afineseamstress | (no subject)

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porthos

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Aramis is no longer in the mood to celebrate Halloween. After the trials of the strange, gray nightmare world he and those he loves dearest had found themselves in, after watching the people he loves hurt again and again, it's not for the purpose of celebration that Aramis outfits himself into costume.

The motorcycle is newly purchased, the license newer still, and Aramis swings a leg over it, leathers creaking as he settles. He rides quickly across town to where Porthos will be waiting for him, and as the wind whips through his hair, he lets Aramis fall away.

He doesn't have to be that man for a few hours. He doesn't have to wonder if the city that has given him so much will try to hurt him again, hurt Athos or Porthos, or their future family. He doesn't have to pretend that he's been sleeping when he has not, or that everything is alright when it certainly isn't. Just for an evening, he doesn't have to be himself, worrying incessantly about the things he can't control.

Pulling up in front of the shelter, he lets the motorcycle engine roar once before he sets the engine to idle. He breathes deep, exhaling with an almost bored sound as he waits for his charge.

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Aramis hopes that Porthos has been diligent, but when he presses forward Porthos parts for him easily, body tight but accepting as he joins them. Breathing out, Rene kisses Isaac's shoulder, soothing him through the first deep stroke. "Tight," he breathes in Isaac's ear. "You feel incredible."

He doesn't even realize how badly he'd needed this until Aramis is pressing into him. The choked sob he releases is all him, a desperate plea for more. "Rene," he chokes out, barely remembering to use the right name until the very last minute. "I want you in me, as far as you can go."

Rene shushes him, pressing in carefully until their bodies are flush and he can go no further. "We will do this slowly," he tells Isaac, pulling back inch by inch and sinking in just as deeply. Rene kisses Isaac's throat, nuzzling the curls at the nape of his neck. "How is it, my darling?"

It's hard for him to play patient, even when they're doing it like this, but he does his very best to recline and let Rene take over rather than wanting to stay in charge himself. "Good," he promises, soft and blissful when Rene pushes into him. "It's good," he promises, still amazed at how he's taken to this when he hadn't expected to be able to enjoy something this much.

"Yes," Rene sighs as Isaac takes him deep again, his body hot and wrapped sweet like velvet around him. He stays curled over Isaac carefully, mindful of his bruises with every thrust, for he wants Isaac to feel only pleasure, but Isaac's body opens for him as if made for this. "Have you had many lovers, Monsieur?"

"If I say one for every city, would you think poorly of me?" he wonders, and it isn't far from the truth but there haven't actually been they many cities. "And you? What number am I?"

"I will think poorly of myself if you do not count me the best of them," Rene counters, shifting Isaac's knee higher so he can sink even further within him. He keeps a steady rhythm, slow and deep, measuring his thrusts in the breaths he feels Isaac take beneath him. "I don't know how many," he admits. "I stop counting after March lest I become forced to examine my life choices."

Isaac lets out strangled cries of pleasure with every additional thrust, body shoved happily into the mattress as he grips at the pillow and buries his face in it to hide the cries. "And how am I to remember you so fondly if I'm awash in a sea of men?"

"I would hope from the pleasure I am giving you right now," Rene tells him, "But perhaps I am not doing so good a job." He nudges his chin against Porthos' cheek. "Buried in that pillow, I can scarcely hear your cries."

Isaac eases back and moves the pillow, knowing that without being face to face, he can't let Rene know how good he feels, but he's going to do his best, now, to try. Writhing, he pushes back against Rene's cock, allowing him in deeper. "So close," he pants. "How about you make me remember this?"

He is almost frustrated by all the things he cannot do without bearing down on Isaac's bruises, but Rene attempts to deliver, twisting his lower half now as he fucks into Isaac, aiming to tease his prostate on one stroke, press firmly onto it the next, all while moving Isaac's cock trapped beneath him against the sheets.

Isaac lets out a muffled moan of a cry, a whine no better than a little gasp, and when he does come, it's not Rene's name, but Aramis' sobbed out, craning his neck as he stares up at him in this awkward position, a plea in his gaze for Aramis to finish, for him to just bear down and hold him, so he can protect the man in turn and they can forget the dark city.

It is a shock to hear his name after so long, but the sounds of Porthos in the throes of bliss work as they always do, propelling Aramis swiftly towards completion. He buries himself within Porthos, working into him in short, swift thrusts, and then he, too, is spending with a shudder. He buries his face against Porthos' nape, remembering only at the last to pull himself up and off of his abraded skin.

Porthos works to wrap his arms around Aramis, yanking the blankets up higher to protect them both as he curls up with him, possessive and desperate and loving. "I know we needed that, but I think I just need this, too," he mumbles, right into Aramis' neck.

He does not feel ready to be himself again, but Aramis will never leave Porthos alone in anything, and he curls his arms around him carefully in turn, grateful that Porthos' face is buried in his throat.

Aramis rests his chin atop his curls, stroking lightly at his back. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Everywhere," he confesses roughly, his bruises stinging and aching. "But it's not your fault. They've been hurting all day," he admits, his mouth pressed down in a touch of despair as he rolls them until he's on his side, as Aramis had recommended. "What did you do today before picking me up?"

Aramis takes one of the feather pillows and places it between them, just enough that the hard planes of their bodies do not exacerbate the ache. "We'll put more creams on you soon," he says, shrugging for the question. "Very little." He'd examined the locks, the windows and the doors. He'd cleaned his guns and examined the fire escapes for vantage points previously undiscovered.

"Made certain Athos had a meal and set out for you."

Porthos tries to climb over the pillow to get closer to Aramis, but he just wants to be able to share in his space. The warmth is helping to keep him secure and content, so at least there's that. "How is Athos doing?" Porthos asks quietly. He hadn't wanted to linger and make Athos remember the city below and he thinks his bruises do nothing but the sort.

"He is Athos," says Aramis simply, of no mind to dwell on what he cannot fix at the moment. "We will know very little of his heart until he is ready to tell us." His fingers skirt down Porthos' chest, hovering over a bruise. If there had been time, he would have done better than a cold pack, but even knowing that it can't be helped now, it still bothers him.

"I am going to get your creams."

Porthos gives a grateful sound in turn, because he hadn't wanted to complain, but feels like he could use the attention. "I'll make him a good big breakfast tomorrow and serve it in bed. He could use the forcible cuddling," he calls over to Aramis, where he's standing.

"You are the one who should be eating in bed," says Aramis, rising to slip his boxers back over his hips. He goes to the bathroom and digs out Porthos' creams and two more pills, returning with them and a glass of water.

"Drink," he says as hands the glass to Porthos, knees on the sheets so he can crawl forward and uncap the cream. Aramis slathers it onto his fingers and begins to rub it carefully over Porthos' bruises. "The plant based one," he says, "To expedite healing. I'll use the analgesic after."

Porthos gives Aramis a grateful look as he sits up just enough to reach out for the glass of water, swallowing both of the pills as he relaxes back to let Aramis work him over. "Before you put the other one on, maybe a hot bath?" he requests hopefully, because he likes the thought of what it will do to expedite his healing.

Aramis frowns, testing the puffiness of Porthos' skin as he spreads the arnica. Too much heat, too soon will make the swelling worse, but perhaps Porthos is stiff enough now that the heat will do him good.

"So long as you allow me to help you in and out of it," he says. "A slip will set you back weeks, or worse."

Porthos reaches up to catch Aramis by the chin, gently lifting it in order to press a slow kiss to his lips. "I'll do whatever you tell me to do," he promises, thinking that he's a much better patient now, and that he'll do whatever his husband tells him. "I'm at your command, ma coeur."

Aramis smiles despite the turmoil within him, anxiety still tripping down every nerve for all that he is looking down at Porthos, safe and cared for in Aramis' arms. "Well, that is certainly a first," he says, tucking another quick kiss against Porthos' cheek.

"Wait here, I will draw the bath."