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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“You have a filthy mouth,” Athos says with a smirk, stuttering over the words. He gasps as Porthos’ thrust nudges Aramis deeper inside him, bringing him close to that sweet spot that will make him sob with pleasure. Taking the cue, he thrusts his hips upward, giving Aramis the movement he so craves, roughly urging them both on.

Athos cants his hips to take him deeper, and Aramis swears, gathering his senses so that he can ease back in the new space afforded to him, fucking himself back onto Porthos' cock before he thrusts forward into Athos. "Sangdieu," he breathes again, finding pleasure in every direction. Lifting his head, Aramis stares down at Athos, his expression awed, Porthos' heat like a brand against his back. "Porthos," Aramis whispers. "Help me take him harder."

Porthos loves when Aramis says such sweet things. He grins and holds onto Aramis' hips all the tighter, pressing tight against him with a vehemence that belies how much he wants that. "You just hold on," he insists, voice a low growl as he bears in, fucking Aramis with a hard snap of his hips that drives him down.

Athos smiles breathlessly up at that awed, desperate look in Aramis’ eyes; then, as Porthos begins to move with joyful fierceness, his expression breaks apart with pleasure. Athos tips his head back, mouth falling open as he cries out, gasping with each thrust that drives Aramis deeper inside him. “Yes,” he moans, cursing aloud. “Like that…please…"

Athos' cry mixes with Aramis', their union so complete that he can't tell whose voice it is still ringing in his ear. "Perfect, Porthos," he gasps in encouragement, as if their ecstasy could somehow have escaped Porthos' notice. Already his arms burn with the effort of bracing himself for Porthos' powerful thrusts, but he would not ask him to slow for the world.

Porthos grabs onto Aramis' hips and drags him back, just away from Athos enough that he hopes to make Athos beg for it. He's barely conscious himself, his body trembling with the way he's holding himself back from going wild and fucking Aramis with abandon, knowing that it will put a frantic pace on Athos' shoulders, as well.

Athos shakes with pleasure at each thrust, and gasps each time they pull away together. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand to continue without being touched and finding some relief, but he holds off that moment a little longer, reveling in the way they move together. Deep in his heart, he knows that their fucking is merely a way to avoid the matter at hand - the child, the rifts between them, their future together. Athos doesn’t want to think. He has chosen not to think, and by God, it is working.

Every snap of Porthos' hips brings more pleasure than the last, and Aramis gasps and moans, locks his arms and stops trying to help in the movement. Pressed between them, Aramis merely focuses on staying upright, allowing Porthos to drive him into Athos, both their breathes hot in his ear. To have them both at once is so good, perhaps better than anything Aramis has yet felt, and with the sense remaining to him he resolves that they must all have a turn here in this blessed spot.

"Aramis," Porthos coaxes, his words long and drawn out as he keeps fucking him, tutting with his tongue, driving forward as hard as he can. "C'mon chou, you have to come for me. Why won't you be a good boy and come? Maybe it'll even make Athos peak."

“Do it, Aramis.” Athos' words are tight and strained, panting with every thrust. His body sings with need, and it makes him gasp and moan. He can barely get the words out. “And you- Porthos…” Before he loses sense entirely, Athos wants to see them both in ecstasy.

The sound that tears from Aramis' throat is very nearly a sob, and it's as if his body has been waiting, happy to be the instrument by which Porthos fucks Athos, but now he has permission to fall apart. Orgasm curls deep in his belly almost at once, and Aramis opens his eyes to stare down at Athos, shuddering as he begins to spend deep within him. Even as it overtakes him, Porthos' cock nudges at that sweet place within his own body, and Aramis' sobs become real, his face pressed to Athos' throat as if to hide from the intensity of his pleasure.

Porthos bows his head forward, his chin hooked over Aramis' shoulder as he breathes out slowly, a soft whine on his lips. He breathes Aramis and Athos' names out, again and again, but they cascade into soft 'I love you's.

"Athos," he manages, broken. "Do it."

Athos is already trembling; as Aramis sobs against his skin, he loses control entirely. Desperate for friction, for anything that will give him sweet release, he arches his body, rubbing against Aramis’ torso enough, just enough-

“Dear God,” he gasps, shuddering as he comes. He closes his eyes tightly, but he cannot stop the tears from wetting his cheeks.

Aramis gives another quiet sob as he feels Athos' release hot between them, and he musters all his scattered will to rise back on his elbows, giving Porthos the best angle he can for Porthos to drive within him and find his own release. "God, I love you both," he whispers, shuddering with overcome nerves.

Porthos bites his lip and presses his forehead a little harder to Aramis' shoulder, slowing himself to really enjoy this moment, not wanting to rush it when it feels so tight and perfect. "Hold, h-hold on," he mumbles, writhing and shifting. It's not long before he does come, muscles tensing for a moment before he's able to relax.

"Perfect," he praises fondly.

Athos' eyes are still tightly shut, his breathing ragged. Senses scattered, he registers Porthos' climax in the weight of him as he goes limp. Athos remains boneless himself, exhausted and blessedly lost to the world. Nothing matters - nothing except the three of them.

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