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 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?"

Porthos smiles warmly and listens to the words, repeating them now carefully. "Llegado febrero, voy a darle el mejor aniversario de boda regalo del mundo." He hasn't actually got a plan, but he's got a few months to think of something and there's plenty of things that he's aching to try that he could be persuaded to do. "Well, I've got my gift. Whether you give me one in return is up to you."

He shifts over to straddle Aramis, keeping their hips apart as he leans over him. "Now you tell me something to say."

"Of course I will give you a gift," murmurs Aramis, trying very hard to be still when Porthos crawls atop him. He licks his lips and ponders what he'd like to hear. "Say, your hair looks nice," he replies, "Even in the mornings before you brush it."

"Su cabello se ve bien," he murmurs, but grins sheepishly when he realizes he doesn't know the next bit, so instead he combs his fingers through his hair, a fond smile on his face as he looks at it. "I love your hair," he croons. "Especially when you tie it up in that bun-thing I like."

"Tu," Aramis corrects, "You need not use formal vowels with those who are close to you." He grins, though, for the compliment, pushing his scalp against Porthos' fingers. "I like the bun as well," he replies. "Keeps it out of my eyes."

"It's very attractive," Porthos says knowingly, because he's been helping himself to morning touches in the shower while thinking about Aramis styling his hair up into that elegant little thing. "Mine's a bit wild now, but it's still not able to do that," he says, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair and make it stand as much on end as he can make it.

Aramis laughs and touches Porthos' curls, now making a wide halo around his head. "You'd have to make several buns," he says, "All over." He taps the back of Porthos' head, the sides, the top. "Here and here and here and here."

Shaking his own head, Aramis lets his hair fan out against the pillow. "Not quite as fetching as yours, is it?" he grins.

Porthos laughs at the image of himself with multiple little twists and ties, which seems a touch too complicated for him to do every day. "What, yours? Yours is gorgeous," he protests, leaning down to slowly steal a kiss from Aramis that's slow and measured and very much like something he'd see from a fairy tale, he thinks.

Aramis is quiet, savoring the slow, lingering kiss he receives, his fingers gentle against Porthos' cheek until he pulls away. "Then we are equally enamored of one another's hair," he concedes, beginning to mold Porthos' curls back into spirals. "As dark and as handsome as you are," he murmurs.

Porthos tips his head to the side, confused as to why Aramis is talking about his dark and his handsome, grinning as he licks his lips and leans in to kiss Aramis again. "I love when you curl my hair like this," he praises, voice soft and warm. "Make it sleek and shiny and perfect for you and Athos to look at."

"And I love doing it," Aramis replies, fingers moving on to the next clump of hair to begin molding it. "My fingers smell of your hair for hours. And even when the scent fades, I can still imagine the silken glide of your curls over my fingers perfectly."

Porthos' eyes fall to half-mast as he happily lets Aramis play with his hair, sighing slowly as he thinks of what his hair will look like. "We must spend a fortune on hair products," he confesses. "I don't even look at the bills anymore. How much do we spend?" he asks warily.