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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"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."

"You only care for anticipation when it antagonizes me," says Aramis, recalling their near failure with the spanking. "Not when it gets me off. Cruel," he says again, grabbing Porthos' hips and rubbing himself against them. "Atormentado con placer. ¿Por qué no?"

Porthos grins as he peers over his shoulder, understanding the last bit of that. "So I get that you just asked me 'why not', only I don't know what the why not is," he hisses out, when Aramis grabs at him and makes him very aware of what Aramis would like to get off.

"I don't know why not either," Aramis pouts against Porthos' back. "You have so many options. Cuerdas. Esposas. Un anillo para mi polla." He sighs theatrically, hips still moving in small circles against Porthos. "Extraño tu polla en mi culo."

Porthos groans as he realizes that Aramis is definitely not going to let him focus on his studies. He closes his book with the pencil to mark the place and gives him a pointed look from where he turns and shakes his head. "What happened to bettering my mind? Teaching me your other language?"

"And other than 'esposas', I didn't get any of that."

"You see?" asks Aramis. "I speak Spanish and still you complain." He releases Porthos and rolls onto his back, the position he'd held before Porthos had decided to taunt him with the proximity of his body. "Tell me another phrase you desire."

Porthos leans on his elbow, staring at Aramis from where he's comfortably leaning. "Tell me how to say 'I want to make you the happiest man in the world'," he suggests, voice low and fond.

"Quiero hacerte el hombre más feliz del mundo," Aramis answers, smiling faintly. It is not so different from what they'd promised one another on their wedding day. "A fine phrase, to be sure. What else?"

Porthos' eyes go half-lidded as he watches the way Aramis' mouth forms those beautiful words and he grins, eyes going to the ceiling thoughtfully. "What about, 'come February, I'm going to give you the best anniversary present ever'?"

"You're meant to repeat it back to me," Aramis notes, "Or you will never learn." He pauses. "Llegado febrero, voy a darle el mejor aniversario de boda regalo del mundo." He raises his brows. "Does that mean that I will, or you will?"