du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

While it'd taken far more control than Porthos had ever experienced having before, after his discussion with the man whose wings he's apparently stolen, he knows how to make them vanish. True, they're still there given that when he gets cross or impatient, they shimmer right back into being, along with the pulsing heat radiating in his immediate area, but he doesn't much care because they're gone and he can control them.

He'd be more eager to get back home, but he's not sure where Aramis is, his back still aches from the morning, and Porthos is currently shirtless. He fixes the last problem first with a bit of cash he's got on him, buying a loose-fitting blue linen shirt and draping it over himself before he grabs a quick bite to eat and a bottle of wine, heading back to the flat.

The aching, though, ought to be dealt with. "Aramis?" he calls, peering upstairs and setting everything down before he heads straight into one of the stretches that elongates his spine and presses his shoulders back, hissing when the muscles knot and scream, barely fighting off a headache.

He might not be cured, but he is happy to be in control again.

"Don't tell me you went and got jealous, had to go find trouble for yourself?" he laughs, shifting into a stretch they'd called 'downward dogs' or something of that nature.

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The sound of it is more surprised than displeased, and Aramis hums, squeezing Porthos gently where he holds him open. Gingerly, he moves his tongue against the hole, surprised to find it not unpleasant. With Porthos so recently bathed, there's only flesh to taste, tender and warm, and the thought of this same flesh clamped around his cock makes Aramis groan.

"Do you like it?" he asks, licking at him again.

He's never felt anything like this before. Even the whores back in Paris had never broached this and he'd never known he could ask for it. He likes it, he does, Aramis' tongue warm and unexpected and teasing, making him want more. His only reply, at first, is a brief whimper. He stays on hands and knees, but presses his forehead into the pillow, jutting his arse a little higher as a result.

"Yeah," he finally gets out breathlessly. "You?"

"I like the sounds you make," Aramis breathes, spreading him even wider to give himself room, tongue swirling around Porthos' hole until he builds the courage to press it inside of him. He can't get far, and perhaps that's for the best, but he still thrusts it as far as he can, in and out in the hopes of another whimper.

Porthos is keening soon enough, a low whine of a sound trapped in the back of his throat, but that gives way when Aramis pushes his tongue inside. The noise is replaced by steady, determined swearing, offensively terrible, but he thinks it's deserved given what Aramis is doing to him.

He is bent on his task, but Aramis still chuckles here and there when a particularly inventive curse filters through, and, when Porthos' swears take on a pleading tone, presses a fingertip to his hole.

"Would you like more?" he asks, biting gently at Porthos' right cheek.

Porthos' breaths are slow and heavy, so Aramis can probably hear each gasping inhalation and started exhale. "Yeah," he agrees, eyes falling shut as he grins stupidly against the sheets, an idiot's smile at the pleasure swarming him and he wonders how Aramis could think he wouldn't like this. "More," he coaxes.

Aramis sits back on his heels, soothing Porthos with a hand on the small of his back as he begins to press inside, daring only the smallest inch before he stops and works it out again. "All right?" he asks, exhaling carefully so that his voice will not shake.

It might be a bit of a tight press, but it sends a hot bolt of pleasure through him and he's glad he's kneeling or else they might be trembling by now. "Aramis," Porthos growls, thinking maybe it's time to be tough. "Don't know what's come over you, but if you don't stop worrying so much, I'm gonna go out and find someone else to finish me off before I explode with frustration," he insists.

"Very well," replies Aramis, shuffling away, but when he leaves the bed, it's only to come right back again, this time with a bottle of oil from the kitchen.

"On your back, then," he instructs. "I want to see your face."

Porthos is warring between grinning like a fool at getting his way and shock that Aramis has changed his mind so swiftly. Still, there's no doubt or panic so Porthos shuffles and resettles on his back, legs sprawled open and cock hard as he stares longingly at Aramis, sliding his fingertips up and down his hip to give himself a bit of relief without actually touching himself. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he promises, heart racing with anticipation.

Settling on the bed, Aramis sucks in a breath for the picture Porthos makes, his cock heavy between his legs and eyes open and warm. "If there is any discomfort," says Aramis, folding down on an elbow between Porthos' thighs, drawing one of Porthos' legs over his shoulder with care, "You must tell me."

Taking another breath, Aramis sets oil slicked fingers back to Porthos' entrance, sliding one in to the first knuckle, then looks anxiously at Porthos' face.

The only thing Aramis is bound to find is consternation turning to bliss as the discomfort gives way to a flood of pleasure. Porthos shifts his other leg to the other shoulder, ankles locking as he gives Aramis a bit more room, arms stretching out over his head so he can grasp at the headboard. "When have I ever lied to you?" he asks quietly, biting his lip as Aramis' finger slips in a little more with the change in position.

"Never," Aramis breathes, thrusting shallowly when Porthos only seems to enjoy the intrusion. He reaches a little deeper, daring to add another finger after a moment more. "You look," he says, tongue wetting his lips, "Porthos, you are a sight like this."

Porthos gives Aramis a charming grin, confident in how he looks given how much work he puts into it. True, he's littered with scars, but Aramis has not only seen them before, but stitched them up and then touched them with the pride of a mender. "I bet I'm even more of a sight when you're inside me and we're joined," he points out, matter-of-factly.

"You will be," says Aramis, cock aching between his own thighs, harder for every hot, tight inch his fingers gain. Stretching carefully, he reaches a deeper, searching for that little place that always made him lose his own mind while he tries to quiet his own. He's never been inside any man this way, and now he will be inside of Porthos. Bending his head, Aramis presses a tender kiss to his thigh.

Porthos' gaze drops to Aramis' cock, his interest manifesting in the privately delighted smile he wears, grinning even wider for the press of fingers going achingly deep enough to make him cry out and the kiss to his thigh. He hasn't had this attentive a lover in some time and it makes him reach his fingers out to wind through Aramis' hair until the stretch is too much and he relinquishes touch to settle back in.

"Yeah," he agrees. "So deep inside me that I could choke on you," he taunts. "Let's do that."

"Porthos, please," says Aramis, smiling against his skin, "That is hardly poetry." Lifting his head with a last scrape of beard, he reaches deeper still, adding a third finger now that Porthos has taken the second so well. "You are so hot inside," he says, marveling a little. "Tighter than a woman."

His eyes are shut, now, trying to breathe steadily, but every once in a while they're interspersed with a desperate sound of a whimper. "That's insulting," he mutters. "Hardly poetry either," he points out.

"Insulting?" Aramis laughs, gentling the thrust of his fingers. "On the contrary, Porthos, when I imagine the grip of your body around my prick..." He trails off, eyes squeezed tight for a moment while he resists the urge to grab at himself. "It is very nearly overwhelming."

"Reminding me of my inexperience," he growls, peeking his eye open so he can watch Aramis' reaction, his smile proud and lazy for the way Aramis looks, thinking that he's the cause of it. His inhale is sharp, three fingers working in him and he sinks down onto them to coax them deeper without giving Aramis much choice. "Better not get so overwhelmed it doesn't happen," he says pointedly.

Aramis sucks in a breath, peeling his eyes open to quirk a brow at Porthos. "Both our inexperience, and at your insistence, no less," he replies, giving in to Porthos' demand that he reach even deeper.

"Still no pain?" he asks, wondering at it, but then, Marsac had never made it to three before filling him.

He shakes his head. "Bit of pressure," he admits, trying to evaluate it as he looks down at Aramis' fingers in him. "It feels a bit odd, but it's not exactly painful." Maybe his threshold for pain is extra high or maybe it's just not actually going to hurt if you take your time. "We could try a fourth, if you're aiming to get me to pain?"

"To avoid it, as you well know," says Aramis, scissoring his fingers inside of him, but he thinks Porthos might be ready. It makes his heart thunder against his ribs, and he has to wet his lips before speaking.

"Perhaps we try more than fingers."

Porthos grins widely when Aramis suggests it. He taps his lips lazily. "Kiss me, before you do," he coaxes, seeing as he wants to make sure he gets to enjoy this, seeing as it's the only time the both of them will be shedding their firsts, like this. "And then slide into me, t'il I'm all hot and tight around you."

The tap is so like Porthos' invitation to spar that Aramis feels the knot of anxiety within him loosen, and he crawls up Porthos' body with a smile, hovering over him on an elbow. He leans down, but doesn't kiss him yet, speaking against Porthos' cheek.

"Put your legs around me first," he says. "However is comfortable."