du_vallon | anniversary

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aramis

anniversary

Porthos knows that it's not exactly to the day, but after his chat with Tommy, he's come away ridiculously emotional about the fact that despite all the things that could've stood in their way, he and Aramis managed to get past them all and to a place where Aramis had felt open enough to offer his hand to Porthos. Aware that he's emotional at the best of times, he knows that sitting in front of romantic movies on the screen sniffling isn't enough to show that he's so grateful for this, but he knows what is.

He gets a friend to watch over Lucie while he bans Aramis from the apartment, telling Athos his plans, before he gets to cooking. It's an elaborate meal, but he feels like he hasn't splurged on spending in a long while, so he doesn't mind. The dinner is beautiful, with the duck roasted, the pasta in fine noodles with a ricotta and mushroom sauce atop, and a familiar cake sitting in the warming oven for later.

While he knows he should change into something nice, he's already exhausted from cooking and figures Aramis won't mind if they have this dinner with Porthos in his sweats and a comfortable sweater, so that's the best he manages as he lights some candles, juggling the phone to text Aramis that it's safe to return home and that he hopes he's hungry.

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Aramis listens with eyebrows raised. He'd known it was something, but he hadn't anticipated this. "Poor fellow," he says, squeezing Porthos' hand as he raises the wine to his lips. "The night I proposed to you I was equal parts certain and terrified, and so full of hope. If you had denied me..."

Aramis shakes his head. "I would still be picking up the pieces."

Porthos doesn't go far, mainly because he's feeling a bit like he is worried about a world in which they didn't get to do this. It's like if they didn't, they wouldn't have snared Athos, wouldn't have Lucie, wouldn't have the home being built or anything. "You can't imagine that I would've ever said no," he insists. "I'm as in love with you now as I was then," Porthos vows.

"I'm still amazed you asked. I don't think I'd have summoned up the courage or even the idea to do that for ages," Porthos admits. "Maybe not even until now."

"I did spend more time on arrival watching romantic films," says Aramis with a faint smile. "In those early months, I think courtship is the only modernity I embraced. And you are right, I did think you would say yes. My fear was that I had no idea what I would do if you said no. But that is pointless now, is it not?" Aramis asks, lifting his free hand to card through Porthos' curls.

"We are together, and everything is as it should be."

He can't help but worry, even knowing that there's nothing at stake and nothing to worry about. Cupping a hand over Aramis' cheek, he feels compelled to want to enjoy this warmth and their marriage, looking at his ring against Aramis' skin. "If I'd have said no, it would've just been because you'd thought to drag me out on a boat," he teases, "and done it in public. Shame of it is, I adored that," he says, given that praise and glory are his favourite things.

"How would you have wanted to be proposed to, if I was meant to get around to it?"

"If it was you doing the asking, I'd hardly care," says Aramis, but he knows that Porthos wants him to indulge his imagination, so he sits back to think. "It wouldn't be terribly different," he says after a beat. "I'd leave off the boat, of course. Perhaps a horseride and a picnic in some private field, with just enough eyes in the distance to make our celebratory after romp truly exciting," he adds with a twinkle.

Porthos begins to carve the duck, a twinkle in his eye as he coaxes out these little pretends of their imagination, happy to think of them instead of the grief of wondering what their lives would be like if things had happened like it had for Tommy. "I could take you on a picnic," he says, eyes still sparkling. "Bring you some wine, make sure there's a house nearby, even if I'd get a touch jealous at the thought of others staring at that fine arse of yours," he says with a growl.

Aramis chuckles, only too able to picture that quite clearly. "If we ever move into that sprawling, country home of ours, I will be sure to keep a set of spyglasses near every upstairs window. I'd hate to think our vast lawn could be hosting romps we don't know about, and might want to watch."

Porthos chuckles and gives a low look of interest to Aramis as he speaks, a smirk on his lips. "Or I could plant myself on a chair within the view of your spyglass and let you have a show," he says, nudging his fork towards the plate to tell Aramis that he ought to eat. "C'mon, eat dinner, because I made a special treat for dessert."

He's excited about it, loves the nostalgia of it, wants to experience that again. "It's a special one."

Aramis blinks through the thunderous rush in his ears that accompanies that image. "How am I meant to eat when you fill my mind with such things?" he asks, but he dutifully picks up his fork and takes a bite. It's delicious enough to re-whet his appetite, and Aramis digs in.

"More special than this?" he asks. "What is it?"

"Well, eat and you can find out," Porthos makes his promises, grinning wickedly as he takes a moment or two to imagine himself in such a precarious position as to allow Aramis to watch him pleasure himself on their property, knowing it would be a very good sight, indeed.

"It's something that will remind you of our early days," he says, between sips of wine and bites of duck, "something I used to woo you with."

Aramis chews thoughtfully, trying to think back through years of decadence crafted by Porthos' hands. "Salted caramel?" he wonders aloud. "That was a very early one. A delicious one, too," he says with a crinkling smile. "Or something I enticed you to eat off my body?"

Porthos' grin is nearly ear-splitting as he stares fondly at Aramis, thinking about the first time he'd made this cake. "You came home from sleeping with another woman," he recalls, which shouldn't be romantic, but it is, because of what Porthos had realized in that moment, on that day. "I had this cake in the oven and all I wanted was for you to eat it, for you to love it so much you'd stay."

"I thought, if I can make him stay, I might have a chance," Porthos reasons, tangling his feet with Aramis' under the table.

"And to think, all you needed to do was show me one dimpling smile," says Aramis, gazing back with equal fondness. He remembers that day well, and all the revelations that came with it. It had been uncomfortable, and frightening, and perhaps one of the most important steps they'd ever taken with each other.

"Though I won't complain about the cake."

Porthos grins at him. "Five years of dimpling smiles at you, you never jumped me," he counters, biting his lip as he looks Aramis over, sliding his chair a little closer because he loves having this closeness to the other man. "I don't think I even knew what I really wanted of you, though. Not until here," he says.

"Not until I knew what two men could be, that you and I could be that and not just a fling you throw away," he says. "Aramis," he says, getting emotional again. "Thank you for not sleeping with me and moving on."

"Is this my old reputation again, come back to haunt me?" asks Aramis, lightly, for Porthos' eyes are big and wet enough already. "You know I truly didn't do that at home, not without a mutual understanding that it was to be a one time thing." Aramis shrugs. "I liked being in love - or at least, what I imagined love to be before you."

Aramis takes another bite of duck. "I never once thought I could have someone like you, of course I didn't mean to let you go when I actually had you in my arms"

Porthos gives Aramis a doubtful look, because that's not what he's saying at all, but he also didn't think he'd end up married to the man, but thank god he did. "I wasn't really a jealous man until I thought all the romantic things we got up to. Sharing those...well, only Athos gets them," he amends, because he doesn't mind sharing them with him.

"We flirted, plenty," Porthos does admit, chuckling deeply in his chest. "Think of all those suffering looks from the other Musketeers, from Athos, and Treville. We definitely were insufferable, sometimes."

"Now we know Athos was merely jealous," Aramis returns, though he knows that isn't true, at least, not on any emotional plane that Athos could reach back then. "But yes, we were truly awful." His smile is large and unrepentant.

"Simply terrible, terrible men."

"Shame we weren't capitalizing on all the things we could have been doing," is Porthos' assessment of the situation, with very little sympathy for all the people around them who'd had to put up with their antics. "Especially now that we know how very good it can be." He's leering, which is a bad idea when he's got the cake to serve.

Taking down the rest of his wine, he gives Aramis an expectant look. "Ready for dessert, chou?"

Porthos is looking at him like it's Aramis on the menu, and he starts and shakes himself when he remembers there's dessert. "Yes, I think that's wise," he agrees, moving his plate away to make room for whatever decadence Porthos has whipped up.

"How shall I ever repay you for such a handsome meal?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something clever," Porthos retorts with a hungry look in his eyes, heading for the oven to get out the cake that's been warming with the sauce, pouring it on top and drizzling some of the sea-salt pieces atop it so that it's ready. He pours some port in glasses and brings those over first before returning to fetch the cake, settling in Aramis' lap with no warning when he's back.

Beaming away, he doesn't feel inclined to move, brandishing a fork. "Here you are. Now, let's eat?"

Aramis oofs for the sudden weight, but he shifts to let Porthos settle in his lap, wrapping one arm around his waist. "I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here," he notes, for he has no hope of reaching the plate. Aramis looks up at Porthos with a hopeful smile.

"Fetch me a bite?"

Porthos grins at Aramis, like he has no idea how heavy he actually is, when really of course he does. He leans forward to scoop up some of the still-warm cake onto a fork, leaning back and biting her tongue hopefully as he offers it to Aramis, as if he's still actually concerned that the man is going to say anything bad about it.

"I loved watching you eat," Porthos confesses. "Drinking was even better, especially back at the garrison on my birthday nights. Right from the jug."

"Have a bit of a fixation on my mouth, do you?" asks Aramis, parting his lips to accept the cake. It's oozing and warm, and it's entirely without art that Aramis closes his eyes and groans a bit as he licks the last of it off his lower lip.

"That is positively sinful, Porthos."

"When have I ever been anything but?" Porthos reminds him in a low voice, leaning in to kiss away the last of the crumbs from off Aramis' lips, closing his eyes as he drifts into the touch, licking his lips as he catches a little bit of the caramel at the corner of Aramis' lips. "I love your mouth," he raves, holding up another forkful.

"I mean, your hands and your cock and your body don't hurt," he jokes. "The mouth's pretty much the best part on top of all that."

"Indeed, my best feature?" asks Aramis, accepting the next forkful. He's more prepared this time for how heavenly it will taste, and he manages to grin up at Porthos. He does have an excellent mouth - for wooing, for praying, for making love - apart from his splendid aim, Aramis' mouth is the most practiced part of him, and he's vain enough to enjoy the compliment.

"What else might my mouth get up to this evening?"

Porthos would like to say that Aramis' hands might edge out the mouth by just a touch, but the mouth is the thing that offers kisses and endearments and, well, he sort of feels like that's worth everything to him. "Finish the cake and then you can decide," Porthos encourages.

"It's our anniversary, after all. One of 'em. That means we get to get up to anything we like," he guarantees.

"No baby this evening, and no shame," says Aramis. "A night as decadent and debaucherous as this cake, cariño." He accepts another bite of it, and despite his eagerness to enjoy the rest of their evening, it's no hardship to wait as long as it takes to eat this magnificent dessert.

"Is there any of that caramel sauce left over?"

"Yeah, a bowl of it's still warm," Porthos agrees with a low voice of sticky delight, because he's got a good imagination and he thinks that he can tell where that sauce is going to end up, but the thrill of it means that he's grinning and he can't help but adore the idea. "Have we ever had shame?" he points out.

Leaning in to kiss the crumbs from off Aramis' lips, he lets out a content sigh. "Shame's so boring."

"If I ever become boring, you may strike me down yourself," Aramis grins up at him, pulling Porthos close again for another, deeper kiss. His belly is full and warm, and the apartment is lit with a pleasant glow. At such a time another man might want sleep, but Aramis is far from tired.

"I'd take that shirt off if you don't want sauce all over it," he says as he pulls back.

"You could never be boring," Porthos growls at him, kissing him hungrily and wrapping his arms around Aramis' waist, but when the kiss is ended more abruptly than he likes, he only allows it because of Aramis' clever little ideas. "Should I be lying down somewhere?" he asks, eyes filled with interest as he sheds his t-shirt in a swift pluck of his fingers over the back, rustling his hair in the process.

He's already tugging Aramis to his feet, eager to find out where they're going next.

Aramis considers. He'd put fresh sheets on the bed just this morning, and it seems a shame to dirty them already, especially when they'll have all night to try. "The hearth, I think," he says, releasing Porthos' hand so he can stoke the fire and pull down heavy blankets for the floor. When they are arranged, Aramis offers Porthos a short bow.

"After you, my darling."

Aramis calling him 'darling' is always guaranteed to be a winner, as far as Porthos is concerned. Grinning like an idiot, he chuckles lowly, the sound deep and warm in his chest as he strips off his trousers, just to get ahead of the game, leaving him in nothing but a tight pair of black briefs.

He lays out on the blankets, leaning his chin on his hand as he sprawls out, watching Aramis like he'd watched Flea. "Sometimes, I wish you were the first to rise in the mornings, just so I could watch you like this."

"If they change my shifts to mornings as they are threatening to do, you may yet," says Aramis with a chuckle, one that sticks in his throat for the sight Porthos makes laid out before the fire.

"Have I told you yet - " asks Aramis, eyes crinkling in thought, "This hour, how very handsome you are?"

"Dealing with you being grumpy might not be worth the view," Porthos confesses, though he won't mind a great deal of staring. He grins up at Aramis for the compliment, feeling fairly secure in his looks as he stretches out, his interest stirring and causing another sight to be seen in his trousers.

"No, but go on," he encourages. "You know how I love my praise."

"I am never out of sorts," says Aramis with perfect certainty. No one as handsome and charming as he could ever be grumpy, after all. If Porthos ever thinks him grumpy it must be because Porthos is himself grumpy.

He kneels on the blankets with the bowl in hand, surveying Porthos in the firelight. "I'm not sure if I'm more enamoured of your eyes or your smile, but fortunately, the caramel sauce can only go on one." Aramis smiles, dragging his finger though the caramel before he touches it to Porthos' lips.

Porthos smirks because he can think of at least a few times when he's been the reason that Aramis is out of sorts in the morning, even though that wicked smile fades when he starts getting far more intent on what Aramis is doing right now.

He parts his lips into an 'o' as he lets Aramis coat them, doing his best not to instantly lick it off and to give Aramis a chance with it, though it's not easy. "My eyes'll be watching you take it off," he guarantees. "Don't worry."

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