du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's difficult to think of something to beat his gift to Aramis last year, what with the pirate ship being a stroke of genius. It's also hard given that his brain is awash with a bitterness that he's having trouble shaking, blaming an Aramis who isn't here for abandoning him and choosing other brothers over him. Still, he knows that it's just an echo of a life that he hasn't actually lived and he ought to be grateful for what that Porthos doesn't have.

An old conversation is what springs to mind his idea for this year. He's made enough friends doing photoshoots that it isn't hard to find one willing to do a favour. Several hours later, a few costume changes, and many provocative positions, Porthos has a folder of materials and a calendar (two, actually, in case Athos wants one) and he's in the process of getting a cake prepared.

It's a version of one of the first he's made. Chocolate, caramel, with hints of sea salt. While the first had been good, he's honed his craft now enough that it's moister, richer in flavour, and has tricks he hadn't learned before. While the cake bakes in the oven, he sets the gift at Aramis' spot on the table, hoping he can somehow measure up to last year.

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The smell that had been delectable enough in the hall hits Aramis full force when he opens their front door, and he swings through it with an audible groan. "I take it I am not to be kidnapped this year?" he asks, finding Porthos just where he's expected him, apron bedecked in the kitchen.

Aramis hurries in and kisses his cheek, sticking his finger close to the icing bowl.

Porthos' grin is a lopsided thing of joy and he's so truly happy to know that despite his betrayed memories and his aching heart, he can still separate it enough to see the joy in his husband. He tries to yank the bowl away, but he doesn't do it quickly enough. "No kidnapping," he concurs, his smile a little weary. "All those new memories made it a little hard to get too extravagant, but I'd never forget the occasion."

"Unless you want to be kidnapped? I could manage to drag you into the bedroom."

Aramis pops his finger into his mouth with a wide grin that only breaks long enough for him to suck the icing off of it. "Perhaps after cake," he says, pleased to see that despite their recent troubles, Porthos still finds honest joy in his efforts in the kitchen. "Which says nothing of your prowess in the bedroom and everything for your talent for cake."

Porthos shakes his head and gestures to the table. "Go, sit down," he orders firmly, but he follows after to perch on the table and be close to Aramis. "I'm making that sea salt cake, again. The one I made the day you came home from sleeping with Michele. You've got no idea how close I came that day to tying you up to the headboard to prevent you sleeping with anyone else."

Aramis sits, scooting his chair closer when Porthos joins him atop the table. "And now you have every idea how much I would have enjoyed that," he says, resting his chin on Porthos' knee. "We've come such a long way, Porthos."

He brushes his beard against Porthos' leg as he straightens, bringing the silver hairs that have joined the black in his beard to the forefront. "I've missed seeing you lost to your cookery schemings in this kitchen."

Porthos knows his smile is a little sad, but he's not sure how he could manage to undo it. "It hasn't exactly been top of my mind since those memories came in," he confesses. "Having that last lingering memory in my head of being abandoned twiceover..." He shrugs and stares down at his hands, down at Aramis, and he twines his fingers into Aramis' hair to push through those silken waves.

"I should've tied you up that day. Waited until you begged so you could see how it stirred my cock's interest."

"You should have," Aramis agrees, his smile as sad as it is fond. This land keeps finding new ways to divide them, but all Aramis can see are the ways they come together despite it. It is faith, he knows, which he has in spades. Porthos does not, but Aramis hopes he will learn to believe in him anyway.

"I didn't give you that ring to abandon you here, Porthos," he says. "My first promise is to you."

"I know," Porthos promises softly, and he does. It's going to take a little to get used to it, but he knows that the Aramis back home isn't the one here and he knows how to make that differentiation in his head. "Let's not talk about bad things, eh?" he suggests. "I want to give you the other part of your birthday present."

Aramis smiles up at him, torn between discovering whatever the gift is and keeping Porthos' fingers in his hair forever. "I suppose I'll let you," he says, pulling Porthos' hand from his curls to kiss his palm. "Is it the package here?"

Porthos nods with a small, pleased smile. "It is," he confirms, leaning back to take the wrapped package and hold it carefully in his hands. "Now, there's another part of this gift, but it's one that requires a touch of work from you. Once you open it, I'll explain," he says, handing it back off to Aramis.

Aramis frowns, but it's an excited sort, and he grins widely as he takes the package and pulls away the decorative paper. Inside is a folder which he would open straight away if it weren't for the calendar beneath it, its very cover declaring just what sort of a calendar it is. "Oh dear," Aramis laughs, "What have you been up to?"

Porthos is fairly proud of what lies within that calendar. His chest juts up with delight and he looks at it with the pride of a man who knows his body is immensely well-sculpted. Now that Aramis has opened it, he gets his fingers buried in Aramis' hair again. "We spoke about this before. You and I taking photos and exchanging them. What with your birthday being here, I thought what better time than now."

Aramis opens the calendar, and all his questions about the degree of deviance to be found within are quickly answered. He stares down at the image of Porthos draped over a motorcycle. He is entirely nude, his face obscured in shadow, but there is no mistaking the body that Aramis knows so well, its every muscled plane shown off to perfection in the contrasting light.

"I don't know if I'm more jealous of the photographer or the bike," Aramis confesses in a rush.

Porthos' grin is an ever-widening thing as he watches Aramis look at the first picture. He leans forward to flip to February, which is a picture of him wearing the smallest apron they could find and his thumb stroking up the side of a particularly familiarly shaped vegetable. "The photographer was only interested in other women, so you've nothing to fear. I don't think she found me appealing at all."

"Impossible," replies Aramis, now as protective as he'd been jealous, "Anyone would appreciate your superior form, even if they didn't want to touch it like you're touching that cucumber."

He stares down at it in consternation. "I'll never be able to set foot in a kitchen again without being aroused by produce."

"In that case, March means you won't ever watch me do yoga," is Porthos' pointed response, given that he had taken the picture of him doing a yoga pose without a shred of clothing on, his thigh covering him for slight modesty's sake. He's glistening in it, with actual sweat from his nerves that day. In a way, the woman having no interest in him had helped. She'd been professional and hadn't made him feel too awkward at all.

"I can't watch you at yoga without being consumed by desire as it is," Aramis replies and flips the page eagerly, biting his bottom lip when he sees the new pose. "Right here," he says, thumbing the photo of Porthos posed in Warrior 2, his fingertip dragging down the pictured Porthos' thigh. "I would put my tongue right here," he says, "And work my way between."

Porthos grins when he watches Aramis go through the pictures, a waggle of his brows belying how much he enjoys this. "Oh, I don't think I'd ever dissuade you from doing that," he can promise with a nod of his head. He stands, only to wind his way behind Aramis and wrap his arms around his shoulders. "Keep on, then," he coaxes.

Aramis keeps turning the pages, smiling and sighing in delight in equal measure, but it's not until he reaches December that Aramis goes still. The image is a simple one, and Porthos is clothed, albeit in sleep attire. He sits before a darkened window. Before him is a bassinet, and in his arms, a bundle that can only be a baby.

"This will be us, then," says Aramis in a thick voice. He thumbs over Porthos' pictured curls, and then the bundle. "It will be real."

"Yeah," Porthos agrees, reaching over for Aramis' palm to lift the knuckles to his lips, brushing soft and gentle kisses against the skin. "So, your other present, apart from my very fine body," he boasts, "is that you get to go through all the photographs and help pick out which ones you want me to put together in a similar calendar for Athos," he says, handing Aramis a slightly bulky manila envelope. "I thought you might like to be the genius behind the order of things."

Still a bit misty eyed, Aramis accepts the large envelope, giving a wet laugh for the weight of it. "We both know I'll like them all," he says, opening it. "Perhaps we ought to split them into many calendars. Or wallpaper for the bathroom."

His laugh is deep and appreciative as he continues to tangle his fingers through Aramis' hair. "Could you imagine taking a shower and wandering out every day to see my naked form?" he murmurs. "Though I suppose it's better than me giving up all my work to do that in person."

"Yes I could," Aramis replies, "And I would very much enjoy it, but I suppose it might confuse any little ones that come along. A calendar it is, then."

Settling the folder before him, Aramis begins to go through the photos, which is a lengthy process when he finds himself staring at each and every one. "Porthos," Aramis says in a near whine, "How am I meant to choose?"

Porthos sinks down into Aramis' lap and pries the pictures out, giving him a much better view of his form. "There is another option," he points out. "You could always take the pictures of me and direct me in any way you want. Any way at all."

Aramis gazes up at him, running his hands over Porthos' thick thighs. "With someone else to wield the camera," he muses, "I think we could do excellent work together. Though I will need a day or two of study. I believe I know what would most provoke Athos, but I'd like to be sure."