du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's only been a few days since they've escaped from the underworld they'd been trapped in and there are two things he's been doing since. One is making sure to obsessively watch over Aramis and Athos, and the second is that he's been basking in the sun as much as he can, indulging in the feel of it on his skin. Today, despite his project of assembling the pieces of a fancy crib he'd purchased at the flea market, he's opened the window to the fire escape and perches half-in, half-out, allowing the sun to shine on his face and make him feel right.

He leans inside to pick up the screwdriver and two slats of wood, bringing them outside as he begins to assemble them in the crisp air. He knows he's getting far, far ahead of himself here, but he also thinks it will be a treat for Aramis. Besides, if nothing else, they can keep the Captain in it until they actually need it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't know," says Aramis quietly, and for all his wisdom, he knows that Athos does not, either. They are all of them powerless, completely unable to do much more than accept what they have been given already, and hope that they will be allowed to keep it. "Now you know what keeps me awake at night," he says, squeezing Porthos.

Porthos lets out a soft snuffling sound as he eases back, wiping at his eyes to dry away the traces of tears that have been there. "I know it's been plaguing you, but I just want to make it better," he insists, as passionately as he can. "Aramis, how do I make you feel better?"

"Well, not by weeping," says Aramis with a small laugh lest he cry in the face of Porthos' own tears. He cups his cheeks, kissing each of his eyes until his lips no longer come away wet. "I don't believe there is better, Porthos," he tells him in a quiet voice. "We live with it, that is all."

Porthos is an emotional man, and he cries without meaning to. He knows that it's not true despair and hopes Aramis knows that, too. "There has to be better," he chastises. "Whether it's us having children and making cribs or just going out there and fighting wrongdoings," he insists eagerly. "We have to find the good in this."

"That is what I intend," Aramis admits. "If these thoughts keep me awake at night, it is these hopes that make me rise again, to spend another day with you." It is more than they will get at home, and Aramis holds onto Porthos tighter.

"At home, life would have lost all color without you in it. Now - " Aramis shakes his head. "It is unimaginable."

"We should come up with some sort of signal or code or stretch of words," he says suddenly. "If ever we were to show up at home, if we said those things, it would be a secret code to the other, to see whether we remembered this place," he murmurs, because he wants to make sure that even if he goes home, he gets this chance again.

"If I went home, even if you didn't remember, I don't know that I could live without pursuing you."

Aramis has no way of knowing if they'll be allowed to keep their memories, but he nods. "Call me chou," he tells Porthos. "And I will call you cariño." He brushes his nose against Porthos'. "Even if I do not understand, pursue me. Whatever it is I would have to give up at home, it is worth it."

"What if instead, I just skip over all those steps and just kiss you?" Porthos suggests, feeling like getting straight to the point fits more in with his style than anything else. "Right up against the post in your room at the garrison, against the wall you share with Jussac."

"Use your best judgment," says Aramis with a small laugh. "Not where the Captain can see. But no matter what you do," he continues, lifting Porthos' hand to curl it once more against his cheek, "It will work. I no longer believe there's any life for me without you in it."

Porthos laughs warmly as he reaches for a few of the crib pieces to start putting them together. "What do you think Treville would do if he saw me pin you to a bed?" he wonders. "I think that'd serve him right for sending me to the Court, having to watch me pursue happiness."

"Scrub his eyes and demand that Athos walk first into all rooms that might contain us for the rest of time," Aramis chuckles. "If that is to be our method, I will be happy to punish Treville with you whenever you desire."

Porthos grins as he taps Aramis lightly with an assembled piece of crib, easing in on hands and knees for another kiss, humming thoughtfully as he imagines what he would actually do. "I don't think I'd pin you to anything. I actually think I'd just start leaving anonymous notes and presents at your doorstep and watch you try and weasel out the answer."

"That's very romantic of you, Porthos," says Aramis in surprise and pleasure, reaching for two pieces of the crib to put together and hand to Porthos. "Shall I woo you in similar fashion? Or will the direct approach always work best with you?"

Porthos accepts the pieces back, moving back on his arse to give them room to begin the base a little more. "I don't know," he confesses. "I'd like to think I'd be charmed by them, but I think maybe I'd be confused. And clearly looks and comments weren't doing the trick. Maybe you'd have to corral me in dark corners and tell me, very suggestively, what you'd like me to do to your body?"

"I think you are right," Aramis tells him, piecing together two more slats of the crib. "I would start by touching you more, on the shoulder, the hair - let my hand skim against your arse when you couldn't be certain it was not by accident. And when you began to work yourself up, then I would corner you."

Porthos moves to his knees as he starts to assemble the next layer of the crib now, peering at Aramis over the top of it with a cheeky grin, amazed still that they're doing this as they're looking to become parents. "Oh, would you? And what if I was used to strangers touching my arse all the time because of the impeccable shape I'm in?"

"They'd best not," says Aramis indignantly. He lifts up on his knees to peer over it at Porthos in turn, jealousy rising in him despite their project. "Did they at home? I would have noticed."

Porthos locks in the top bar and leans his forearms on it, sheepishly grinning as he shrugs and leans down to pick up the next piece. "Sometimes, in the market, I'd feel a hand. I think they were just daring. The real confident ones got a hand in at the front in a crowd. Harmless," he says dismissively, waving a hand.

"It does not sound harmless to me," Aramis huffs, reseating himself to put another pair of slats together, which he pushes forcefully into position. "I would never be so gauche."

"You were never a giggly woman of leisure who had heard rumours of the black Musketeer," he points out, crawling around to lean behind Aramis, wrapping his arms around him and smacking a kiss playfully to his cheek as he grins and settles in. "Though, if you did sneak a hand down there, I'd hate to think I'd be so oblivious as to not notice."

"Apparently you were so awash in prurient touch you might have missed me altogether," Aramis tells him, leaning into Porthos as much as he dares with his bruises. "Credited my touches to any handsy miscreant on the street."

"You could have done it while we were wrestling," Porthos suggests as he lets his mind drift to potentials. "I think if you started to rock up against me after we fought, it'd take a great deal of oblivious thoughts to make me ignore it, chou," he says, whole body flooding with warmth to use that name.

"Any news from the agency?" he asks softly, with a touch of hope in his words.

"I would have told you," says Aramis at once. He looks at his phone, still lying by his scarf. He's turned the volume up to its highest setting, but there's been nothing in the days since he called the agency.

"Our surrogate was not sucked into the madness of that ashen world. That is something."

Porthos gives a grateful hum as he bows his cheek to rest against Aramis' shoulder, hand sliding up and down Aramis' arm as he stares at the half-finished crib, thinking of when a child will fill the space. Then, suddenly, panic hits him and he freezes, because now he's thinking of what would have happened if all of them left and their baby was still here.

"We're going to need guardians on call," he says suddenly.

"Yes," Aramis agrees. And the will is a sound idea, now that he can look past his own grief to the benefits it would have for their child. "Godparents, they call them now. To take the child if something ever happens to us, so she will always have a place to go."