du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

It takes him nearly six hours to return the items that he'd stolen during his erstwhile time as a teenager. He does his best to appear chagrined and excuse an unseen nephew for his crimes while bringing back weapons, paying for food taken, and all manner of embarrassing items. That said, he does pay for one from the sex shop that he intends to keep for a later date, but only because it had looked interesting.

Weary and exhausted, he makes his way slowly back to the apartment, aware that he's been ignoring his phone while he works on returning everything that he can. He trudges back to the apartment, but stops for flowers and a bottle of wine. It's been a few days since he's grown up again (so to speak), but he still feels a touch awful about the stress he's put both Athos and Aramis under.

He lets himself into the apartment, petting the Captain as he settles, peering inside. "Aramis, are you here?" Glancing at his phone, he frowns to see he's missed several calls. "Chou?" he calls again, setting the wine on the counter with the flowers as he takes off his coat.

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Alone in their bedroom, Aramis lifts his head at the sound of the door. His body feels stiff right down to his fingers, still clutching at the phone in his hands. He'd fumbled Porthos' number twice, and the calls that made it through went unanswered. It must have been hours ago now. Aramis takes a breath around the lump in his throat.

He knows very well what this is. This is shock, but the knowing it doesn't make it any easier to move, nor does it help him to push past this numbness to confusing mix of elation, surprise, and near panic beneath. Aramis clears his throat, but all he manages is a croak of Porthos' name.

Porthos sets the wine where it is, flowers still in his hand. He thinks he's heard a sound come from the bedroom that might even be his name. He nudges the door open and panic and worry washes over his face when he sees the way Aramis looks frozen in place. "What? What is it?" he demands instantly, worried that he hadn't picked up his phone. "Are you okay? Is Athos all right? Did something happen?"

"Athos is well," Aramis answers, feeling some of the fog in his head lift for the sight of Porthos barreling into the room. "The agency called. You didn't answer your phone. I called you, Porthos." Aramis wants to rise, but he feels strange, his head spinning to the point that he's not certain his legs will hold him. "It's happened."

"I was in the shops, returning the things I took while a teen," Porthos replies, confused as to why it matters so much until suddenly Aramis is saying something about the agency and them calling. It could just be another check-in, but judging by the look on Aramis' face and the way he's acting, it can't just be another check.

He staggers forward, setting the flowers on the dresser as he bends forward to haul Aramis into a sitting-up state. "Aramis, say it," he coaxes, eyes wide as he waits to hear it. "Say what they called about."

"They said it's happened," Aramis stammers, his eyes wide when they finally fix on Porthos' own. "It's taken, she's pregnant." Aramis wants to grip Porthos in return, but his fingers shake, the phone dropping at last from them. "We're going to have a child."

It's Porthos' turn for shock, gaping right at Aramis. He bends down to haul Aramis into his arms, forcing his legs around his waist as he holds on tight, his eyes as desperate as they've ever been. He holds on so tightly to Aramis because he doesn't dare let go of him in case he lets go of him, leaning in for a hard kiss of victory before a booming laugh takes over.

"What are you doing lying on the bed, darling?"

Porthos lifts him into the air, freeing Aramis at last from his stupor, and he throws his arms around Porthos' neck. "It did not feel real," he says, his eyes growing hot. "Not until you knew, not until I said the words. Porthos."

Aramis holds on tightly as something bubbles up in his chest, and if it sounds like laughter and tears all at once it feels like it, too.

Porthos' eyes scan Aramis' face rapidly, staring at him with his own shock. After all the false starts and maybes, how can this be the real time. He cradles Aramis in tighter as he steps back, his fingertips a harsh pressure that yields no mercy. "We're having a baby?" he asks, voice small and fearful and ecstatic all at once.

"Really?"

Aramis nods against his throat, drawing another shaking breath. There is suddenly so much in the world, so much joy, but so much fear, too. Twice now Aramis has lived in the hope of a child, only to lose it. He doesn't think he can bear a third, but that's not what he wishes to dwell on today.

These tears are happy ones, and Aramis gives himself over to them at last, holding on to Porthos as he weeps and lets himself believe that they will finally have a family.

Porthos pushes Aramis up against the wall to support him enough that he can get a leg in between Aramis' thighs, cupping his face with the hand that frees in order to kiss him through those tears, feeling trembling and panicky himself as he tugs on Aramis' hair and lets out a needy whimper into his mouth.

Never mind not having had this for a few days, he's feeling explosive to get it back.

Aramis clings to him, and if he were in command of himself he'd know this is the worst kiss he's ever bestowed, his mouth slick with his own tears and body still shaking with his sobs, but he kisses Porthos with all that he has, whimpering for the tugs to his hair.

"Porthos," he murmurs, certain that the other man's hands are all that are holding him together. "In December. If all goes well, we'll meet our Lucie in December."

"Oh, now," Porthos gets out feebly, his knees weakening and shaking a touch. "You can't go around saying things like that when I'm holding you up, we're both gonna end up collapsing to the ground," he protests, holding onto him as best as he can, dragging Aramis in the direction of the bed so they can collapse on it.

Once there, he stretches back for the tissue box, dragging them out to dab at Aramis' cheeks. "Don't cry, now."

"As if your eyes are any dryer," Aramis laughs, catching Porthos' face in his hands to kiss his wet cheeks. "December, Porthos," he says in wonder. "How will we ever bear to wait until then. My God, I can hardly bear it."

Aramis sits up. "We may finally buy more than that crib!"

He's actually shaking. Porthos doesn't register that his hands are trembling until they're both lying on the bed and he gets the chance to peer at Aramis through his blurry, tear-stained eyes, unable to do anything but sniffle for a moment as he thinks of how little time they have before things change completely. "I need the time to adjust, I think," he confesses, a blurted thing. "You might be ready to be a Papa, but I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to manage."

"Cariño," sighs Aramis with a wet laugh, wiping uselessly at his own eyes with the tissues. "We have nine months. We'll figure out everything we can."

Needing to hold him as much as he needs to be held, Aramis wraps his arms around Porthos and hangs on tightly. "I love you so much."

Porthos desperately leans into the hold, not knowing what else he can do right now except for rejoice and panic and do all the other things that come with hearing this kind of news for the first time. "I love you, too," he vows, sniffling and grasping for a tissue himself. "Aramis, it's happening. She's really pregnant, we're really going to have a baby." He grins, then, a toothy thing. "A Christmas baby."

Aramis' face splits in a smile to match Porthos', and he leans in to kiss his dimples. "A gift we will never manage to top," he agrees, burying his trembling fingers in Porthos' curls. "The agency said we must take a few days to let it sink in. Attempt normalcy. But," he confesses, "I would really like to buy a few things. The tiny clothes are...they're so small, Porthos."

Porthos leans into the touch of Aramis' fingers to his hair, a whimper on his lips as he gives into that needed touch. "We should wait until we know whether we're having a girl or a boy," he says, trying to be rational. "That way we can buy only the things we know we'll need and not waste money." He shifts onto his knees to surround Aramis with his body, eager to pin him down.

Aramis groans, and though it's only been days, he feels half-starved of Porthos' bearing down on him with his proper bulk. He lifts his head and nips Porthos' jaw, savoring the return of his beard.

"Any child may wear yellow," he says, "Green, blue. There are clothes we can buy. Tiny socks, Porthos."

Porthos slides his hands over Aramis' arms, circling his wrists so he can pin them above his head, rocking his hips against him. He's painfully hard, something he's been since a child, but it's not like anyone had helped him out with that except for his own hand and he's keen on someone else's.

"Okay," he negotiates. "Let's buy one of each colour and some tiny socks. But then we wait to find out if it's a girl or boy."

Aramis sucks in a breath, trembling now with more than joy. Porthos is so hard already, his body dragging down against Aramis' with delicious friction. It's been moments only, but Aramis has already begun to pant.

"How long?" he manages to ask. "Some wait until the day of birth, but I can't wait that long, Porthos."

"I don't think we ought to wait that long at all," Porthos protests, as impatient as anything when it comes to this. "I'm thinking as soon as we can know, we should. And then we can have a big party," he announces with joy. "You and me and Athos and all our friends, and then we'll be able to shop to our heart's desire."

"A party," says Aramis with a shaky smile. He knows they will not yet be in the clear, for Isabelle's belly had already rounded when their baby was lost. So much could happen between now and the birth, but looking into Porthos' sweet face, Aramis lets himself believe. "Poor Athos," he say. "A party and an infant. It is hard to guess which he will dread more."

Porthos curves his head so that he's starting to work a very distinctive red mark into Aramis' neck, a slow and seductive little thing that he enjoys as he works to make up for lost time. "The party, then the infant," he predicts. "And the way you fuss and the way I'll worry. We're going to drive him to an early heart condition if we don't supply enough wine."

Aramis' laugh turns into a moan as Porthos continues to work at his neck, stinging and soothing in equal measure with his tongue. "He could drive himself to aneurysm all on his own," Aramis notes, sobering a little. "We must tell him." As much as he'd like to bask in this moment forever, their joy undiminished and still unspoiled by the many realities that will come with raising a child, it's not a secret to be kept. "How, Porthos?"