du_vallon | (no subject)

Out of habit, Porthos tends to rise fairly early in the morning. It's a leftover thing from when he'd been new to the Musketeers and felt like he had something to prove. He's never really had to weigh that against sleeping in a bed with someone because he's never been in a place where he needs to worry about another person. Now, though, since he's had the wings, he hasn't spent more than two or three nights outside of this bed and for the most part, Aramis is there, too. This morning, he rises before Aramis, like the rest and lingers in bed.

The warmth of it, the peace, and the security are all things he didn't have for the majority of his life and he's trying not to take any of it for granted. Porthos sleepily glances over to Aramis, kisses his cheek, and stretches as he gets up, plucking a t-shirt from the chair and tugging it on over his boxers before he heads for the kitchen.

He thinks that he feels like a treat. Definitely something cooking while he does morning stretches. After the incident at the yoga studio, he'd kept his promise and only works out in the flat, and it's while bacon, eggs, and pancakes are sizzling on the grill that he runs through the stretches, going through most of the usual before settling on the carpet to run through Sphinx, then a Standing Forward Bend, and lastly a Bow pose when he hears the rustling of sheets.

Breakfast is cooling and once Aramis is awake, Porthos has plans to bring it into bed, the way he'd always heard stories about in the Court -- of what life must be like for the nobility and the rich and the loved.

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Porthos bows his head closer, seeking out chaste, brief kisses from Aramis with every passing word of praise, feeling needy for it, as if he needs the contact and the warmth. His fingers brush small circles at Aramis' nape as he shudders at the words. "You saw it last time," he protests, eyes falling shut as he concentrates. "You see it every time." Maybe he'll let Aramis tie him up, sometime, maybe he'll give up his control, but he can't imagine being unable to touch Aramis like this.

"I love you," he tests out the words cautiously and carefully, firm words said with an edge of wariness as he presses them to the corner of Aramis' lips.

"And I love you," says Aramis easily, meaning every word as he noses at Porthos' jaw. "I did see it last time, and I don't expect I will ever tire of the sight. You're a strong and handsome man, Porthos, and I am grateful each time to be the one to undo you. Now, are you ready for more?" he asks, inching a third finger in with the others.

Now his smile turns to pride, the easy sort that comes of being complimented and he's cheeky as he sinks down onto the third finger with no hesitation, the look in his eyes a challenge to Aramis, as if he should ever be doubted. "You talk like there's other people undoing me on a regular basis," he teases. "What do you think I look like with them, hm?"

Aramis makes a soft sound, none too happy to picture Porthos with another when he is here in Aramis' arms. "Beautiful, I expect," he answers, twisting his fingers, "But I promise none will make you feel as I can."

"You're the only man I've been with," Porthos assures, because even if he feels a bit like riling up Aramis' ego, he also wants to soothe it as soon as he says it, letting out a moaning cry when Aramis twists his fingers, starting to shift in order to get himself ready for the proper position, thinking himself ready. "None do make me feel as you do," is his explanation.

He licks his lips. "M'ready," he promises, thinking this ought to be a challenge. "I'm gonna swing my ankles over your shoulders, okay?"

Aramis blinks, almost having forgotten their ambitious plans in the act of working Porthos open, but he grins and settles back, ready to catch Porthos' legs and help.

"If you crush me," he reminds him, rearranging the pillow at his own back, "Do bring me to completion first."

Porthos breathes in sharply, mentally trying to figure out the best way to do this. "Don't be an idiot," he grumbles, sliding one calf over Aramis' shoulder, his hand cupping his neck as he shifts the other, straining his muscles and sliding his hands lower in order to reach for the headboard and keep himself suspended above Aramis, though it won't last for long. "Shift your hips up a bit, would you?" Porthos demands, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Yes," Aramis grunts in reply, shoving another pillow beneath his hips and knees as he tries not to rub at the spot on his neck Porthos has just released. "My God, I hope you're certain about this," he says, laughter in his voice as he grabs Porthos by the hips, determined to help him lower himself. "What now?"

"If we break each other," Porthos laughs, sweating desperately and grinning, "we'll never forget it," he vows, as he uses his shaking core muscles to slowly descend, lowering himself down onto Aramis with a soft moan, easing his back as he leans and begins to thrust slowly in and out, struggling to lock his ankles behind Aramis' neck.

"Bordel de merde," he moans, knowing he'll ache like crazy in the morning.

"Sangdieu," Aramis chokes, pulling at Porthos' ankles as he's pulled inexorably forward, "Grab the headboard, will you? Or put your hands on the bed for leverage, you'll strangle me before my time."

Porthos shoots Aramis a dark glare, but he thrusts deep and hard and fast, using a bit of a hop to grasp onto the headboard, securing his hands there, but effectively making it so he can't move. He's so close with Aramis, now, that he leans in to brush a kiss to his lower lip. "You have to do the work," he says, thinking of the marks he might have left on Aramis' neck and shivering for how he likes the thought.

"I knew this was all a cheat," says Aramis, breathless, and nips at Porthos' bottom lip as his grip on his hips tightens. "I'm going to pull you forward," he says, "And back, for as long as I can manage. Help if you can." Taking a deep breath, he tugs Porthos forward and onto his cock, gasping immediately for the heat, and pushes him back again with trembling arms. "My God, you are tight like this."

Porthos' profanities are a constant invective at this point, his brow furrowed as he fights the ache to embrace the pleasure, happy for what he's doing, giddy for the feel of it, and desperately pleased for the way he's able to slide into Aramis, vowing to make sure he gives him enough pleasure in turn. "M'trying," he says, as he works his hips, though it's a bit too much of a stretch. "Better?" he asks, voice small and light.

"Better," Aramis wheezes, pulling Porthos onto his cock with determination, but already his arms have begun to burn. He shifts his own body, hips moving as much as they can with Porthos' weight against him, but he cannot go far. "My friend," says Aramis breathless, "I fear you will have to brace your hands on the bed instead. I cannot continue like this for long."

Porthos gives a small, disappointed little sound, but he's feeling it himself, unable to do much. He pulls himself in tight, folded like an accordion and strains as he slowly untangles his hands from the headboard, sliding them back into the covers so that he's still bent up, but he's supporting his weight back against his hands. Still, Aramis fills him up, still, he's harder than he's been in years (pressed up against Aramis), but now he can move too, setting an ambitious pace to match his desire.

"Well," breathlessly is laughed, "we tried?"