du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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"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."

Porthos grins now, his dimples showing off just as Aramis speaks about them, and he feels like he's so, so lucky to have this. He knows other people have loving relationships, too, but he's gone through a lot of life not sure that he deserves this. "You like these, don't you?" he asks, twirling his finger in one of the dimples. "Had them all my life."

"I want to kiss them every time you smile," Aramis tells him, pulling Porthos' finger free so he can do just that. "I think your smile is my favorite thing in the world," he says, grinning in delight. "Though it might be competing with your cock."

"The smile sounds much more romantic," Porthos replies, taking hold of Aramis' free hand to slide it under his tight t-shirt to move at the muscles that he'd been working at developing earlier, smirking for the feeling he has of Aramis so close. "If I were somewhere without you, I don't think I'd shut up about you."

Aramis hums, sliding his fingers against Porthos' stomach with relish. "Each time I touch you, there are new ridges of muscle," he says. "I want to run my mouth over every one." He leans in and kisses Porthos, warming all over to think about it.

"And what would you say of me?"

"That's because I wrapped my legs around a bar and did sit-ups upside down for ten minutes," Porthos replies, smirking at Aramis as he leans into both the touch and the kiss. "I'd tell them that my husband was waiting for me and that he's handsome and quick-witted and beautiful, utterly charming, and the most debonair man you'd ever meet. Plus, the best aim in the world."

"And you would turn down other suitors until I arrived to join you?" asks Aramis, beginning to peel Porthos' shirt up and over his head. "Even if they looked like our new and dear friend, Lito?"

"With the ring I have on my finger, not a single soul not Athos would've had a chance," Porthos promises with a fond, ridiculously loving grin that appears when Aramis gets his shirt off, ruffling his curls and revealing him in all his youthful, eager glory. "He's pretty, but I prefer a little more roughness. Needs a beard. Needs scars and callouses," he murmurs, grabbing onto Aramis' hand.

"I mean, unless the suitors were very persuasive..."

"Indeed?" asks Aramis, "You would give up on me for a persuasive suitor?" He fastens his mouth to Porthos' collarbone, sucking just enough to leave a mark. "What would this incredible man promise you to make it worth it?"

Porthos hums as he thinks about it. "A lifetime of massages," he thinks, "and I think a big house with plenty of alcohol and card games. Fighting in the spare time. Something to give me purpose," he says. "And it wouldn't hurt if he looked exactly like you and spoke like you and...you know, was you."

"Or a very persuasive clone," he smirks.

"You'd best not," Aramis warns him, mouth sliding lower to nip at Porthos' nipple. "Sharing you with Athos is quite my limit. Everyone else can fuck themselves right off again."

Porthos breathes in deeply and with great pleasure. "I love when you get all huffy and possessive," he murmurs, scrambling to grab the edge of the countertop. "Like I said. He'd have to be very charming and persuasive and witty and fun and dangerous and look exactly like my dear husband Aramis," he muses. "And speak French and Spanish, of course."

"If my clone does arrive," Aramis tells him, "You are not to have sex with him unless I am also there. I will, of course, extend to you the same courtesy. Cariños One and Two."

"If a second version of me showed up, I'd worry you might implode," Porthos drawls, raising his brow in an interested smirk as he pushes himself off the counter and tangles himself up in Aramis' arms to move them to the chaise. "What would you do with two of me, naked?"

"Fuck one of you on your back while the other fucked me," Aramis answers immediately. He pushes Porthos down onto the chaise and climbs atop him, still running his fingers over that defined torso. "Like anyone sensible would do."

Porthos gives in, sprawling and going limp on the chaise as he stares up at Aramis fondly, thinking of all the nights he'd laid there and looked into the bedroom with longing and lust, touching himself quietly before abandoning it for fear that Aramis would see through him. "Well, you'll have to write that down as a suggestion," he replies. "God, you're beautiful," he praises.

"Are you really going to try and be on Space Hospital?"

"To place in our sex suggestion box?" asks Aramis with a bright laugh. "I will certainly submit my wish for a second Porthos to visit deviant acts upon." He preens for the compliment, lifting his own shirt over his head in that hopes that Porthos will put his hands on him.

"And I will. Perhaps when I've passed my EMT exams I'll even know what my lines are about."

Porthos leans up to drag Aramis down into a sudden kiss as soon as his skin is bared, thumbing the tattoo on Aramis' neck to trace the lines of it, breathing out a whiny little sound. "I don't want women building picture shrines to you," he complains, because he's seen what happens when people like characters too much.

"Would they?" asks Aramis, intrigued, groaning as Porthos pants against his mouth, sweet and warm. "You'd just have to make a bigger one. I would come and bless it nightly, I promise, who else in Darrow could say the same?"

"Could I come to set and linger?" Porthos challenges in between heated kisses, sliding his palms over the planes of Aramis' body to trace all those much-loved muscles. He thumbs and rubs at scars, smiling adoringly. "And would you send away all your admirers by admitting that you're taken not only once, but twice by a giant like me?"

"I would speak of little else," Aramis replies, framing Porthos' head with his elbows so he can deepen their kisses, in love with the slide of their bare flesh together. "I would not be surprised if they did not drag you onto set as well, just like with our photos. Who could behold a man like you and not wish to broadcast him to all?"

Porthos makes all the usual, desperate, aching sounds for Aramis. He reaches for Aramis' hand to slide over his scars and the heavy marks that mottle him, knowing he's hardly made for pictures without makeup. He could never do television. "I'm going to miss you," he says quietly. "I know it's a career you want and I know you'll be good at the both, but we're talking about being in a new place, except I'll miss you when you do this. And I'll miss Athos when he goes and becomes a famous detective and...I don't know what I'll be doing."

"But you will find it," Aramis tells him, "I know you will." He pulls back, pressing kisses to Porthos' cheeks and brow and chin, his throat, even his chest as he speaks. "Bonnaire was a wretch but he was right - you are a self made man, Porthos. You are already a brilliant cook, you work with children, you fight and you train. There is something in Darrow that you will love. And after you do it you will come home to me," he says, "And I will do this."