du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's taken weeks and weeks to get Aramis here, but with the weather taking a turn for the cooler, they might not have much longer to enjoy the time at the beach. It's something Porthos had been captivated with, as soon as he found out people did it for fun. True, it wasn't the south of France, but it was a small part of the city they now lived in and it was a beautiful sunny day that wasn't too warm, so Porthos feels ready to take advantage. He's just pushed the umbrella into the sand, settling the bags of food in the shade so they don't overcook, and tosses his phone on top of the blanket.

"Look, you got within twenty feet of the ocean and you aren't even wanting to go home," he teases with a smirk, stripping off his shirt and nudging off his trousers until he's in nothing but the navy blue swimming trunks that he'd had Allison help him purchase. He digs through the bag to find the suntan lotion to prevent Aramis from going an unsavoury pink, gesturing for him to strip off his things. "Come on, now, off with your shirt."

Porthos is enjoying this entirely and absolutely, given that while there's still a few people scattered on the beach, none of them have the beautiful view that he does.

"This is a much nicer view than Le Havre, though the south of France could equal this and do better," Porthos admits, squeezing lotion into his palm.

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"The lady Frigga?" Porthos suggests, given that she's the first one that comes to mind when Porthos thinks of both wealth and someone who is willing to support their endeavours. With a last squeeze, Porthos shifts out of his straddle and sits beside Aramis, digging through the basket to find himself a sandwich of ham and cheeses and taking a considerate bite as he drapes the towel around his shoulders, repositioning the umbrella to cover Aramis with shade.

"I'd pay a hundred livre to spend a night with you," Porthos says winsomely. "I know you'd make it worth my while."

"I suppose you think intimating that I prostitute myself is romantic," replies Aramis, turning onto his side. Propping himself up on an elbow, he smiles. "Though yes, I would absolutely make it worth your coin and then some." His smile sharpens as his gaze sweeps over Porthos. "There's a game for another time."

"I didn't mean in a...not a..." Porthos splutters, lying down and peering up at Aramis as he furrows his brow, wishing he'd been a bit more graceful with his words, but they tend to fail him, even now. "I meant that if you were up for grabs, I'd pay the most money ever over others, in a sort of...auction thing..." he trails off, fearing he's only making it worse.

Hairs on his arms standing on end, his whole body beginning to rouse with attention, he takes notice of Aramis' gaze on him. "With you or I as the one for sale?" he asks, trying to quiet old hangups as he remembers having seen this in the Court (and having even had to earn money in desperate measures, when he'd first left).

"Me, of course," says Aramis smoothly, though his heart has spiked for the same reason, memories of Porthos that night he'd tried with the headboard rising up unbidden. "Yours, bought for a night for any sordid acts you wish. Though that is the fantasy, isn't it?"

He curls his ankle over Porthos' own. "One night, when the same is true of every night under our roof."

Porthos' smile softens a touch as he leans in, shoulder to shoulder with Aramis as he shares space, but doesn't kiss him. "I don't have to fantasize about that, though. The day you agreed to be with me and only me, I knew whatever fantasy I had, I need only ask," he points out, stroking his thumb over Aramis' cheek and jaw slowly, watching the path of drying droplets of water under his skin. "You're happy with your decision, yeah? I mean, you seem it," he points out. "You'd better not be keeping quiet about something I could do to make it better."

Aramis curls his hand over Porthos' wrist, not stopping him but holding on, keeping him close. "Have you ever known me to be quiet about anything?" he asks gently, closing his eyes for a moment just to enjoy these tender touches. "If I am ever remiss in telling you how happy I am, it is because I lack the words to do my feelings justice. Do you know, when I was young, I thought myself a poet."

Aramis opens his eyes, expression soft. "You have quite stolen all my clever words."

Porthos beams as if he has been given one of the highest compliments he's ever heard and maybe it does rank up there with the other cherished words Aramis has given to him. "Poetry," he deadpans, back to teasing as he curls his fingers and cups Aramis' cheek. "Really? Was this before or after you thought you'd go into the church and become a celibate man of God?"

"Before," Aramis answers, "And after. Right up until the moment I was rendered dumbstruck by love." He brushes their noses together. "You really ought to put me out of my misery," he murmurs. "All these inadequate words, tumbling from my mouth whenever it finds itself unoccupied."

Porthos shakes his head in disbelief, but not too much movement because with Aramis' nose pressed in as he is, Porthos need only part his lips and open his mouth to a claiming kiss, sliding his fingers through Aramis' hair as he tips his head to the side, sliding his tongue into Aramis' mouth to kiss him deeper than before, hips surfing upwards so he can press their bodies flush together, wrapping his knee around Aramis' thigh and tugging him in. "God must've been more handsome than expected, for you to be dumbstruck," Porthos teases softly. "Given you never really recovered."

"Do not tempt me to blasphemy," Aramis groans against Porthos' lips, rocking his body shamelessly against him, in full view of the sun and God and everyone around them. Reputation in Paris aside, Aramis has always managed discretion in public, but as usual Porthos quite undoes him. "One of these days I will tumble and fall."

"I'll be there to pick you back up," Porthos swears, his heart beating faster than before as he gives a breathless laugh, licking his lips as he thinks they maybe should start heading back to their flat before the trip home gets incredibly difficult. Porthos reluctantly lets go of Aramis and sits up, reaching for his light sweater before he tugs it on, making a mess of his curls before he tugs his sweatpants on with a wiggle of his hips.

He quickly puts away blankets towels, wine, and food, settling the umbrella for the next beachgoers and gives Aramis an expectant look. "Come on, we'd best go shower all this sand off."

"That sounds terribly cold," replies Aramis, having watched Porthos' sudden and studied exodus with amusement. "Perhaps I'll wear the sand home." He stands, slipping into his shoes and nothing else. Folding both hands behind his back, Aramis stretches, only going as far as to grab up the bag with their accouterments and sling it over his bare shoulder. "Deal with it there."

Porthos lets out a soft little sound, more a whimper than a groan, and gives Aramis a pathetic look that asks if he's going to be walking home like that. He likes the view, he does, but he's already struggling with his arousal and the walk home is going to be painfully hard if he keeps letting his mind wander in the direction it's leading. "Home," he gets out, gnawing on his lip. "Which is a ten minute walk."

Porthos adjusts his trousers, grinding the heel of his hand down for a bout of temporary relief, but it doesn't even come close to doing what he wants.

"Lovely." Stepping in to claim Porthos' free hand, Aramis turns them towards the path to the street, his face the picture of innocence as he gazes at him sidelong. "I could do with some time to work up an appetite. I never did eat the sandwich you packed for me."

"Don't know why you think I'm the brute," Porthos mutters under his breath as he threads his fingers through Aramis' so they can walk together. "You're the one who's brutish, parading around like this when you know it unravels me like thread coming loose." His gaze dips lower as he gives a small sound of yearning at Aramis' arse in those trunks. "And you won't get a sandwich if you keep this up because the moment we're in private, the only thing you're eating is my cock," he says, rudely.

Aramis smiles sweetly at a group of women as they approach, pressing himself to Porthos to give them room to pass. "I don't know why you think that's no incentive," he says when they are back in motion. "I quite like eating your cock. I may even do it twice before the day is over."

Porthos tries to grasp at Aramis, but with the lack of clothes it's a difficult thing. He ends up clasping at his shoulder to keep him pressed in against his body, the low growl in his chest clearly audible. "Twice?" he echoes, thinking he could very much approve of that. "Hungry, are you?"

"Well, as I've said, I've skipped your sandwich," replies Aramis, extricating himself artfully to pull Porthos down the sidewalk. With the beachgoers growing scarcer, his undress is all the more apparent, though one wouldn't know it from Aramis' easy smile. He inclines his head as a passing car honks its horn. "Do hurry, I'm getting hungrier."

Porthos lets out a helpless sound, thinking that while he loves Aramis with all his heart and utterly and totally, there are times when the man is frustrating beyond belief and threatens to take Porthos' sanity out back and shoot it with his perfect aim. He mutters a curse at the passing car and picks up his pace, gripping Aramis' hand all the tighter as he practically flees for the Bramford, eager to get there.

"You will kill me," Porthos vows. "I am sure of that."

"This is several trips home made in haste now in as many weeks," observes Aramis, taking care to at least keep alongside Porthos if not in front of him, lest the view be wasted. "I am beginning to think we lack self-control. I'm not certain I miss it. You?"

"Like I told Alice, self-discipline isn't my strong suit," Porthos breathes out, the sound somewhat unsteady as he thinks his skin might burst for all that Aramis seeks to stretch it with desire. "Keys," he says, when the building looms above them. "In the bag," he gestures to the bag Aramis is carrying.

"Ah." Aramis stops, placing the bag on the ground so he can bend and search its contents, pushing past towels and clothes and food until he finds the heavy keys at the bottom. "There we are."

He opens the front door, bowing Porthos in before him. "After you. Shall we take the stairs or the elevator?"

Porthos gives a sharp growl, grabbing Aramis by the hips and physically dragging him into the elevator, not bothering to say again how maddening he's being. Instead, he thrusts his hand into Aramis' hair and grabs hard enough to cause hurt, not kissing his lips, but burying his face in Aramis' neck to work his teeth at the edges of the white lines of his scar.

If there's anything that can undo Aramis, this is it, but he hangs on valiantly, keeping both feet on the elevator floor even as he longs to throw a leg round Porthos' hips. "Steady on," he manages, watching the floors tick upward rather than let his eyes roll to the back of his head as they want to do. "We are almost there."

Porthos bites, and Aramis groans, settling his hands on Porthos' shoulders. "Almost."

Porthos grabs at Aramis' arse and rocks his hips up against his body, pushing him flush against the back of the elevator as he keeps on kissing his way down Aramis' bare shoulder, back over his collarbone, and licks his way up the stubbled scrape and over his Adam's apple before he finally claims the kiss he's been longing for, challenging Aramis with a heated look in his eyes. "Almost?"