du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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"I am quite ready to go," Aramis assures him, taking the opportunity afforded him to wrap around Porthos' body, fingers happily moving through Porthos' curls. "And we have a perfect method of keeping track - we shall count the strokes, of course."

"Like a lashing?" is Porthos' bemused reply, but he takes a look around the bedroom and decides the best place is the wall that faces the outside, where bricks can help to keep them secured and safe. He bears Aramis to it, easing his lower back to it and sliding one hand under his arse to get comfortable. "You ready, then? You're in control, chou."

"Porthos," Aramis chides for the lashing, "What an idea," but settles against the wall, not able to resist a push of his arse against that calloused hand. He reaches between them and gives Porthos' cock a few firming strokes before he positions the heavy weight of it, taking hold of Porthos' shoulders to steady himself before he slides down.

Stretched full again, Aramis can't help the puff of air that escapes him, his body well prepared yet deliciously sensitive. Sucking down a breath, he shifts up, weight braced between Porthos and the wall, and takes Porthos' cock a second time.

"You see?" he gasps, teeth caught in his bottom lip. "One."

Sweat on his forehead, muscles in his legs shivering, and Porthos can do little more than gasp wantonly and helplessly to feel Aramis sinking down on him like that, making him whine and whimper like he's barely more than a child. He wraps the other hand around Aramis' neck to hold securely tight, bearing them harder against the wall as he slides his knee in for extra support.

It's when the knee is there that Porthos leans in for a kiss, feeling a devilish whip of an idea hit him as he bears in and withdraws his hand in order to give Aramis' behind a light smack, just enough to make a light mark and give a bit of a sting. "Two," he breathes out, coaxing him onto him again.

Aramis grunts in surprise, regarding Porthos with wide eyes that soon crinkle with mirth. "By all means, assist me in my count," he says, arse stinging smartly when he lowers again. "Three, Porthos, from this angle - "

He closes his eyes, groaning for the drag of Porthos' cock against that sweet place inside of him.

Porthos is grinning and panting, feeling like he could do this until his muscles quivered and gave out if it meant this pleasure, this feel of Aramis as he thrusts deep into him, tearing those beautiful sounds out of him. "Yeah? Tell me," he pants, having to pause between four and five, thighs burning as he fights to get past the feel.

"So deep," Aramis breathes out, using his own arms and thighs to lever himself when it seems Porthos' strength might fail him, "So deep like this, Porthos. Had I not spent already I believe this might be enough." He breaks off with another groan, sweat breaking out across his own flushed skin, and meets Porthos' eyes. "Six. Strike me again."

Porthos feels like he could keep up a rabbit-like, clumsy pace, but Aramis is undoing him and his knees begin to tremble with the pleasure of each deep thrust. He latches his mouth to Aramis' neck and swats at his bottom again, a bit harder than before as he breathes out 'seven' with a hitch of his hips upwards.

"You feel parfait," he groans. "Perfect, you're so perfect."

Aramis barks for the second strike, body squeezing around Porthos as his flesh goes hot and red and tingling. "And you," he pants, grip tightening on Porthos' shoulders so he may move faster, his breath growing ragged in his throat. "Do not drop me," he insists, "I will be very cross to be interrupted when this feels - ah - so good."

"No, I won't," he swears, groaning and growling as he struggles to readjust his grip, trying desperately to figure out a new grip that doesn't have Aramis slipping so much in his hands. "Aramis," he breathes out. "Aramis, god help me," he breathes out, desperate as he grabs hold of Aramis and spins them away from the wall, moving them to the edge of the bed where he can splay Aramis out before he can shake and drop him, but where he can push up one knee and continue to thrust, finding even more pleasure now that his back and legs aren't straining.

"When I'm done, when I'm spent," he murmurs, "I'm taking you into my mouth."

Aramis lands with a puff of outrage, but it's mostly false, for Porthos thrusts into him so swiftly and so deeply that to complain would be uncouth, dragging over that place inside that soon has Aramis keening. "If you continue to take me like this," he gasps, his eyes fastened on Porthos moving over him, to Aramis' eyes again as powerful as any avenging angel, "And I might not last that long."

Porthos curls his fingers against Aramis' neck as he bears down to kiss him over his neck, soft little gasps of breath escaping his lips. He's so perfectly, completely close, and all he can do is whine out Aramis' name as he drags blunt nails down Aramis' torso, making red marks as he does.

And then, without even much effort at all, he spills in Aramis for the second time that evening, gasping as he thrusts once more, trying not to be too selfish.

Porthos' hand is heavy enough to stop Aramis' breath, and for a moment the world goes very quiet, distilled down to the relentless drive of Porthos' cock into him, sparking pleasure so intense Aramis feels he'll go mad. He tosses his head, and then nails drag down his chest, bright spots of pain like stars bursting, and Aramis comes so hard the stars are in his eyes as well, mouth open in a silent cry.

Porthos backs away with a disappointed look on his face, matched by his little sound of sadness as he shifts out of Aramis and crawls on top of him, sticky and sated. "I really wanted to suck you off," he says, feeling as if he's sort of been robbed of his chance.

He strokes long brushes up and down Aramis' now-marked neck, the red matching Porthos' teeth if he looks close enough. "I think I won't be able to walk tomorrow."

"You won't be able to walk?" asks Aramis with a scratchy laugh, whimpering faintly as Porthos pulls out of his spent body. He can't help but feel he's been bent, folded, and fucked within an inch of his life. He lifts a hand to his own throat, feels the marks red and raising to match the scores down his chest, and looks at Porthos with something like chagrined wonder.

"Most men would feel pride, making another man spend without a touch," he ventures. "But in the interest of your mouth's future endeavors, I should tell you - I quite like the sharp bite of a little pain there at the end."

"My thighs are screaming," he protests, the words muffled by how he's speaking directly into Aramis' neck, but there's nothing but happiness in his voice, grinning as he lifts his head and begins to move them more comfortably onto the bed. "I could tell you liked it. I don't think any partner I've ever had has reacted so viscerally to my nails on them," he says with wonder.

"Maybe I'll put you over my knee and see how much pain you can take, while my fingers work in you," he muses.

Aramis stares at Porthos slackjawed, then throws an arm over his own eyes. "My God, you will kill me," he says, whimpering faintly for the thought of it, even as his cock, impossibly, gives the weakest of twitches.

"We need to bathe," he adds, peeling his arm away. "Or I need to. In cold water, before the Devil himself takes us."

Porthos feels inclined to reach down and stroke him, just once, just to see him through the thought. "Suppose we should go separately, then," he says, even if he's disappointed seeing as he wants nothing more than to curl up with Aramis and soothe sore, aching muscles together. "If you want to walk tomorrow."

Aramis stretches with a groan, and as he considers, cold water on his exhausted body does not appeal. "You run a bath," he says, "A hot one, and I'll sluice off in the shower and join you. I am certain we will be quite too comfortable to get into further trouble."

Porthos grins mischievously, keeping his hand on Aramis' lower back comfortably, but he soon starts to get himself away from the warmth of Aramis' body in order to head first to the kitchen for alcohol (sparkling wine, to celebrate) and then heads to the bathroom to get the bath filled with hot water, adding some epsom salts for sore muscles in there.

"I can't get over how much I like your hands all over me."

"They are fine hands," Aramis agrees, lifting them with a sigh to massage some of that fine smelling liquid soap into his sweaty hair, all but collapsed against the side of the shower as he lets the water wash it away. He soaps off the rest of himself, moving rather delicately when it comes to his arse, which is just a bit tender. "Must everything about you be so big?"

Porthos raises his brow as he regards Aramis, pleased with the compliment, but unable to help his faint chuckle, sinking down into the tub and spreading his arms out as he uncorks the wine with his teeth and takes a long sip. "What exactly is so big about me, now, hmm?" he challenges, eyes roaming off the pretty picture Aramis makes, all wet and debauched.

"You know very well what is so big about you," Aramis replies, "You see it every day." Stepping out of the shower dripping wet, he gives his hair a single shake and shivers, hurrying as swiftly as his body will allow to the warmth of the tub and Porthos. He sinks in, groaning audibly for the heat, and folds himself immediately back against Porthos.

"You've brought wine, you brilliant brute."

"My chest," Porthos plays dumb, settling back and wrapping his arms around Aramis when suddenly he's so very snug against him. "My arms? Muscles, surely," he insists, grinning as he presses the smile to Aramis' hair, passing him the bottle of wine. "None of the women I've slept with have ever complained of my being big, you know," he feels inclined to point out.

"Women are also equipped to give birth," Aramis reminds him, shivering as droplets from his hair chill his neck, and shifts closer still to Porthos. "You'd certainly not get a child out of where you put your prick tonight."

Smiling faintly, he takes a deep pull from the bottle. "And I am not complaining. Merely observing. And likely to walk with bowed legs tomorrow."