du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

After Aramis (and himself, if he's honest) had calmed down from the news, the next most important step lies before them. While they're incredibly happy, Porthos still has his own set of nerves to deal with and he can only imagine that it pales in comparison as to what Athos is likely to be feeling when he hears the news. In order to help sort of calm the mood (or really just soothe Athos), Porthos has popped out to buy a few bottles of wine and one very special bottle of champagne.

When he returns, he can see Athos' coat hanging and knows he's here, which is good because he doubts either of them could prolong the news much longer. Porthos nudges up against Aramis in the kitchen, pressing the side of the champagne bottle to his skin once he raises his shirt. "Steady on," he murmurs. "Let's talk to him."

It could go well, he thinks.

Or they could be ending the night drinking a great deal to soothe the wounds. "Athos," Porthos summons. "C'mere, Aramis has got some news."

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The chill of still-lingering winter has not even left Athos’ limbs when Porthos calls to him. He had come in quietly, as is his wont, and settled on the sofa with a book; now, he looks up to find Porthos and Aramis lurking in the kitchen, looking earnest and wary. Abandoning his book, he joins them.

“What have you done?” he asks with a lifted brow, looking at the wine, and then between the two men.

Aramis hardly reacts to the sudden cold bottle against his skin, his body already so awash in nerves the chill barely registers. He swallows, for a moment feeling as if he's floating above himself when Athos meets their eyes. He's not certain he's ever been so nervous before, not before King or Cardinal or enemy.

"Right to it, then," he murmurs, leaning into Porthos' side to fortify himself. "I received the call this afternoon," he says, carefully avoiding the words he knows have caused Athos the most trouble in the past. "From the agency. We're having a baby. It's to come in December."

Porthos lingers near Aramis to give him support, a hand firmly on his back as he keeps his eyes on Athos for the reaction, not sure whether he's going to need to break out a good bit of alcohol just to get them all through this. "There's still plenty of time for all of us to adjust," he says, hoping to give a little bit of a balm. "But it's happening. Now, more than ever, it's really happening."

Though the news rocks him back, Athos keeps his expression carefully blank. He busies himself with opening the bottle of wine and filling a glass for each of them as his mind races behind his eyes. The day’s worries, and work, and accomplishments, all the little things that have kept him distracted an nominally content, fall away from him. He thought he had made his peace with this inevitability, but now his stomach twists with longing and loneliness. Aramis and Porthos are taking another step down the path they have set for themselves, while he remains trapped on his own. Worse yet, both men look at him with something like fear as they share the news, as though he were a wild animal who might strike if they make the wrong move. Athos barely suppresses a wince, hating that he causes such pain, certain that this is only more reason to keep his distance from everything concerning the babe.

All Athos can do is try not to cause even more hurt. “You can speak plainly, you know. The woman is pregnant.” He keeps his voice light, pushes a glass of wine towards each of them, and then holding up his own. “Then congratulations are in order."

Aramis reaches across the table for the glass, and though he'd rather be standing for the toast, he finds he must pull out one of the kitchen chairs and sink into it. Their days have been tumultuous of late, and though today's stress is a happy one, it's still enjoy to make his knees uncharacteristically weak.

But he smiles, glad at least that Athos has accepted the news graciously. He still longs so much for family, and stubbornly believes that Athos will come round to it once exposed - Aramis doesn't have room in his belly now for the fear that he might not. "Yes," he says. "Near Christmas, they say." Aramis gives them both a watery smile. "It truly will be a new year."

Porthos knows that he wants to give Aramis support for his happiness, but he drifts closer to rest his large palm on the back of Athos' neck to squeeze gently and offer him a little warmth. "They belong to you, as well. The child, just as much as the house, will be a part of your life, because we still want you to be with us, every bit as much as you were before."

He's painfully earnest about this, because it's the truth.

Athos offers Porthos a strained half-smile for his eager assurances. What congratulations has he earned, and what child has he sired? None- and it is certainly better that way whatever either of the other men might say. But Athos does not wish to argue, not tonight. He lets Porthos’ words stand, as though they had truly managed to soothe.

Porthos’ hand on his neck is soothing - firm, and warm, and real, grounding Athos in the current moment, away from the confusing future. He sinks down in a chair at the table, exhausted by the news and all he cannot say. Sipping his wine, he eyes the two of them. “You have already been celebrating,” he observes, faintly amused. Yes, by now he can tell when they have been having sex. Of course he can.

And it’s a much more pleasant topic.

"Nerves," admits Aramis with a rueful grin. Even now, after using all his strength to bring Porthos to two orgasms, he still jangles with them, hardly able to keep his hands still. But he reaches at once for Athos' hand when it is near enough, holding it tightly to ground the both of them.

"I love you," he says, words he says often, but Aramis feels they are needed more than ever today. He looks up at Porthos. "The both of you, so much."

"I was a bit thirsty for it after being fifteen for so long," Porthos points out, licking his lip as he leans over towards Aramis, smirking as he looks towards Athos. "Want to watch us? Or am I going to have to tell you all the fantasies I had about ruining you with my teenaged hands?"

Athos grasps tight to Aramis’ hands, tight enough to reveal his own jangled nerves that he tries to keep hidden. He swallows back a lump in his throat, holding Aramis’ gaze for beat, and then looking down at their clasped hands. “You thought I needed ruining?” he says to Porthos, managing a smirk that almost feels real.

"Does he ever stop?" Aramis counters, lifting their hands to kiss Athos' knuckles, leaving them against his cheek after. He glances sidelong at Porthos and finds himself laughing, comforted by the deviant smile on his face. "He confessed a number of lurid plans to me earlier."

"You were an old man in my eyes, and I wanted to take you apart," Porthos says, grinning as he watches the both of them, approaching so he can straddle Athos' waist, grinning up at Aramis from his new position. "Far too proper. It just led me to a dozen fantasies about what I could do if you weren't so buttoned up," he says, as eager as ever.

“I am not that old,” Athos protests for the sake of his pride. He brings his hands to rest at Porthos’ hips, forcing back the the tension he does not dare speak. Here, now, in this moment, nothing divides them. He glances at Aramis, and then at Porthos, lifting his brow. “You were cocky, weren’t you? What did you think you could do to me, then?"

Aramis grips his wine glass when Athos pulls his hand away, lifting it to take a lengthy sip, and then another. "Various iterations of making you scream," he says, deciding it is best heard from Porthos himself.

Porthos inches back to give a space between him and Athos, precisely enough room for another body. He leans over to yank the glass away from Aramis, then prying on his hand to tug him in towards them, looking expectantly at where he wants him. "Now, this one, I haven't told either of you," he admits. "True, in my fantasy, it's me in the middle, but I'm hardly so lithe to be there now."

He raises a brow at Aramis, given that he hopes it communicates exactly what he expects.

Catching on, Athos is surprised enough that his smile comes naturally this time. He scoffs, and then peers up at Aramis, standing beside them. “I believe he wants you in my lap.” A beat. “I have concerns about my chair, but it might be worth the risk."

Aramis makes a sound of disapproval for the disappearance of his glass, but he raises both brows for Porthos' suggestion. There are a number of ways he might take that, but he's quite all right with any of them beginning with himself in Athos' lap, especially if Porthos stays tucked up behind him.

"Perhaps the bed, then," he suggests, levering himself to standing.

Porthos' lips quirk up and he rises slowly, turning to slide his hands around Aramis' hips, ready to guide himself there. "C'mon, Athos," he coaxes. "Best you had some time in the bedroom, too, lest you think all the energy I had to burn is through, because it's not. And I've got this fantasy about the lithest one in the middle of the both of us."

He turns his mischievous grin on Aramis. "Which would be you, now."

Athos requires no coaxing. He is greedy for the distraction, the assurance, the feel of their arms and bodies around him that will banish his fears from his mind. More often than he should, Athos reaches for the bottle to quiet his thoughts; sex can sometimes do the same.

“Do you ever run out of energy?” Athos asks Porthos, languidly pushing himself to his feet. He catches Porthos’ wrist, and pulls him close to kiss him, and then steps toward Aramis to bestow a soft kiss as well. He wants to beg, promise never to leave me behind, but cannot bring himself to speak the words. This is the best he can do.

Athos doesn't say the words, but Aramis feels it in the frame of him when he is kissed, a rigidness in his muscles born of an anxiety that Athos can't quite hide. Aramis catches him by the shoulders and pulls him in again, this time kissing him as filthily as he knows how.

"Porthos," he says when he steps back, nodding at Athos to say that he should carry him. "If you would." And with that Aramis returns to the bedroom, already pulling off his shirt. Truly, it's a wonder he even bothered putting it on at all.

"And to think," Porthos remarks as he bends down to haul Athos into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder as he happily totes him into the bedroom. "A few days ago, you could've easily done this with me," he remarks with a wide, filthy grin, dropping him onto the bed with a little bounce, leaning up against the nearest post.

Athos opens his mouth under Aramis’ insistent kiss, nearly gasping as he pulls away. Of course, he is given no time to recover; these days, he is more prepared than he once was for Porthos to sweep him up, but still he splutters at the indignity of being carried and dumped like a sack of potatoes. “God only knows what you would have done in revenge,” he counters, unbuttoning his shirt as he stretches out on the bed.

Aramis has wasted no time, already nude when he crawls across the sheets to Athos, helping to peel him out of his shirt. When it is gone, he sets his fingers to Athos' trousers, his gaze flicking up to Porthos. "Are you going to give us a show?" he asks when he finds the man still clothed and watching them, but even as he says it, Aramis can't help a quick show of his own. Tugging Athos' trousers down his thighs, he lowers his head to kiss each newly exposed inch of skin and crawls back up, mouthing now at Athos' pale sides and belly.

Porthos has only just laid down Athos and now a show is being demanded. He lets out a huff and shakes his head, but grins as he watches the both of them, taking his time as he plants his heels in the ground and begins to very slowly pry off his shirt, flexing and taking great pleasure in the muscles he has now that he hadn't before. "I don't know, you seem plenty good at showing off without me," he muses.

Athos inhales sharply, the sudden feel of cool air and Aramis’ warm mouth on his skin making his shiver. He closes his eyes at first, body arching slightly, though he soon cracks one eye open to smirk at Porthos. “He does seem content on his own,” Athos agrees with amusement.