(no subject)

Once he's settled Aramis away with some nice clothes, a few wedding magazines, and the cat, Porthos nearly hauls himself up the stairs to the upstairs apartment, not bothering to knock or shout that he's coming, so desperate and in a panic to tell Athos the warning he should have given three orgasms ago (or four or five, he sort of lost count). Even thinking about it now makes him flush and tug his collar as if he can hide some of the hickeys on his neck.

"Athos," he calls out in a hiss, trying not to let Aramis know the panicked tones he's taking on right now. He checks over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed as he rolls right into the kitchen to open the fridge and start searching for something to gnaw on while he's up here, fiddling with the phone he'd confiscated (with all the pictures on it). "I need to talk to you, if you're here," he calls out. "And I'm stealing a sandwich."