(no subject)

[afineseamstress]

The box is there when he wakes, settled at the edge of the bed and almost hidden by Aramis' kicked up sheets. He stares down at it for a long moment, listening to Porthos move about in the kitchen, and when he is awake enough, Aramis drags the box to him to open.

Looking down at its surprising contents, Aramis smiles.

"Washing up!" he calls, exiting the bed with box in hand straight to the bathroom, where he wastes no time, fingers busy with more than the work of slipping the silk up and over his legs. If he is surprised, Aramis is equal parts impressed, stunned, and more warm than he's ever been in his life.

When at last he is set to rights, Aramis gives the corset a last tug and opens the bathroom door, walking the short distance to linger in the bedroom doorway. He gazes at Porthos' back as he rummages in the pantry and smiles, leaning his hip against the frame. "I believe I'll need some help with the string."

Comments

[du_vallon]

Porthos had been putting away the dishes while Aramis napped. Dinner is still a shade too early to start and the gift for Aramis is sitting on his bed waiting for him to discover. Porthos had bought it several days back, a treat for himself now that he's able to walk without cast, crutches, or even cane. He still limps slightly and wears a compression sock, but it's as though he is not injured in any way. Turning, Porthos' grip on the bowl in his hand weakens at the sight that greets him and shatters all over their floor.

Mouth dry, no words in his throat, Porthos thinks that he hadn't expected such a vision so soon. He feels a bit of lightheadedness hit him at the sight of Aramis in the perfectly fitting wares (Porthos had been careful to bring exact measurements with him) and he grips at the counter for the vision before him. "Stringing up?" he manages, finally. "I thought I wasn't allowed to touch you when you wore this until hours had passed." There's interest in his eyes and hope, beyond that, that Aramis will take back those words.

[afineseamstress]

"You're not touching me, are you?" asks Aramis, black rushing to his eyes for the remembrance of their little wager, and he vows to hold out for as long as he is able. "You're touching my strings. Now come here."

Smiling widely, Aramis turns, presenting Porthos with a view of the corset's back and more besides. "They're far too loose. And mind you step over that broken glass."

[du_vallon]

It takes Porthos a moment to realize that he'd broken a bowl. Staring down at the ground, he sees the shards and knows that he ought to bend down and tidy them up, but Aramis is asking him to do up his strings. He nearly vaults over them as gracefully as he can, his gaze sliding down Aramis' spine to where those panties hug tight to Aramis' arse and the lace is sure to make patterns that Porthos already wants to bite and nip at, wants to shove them aside and fuck him without taking them off.

The whimper he lets out is pathetic and sharp, but he slides in behind Aramis to take hold of the strings, hands shaking as he begins to remind himself of control and all the times he's done this before for other garments and reasons. The first few knots and ties are tight and Porthos exhales, forcing himself not to touch skin.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis cannot see Porthos' approach, yet he feels his every step, goosebumps breaking out along his skin for every footfall, and when he feels Porthos finally lift a corset lace, he cannot help the tiny groan that escapes him.

It does not get easier when Porthos draws the laces tight indeed, and Aramis only just resists tilting his head back to rest against Porthos' shoulder. "Don't stop there," he says, breathless.

[du_vallon]

"You'll have me dead, Aramis," Porthos utters swiftly, using every last ounce of willpower to keep himself from grabbing Aramis' hips and thrusting his own against them until he can slide his cock in between Aramis' arse-cheeks with all that lace there to give him release. He has to stop, closes his eyes, and counts to ten. He'd known this would be so much of what he wanted, but it's overwhelming to the point he thinks he needs to sit down.

Trembling fingers from the need to touch, Porthos continues with his knots and ties, thinking of cutting them open later. He finishes at the top and reaches down slowly, very slowly, to clip the suspenders to the corset, fixing the bowtie at the top and trying not to stare at the line of Aramis' shoulderblades peeking out of it. "You need to get dressed and get out of here," he warns. "If you want to play this by your rules, you can't stay here."

[afineseamstress]

"My rules, yes." Aramis turns, not trusting himself to meet Porthos' eyes, and when he does he knows he was right to fear it. Porthos looks hungry, and for all the times that Aramis has seen this, he knows this time is different. This is scintillating and new, a line they have not yet crossed, and Aramis is equally eager for it.

"I should get dressed," he agrees, and if he is cruel to push Porthos to bad behavior, he is more than capable of making it up to him. "But how shall I fit my trousers on over this?" Aramis looks down, gaze falling on his erection barely restrained against the lace and silk. "Women's undergarments are not at all constraining."

[du_vallon]

Porthos breathes in hot and heavy and hard, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to calm himself and even that doesn't do the trick. He forces himself to step away and even though he steps on a shard of glass, it's a welcome distraction of pain that he doesn't even cry out from. It's just enough to abate the sharp bolts of overwhelming lust that's making it difficult to think. He wants, so badly, to be on his knees with his mouth around that erection, to have his cock nestled in Aramis' arse, to be ripping off the corset in shreds, but there are rules and he's meant to follow them. "Wear your leathers," he gets out hoarsely. "The thickness ought to stop it from being seen."

[afineseamstress]

"A fine idea," Aramis breathes, and it's stubbornness alone that prevents him panting when he can see how this is affecting Porthos. It is so beyond his expectations, Porthos so gloriously undone by only the sight of his gifts on Aramis' skin - Aramis takes one look at Porthos' heel and sinks right to his knees.

"I will," he promises. "But let me look at you first. You've stepped on glass." Aramis wets his lips. "I can at least kiss it better before I go."

[du_vallon]

Porthos glares down at Aramis and the look on his face is slowly moving. Though there's still insatiable desire, there is also frustration and a clear warning that if Aramis wants to leave, he needs to not be on his knees with wet lips and a tucked-in waist that begs Porthos' hands to touch it. "Don't you dare," he growls. "I'm not even close to teasing, Aramis. If you lay a single finger on me, if your lips touch me for even a second, I'm going to pin you against the wall so hard you'll see stars, have bruises, and your indentation is going to be in our wall forever," he promises.

He swallows, hard, and feels his heart racing. "Get dressed and go. Twenty feet, you said," he says. Maybe at twenty feet, Porthos will find some calm of mind and balance.

[afineseamstress]

"If you are attempting to dissuade me," says Aramis in a ruined voice, "You have chosen the wrong words." Still, he manages to get to his feet, albeit with a steadying hand thrown against the wall, and somehow turns his back on Porthos to go into the bedroom.

"Do you recall where I last left my suspenders?" he asks, looking over his bare shoulder at Porthos, who still looks fairly mutinous. "You aren't in pain, are you? You will tell me if I need to see to that foot of yours."

[du_vallon]

Folded practically in half when Aramis turns away, Porthos is so hard that he aches. He doesn't think he can remember the last time he's been this desperate for a touch, so aware that if he even so much as touches himself, he'll spend within moments. "It's about the only thing keeping me steady," he admits, bending in half to pry the glass from his heel, taking solace in looking somewhere that isn't at Aramis' body and the incongruity of the clothes, yet how perfect they always look.

"Your suspenders are hanging up next to my belt," he says. "And your shirt is pressed and with mine."

[afineseamstress]

"Ah yes." Aramis opens their closet to the sight of them. "Hanging there pressed together, just where they belong." He takes the shirt and pulls it over his shoulders, leaving it open and hanging when he turns.

"Forgive me, these laces are so tight, my fingers are all but numb. I don't know how women manage." Aramis smiles politely at Porthos. "Could you hand me my leathers as well?"

[du_vallon]

Porthos' eyes flash with panic, willing himself to settle his blood so that he can walk into the bedroom, walk closer to Aramis where he wants to touch and is close enough to. He walks stiffly, his own arousal clear given that he's only wearing sweatpants. Even his muscles seem to quiver with the stress of it, straining against his tank top as he plucks out the leathers and hands them to Aramis, dangling off two fingers from where he's standing five feet away from him.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he wonders, raw and hoarse and desperate as he asks for reason. "You said you'd go out, you said I could watch. Not this."

[afineseamstress]

"I did not say what would happen inbetween," Aramis points out, venturing close enough to pull the leather from Porthos' hands. "And I did not choose these garments. You did."

Pulling his long coat on over his shirt, Aramis cannot help the way his eyes dip to Porthos' waist. "I admit, I was not prepared for how deeply it would affect you. Tell me."

Aramis begins doing up his buttons, the process slow for his trembling fingers. "Did you anticipate this when you brought it home? I notice there are two corsets."

[du_vallon]

Porthos' breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling hard. "I knew that I'd be cutting the first one open to free you of it, after it had been on you long enough to make imprints in your skin," he mumbles, not trusting himself to look at Aramis' waist and the curve of that skin. "I didn't think you'd affect me like this. I thought I'd find you out in public already done up, only the hint of it. I thought it'd be revealed to me as I undressed you, but instead, you look...you look..."

He doesn't even have words for it. He is utterly and completely beyond all capability of proper thought. "The second is for you if ever we want to do this again. I knew I wouldn't last, but I didn't think it'd be like this," he pushes out the words in a long exhalation.

[afineseamstress]

"Perhaps it will be like that," says Aramis, "Next time. I did not think either, Porthos." Letting his hands fall from his coat, Aramis sinks again to his knees. "If you do not touch me, you will keep your vow, only..." Reaching, Aramis wraps his hands around Porthos' hips, forehead bowed against the heat of his erection. "Let me touch you?"

[du_vallon]

Were he stronger, he would have told Aramis that they could both endure a lack of touching. Except, he's not. He's weak and he's needy and Aramis' hands feel so good and the warmth of his forehead is more than enough. He's not wearing any underwear, given that he'd only been fussing about the flat, which means there's a thin layer and a thin layer only between Aramis' mouth and his cock. The whimper that he lets out is permission enough, though his fingers itch to reach out and touch Aramis.

He only stops himself with the reminder that there will be no marks and no press of cloth to skin if he takes them off Aramis now. "Will it strain you? To do that in your corset?" Even the word sounds sinful and daring, exciting all at once.

[afineseamstress]

"I hope so," Aramis confesses. He takes an experimental breath, reveling in the way he has to strain towards fulfillment, his eyes blowing darker still when he looks up at Porthos. "It is not too much."

He touched him just last night, yet it feels like years between them when Aramis' hands finally fist in Porthos' sweatpants, dragging them down the barest inch. Aramis presses his lips to Porthos' bare hip and trembles, already aware that after these sweats, there is nothing between them. "You cannot expect me to have resisted these for long."

[du_vallon]

Cock twitching with interest, heart racing madly, Porthos thinks he might not be able to stand very long. He reaches out desperately and clasps onto the nearest end-table to give himself some balance, shifting towards the bed as he tries to use the mattress against the backs of his knees to prevent himself from melting in a pool of well-touched liquid. "What?" he wonders, hoarsely. "My trousers? I was only wandering about the house. No need to put on underwear," he says, curling his fingers into his hands again to refrain from touching Aramis.

He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling as his whimpers of need turn into long moans. "D'you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us? That we can't go a full day without becoming so desperate for each other's touch?"

[afineseamstress]

"Every day I want you more," Aramis groans in return. The sounds Porthos is making before he's even been properly touched are making him dizzy, and he holds tight to Porthos' thighs. "I have never felt anything like it, but until the day comes that we can't even bear to leave the house, I mean to enjoy it."

Leaning in, he fastens his hot mouth to the tent in Porthos' sweats, outlining the shape of Porthos' cock with another strangled groan.

[du_vallon]

Porthos lets out a choked sob when Aramis' mouth begins its work, with a layer yet between skin and lips. He's so beautiful from where Porthos stands and he wants so badly to fist his hand into Aramis' hair and tug until it stings. Instead, he reaches back to do that to the blankets, holding them instead of Aramis as his hips thrust forward. "Please," he begs.

"I want you to lose your breath, just enough so that everything goes light and pale," he murmurs, staring down at them. "And then I'm going to tear that thing off you and have you on this bed."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis pulls his mouth away, leaning hard against Porthos' leg as he shudders. "Yes," he says, pulling Porthos' sweatpants down with his teeth. He noses along Porthos' cock, bloodhot and thick, and feels his mouth water. "You will fuck me with this. I've already prepared myself, I will be so tight for you, so wet and slick."

Aramis looks up at him. "You will slide in as easily as into any woman."

[du_vallon]

Porthos stares down at Aramis, doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, and he feels a rush of heat overwhelm his skin. The flush of warmth is instantly ridiculous and he lets out a low gasp, moaning Aramis' name as the sheets are grasped tighter in his hand. "You've what, you prepared yourself?" he manages to eke out. "When?"

He tries to hold Aramis' gaze rather than let his mind wander to thinking of two fingers prying aside the panties and mounting Aramis from behind, all that silk sliding against his legs. With another gasping cry, his hips push forward.

"I'm not going to last," he warns. If Aramis weren't here, he'd have touched himself, brought himself off frantically and fervently with these thoughts, by now.

[afineseamstress]

"Before I put on these fine lace underthings," Aramis tells him, reading Porthos' every thought on his flushed face. He grins, sucking just the tip of Porthos' cock into his mouth before he adds, "And that is why I am going to bring you off first. When you fuck me, you will last. It will be hard, and fast, and deep, and you will make me come without a touch."

With that missive, Aramis opens his mouth and begins to suck Porthos in earnest, filling his mouth until can hardly breathe. He uses every technique at his disposal, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing when Porthos' prick reaches the back of his throat, sucking in gasps of air when he can, bothering only when the room spins faintly around him.

[du_vallon]

Porthos' gasping breaths are weak as he thinks about Aramis in this bedroom while Porthos had been puttering around the kitchen not doing much of anything. He wants to touch him so badly, but can do little more than allow himself to be subject to Aramis' perfect mouth and tongue. Exhaling deeply, he stares at him with yearning in his eyes and it's when Aramis swallows him back, deep, that Porthos comes without even meaning to, having thought he could hold off a little more.

He waits for Aramis to withdraw, but only barely, before his shaky knees give out on him and he collapses back on the bed. His fingers ache for the force of grasping the sheets and he's seen stars. "Aramis," he murmurs happily. "Chou, mon petit chou, parfait, votre bouche, sangdieu," he babbles, allowing his shorthand lazy dialect to overtake the proper French he'd been taught after he'd left the Court and uses now.