belief. "You cannot tell anyone," he says instead, hitting on that hard. "Without him, I am not my truest self. There are pieces missing, so I want to focus on my career," he says stubbornly, not wanting to come out anytime soon.

"I don't think that will change."

Porthos disagrees, but it isn't his choice. He wraps an arm around Aramis' waist to draw him in without overtly showing that he's touching Aramis, so damn happy that he's managed to find himself this kind of happiness. "I'll get dinner out, won't I?" he suggests, to change the subject because it seems like it so desperately needs it. "Don't worry," he promises Lito. "We'll talk about something else. And we meant it. We won't say a word."

Aramis nods, still saddened to think of Lito living such a life, but he cannot chip away at every mountain. Athos takes most of their resolve - all they can do is provide Lito with an ear when he needs it. "Go ahead and sit, Lito," he says, gesturing to the table. "Porthos and I will bring the food, and you can regale us with tales of your roles at home."

Lito allows himself to be coaxed to dinner. Despite the earlier bits of the evening and his constant worry that he will be found out because his secret will not be kept, it is enjoyable enough. He talks about his film roles and teaches whatever little Spanish he can. He is full when he leaves and still worried, but feels he will be able to tolerate this.

After all, there is always denial. He thanks them for a lovely dinner before he leaves, feeling on edge and eager for more to drink, but this time he will do it within his own house.

Porthos locks the door after him, breathing out to try and lose the tension, but it's hard to do when the air feels thick with it. Instantly, he turns to find Aramis (tidying up some of the dishes) and pries them from his grasp to pin Aramis to the table. "Thank god you're not that pent up about your feelings," he growls. "I wouldn't be able to stand it."

Aramis grins in surprise, though he can't help the wave of sadness that washes through him despite Porthos' grip on him. "I would have burst," he says, "Trying to keep what I feel for you from the world. That poor man."

Porthos keeps his hands on Aramis, as handsy as ever because he doesn't want a single moment to pass without getting to touch Aramis like this. "He's making his own choice," he says, not feeling very sad for him. "If he doesn't want to be honest, it's on him." He bows his head to start kissing a path up Aramis' neck.

"Next time, warn me we've got company. I'd have brought myself off at the gym to keep from wanting to maul you."

"I saw him in the street and invited him up," says Aramis, breath leaving him in a rush for the press of Porthos' lips. He groans a little, unable to help picturing Porthos at the gym, flushed and thinking of him. "If I'd known you wanted this, I wouldn't have invited him at all," he laughs.

"When don't I want to after the gym?" he breathes out, moving against Aramis as he holds tight to him and spins him in place, licking his lips. "Every time he talked about his lost love or his heartache, I just wanted to reach across the table and touch you. Is that wrong?"

"No," says Aramis breathlessly, "I wanted that, too. I never think about all the ways we could deny ourselves each other - for propriety, or our careers, or social expectations - and I never want to. I would never give you up for anything, Porthos."

"See, when you say things like that, you need to be rewarded," Porthos insists, his eyes alight with need. He palms his hands all over Aramis, anywhere he can possibly touch him, letting out a whispered little moan when he gets in close. "When you said you'd give it all up for me..."

"Not even Athos would admit that right now," he says quietly.

"In time, he will," says Aramis with certainty, for that is less to do with Porthos, and everything to do with Athos believing he deserves it. He skims his fingers beneath Porthos' t-shirt, scratching lightly at his skin. "This is all but painted on, no wonder Lito stared at you," he muses.

Porthos flinches, a giggle buried behind the movement because he refuses to give in and allow himself to sound weak, but he grins as he lets Aramis touch him. "Again, if I'd have known we had company, I would have put on pants or a shirt," he teases, wrapping his arms around Aramis. "So if you were somewhere strange, would you stare at strange men with curls like mine?"

"If I was lost somewhere without you, I would probably walk into their traffic lanes," says Aramis, shuddering for the thought. "But if I somehow managed to live, yes. I would stare at men with broad shoulders and curly hair, dark skinned and dimpled. I'd still never find your like."