du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

"You know," Michele says as she taps her portable saw against her hand, standing by the front door, "I don't normally do house calls, but this was sort of a special favour seeing as he was so good in bed," she says with a winning smile in Aramis' direction. It's short-lived, though, as she shifts with Porthos' weight -- able to handle him given that she's not exactly a mere mortal. "And you're cute," she adds with a wink.

Porthos flushes pink in the height of his cheeks as he settles on the couch, staring at the new removable cast that's sitting to the side. There are bandages to go with it, but more importantly, there are no pills to go with it. With everyone having vanished from the city, Porthos is raring to get out there, but he can't do anything but sit here and try and heal.

"Do you need another explanation of the stretches you're meant to do?" she asks. Porthos shakes his head, thinking that they're fairly straightforward. She leans in to tuck the blanket over his shoulders and Porthos shifts uncomfortably, not sure he likes the shared history in that they've both bedded the same man, not to mention the odd feeling he'd carried the last time Aramis had been with her. She clucks her tongue and leans forward, hair falling over her shoulders. "Don't look so fussed, it's not like he had a chance," she says, leaning in a little closer. Her smile is wicked and all-knowing as she tugs his earlobe into her teeth, even as Porthos yanks his head away. "I'm a goddess of love," she whispers her secret. "And don't worry. He's all yours. I can feel it radiating off him. I'm not sure I could seduce him now even if I tried and I don't like lost causes."

She eases back and beams brightly at Aramis, handing him a pamphlet of stretches.

"Massage helps, that's all I'm saying," she says. "And I like red wine best, if you're in the market for a thank you drink." With that, she's gone, and Porthos is just as red as ever, staring at Aramis with shock and amusement as he rubs his hands up and down his newly-freed leg, staring at the loss of muscle mass with some dismay.

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He's not sure he likes it, but there isn't much he can do about changing it from where he is right now. He adjusts his hold on Aramis to shift, resting his cheek on Aramis' chest as he molds against his side, enjoying the feel of all that skin and all that heat there for him. "We'll find a way," he agrees, his fingers sliding down Aramis' side as he explores that potential ticklish place Aramis told him he had all those months ago that Porthos had never found.

Leaning in, Porthos breathes hot against Aramis' collarbone as he works his mouth to the scar from the musketball and starts to mark up the ridges of it with his tongue and teeth, sliding his mouth over to his nipple to do the same, working it to a peak. "You still need to set a punishment for me, for the wine."

Aramis sucks in a quick breath of surprise as Porthos' ministrations shift from hands to his mouth, forever seeking the scarred places on Aramis' body. He rests a hand lightly in Porthos' hair, his quickening breaths becoming a gasp when Porthos nips at him. "Well," he says, "I suppose that depends. How many sips did you take of it?"

"Four," Porthos replies, because he'd felt guilty the whole time and had counted, recalling how he had stopped after one until things got tense between him and Athos. He slides his mouth slowly down Aramis' torso, taking his time to torture small gasps out of Aramis with his mouth tracing the straight line from the centre of his chest down just below his bellybutton.

"Four," muses Aramis, taking care not to tug too sharply on Porthos' hair, not to buck, even as all his instincts cry out to push against his mouth. As long as he'd waited to get his hands on Porthos, it feels just as long since he's been touched in return, and he is still hungry for it. "So many possibilities. Four excellent meals, four unrebuked interruptions of your morning yoga." Aramis raises a brow. "Four excellent orgasms."

Porthos lifts his head from where he's positioned, a devilish and impish grin on his lips before he bows his head down again so that the tips of his curls brush against Aramis' stomach before he inches a little lower to slide his mouth over Aramis length, though with great slowness as he drags his tongue along as if tasting after a long time away.

"Maybe I should owe you all those things?" he suggests, idly letting his fingers wander over Aramis' hips as he mouths his move to suck at Aramis' balls, then pressing slow kisses to his thighs. "You know what I'd like though?"

Aramis groans aloud, and is not surprised to feel himself growing hard against Porthos' tongue. It has hardly been a month, but it feels like one since they have done anything like this together, and already he feels an itch at the base of his spine, a yearning for another completion yet to come.

"I can think of several pleasing combinations of those options," he says, breathless. "What would you like, Porthos?"

Porthos grins and lifts his head as he watches Aramis, shifting so that he's sitting between Aramis' knees and thighs, elevating his fractured foot with a pillow beside Aramis' head before he slides a little closer, working Aramis' length in between his thighs as he moves them firmer and tighter together. "Let's start here," he suggests. "I wanna feel you, I want you to find the friction here," he says, tapping his thigh with a full palm and watching the movement.

"Be good and you'll get my mouth back," Porthos suggests.

Aramis watches Porthos arrange himself with lips parted, appreciation on his face for Porthos' innovation, even as he wants to scowl for the removal of Porthos' hot mouth.

"And what constitutes good behavior?" he asks, eager to re-earn Porthos' tongue. He lifts his hips to test the tight passage of Porthos' thighs. With a little slick, it could be quite good indeed.

"Bringing you right up until the edge of things," Porthos says, tightening his thighs just enough so that Aramis has to work to find friction, but not so tight that he'll be barred access. "Until you're begging me and pleading with me, then you'll get my mouth back to its very favourite place in all the world, apart from your neck," Porthos says, filled with joy and warmth for the ability to do this clear-headed.

With a pleased grin, Porthos arches his eyebrow expectantly.

Aramis slides an arm beneath his own neck, determinedly lounging so as not to give Porthos too much satisfaction too soon. "I see," he says, lashes fluttering as he lifts his hips again, thrusting into that near too tight channel with a hiss. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for some lubrication?"

Porthos shares a grin with Aramis for the new sensation, one that he enjoys as much as usual and he slides both great palms up and down Aramis' torso, interest in his eyes. "You could be a darling and reach for it or you can say the word and I'll wet it up with a bit of spit."

"Spit, then, in the interests of expedience," replies Aramis, eyes crinkling as he smiles. He thrusts again, the hand not beneath his head bunched in the sheets to give him leverage. He could come from this, he decides, if his abdomen could bear the continued strain of thrusting against Porthos' partial weight. It is not perfect, but with Porthos' dark eyes watching him, it does not have to be. Aramis wets his lips and remembers to be polite.

"Please."

Porthos grins down at Aramis and lifts his palm to spit into it, sliding it down to wrap around Aramis and stroke slowly, allowing some slick before he does it again, this time coating each side of his thigh. It's hardly pretty and Aramis is likely to chafe, but it'll do the job for what they need.

"I like when you say please," Porthos murmurs, refusing to take his eyes off of Aramis. "My beautiful, gorgeous, perfect man."

Aramis sighs gratefully, both for the slick and for Porthos' praises, washing like a rumble over Aramis' suddenly hot skin. He thrusts and feels sweat begin to break on his forehead, his chest, and he clutches at the sheets even harder to prevent himself trying to goad Porthos on.

"It's good," he manages, his eyes fastened to the round of Porthos' bottom lip. "Your mouth would be better."

Porthos huffs out a laugh as he stares down at his position. "My mouth would be nicer," he agrees, and shifts his legs wider, debating how he's going to get himself there. It leads to Aramis not being touched at all as Porthos slides backwards and away from Aramis, staring at his leg and wondering how he can move so that he can shift his mouth to Aramis.

He wrinkles his nose and shifts to his feet, hobbling slowly around the bed, but he curses when that won't work. Shaking his head, he gestures at Aramis. "Move," he insists. "Away from the headboard. And uh, get your own mouth ready."

"Careful," Aramis exhales when Porthos curses, but it seems pain is not the cause of his distress. Lifting his back from the headboard, Aramis complies, shuffling towards the center of the bed.

"I don't know quite what that means," he says with a smile, holding out his hands for whatever part of Porthos is headed his way, "But I'm excited."

"Being fractured is making me get very creative," Porthos says as he shakes his head, smirking as he positions himself in a straddle at Aramis' shoulders and chest, keeping his leg still propped up if a bit backwards, before he bends over with his back to Aramis in order to get his mouth properly on him without falling off the end of the bed. Like this, he goes as deep as he can until he's nearly choking, the head rubbing up against his throat before he pulls off with a hard suck.

Aramis steadies Porthos with both hands cupping his arse, kneading appreciatively at the swell of it. He half lifts off the bed as Porthos sucks him so suddenly, deeply down, and when he opens his eyes, Porthos' erection is dangling over him like a gift.

"Ready, indeed," says Aramis, craning his neck to kiss a path of Porthos' inner thigh until he reaches his cock. With a pillow shoved hastily beneath his neck, he can just reach far enough to suck the head into his mouth. Porthos' long denied but familiar flavor bursts against his tongue, and Aramis groans.

Oh, well, then. If Aramis is so willing to take advantage of his position, then Porthos isn't going to complain. His face lights up with a smile as he brushes his nose against the 'V' of Aramis' thigh, going back to it as he repeats the motion to see if he can't make Aramis lift off the bed again, while digging his knees in a little more and allowing Aramis a little more room himself.

He's stupidly giddy at the creativity of something new they've yet to do until now, and he rocks his hips down into Aramis' hot mouth eagerly as he sucks him hard and fast.

From below, all Aramis can see of Porthos' face is the jut of his bearded chin, the occasional hint of a pink mouth stretched wide, and even without seeing more, what Porthos feels like is heaven.

So much so that it is difficult to concentrate on his own task, but Aramis is nothing if not a determined lover. He curls his arms around Porthos' hips to keep himself lifted, finding it easier if he matches Porthos' own rhythm. It is so much, so much of Porthos in him, around him, spread out above him, and Aramis groans again, sucking in desperate breaths through his nose.

Porthos feels hazy and light-headed for all the touching and the hot, wet heat, so much of the things he's wanted for months now and still can't believe he gets. When he eases off this time, he ducks a heated look over his shoulder, giving Aramis a sex-addled grin. "You want more?" he speaks, and his voice is immensely hoarse, rough from taking Aramis deep into his throat. "What you're giving me is...god, Aramis, that mouth of yours," he groans, and goes back to swallowing him deep, humming once Aramis is deep in him.

Aramis pulls off when Porthos does, returning that glazed look with one of his own, sore lips stretching into an equally dopey smile. He does want more, in fact, more of everything, more of Porthos, always, but is spared having to find the words to tell him so when Porthos sucks him down again.

Toes curling, Aramis lifts his head and works Porthos in turn, hanging on with one arm now so that he can knead the flesh of Porthos' arse, work his finger down to press hard behind his balls.

Porthos has to ease off because he genuinely can't gasp the way Aramis is making him and work at him at the same time. Breathless, he pants against Aramis' hard-on, letting out a whimper over his shoulder as he gives Aramis a disbelieving look, wondering how he's supposed to keep going when Aramis is doing this to him.

"Okay, minou," he pants. "If you want to come, you have to stop, just for a second."

Aramis pops off just long enough to shake his head, drawing a few ragged breaths into his lungs before he can manage, "You first." He needs it, he needs to feel that release against his tongue, branding him, coating him just as Porthos coated his fingers not so long before.

Lest Porthos argue, Aramis clings tightly to him and returns his mouth to its labor, hollowing his cheeks with purpose as he bobs and sucks.

Porthos is breathing hard, panting desperately as he wants to argue, but Aramis goes right back to it, holding onto him in so many ways and despite the quick suck he gives the head of Aramis' cock, he's too busy trembling and falling apart on top of Aramis, swallowing hard and trying to stave it off. It's no use, though. Aramis knows exactly what he likes and it's just been so long that even though he's just come, he needs to again.

The heat builds in the base of his spine and his vision goes hazy white as he lets out a loud, broken cry (one that Athos is likely to hear, for its' vocal determination). His whole body shudders and shivers as he sags, but remembers himself and starts lazy work at taking Aramis in his mouth again.