du_vallon | (no subject)

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When Porthos wakes up, it's to an itching against his neck and pressure against his hip. Half in sleep, he swats distractedly and gives Aramis' arse a mild smack to dissuade him from rocking up against him like that, but it takes him a minute to realize that this isn't like any other morning because for the last few mornings, there's been no stubble and no hard-on, which means that Aramis is back to normal. Instantly awake, his eyes fly open and he catalogues the man pressed up against him, having missed him so damn much.

Before he can even stop himself, he grabs Aramis by the cheeks and hauls him that inch closer to press a furious kiss to his mouth, revelling in the scrape of beard. To be kind (since he did wake Aramis up and all), he reaches down and gives him a few strokes to take the edge of the morning wood, laughing softly though his nerves are taking their time to slowly build up. If Aramis is back to normal, that means his memory and his mind might be, too.

Porthos might be in a very lot of trouble.

Inching back (just out of smacking reach), he crawls to the edge of the bed and sits cross-legged, gnawing on the pad of his thumb as he waits for Aramis to wake up the rest of the way.

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Aramis is a soldier. He can fall asleep at a moment's notice and wake up just as swiftly, but it is not so this morning. It is as if he is struggling through many layers of sleep, shifting up past the sharp pleasure of a fist around his cock, there and gone again, Porthos' hot mouth just the same, a feeling of wrongness in his own skin that makes no sense at all, especially when Aramis opens his eyes to see his body just as he knows it to be.

Only, it hadn't been. Could it all have been a dream? Disoriented, Aramis is remarkably relieved for the sight of Porthos at the edge of the bed. Whatever is the matter, it cannot be so terrible if Porthos is here. "Was I ill?" he asks, confused.

Porthos watches him for any sign of wrongness, worried that maybe something might have lingered or might cause Aramis any distress. He seems normal and fine, if a bit drowsy. Shaking his head, he furrows his brow. "You don't remember?" he asks, next, wondering if the last several days could be such a blank spot, actually.

He's not sure he knows how to explain it all, honestly.

"What I remember makes no sense," says Aramis, sitting up to scrub a hand through his hair. He'd had breasts, he thinks, looking down at his flat chest, breasts and a cunt and a hunger for Porthos that still feels familiar, but different now. A hunger for children, Aramis realizes like a punch to his gut, and he hunches in on himself a moment, wrestling his breathing back under control. "It was all real."

"Yeah," Porthos agrees with a heavy nod of his head. This is the first part -- though he isn't sure if it's the hardest part. First, let Aramis know that he had been something else. He moves closer when he realizes he doesn't care if he gets smacked, wanting to rub his hand up and down Aramis' heaving back to soothe his breaths. "You woke up and you thought you'd always been like that," he says apologetically, his other hand on Aramis' cheek to rub his thumb in circles along his beard.

"I'm sorry," he offers, the guilt of lying bubbling up and escaping past his lips.

"You did nothing wrong," says Aramis at once, the need to comfort Porthos ever present, even when his own mind is reeling. He still longs for family as he always has, but it's as if the woman he'd been is a bundle in the back of his mind now, her yearning still beating strong within his heart. "You were kind and generous, Porthos. You were perfect."

"I lied to you," Porthos says bluntly, not sure how that can qualify as anything but doing something wrong. He'd done it for what he'd thought was the greater good, but it was still a lie and it tastes acrid on his tongue. He continues to rub circles both on Aramis' back and against his cheek in a steady rhythm, still gnawing on his inner cheek. "To clear something up," he says, "I love you now, I loved you then, I will love you no matter what you look like. So don't go thinking I have preferences."

"You lied to be kind," Aramis insists, "Believe me, as I felt then, if you had told me I would never have children I could not have born it." Even now, memory of her thoughts pushes a fresh lump into Aramis' throat, but he swallows it down. "And I know you did."

Eyes still a bit too bright - and for this, he will certainly blame her, for he never cries so much as she has in the last few days - he offers Porthos a smile. "You were lovely with me." He draws a breath, remembering. "The look on your face when we made love without that awful condom. I am almost sad I cannot offer you that all the time."

"You will have children," Porthos vows, his voice thick with emotion. Aramis might not be one to shed tears so easily, but Porthos does. He's never been good with holding back his feelings and there are tears in his eyes to think that Aramis might think that. "You will, just differently is all," he insists, leaning in to kiss him because he thinks he needs it a little more than Aramis does right now.

He laughs against Aramis' lips, a broken and fond thing. "I fuck you without a condom all the time, chou," he points out. "It was just...a bit overwhelming," he confesses. "It was you, but you were so hot and wet around me, like I haven't felt ever, not even with women before."

"She," begins Aramis, but shakes his head, "I wanted you very much. It is the difference between sex and making love." And it is one of many reasons he chased it for so long, never believing he had found it until Porthos.

"I suppose I am grateful for the chance to give you that," he says, smiling more in earnest now. "And to experience it myself. I have long thought that I understood women, but..." Aramis breaks off with another smile. "My eyes are opened."

Porthos had known it had been different, had felt it. It had nearly knocked him unconscious, it had been so good. At Aramis' smile, Porthos grins in turn, sliding his fingers through the shorter hair as he sits back just enough to receive a proper look. "C'mon, you can't hold back on me, now. Don't I get a performance grade?" he demands, an encouraging waggle of his brows aiming to help Aramis' honesty along. "Was it everything my bragging set your expectations for?"

"Well, your cock is even bigger," Aramis allows, "Fit inside a woman's body. I was not lying for a moment when I called it glorious." Almost as an afterthought, he reaches down and strokes his own, relearning his body's usual reaction to the touch. "It was very beautiful, Porthos, coming as a woman. As if the body is surrendering and delighting all at once."

Porthos puffs up at the praise, enjoying it very much and thinking that he could use that every day in his life if given so nicely. "And my mouth? I like to think I really am as good as I think I am, with a woman. Did I give you proper pleasure, drawing it out?" he asks, though his gaze has slid down to watch Aramis touch himself, heart beating quicker for it.

"Yes," breathes Aramis, recalling the way his body had bloomed like a flower, opening to Porthos all the more for every flick of tongue. It's a heady combination, these memories with the stroke of his own hand, and Aramis finds himself moving his wrist in earnest. "I must have been so wet," he says, "Not as tight, but so wet and warm. Did you enjoy that?"

Porthos inches even closer, now that he knows he's not in trouble. He feels a bit of a pig to stare down, only attentive of the way Aramis' hand works over himself. It seems so simple, but they rarely do this -- just watch each other bring themselves off. Unable to help himself, he pushes his hand down past the hem of his sweatpants to wrap his hand around his cock and begin to stroke in time. "You were so wet," he growls. "Remember how you made me feel it? Christ, Aramis, if I had to feel that all the time, I'd walk bow-legged permanently."

"And the taste of you..."

"Sweet," says Aramis, "Blooming stronger the sweeter you moved your tongue. Three times," he says with a breathless laugh, his eyes forever flicking between Porthos' cock and his own, and all at once, Aramis can't stand for them not to be touching. He shifts towards Porthos, taking both their cocks inside his hand to stroke. "Three times you made me come on that first morning."

Porthos' laugh is low and hitched as Aramis takes them both in hand, leaving him to reach forward and grip hold of his waist possessively tight. "I couldn't let the opportunity waste away," he admits, eyes bright as he stares at him. "You were still completely you, like nothing had changed but your body..." He moans for the touch of Aramis' hand, for the pace. "Did we not have sex that often, in those memories of yours?"

"We did," Aramis groans, for a moment startled by the indelicate sound of his own need, but he recovers quickly. "But I never stopped wanting you, or our children." He twists his hand, thumbing over the head of Porthos' cock on every stroke down. "Your dark curls and dimples and my eyes, I can still see them, Porthos."

Porthos wants to laugh at the confirmation, but can't stop himself from doing anything but moaning, hips thrusting into Aramis' hand as he now scrambles to get closer without actually mounting Aramis. He shivers for the picture Aramis is painting and he feels sad that they can't have it, not like that, but...

"Well, lucky for me I took pictures of you from every single angle," he gasps. "Eyes, nose, face, body...hair," he lists, breathless. "So when it comes time to look for a surrogate, we have a reference for exactly what we're after. S-shame," he moans, "shame it wasn't me who switched. Then they could be your blood and we'd know what to look for, for a woman who looks like me."

"I already know," Aramis promises him, leaning down to press his lips to one of Porthos' deep dimples, "Believe me, I know just what to look for."

Levering himself up on an elbow, Aramis begins to thrust into the circle of his hand, the drag of Porthos' cock against his own making it all the sweeter. "Tell me I did not imagine the video."

"What is it you want to look for?" Porthos' grin turns wicked at the remark, thrusting up into Aramis' hand as he inches back to support himself on his elbows. "I want you to come on me," he growls, half-lidded gaze fixated on Aramis as he rucks up his shirt and shoves it off, throwing it to the side as he makes sure not to go too far.

"And no, you're not imagining it," he promises swiftly. "We made a bit of a video, you and I. Though," he smirks, gasping as he moves, "careful not to let Athos see it. He's half in love with you," he warns. "Aramis, you should've seen the way he looked at you..."

"Appreciating a beautiful woman is not the same as love," laughs Aramis, though he will turn such thoughts over later, remember and evaluate them, and save what lustful looks he might have received for future enjoyment. "Was I very handsome?" he asks, thrusting down with a singular purpose now, eager to give Porthos what he needs. Aramis does recall feeling quite beautiful, especially whenever he felt Porthos' gaze.

"I know what it looks like when someone's in love," Porthos argues hotly, for the touch to his cock. "He looked like he'd fallen in love with you," he insists, breathing out sharply and leaning back on his elbows. "And we'll watch the tape later, you can see for yourself. But to my eyes? You were every inch as beautiful as you are now. You really did look like your twin sister," he swears. "No beard, longer hair, but your eyes," he murmurs, rocking up into Aramis' hand.

"Those smiles," he recalls with a lazy grin. "Your voice and your scars. You were you, the same as always. Bit shorter, bit lighter, bit curved in some very nice places..." He lets his eyes slip lower. "Did miss your cock, though," he confesses. "A lot."

"Later," Aramis promises, voice catching as he begins to come, "I will fuck you with it." Squeezing his eyes closed, Aramis finds the presence of mind to pull back, painting Porthos' own cock and stomach as he spends with a shuddering cry. "Now you," he says, breathless, gripping Porthos' slippery cock to stroke at a brutal pace.

Porthos is looking forward to it so much that his pulse leaps and with the pace Aramis is determined to set as he strokes him, Porthos knows there's very little to do but surrender. He gives himself over to the man before him, coming and making an absolute mess of Aramis in a way that he finds so hot, he can barely breathe. Panting, he lets his chin sag to his chest before he collapses on his back.

Sprawled, he stares at the ceiling, running his fingers through the drying come on his belly. "We should make a second video," is what he says, when he can speak again.

Aramis collapses next to him, catching his breath before he makes himself roll to his feet, actually needing a moment to rebalance after days with a different center of gravity. "An excellent idea," he says with a laugh, going to the bathroom to clean himself and fetch a cloth for Porthos. Once there, he cannot help but marvel that he never figured it out as a woman - there might be many hair products, but they are all for men.

"How on Earth did you manage the secret for so long?" he asks when he returns, carefully wiping Porthos down.

Sheepishly, Porthos sits up just enough to watch Aramis begin the cleanup, sliding his hand over his arm and then his back, relearning the planes and angles of this much-loved body. "Honestly, a lot of it was sex," he confesses, feeling a bit guilty for that. "Every time I thought maybe you'd realize your ring didn't fit or your clothes were gone or that I was looking at you a bit funny, I'd do something to take your mind off it," he admits.

"Now, tell me," he says, a bit more seriously as he sits up. "Do you really know what you're looking for? Have you got a list of the things in a woman you're seeking for our child?"

"Of course," says Aramis, pulling the sheets back around them both. "As close to you as possible, in looks and in personality, though heaven knows how I will find anyone as innately good as you." Laying his head against the pillows, Aramis smiles up at him. "I shall have to settle for as close as I can get."

Porthos snorts as he busies himself rearranging the both of them so he can curl Aramis' head into his lap, close enough to dig his fingers into his hair slowly, massaging his scalp. "I'm a gambler, a thief, I've killed men, and there are things I did growing up that weren't very innately good," he says. "Remember how you accused me of saying you look good in everything? I think you think me too good," he says.

"So, curls, then, from the both of us," he muses, stroking his fingers through again. "Dimples. Darker skin," he says, mostly for himself, to remind himself that it won't matter here. "And broad of shoulder?"

"As much as a woman can be broad," says Aramis, gazing steadily up at him despite the way his eyes want to close for the touches to his hair. "I know you, Porthos du Vallon. And I love every part of you." He takes one of Porthos' hands from his hair and kisses it. "If I have to spend the rest of my days convincing you, then they will be days well spent."

Porthos' laugh is low and fond. "I know I'm plenty good, chou, but I'm no paragon of virtue like our young d'Artagnan," is his only objection, leaning forward to kiss him. He takes advantage to nuzzle him and slide both hands over his body, grasping at his arse as he hauls him up, in his lap, and then into his arms so Porthos can carry him into the main room, laying him out on the chaise as he smirks over his shoulder.

"See? Not so different. I can still pick you up," he teases, digging through the machines to find the recorder and the line that hooks it up. Once he gets the video hooked up, he returns and hands the control to Aramis. "I love you too, incidentally," he promises, getting Aramis' head back in his lap, propping his feet up on the table. "Now, let's see what this looks like from an outside eye."

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