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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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.

Porthos' release is sudden and glorious, hitting Aramis' throat at an angle that nearly chokes him, but he welcomes this, too, eyes leaking as he swallows. When Porthos' body goes loose above him, Aramis finally lets himself drop, falling down against the pillows to get his bearings. Below, Porthos' mouth is soft and sweet, but Aramis needs more.

"Please," he says, dragging his nails lightly down Porthos' backside. "Please, more."

It takes another moment for Porthos to collect himself, but once he's shaken off the kick of the orgasm, he goes back to what he'd meant to do, taking Aramis as deep in his mouth as he can, until he's all but swallowed him, sliding the flat of his tongue slowly on the way out, kissing the head with an innocent sort of mischief before he bows his head to one side to mouth at his balls, peering backwards. "I want you to come in my mouth. Got it, chou?" Once he's given the instructions, he goes back to it, wrapping his lips around Aramis to suck a few shallow times, gripping his thighs and kneading them to encourage him onwards.

Aramis whimpers, those broad hands on his thighs somehow as convincing as Porthos' mouth when it comes to coaxing Aramis to spend. He curls his arm around Porthos' knee and presses his face to the soft skin behind it, keening as he feels that first curl of pleasure loosed.

"Porthos," Aramis breathes, hips lifting, body frozen in an arc as orgasm takes him up and shakes him. It is more intense than the first, the intimacy of spilling into Porthos' mouth making everything brighter, sweeter, and when Aramis collapses against the sheets at last, he has to laugh, pulling on Porthos to rearrange him.

"It has been half an hour since you were freed from your cast," he says when he has the breath for it. "How long before we exhaust ourselves in here?"

Porthos swallows and swallows, licks his lips and when he feels ready for it, he lets Aramis' hands tug him back, though he collapses on his arse beside him, leaning forward to rub at his mildly swollen foot, staring at it and giving Aramis a hopeful look. "Maybe you could massage lightly before we try anything else?" he suggests, eyes wide and hopeful.

He grins though, arranging himself curled up beside Aramis as he wraps his arms snugly around his waist. "Do you ever think we'll get tired of this?" he wonders as he strokes his fingers up and down his chest, thinking that it just wouldn't be possible. "Even twenty years from now, I can't imagine I'll want you any less."

"Give me a moment," replies Aramis, "And I will massage anything you like." He throws an arm around Porthos to keep him close, feeling better than he has in many long days. More than on his way to whole, Porthos is happy again, and it is wondrous to behold.

"I cannot imagine that either," he admits, "But perhaps our bodies will have something to say about that. If not more, I hope we will at least be able to have each other once a day."

Porthos burrows in happily and noses his way up to Aramis' mouth to indulge in a sweet, soft kiss as he laughs, rubbing his cheek up against Aramis'. "You know," he says, playfully, "most people don't even have one round of sex a day. Then again, they've never had you and hardly know what they're missing."

He squeezes Aramis' hip and stares at him intently. "So? Tell me, then. How have I not found where you're ticklish yet?"

"Not even one round? You cannot be serious." Aramis chases after Porthos' cheek with his mouth, pressing a kiss to his dimple. "Poor souls. And where I am ticklish is not a place you have had much occasion to touch me. Is that mysterious enough for you?"

He laughs with delight, wondering if Aramis is serious. "You know, back in Paris, I was lucky if I was getting laid once every two weeks," he retorts, sliding his hand down Aramis' body curiously and scratching playfully at the backs of his knees, wondering if that's the spot and if not, he'll continue until he reaches the soles of his feet.

"That is different," replies Aramis. "When a couple can be together, why would they not enjoy one another as much as possible? That is wasted time, surely. And you touch the backs of my knees all the time," he informs Porthos with a grin. "How else would you keep my legs so firmly around your waist?"

Porthos' grin is so wide that it aches on his face. He kisses Aramis happily as he settles his cheek on his chest again. "We went ten whole days without doing it, so clearly we can. You're right, though, prefer not to," he says, using the hand on Aramis' knee to draw the leg up as he slides his fingers slowly lower, spider-walking over his heel and scratching at the sole of his foot with his blunt nail.

"I promise that my body will be available to you any time I am whole and well, and probably more times besides," says Aramis, his voice growing progressively higher the further Porthos makes it across his foot. When he scratches the sole, Aramis freezes entirely, holding his breath with great concentration.

Porthos lights up when Aramis freezes, a soft gasp on his lips as he draws his cheek off Aramis' chest to regard him full in the face. "It's there, isn't it?" he announces, as if he's solved a great crime in Paris. "You're ticklish there," he says, and strokes little motions with his fingertips along the sole, light and ticklish and barely there.