du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

When Porthos had started to learn English, he'd used books and the people around town to improve his knowledge. He hadn't been awful to start with, but there had been a lot to be desired. This time, he's got Aramis and it's only Spanish, so it's not like he absolutely needs to learn it, but it's important for Aramis and it's something that he wouldn't mind surprising him with now and again.

Still, as he sits cross-legged staring at Aramis, he's starting to get a little frustrated with the way you have to speak differently, and how it sounds so entirely strange to his ear.

"Why do my R's have to sound like that?" he demands, because they're not like that in French. And he's defaulted back to French, which he's been doing all lessons even though he knows he's supposed to be learning by speaking more in Spanish than French or English. It's only that the other languages are so much easier by now. Letting out a growl of frustration, he drags a pillow into his lap to lean his elbows on it.

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Porthos murmurs the words back, saying them out loud. "Hice la cena para ti, mi magnífico marido," and then realizes. "Wait," he says. "You added something. Marido, that's you," he says, narrowing his eyes. "What else have you forced me to say?" he accuses, poking at Aramis' stomach.

"And which beautiful women do you have in mind to seduce, hmm?"

"Not seduce," Aramis replies, "Enjoy a drink with. I like the sight of you surrounded by beautiful women." He grins and motions over himself. "You have merely paid me a compliment," Aramis tells him. "Can't you guess what it is?"

"Shouldn't the sight of me surrounded by beautiful women worry you that I might be lured away by one of them?" Porthos wonders, but he grins in return for Aramis' gesture. Crawling to his knees, he looms above Aramis and sinks down as he thinks about it, matching the Spanish to the French in his mind.

"My magnificent husband," he realizes. "Not shy of ego, are we?"

"Do you not agree?" asks Aramis shamelessly. He lifts up on his elbows, well aware of the picture he makes, and seeks Porthos' mouth with his own. "If a beautiful woman lures you away, I will simply follow," he promises with a deviant smile.

Porthos eases off to keep the kiss chaste, stubbornly devoted to actually seeing this lesson through and they've got learning to go before he can become distracted. "The only group of women I want to think about being lured into is one where it's you and Athos and you're both beautiful women." It's one of the fantasies that lurks in his head and refuses to shake out, given how delighted he'd be to tote them both around.

He leans in for a sharp peck. "Usted hace una mujer muy hermosa," he stumbles over the words.

"Verdad," agrees Aramis, whining faintly when all he gets is a peck. "I could fetch the corset if you get a craving before this place sees fit to make us women again."

He lies back against the pillow, one arm pushed beneath his head. "Yo te daré placer."

"If it makes you a woman again, I'm going to make you wear that thing and a pair of heels with the panties and nothing else," he says matter-of-factly, as if he's just discussing their dinner plans and not one of his fantasies. He's distracted when Aramis next speaks, and between that and some new words, he ends up staring blankly at aramis, shaking his head. "I don't understand that," he says. "Just that there's a you and a me in there."

"That's usually a promising combination, is it not?" asks Aramis, grinning again. "Aramis. Porthos. Un corsé. Una cama."

He rolls back onto his side. "Do you really think about me in heels and panties?" he asks with interest. "Well, her me."

This is torture to stare at Aramis like this, splayed out for his enjoyment, apparently, and torturing him, besides. "Of course I do," he replies. "Both of you," he admits. He understands 'bed' of what Aramis has said and can guess at 'corset'. "I mean, you were gorgeous and I loved you in nothing at all, but the thought of you in heels and the things I bought you?" He shivers slightly and drags his pillow back to cover his growing hardness.

He defiantly stares at the book in his lap instead of Aramis' wild hair that he wants to tug or the shirt he wants to dismiss. "As if you don't have your own fantasies," he accuses, cheeks flushing red.

"Did I sound as if I disapproved, cariño?" asks Aramis, but he relents, gazing at Porthos' studious face with fondness. It is rare that the man has patience for anything other than yoga or cooking, and Aramis means to indulge him.

"What are some particular phrases you wish to learn?" he prompts, wishing he could caress Porthos' red cheeks. "Or subjects."

"I want to know how to carry on conversations with you," Porthos says, trying to shake the image of Aramis' female form from his mind, all tousle-haired and wild and gorgeous. It's a hard thing to shake, as is the reminder of Aramis in his regular form wearing that corset. "So we can talk idly around the house."

"We will have to teach Athos," Aramis muses, "Lest he grow jealous or feel left out. But I would like that, too," he says. "Particularly when Ana arrives. She will learn to speak three languages by the time she can ride one of their delightful little bicycles."

He beams at Porthos, charmed by the thought. "Tienes hambre. Are you hungry? Estoy cansado, I am tired. ¿Hay café? Is there coffee?" Aramis laughs. "You will hear that rather a lot."

Edited 2015-11-20 04:25 (UTC)

Porthos grins as he idly reaches out his hand, rubbing circles with his thumb along Aramis' calf absently as he thinks of those phrases and repeats them one by one, feeling like they're all simpler than the other ones he's been learning. "Athos will probably pick it up with ease. He's much cleverer than me when it comes to things like languages."

He taps his thumb against Aramis' leg. "What about 'you look beautiful'."

"To me?" asks Aramis with a bat of his dark lashes. "Estás bello. And you are just as clever as Athos." He pushes his calf against Porthos' fingers, eager for any touch, even the smallest ones. "Tú eres el más guapo de la ciudad, mi marido," he murmurs.

Porthos leans in and murmurs, "Estás bello," in a low, sensual growl as he crawls a little closer and struggles as he narrows his eyes, gaping a little at Aramis. "I don't know what any of that means except husband," he confesses. "You'd better not be swearing at me."

Aramis makes a small sound of want - he will always want Porthos, but crawling towards him and growling sweet nothings in Spanish, Porthos is a vision of pleasure itself. "I was not," he promises, eyes on Porthos' parted lips. "It was a compliment, I assure you."

Porthos grins when Aramis lets out the sound he does. He watches the way Aramis looks at his lips, and if he weren't so stubborn about wanting to learn, he'd be stripping off Aramis' shirt right now. As it is, he's staring at his chest, hard to look away. "And what does it mean? Not a good lesson unless I know."

"It means you have no equal in Darrow," Aramis tells him, pleased to see Porthos' gaze drop to his chest. He leans a touch more to the left, knowing it will cause his collar to gape. "El más fuerte, el más guapo, el más valiente," he sighs. He knows how Porthos hates it when Aramis praises his goodness, but in Spanish he feels free to do so. "En primer lugar en mi corazón y en mi alma."

Porthos launches at Aramis with a bright grin on his face, trying to tickle his stomach because he might not understand all the words, but he knows what Aramis is getting at, laughing as he kisses his way down his neck. "Stop it," is what he warns, squeezing Aramis' hip before he eases back, picking up the Spanish textbook for children and a pencil to work some of the writing in.

Aramis clutches at Porthos in delight, laughing not for the skim of Porthos' fingers but in happiness, but he whines when Porthos pulls away yet again. Rolling onto his back, Aramis drapes a forearm over his eyes lest Porthos taunt him with the sight of himself as well as those too brief kisses.

"Que Dios maldiga ese libro a los fuegos del infierno."

Porthos grins as he watches Aramis, smirking for his melodramatic position. He taps the pencil against his lower lip, sucking on it as he opens the book to the first few pages where he's been asked to fill in the seasons and the numbers. "I know book was in there," he says, shifting so he's lying on his stomach right beside Aramis, nudging his back right to Aramis' front.

Aramis wriggles closer, sticking his nose into the juncture of Porthos' shoulder and throat. "And the fires of Hell," he murmurs, enjoying the scent of Porthos if nothing else. "Entre un libro y tu marido en la cama, tu elegir un libro. Scandalous."

Porthos scribbles in a few answers, pushing his arse back against Aramis' hips wordlessly, knowing that Aramis is accusing him of neglecting him (or so he thinks). "If I gave in to you every time you looked handsome, I'd be perpetually having sex with you at all hours of the day. And I'd never learn Spanish," he points out.

Aramis hisses as Porthos brushes back against him, and he snakes his arms around him, scratching lightly at Porthos' upper thighs. "I am forbidden from touching you whilst you do yoga and speak Spanish," he says, "Times which you know me to find you particularly sexy. You are cruel."

"And to think when we started all of this, I couldn't go a few moments without wanting to pin you to a flat surface. You've taught me well," he shares with a wink, wiggling his arse for that scratch. He can feel Aramis' interest and he smiles knowingly to himself as he turns the page with a very deliberate lick of his finger. "We can add cooking to that list."