afineseamstress | (no subject)

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porthos

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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."

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"Our vision board is quickly becoming a private matter," Porthos murmurs, the words pressed up against Aramis' skin as he gives him a bemused raise of his brow. "Are you an easy sell, hm? You're making it so that I might not need to put in any effort. No more nice clothes, all sweats. No more nice dinners, only the easy stuff," he teases, setting aside the cloth to hoist Aramis into his arms swiftly.

"You enjoy the sight of me in finery too much to give that up," says Aramis with a knowing smile, "And you'd sooner give up that earring than your cooking." He slides his arms around Porthos' throat, winding fingers into his hair as he considers. "We should get a second board. Otherwise we will lose track of all our deviant plans."

Porthos cranes his head to the board, allowing Aramis' fingers to slowly slide their way up into his hair as he gives a pleased murmur. "One for our private fantasies? One for our wedding?" he suggests, his smile warm. He pries one of Aramis' hands out and places it on top of that earring to give him a chance to toy with it. "I could use a new one of these, you know. If you're aiming to give me anything."

"You tire of this one?" asks Aramis, needing no urging to trace the small golden ring with his fingertips. "You have had it as long as I have known you." Considering it gone now, Aramis finds that he will miss it, but the ache won't be too much if it's he who replaces it. "Perhaps something to match your ring."

"And I like it, but I wouldn't mind a second," is all he feels compelled to point out. He doesn't want to move from his very comfortable position, but he knows he ought to in order to turn the oven on and prepare something. "It's not as if I'd take it out for good and wear nothing," he reasons, but grins when Aramis mentions his ring. He lifts it up to study in the light, smiling like an idiot. "This ring? This one right here? It's a lovely thing, chou, it truly is."

"Well I have exquisite taste," says Aramis, "In rings and in men." He shifts up onto an elbow so he can gaze down at Porthos. The tenderness in his smile belies the teasing quirk of his mouth.

"Sparkling dark eyes, dimples I could fit my thumbs into, a smile fit to rival the sunrise...I gave that dream up for lost, naturally, but you are an excellent substitute."

Porthos is laughing before he can help himself, those dimples shining as he grins up at Aramis, sprawled on the bed until he can force himself into a sitting position, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from his cheek. "An excellent substitute, am I?" he challenges, but he's grinning. He rolls off the bed to fetch himself a pair of deep blue boxer-briefs that cling to him, dragging on something that Allison has called a 'henley' that's all greys, before kneeling on the bed and giving Aramis a challenging look as he drapes his St. Jude's pendant back over his head (having taken it off for yoga in the morning).

"What do I lack, dear, to be perfect? Hmm? I'm always keen on self-improvement."

"Well," says Aramis, stretching languidly before he rolls onto his side, head pillowed against his hand as he gazes at him. "I did always want a lover who could fuck me insensate. Oh no, I did find that, didn't I?"

Grinning, Aramis reaches for Porthos, but his arm cannot stretch quite far enough. "Where are you going?"

"I have to turn on the oven," Porthos reminds him, though he doesn't go far. In fact, if anything, he leans a little closer, bowing his head to start pressing slow little kisses to the lines that the string had made. "I was going to make up spare-ribs soaked in sauce, along with some coleslaw, and bread." Another kiss, and he rubs his nose back and forth before he looks up. "Will you let me go for two minutes?" he asks his permission dutifully.

The food does sound delicious, and Aramis finds he wants to eat almost as much as he wants to sleep. Perhaps this way he may have both. Those ribs always take some time to cook, and they could sleep curled together, waking to a glorious meal. "Stay within view as much as possible," he barters. "And bend at every opportunity."

Porthos grins wickedly as he curves the line of his body up smoothly to steal a kiss from Aramis' lips, easing back and away in order to open the bedroom door widely to head to the kitchen. Once there, he does precisely as Aramis has requested. He bends, arse in Aramis' direction as he hauls out the pots, running his sleeves up to his elbows before he breaks down the ribs and sets them in a pot of boiling water to tenderize them, a timer on for a few hours.

When he's through, he wanders back to Aramis' side and takes in the wonderful view of his bare body. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs fondly, sitting down next to him so he can splay his palm on his chest, moving it slowly up and down. "I think you know it, but you have no idea how beautiful you really are."

Aramis smiles up at him, impossibly besotted. He's taken in every view of Porthos offered him, more appreciative than strictly lustful, and savors the warmth of Porthos' hand on him now. "Never moreso than when you are looking at me," he says, for there is nothing so powerful for a man's self worth than Porthos' love. "I'm yours forever."

Porthos' brow furrows as he stares down at Aramis wondrously, still amazed that Aramis can be so convinced of Porthos' looks as something that moves him to this. "I'm keeping you forever," he says, sober and serious as he lifts up Aramis' knuckles to press a firm kiss to each one -- each a promise.

He grins as he palms Aramis' hips with both hands and uses sheer strength to lift Aramis over a foot to his right, room for Porthos to crawl in and drape one leg over both of Aramis' while he throws his arm over his chest, chin on his shoulder. "You hurting?" he murmurs quietly.

"Only in ways that I will savor," Aramis promises him, laughing for his new and sudden position in the bed. He wraps his body around Porthos' in turn and rubs their noses together. "Was I very loud? I cannot remember, and I think I heard Athos come home while I was changing."

Porthos' laugh is low and heavy, though hardly quiet himself as he scrunches up his nose with the touch. "If he did, then he's going to be very, very mad at us," Porthos confesses, feeling light-headed and giddy for the confession. He rubs his fingers up and down Aramis' hip and cinches his leg a little tighter so he's hanging on like a leech.

Peering upwards towards the ceiling, Porthos wonders if Athos is still as miserable. "Does he seem happier to you? I can never tell. I'm not as good at reading Athos as you are."

"Of course you are," replies Aramis, pulling Porthos' leg firmly around him, "You simply can't accept that anyone would be so willfully miserable, and I love you for that."

Still, he sighs, resting his head against the pillows to stare at the ceiling. "He is closer to accepting he is trapped here, and that life must be different. That is not nothing."

Porthos cranes his head up to shift and adjust until his cheek is pressed to Aramis' shoulder, where he can lean up and lay soft kisses against Aramis' neck. "I don't want him to be miserable, but I also don't want him to make us feel guilty," he admits, sliding his clothed arms around Aramis' waist to give him a bit of sensation and friction. "And he's going to be our best man," he adds, with a boyish smile of joy.

"Of course, that is, if we get to ever get married with Allison and Athos glaring at each other like alleycats," he snorts. "I'm half-convinced she's seen fit to challenge him to a duel. That won't end well."

Aramis clears his throat, staring with greater determination at the ceiling, for a duel is exactly what he had suggested to Allison. It worked for d'Artagnan, after all, and she and he are remarkably alike.

"It will hardly come to that," he says. "They are our best man and maid of honor - they will have to work together, or I will send you in with the saddest pair of brown eyes they have ever beheld."

"What?" Porthos wonders teasingly as he lifts his head and widens his eyes suitably enough to show what he thinks Aramis might mean. "Like this?" he suggests, lower lip jutted out slightly as he allows his eyes to widen ever the more. "And ask them very politely to stop fighting and get along?" he snorts, the innocent look falling away swiftly as he rocks his hips up against Aramis to get a bit closer.

"Maybe we could split up their tasks?" he suggests. "Make it less of a chance of a riot. Allison can help you with seating and Athos can help me figure out some way to sound decent when I have to give a speech." Or worse, he thinks, blanching...

The vows.How has he not thought of them until now?

"Who could deny you?" asks Aramis with a smile, though it fades when Porthos' does. "Athos has a speech of his own to torment him," he reminds Porthos. "If anyone might help you, I would think it is Allison."

Aramis shifts onto his side so he does not have to turn his head to look at him. "What troubles you?" he asks, stroking fingers soothingly against Porthos' back. "If it is Athos' speech, believe me, we all fear it."

Porrthos snuffs out a soft laugh at the witticism, though he shakes his head, taking soft comfort in the path of Aramis' fingers. "It's not his speech. He'll manage, even if it ends up being thirty words." It would be short and to the point, but it would probably still be powerful. No, Porthos doesn't worry for that at all.

"I just realized I have to write vows," he says, a wild look on his face of worry. "And yours are going to be perfect. Mine will never live up to them."

"You make me beautiful vows every day," Aramis assures him, moved to another almost painful twist of tenderness for Porthos' worry. "Every look, every touch, every endearment that tumbles from your mouth without thought. Keep things simple and from the heart, and I will be the one who must worry my own will pale in comparison."

"I just don't know how I'll be when writing them," he admits, still worried despite Aramis' protests otherwise. "I'm good at speaking them, but these are important," he says firmly. "These are the things you'll remember forever, that'll be recorded. They have to be perfect," he says, stomach twisting to think of that. "I don't want to be bad."

"I will remember them, yes," says Aramis, "Just as I remember everything else you do. I like that others will know how you feel, but you will be speaking to me, and you could never disappoint me, Porthos."

Taking Porthos' hand, Aramis kisses each of his fingertips. "It is not possible. But if you are worried, I'm certain Allison will help you."

Porthos is still wary and anxious, but he nods his head, willing to ask Allison for help. "Could we do 'em in French?" he requests. "I'm not sure I can get across what I really mean in English, not without stumbling and a lot of stammering," he confesses, closing his eyes halfway at the kisses to his fingertips.

"What do you want to hear?" he wonders.