du_vallon | (no subject)

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When he wakes up to find himself the right size, Porthos' first flooding feel is relief down to his bones. The very fact that he's back to the size he is, scars and all, is something that shocks him with how pleased he is. His clothes have torn away, but he finds new ones swiftly, moving quietly as he cooks up some eggs and rich French Toast, setting the plate and syrup at Aramis' bedside with coffee and a note that explains that he's fine, that he's going to be back soon.

He just wants to get to the doctor and make sure that nothing is completely off, seeing as he doesn't think it's normal to go from grown man to child and back in the course of a week. He leans forward and brushes his hand over Aramis' cheek, cautious and careful before brushing a whiskery kiss to his cheek and heading off.

He's gone two hours and when he's back, he's a bit pale in the face, feeling a little shocked at what he's been subjected to.

He has pills in hand, a box of condoms, and a chagrined look on his face as he pulls off his boots and trudges into their apartment, wondering how on earth he's meant to have this conversation.

"'Mis?" he calls out warily. "You home?"

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"In here," Aramis calls from the bedroom, where he lies sprawled half-clothed in the glow of their laptop screen. He's gotten no further than the start page, each tiny picture selected with the pointy thing rendering him something other than Porthos' precious internet, and Aramis has just begun to get frustrated.

"I can't make sense of this devil of a machine," Aramis complains, twisting to eye Porthos through the doorway. "Where have you been for so long?"

Porthos' heart lifts and warms to see Aramis attempting to use the computer. He, himself, is still struggling with it at times, but to see Aramis trying is a feat in itself. He grins for the sight, setting his bag of things down away from Aramis as he crawls closer to him and shifts the computer out of the way enough to press a long-yearned-for kiss to Aramis' lips, having missed this so much that it feels like he'd been parched and now gets to drink water for the first time in years.

"Went to the doctor," Porthos says when he finally draws back, peering over to see if there's any food left. "Had a bit of a check."

"I ate it," says Aramis, following Porthos' gaze. "I had thought to leave you some, but you were so long." He leans in, savoring the scrape of Porthos' again bearded cheek against his own, forgetting for a moment in his relief that Porthos has sought a physician that isn't him. "Mmm. I have missed this."

Porthos gives a hum of acceptance. He'd be more upset, but his appetite's sort of gone anyway after all the diagrams and the talk about side effects and everything to do with the visit. Besides, with Aramis so close, his warmth practically suffuses through him and he shifts until he's hip to hip with him, one arm lazily slung around his waist. "I did, too, like you wouldn't believe," he breathes out, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead to Aramis'.

"I went to get checked up, to make sure being four or five again didn't do anything, 'cept they found something else," he admits, wrinkling his nose up in distaste.

"Found what? Who did?" asks Aramis, pulling back at once to first peer down Porthos' body, then to prod and squeeze at it. It is the same as ever, much to Aramis' joy, but dread sinks into his stomach soon after. He looks up at Porthos, cheeks rapidly draining of color. "Not a cancer?"

Porthos' eyes widen in alarm, shaking his head quickly. He pries the computer away and sets it aside as he closes it, not wanting their attention distracted. "No," he promises. "God above, no," he assures, feeling frightened to think that could even be a possibility. "Something far more curable."

Still no less pleasant, though. "Turns out, I might have slept with someone or many someones along the way that were far from healthy," he says, straining back to reach for the pills, giving them a shake. "I've got syphilis, which means, you probably might too," Porthos says with a smirk that is far from happy and is filled with disbelief.

"Half of France has syphilis," says Aramis, then, "I certainly do not." He takes the pills from Porthos' hand, studying them so hatefully one would think they were the cause of Porthos' malady. "What is it? Not mercury, surely. That does nothing, I'd swear my life on it."

"Aramis, dear," Porthos notes dryly with a faint smirk, "you've been sleeping with me for two months. I don't know that you can say so confidently that you're free of it," he says, taking back the pills.

"They're antibiotics, for me to take. Three weeks and they'll clear it all out of me," he says with a firm nod. "Doctor also says," he adds, clearing his throat as he reaches for the box of condoms, "that unless I'm serious about someone and we get tested, I should probably use these."

The promise of a cure is some relief, a point to modernity that Aramis will begrudingly allow, leaving him free to transfer his hateful stare to the box of condoms. He's been made to wear them before in Darrow, and he had in deference to his partner's wishes, but he'll be damned if he submits to the wretched things with Porthos.

"I will not," he says, jaw set in a stubborn line. "I will not be robbed of all joy and sensation. Wear them when you take me, if you must, but I will not."

Porthos sits back, giving Aramis a glare as he thinks that won't exactly do much unless Aramis is willing to take the pills himself. "Then you're going on the drugs, too," Porthos says firmly, seeing as he doesn't think he can very well ask that Aramis stop sleeping around with other people. "And wearing them anytime you're not here."

He bites down on his lower lip hard to prevent himself from saying something rash, but he wants to. "I'm not curing myself just to get sick again," he informs Aramis pointedly. "I'm doing what the doctor says," he says pointedly. "And maybe we just don't sleep together, then, if you're not willing to," he says rashly, as much as he hates the idea to his very heart and soul.

"I'll take the wretched pills," Aramis decides, looking down at the bottle in his hand. He opens the top with some effort, finally reading a set of tiny words that instruct him to push down and twist, and wrinkles his nose for the moldy smell.

"If I take the pills, we can have all the sex we desire." Aramis looks up at Porthos. "Yes? Without condoms."

"What, so you can get better only to possibly pick something else up?" Porthos asks in disbelief. He wishes that he'd been kept in the dark, that he didn't understand how this worked, that he could believe they could do whatever they like. It's all boiling over and he's spent months grasping whatever he could get, but maybe Allison's right. Maybe he shouldn't be settling for only that.

"Don't you think I'd prefer not to wear these things, either?" Porthos snaps and lets it all bubble to the surface. "But it's that or you stop sleeping around and I'd never force you to do that, no matter how much I want something serious with you," he growls, shoving himself away to get a glass of water for the pills, filling a second so he can count to ten and calm himself down before he makes too much a mess of everything.

Aramis rises slowly, not afraid of Porthos' temper but the suddenly fragile air between them, even his feet light on the floor as if to prevent it cracking beneath him. "When we began this," he says, "you told me you would still seek other beds, and that I could, too. You were content in that."

Leaning against the doorframe, Aramis asks very carefully, "Porthos, has that changed?"

"I was," he protests, a bit feeble considering there isn't much conviction behind it. Hadn't he been? He'd been sleeping around up until recently, but it had stopped holding much promise because he'd started to look for something more permanent and kept realizing that he didn't want it from any of them. The only one he felt right with, on a permanent basis, is Aramis. He sets the full glasses on the counter and lets out a long breath, having reached ten.

"I suppose I stopped, not seeing much point in trying to find a future with someone when none of them made me feel like I do at home," he admits. "At the end of everything, Aramis, I want you happy," Porthos says, fiercely loyal to that idea. "So I know better than to ask too much."

"I want you to be happy, too," replies Aramis, "More than anything. But I need you to speak plainly." Stepping further into the room, he stops with the counter still between them, the only concession he can bear for the space Porthos seems to need. "You want something serious with me, as you say. Tell me what that means."

He bows his head and thinks of lying in that big marriage bed with Alice and how she had touched him so devotedly, how for a moment he'd thought about being her husband and staying with her until he died of peaceful old age. Despite Aramis' demand for plain speak, Porthos' shrug is almost innate, focusing on the counter. "It means only two people in the relationship. No others on the side, but a lifetime of devotion. Not peace," he amends, "just adventure and devotion and love."

No matter what the future brings, Porthos knows he wants love in his life. "I want to romance you as I would have Alice, not just be physical comfort for convenience's sake."

"You have never been anything to me for convenience's sake," says Aramis immediately, though he quiets after, considering Porthos' wishes with the gravity they deserve.

"I am happy as we are here," he says at length. "The pair of us, here together in our home. There is no greater comfort than coming home to you, and I do not mean only our bed. If you don't wish for me to stray from it, then I will not."

Perhaps Porthos expects that will be a hard decision, but Aramis comes to it easily. "All others are a mere shade of joy compared with you, anyway."

Porthos blinks, slightly taken aback by the words he hadn't been expecting to hear. He stares up at Aramis with wonder and curiosity, thinking that he would have thought to be relegated to 'dear friend' or 'best and most cherished', but Aramis saying he wouldn't stray is something strange and new to him, but so very valued.

"Really?" he asks, but it's not doubt. It's pure, unfettered joy in his voice. "Wait," he says, holding up a hand to stop himself from vaulting the counter and pouncing on Aramis. "Hold on," he says. "Okay, you won't stray, does that mean that I should treat you as I would a potential wife? Do you want to be treated that way?"

"I don't wish to be treated as a woman, if that's what you mean," replies Aramis, a little unsure now, though not of Porthos. Rather, of this new union, what changes it might mean, however bearable so long as he gets to keep Porthos. Others in Darrow do it, Porthos' Jim and his Spock, and many more, but that does not mean that Aramis knows how two men live as they now mean to.

"Treat me as Aramis - your Aramis."

The words make him feel a great tingling of warmth, acceptance, and quiet joy and he decides the counter's been between them long enough. He rounds it, stopping before Aramis and hesitating for only a moment. "My Aramis," he murmurs the words with a fond grin. "What if I were to treat you as a partner?" he suggests. "I'd like to. I'd like to take you out to dinners, romance you with fine gifts you'd appreciate, and even do what you'd like. Go to church, fight your vampires, read your poetry," he murmurs, sliding his fingers up the inside of Aramis' forearm, brushing steadily over his pulse point.

"Wake up to you every morning without fail," he murmurs, a heady thought. "Make you breakfast, teach you yoga." Be with you forever, is a strange thought, especially when he'd been so ready to find a wife instead. "Watch you grow old," is a raw addition, struck by how much he wants that.

He's struck a little dizzy with it, all the things that Porthos wants to do, things he'd never do if not to please Aramis. He's never had such attention before, has never really thought to need it, content to live among his brothers, but now...

Aramis takes hold of Porthos' arms, almost needing them to keep himself upright as he favors Porthos with a shaky smile. "I have never heard you talk like this," he says, a little wondering. "You're in love with me." It hits him like the flat of a blade, so clearly that he feels an utter fool for not realizing for so long. And more than that - "I'm in love with you. That's what we've been doing." It had been so easy, such a natural extension of their affection for one another, Aramis had not seen it for the extraordinary event that it was. "It is."

"Is that what this is?" Porthos hadn't been able to put words to it, but feeling his heart hammering so hard in his chest, feeling the rush of blood to both head and lower regions, having Aramis in his arms, so very close, he thinks maybe Aramis is right. He tries to recall the last person he'd thought himself in love with and he thinks of Alice, but even that had been mild infatuation.

Porthos has had almost a decade to fall in love with all of Aramis' good traits and bad, and now society in Darrow has stripped away the consequences of being so openly in love with him. His grin is stupid, wide, and the laugh that comes from him is airy light. "I think maybe I am," he confesses with a nod, hands grasping at Aramis' hips possessively tight to bring him flush in against his body. "I think I fell when you put your cross on me," he admits. "I knew, then, that no matter what happened, I belonged to you."

"I gave it to you to protect you," Aramis murmurs with a sharp breath for the sudden press of their bodies together. "To keep you safe until we were together, to keep you." He curls a hand in Porthos' shirt, his heart full yet strangely light, and if he'd thought to fall before, now Aramis only fears lifting right off the ground. "I'll learn yoga," he says, a little wildly in his determination to give to Porthos in kind. "Look after a dozen cats if that's what you wish. Anything."

It's a wild, heady thing to realize what he's feeling has a name. Still, as much as Aramis has said it, he needs to echo it, just to make sure Aramis has heard it from him. "I'm in love with you," he murmurs, awed by how strange those words sound from his lips, but how perfect all the same. He tangles his fingers through Aramis' hair, giving in to that needy urge to kiss Aramis as hard as he can, coaxing Aramis' legs around his waist as he drags his mouth to the corner of his lips, breathless as he considers what he'd begun to realize, days into being a child and knowing that he wanted to take care of others like him, only he doesn't know how.

"Not a dozen cats," he murmurs. "Maybe a dozen kids?" Wild hypotheticals, all of them, but he wants to make Aramis as joyful and happy as he can.

"Are we to steal them? Or do you mean orphans?" Aramis laughs as he finds himself hoisted into the air, caught between Porthos' strong body and the ground, but even as he says it it seems the simplest, most obvious answer in the world. Of course they cannot have children between them, and of course there are many children in need of a home, and as an orphan himself, Porthos might seek to provide that more than most.

"A dozen then," he says, laughing again, and hitches his hips forward. "Are you absolutely certain we can't have sex for weeks?"

Edited 2014-08-09 03:11 (UTC)