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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"Apparently all I had to do was give up," says Aramis in amusement, and he props up on an elbow when Porthos moves away to stand at the foot of the bed. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Such an open question is dangerous, Porthos," he adds with a grin.

Porthos grins as he looks down at all the things he's wearing from his socks to his sweatpants to the undershirt and the sweater. "Where do I start?" he asks, this time, thinking that might be a better way for Aramis to understand. "In Spanish, so I still learn," he insists.

Aramis chuckles. "Ah, well then, let me see." He surveys Porthos, but his first choice is probably predictable. He can hardly be blamed - Porthos has a magnificent torso. "Con tu suéter," he says, "Y." Aramis raises a hand. "Lenta."

Porthos grins widely, not missing a single one of those words. He understands all of them and he puts his hands on the hem of his sweater to slowly pry it off, inch by perilous inch until he's got it off, ruffling his hair and leaving him only in the tank top now, hugging tight to every muscle and angle of his torso. "I've been doing this good workout for my abs," he boasts. "I think there's more definition than ever."

"The effect is striking," Aramis agrees, fingers itching to reach for him, but he refrains. He does bite his lip, however, and certainly looks his fill. Humming, Aramis decides, "Los calcetines. Espera." Aramis grins and makes a turning motion with his finger. "Giro de vuelta."

He has his hands down to his socks, knowing that word, when suddenly Aramis tells him to wait. He mouths 'turn around?' and when he gets the confirmation he needs, he does exactly that, spinning until his arse is facing Aramis and he bends down very, very slowly in order to slowly pry his socks off. He flicks them to the side, turning back to look at Aramis, wiggling his toes against their floor.

Rolling his shoulders back, he stands there with sheer, unabashed pride and delight. "I'm thinking the arse is next months' focus."

"Can perfection be improved upon?" wonders Aramis, and he's moved closer on the bed by the time Porthos turns around. "I suppose it cannot hurt to try." Reaching down, Aramis adjusts himself in his jeans and hums in thought.

"Ahora, la camisa," he decides.

Edited 2015-11-22 04:18 (UTC)

Porthos is pleasantly delighted to see Aramis so close when he turns around. His smile only grows to see Aramis adjust himself in his jeans. "I still remember a time when I had to beg, borrow, and steal just to get you in a pair of those. Now look at you wearing them to show off your every asset." He hooks his thumbs in the tank-top and slowly nudges it away and wiggles his way out of it, draping it into a pool on the ground beside him as he stands there, hip cocked out.

"Lovely," Aramis praises, "Guapo," for Porthos deserves to know how handsome he looks. He turns onto his front so that the tight jeans cling to his arse and wriggles it a bit.

"Tell me," he says. "If I ask you to remove your pants next, will there be underwear beneath?"

Porthos' eyes go straight to the way those jeans hug Aramis' arse, sighing plaintively for the beauty of such a thing. "Unfortunately, today, there will be," he confirms, standing tall now with his bare torso on display as he puts his fingers on the cord of his sweatpants, giving Aramis a challenging look. "Are you wearing underwear?"

"In these jeans?" asks Aramis, giving another wiggle of his arse. "No room." He grins and pillows his chin on his folded arms, watching the cord of Porthos' sweatpants wind around his fingers. "Ahora," he purrs. "Tus pantalones."

Porthos sighs happily for the news, because he does love to know that Aramis has nothing on beneath his clothes. He inches closer and grins as he takes a mild break in order to lean right over Aramis and palm his arse, kneading it before standing as close to the edge of the bed as he can.

He turns to face away from Aramis as he nudges the pants past his hips, wiggling to get them to drop the rest of the way and kicking them to the side of the room.

"Well? Am I appealing?"

Aramis answers with a pleased hum, grateful that Porthos' briefs are snug as he presents them, stretched tight over his arse. "I can think of only one improvement," he admits, letting his hips hitch against the bed for one moment of blissful friction. "Quítese los calzoncillos."

Porthos grins warmly as he hooks his thumbs into his briefs and nudges them down just a little lower to below his hipbones. He stares down at them (not revealing much of anything), making a little pouting face. "I think they're stuck," he comments, as if with real concern.

"Surely a man as strong as you could wrest them down," says Aramis, his gaze fixed hungrily on the jut of Porthos' hipbones. Reaching, he grabs only the cord and tugs once. "Or do you require some help?"

"I think I might require some help," he says, staring down at his briefs and Aramis' hand on them, stepping a little closer until he can kneel on the bed. "Do you think people buy the underwear with my photo on it and think about this?" he teases. "Maybe they should advertise that wearing this brand will get them laid."

"Only if they have your arse," Aramis murmurs, "Would wearing these briefs result in immediate carnal action." He lifts up as Porthos kneels, shifting so he can put his mouth to Porthos' hip bone. "Perhaps if I kiss each new bit of skin revealed, you will find the strength to uncover more."

"Good thing they sent us plenty of samples to see if they all have the same effect," Porthos murmurs, staring down as his heart starts to beat with excited anticipation for Aramis' thoughtful solution. "I knew you were the cleverest one," he praises with a growl, staring down and waiting expectantly. "Let's see if your plan works."

Aramis grins and nips at Porthos' hipbone, lips skimming against the muscle below it, sharply defined for all of Porthos' yoga. He licks a short, hot line against his skin, pausing when his tongue meets cotton.

"Look at that, they're already sliding a bit further," he praises with a lopsided grin as he nudges them down another inch, cock straining against the fabric. For all the teasing, he's still not good at not wanting Aramis and it definitely, certainly shows. "A little more and they might just melt right off."

"It does seem promising," Aramis agrees, sliding his fingertips beneath the cotton where it rounds Porthos' thighs. He forgoes skin this time, lowering his mouth to frame Porthos' cock. Breathing out, Aramis surrounds him in warm, wet heat, lips tightening to grip him through the fabric.

Porthos gasps at the heat, throwing his head back and reaching for one of the wooden poles of the bed, gripping on tightly before his knees do something stupid like give out on him. He reaches down and shoves them down all the way to his ankles, nudging them off and pushing forward like Aramis is his prey, pinning him to the bed and leaving no room between them.

His eyes are dark and fixed on Aramis. "Why are you wearing so much clothing?"

Aramis gasps in pleasure as Porthos descends, the length of his warm, firm body pressed against him. Clothed or not, it still feels like heaven. "You didn't request I remove any," he tells him sweetly. "I didn't want to act out of turn."

Porthos eases off of Aramis, completely naked now and perched on the edge of the bed. "
Toda la ropa, por favor," he instructs, sprawling out at the head of the bed with all the lovely cushions available for padding as he reclines.

"Not poco a poco?" Aramis teases, but he pulls his shirt over his head at once, toeing his socks off in the same breath. He gets his fingers around the button of his jeans and pops it, but he pauses when he gets to the zipper.

"Perhaps you will help me in turn, cariño?"