(no subject)

[somepoorsoul]

For the first time since he moved into the apartment above Aramis and Porthos, Athos’ television is on.

No, Athos has not entirely avoided the most ubiquitous form of modern entertainment, for his friends have coaxed him into watching all sorts of ridiculous tales on the flickering screen in the lower apartment. Some, he might even - quite grudgingly - admit to having enjoyed. But he has steered clear of the dull black box in his own rooms, and whatever mysteries it contained.

The blame for its return to life now can be laid squarely on the cat. What the damn creature had done, Athos has no idea, but he had emerged from his bedroom to find lights and noise brightening the apartment, and the feline standing innocently in the center of the room. No amount of shooing or coaxing had moved the cat or turned off the television, and Athos had finally given up, settling on the sofa with a book and proceeding to pretend that those flickering lights aren’t distracting him in the least.

The cat, on the other hand, comfortably curled in Athos’ lap, seems quite pleased with the entire situation.

Comments

[afineseamstress]

"Athos?" calls Aramis, standing on the last step that separates Athos' apartments from his own and Porthos'. He is laden with two long, heavy bags, and though he can see that the door is left open a crack he will not barge in.

At least, not until he spies what is on Athos' television.

"Are you watching Space Hospital?" Aramis demands, striding into the room at once. "If Nurse Betazir does not cease her dalliance with that handsome widower kidney transplant, I do not know what will become of her."

[somepoorsoul]

“The cat did something, and now it won’t stop,” Athos offers by way of mild protest. Ignoring such slander, Captain casually buries his claws into Athos’ leg. “But if Nurse Betazir is the redheaded one, then she had a very intense conversation with her widower in a broom cupboard. It was very moving.” He looks up from his book. “Afternoon."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis sucks in a sharp breath. "The redhead is Nurse Treadwell - how she could toy with her orderly lover's affections so, I have no idea." He marvels at the screen a moment more, then turns away.

"I have brought our suits," he says, lifting one higher than the other. "I admit, I am most eager to see you in yours." In all this time, in all these many instances of modern wear, he has yet to see Athos in anything so fine.

[somepoorsoul]

“But I thought Nurse Treadwell was married to Doctor Mortimer. He seems so devoted to her, and it will be quite the blow when he discovers-“ Abruptly, Athos shuts his mouth and glares down at the feline who was the start of all this absurdity. Clearly, this is all part of the creature’s evil plot, and he refuses to submit.

The cat leaps away, and Athos turns his skeptical look on the packages Aramis carries. “Hm. I suppose I’m expected to try it on for you, then."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis does not remark on Athos' intrigue beyond a pleased smile - at last, he will have someone to discuss Space Hospital with over coffee without disturbing Allison - and he makes a mental note to reward the Captain with some tinned meat.

"Of course," he says for the suit. "After all, if there are to be further alterations, we must know at once."

[somepoorsoul]

“Naturally.” Without further protest, Athos pushes himself to his feet. Weeks ago, he had given up his - admittedly mild - attempts to steer clear of wedding plotting and planning. What was the point, when Aramis and Porthos were so stubborn, and they inevitably looked so delighted whenever he relented?

“But I expect you to do the same."

[afineseamstress]

"There is a tradition here," says Aramis. "The bride is not to be seen in her wedding dress before her wedding. But," he says, removing his hat, "As I am not a bride, and this is not a dress, and you, dear Athos, are not my groom, I suppose I may as well."

He smiles and hands over Athos' suit, laying his own over the chair to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt.

[somepoorsoul]

The corner of Athos’ lips quirk upward, but he makes no reply, merely taking the other bag from Aramis and tugging off the light, slippery sheet to reveal the suit underneath. It is quite modern in its cut, like nothing Athos has ever worn before, but he has expected that, and he must confess that it looks quite fine. Leaving it to drape over the back of the sofa, he leans against the chair’s arm in order to unlace his boots.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis only means to try on the outer layers, but when he sees the full effect beneath his suit's coverlet, he simply can't resist, stripping to the waist to tug on the crisp white undershirt.

"There are not so many moving parts as our uniforms," he admits, reaching for his tie before the waistcoat, "But neither are there few. We shall have to help each other with the cuff links."

[somepoorsoul]

“Mm.” Athos pulls his sweater over his head next, though before removing the shirt underneath, he pauses to examine the suit’s various layers. “And yet this is all quite formal by modern standards.” It’s nothing compared to their uniforms, and certainly not compared to the finer things he had once worn in a life long past, but certainly different, with more finesse and authority than anything he has seen in these parts.

He glances at Aramis as he speaks, the moment right him for him to catch the man shirtless, and his gaze lingers - idiotically - for a moment longer than it needs to. They are soldiers, this is hardly the first time they have dressed in front of one another. And yet the simplest gestures carry different weight now.

Athos hates it. Swiftly looking away again, he unbuttons his shirt and reaches for the suit.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis glances up in time to catch the last traces of something very like disgust on Athos' features, and not for a moment does he believe it aimed at himself. It is different now, being together like this after Aramis' proposal, Athos' refusal, but Aramis is a man well accustomed to navigating the intricate waters of a man's feelings, whether they are his own or not.

He comes forward with his tie still loose about his thorat, tugging a caught shirttail from Athos' trousers with a smile. "I find I cannot wait," he confesses, holding up the new white shirt for Athos to slip his arms into. "I have an excellent feeling about this suit. If you outshine Porthos and I at the wedding, I have no one to blame but myself."

[somepoorsoul]

“I do not think you need to concern yourself.” While Athos does not think himself unhandsome, he wouldn’t call himself particularly remarkable, and cannot imagine ever attracting the sort of attention Aramis earns for his looks, or Porthos for his swagger.

He slips into the crisp shirt and turns around as he begins the buttons, pausing to reach for Aramis’ necktie. “Pardieu,” he grumbles, the silk sliding through his fingers as he tries to remember the unfamiliar knot, “what does one do with these modern kerchiefs?” Only when he looks up, meeting Aramis’ gaze, does Athos fully comprehend how close they stand to one another.

Again, it should be nothing. Once, it would have been nothing. But now his heart beats just a little harder.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis has long been a student of human nature. It's kept him alive more than once, and more importantly - at least to Aramis at the time - forged his path into many a bed, and when their eyes meet his gaze drops immediately to Athos' throat, fastened on the sudden leap of his pulse.

"Another elegant complication," he says for the lofted tie, "And there are many uses, as Porthos and I have well found." Aramis' smile is a touch deviant, then, but he continues in earnest. "As for presentation, if you will permit me to show you?"

Aramis plucks Athos' own tie from the garment bag and steps behind him, tucking in quite close so he might drape his arms over Athos' shoulders. "This is called a Windsor knot," he murmurs, close enough to Athos' ear that he need not speak loudly at all, "Said to project confidence. It will be perfect for you. You see?"

His hands work, slowly enough that Athos can watch, his own hands and eyes so deft with a sword that Aramis knows he will pick it up at once. That is, if Aramis cannot manage to distract him, as he finds is his sudden aim. He watches Athos' profile as his hands work by rote, gaze falling eventually to the bow of his mouth. "When the knot is finished, you simply tug at the base and..."

With a breath, Aramis steps back in front of Athos and pulls the knot to completion. "Voilà."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos had sometimes wondered what Aramis’ many dalliances had seen in him that made them willing to risk their skins, their marriages, their reputations on a few nights in his arms. Those Athos had seen enough of to judge were not vapid women, turned by any pretty face or kind word. And so why?

Now, he thinks he understands a little. With Aramis’ murmur in his ear, it’s easy to forget all his carefully crafted rationalizations and allow cracks to form in the wall around his desires. When Aramis steps away, it is disappointment that floods him, and not the relief of being freed from temptation; his eyes flicker shut briefly, and his jaw trembles.

He does not dare speak when he steps forward, face impassive but a brightness in his eyes betraying him, and he meets Aramis’ gaze steadily as, with care, he slides the tie from the man’s neck. As he steps behind him and sets to work repeating the knot that Aramis had shown, his fingers are deft, even if the work is slow. Athos refuses to let his hands tremble, choosing deliberation and care over fumbling that would give away just how distracted he had become.

And if his confidence, however feigned, brings a flush to Aramis’ skin that matches his own, that is an additional and worthwhile victory.

[afineseamstress]

It is certainly what he'd been hoping for, but still that faint tremor of Athos' normally iron jaw shudders through Aramis, setting all his nerves pleasantly afire, and he returns the look Athos gives him as he rounds with equal brightness. Still, for all his sudden determination to provoke a reaction, it is a shock to feel Athos' arms around him, those wonderful hands working a perfect knot around his throat. Aramis cannot help the little smile that graces his features then, as pleased as it is unusually bashful.

"Perfect," he murmurs, touching the knot when it is done, his fingers brushing along Athos' before they can disappear. It is the minimum, just now, of what Aramis would like to do, and even so it pushes another faint shudder down his spine. He has long known that there is life in Athos' heart yet, told Porthos time and again, and still it is an extraordinary thing to behold.

"Thank you," says Aramis, turning that faint smile on Athos.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos sees something unexpected in that smile. Perhaps not shyness, exactly, but he does not see the guile he has come to expect, nor the swagger. He has caught his friend in plenty of unguarded moments before, but rarely have they felt quite so directed at him. By God, so much has changed.

And is that really so bad? a small voice asks.

Perhaps that smile gives him confidence, for Athos does not retreat in the face of his feeling, not yet, though he does not trust himself to speak. In reply, he offers a faint nod, and turns only to collect Aramis’ waistcoat and jacket. Heart in his throat, Athos helps into one, and then the other.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis accepts both garments onto his person in meek silence, awed and more than a little touched for Athos' continued help. It is only a suit, and yet it feels strangely intimate, being dressed for what will eventually be one of the most important days of his life, by one of the most important men in it.

"Well?" he asks when the buttons of both are done up, the pocket square tucked into his jacket pocket, his tie straightened. He is not even in his fine trousers yet, but the effect of the suit is already upon him, and to his alarm, Aramis finds a tightness in his throat. He clears it with a quick touch of knuckles to his lips, smiling after. "Will it pass muster, do you think?"

[somepoorsoul]

Athos keeps his own counsel a little longer, silent and staying close as he straightens Aramis’ necktie and brushes an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder. The trouble is, he does not want to step away, half fearing this strange and wonderful moment between them will end.

But when he does step back to better inspect their work, the effect is entirely worth it. Aramis has always cut a fine figure - one would have to be a fool not to have noticed that before - and this suit, simple though it might be, has been expertly tailored to accentuate that lanky confidence that has been the undoing of any number of women.

And, it seems, at least one or two men.

Athos clears his throat, and a smile curves on his lips. “Well, I don’t think you will have to worry about me."

[afineseamstress]

"I did worry for the lack of a hat," says Aramis, mostly to fill his own flustered silence at the look on Athos' face as he is examined. He breaks into a wide smile of his own, and whatever tangle lies between the three of them of late, in this moment Aramis also feels simple, uncomplicated joy for the compliment, and he bows slightly in acceptance.

"We haven't yet seen you in full effect," he reminds Athos, reaching for Athos' own waistcoat to help him into. "I chose these steely blues for a reason. You will turn heads, if not break hearts."

[somepoorsoul]

Certain that he will never grow used to Aramis’ easy compliments, Athos huffs and looks away, the sheepish turn of his smile revealing pleased embarrassment as well as any blush would. He does not refuse his friend’s help, letting Aramis slide the waistcoat onto his shoulders. Despite Athos' unexpected fear that this moment would be lost to the ether if he spoke, the thrum of energy between them has not lessened, and even the light touch when Aramis’ hand brushes Athos’ arm makes him shiver. But absent is the tension that has colored so many interactions among all three Inseparables since a certain revealing, unsettling, and utterly memorable December day.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis settles the waistcoat carefully, his fingers moving to do up the buttons with speed, for he is more eager than ever now to see Athos' fully dressed - and isn't that a change from his usual feelings where those he finds attractive are concerned? With Athos' pleasure unspoken but all but palpable, were he anyone else, Aramis would already be searching fervently for the right moment to strike, but with Athos he is careful. Not for the sake of their friendship, either, but for the sake of Athos, himself.

Reckless though Aramis has often been with his heart, he refuses to be with Athos' own, and he helps Athos into his jacket next, doing those buttons as well before he adds the pocket square and steps back.

"Oh dear," he says, a little stunned despite his own predictions. "Ruinous." Aramis laughs, grasping Athos' elbow. "Do you have a proper mirror in this place?"

[somepoorsoul]

“That bad?” Athos offers a self-deprecating smile, and when Aramis grasps his elbow, he instinctively leans into the touch. Never has it seemed so easy to imagine pressing their lips together - not even with passion or need, but with a simple appreciative gentleness. But that is not what they are to each other.

He takes a breath to steady himself. “I am afraid le paon will have to provide the mirror, if he truly finds it necessary."

[afineseamstress]

Porthos' pet name on Athos' tongue startles another laugh out of Aramis, and he grins and bows again, this time with flourish. "You may become one yourself," he cautions, "After you see yourself in this."

It is difficult, then, to release Athos when he leans so sweetly into the touch, and Aramis settles for pulling him towards the door, opening it with caution to see if Porthos has yet returned. He truly would like to keep his own suit a surprise until the day, but he hears nothing, and Aramis turns back to Athos. "We have the perfect one in our bedroom. Come."

[somepoorsoul]

With a skeptical hum Athos allows himself to be pulled to the stair and down to the apartment below. Though he is sure that he will pass muster - the suit on its hanger had hung too finely to do any man disservice - he still does not expect more, despite the surprising interest in Aramis’ eyes and the compliments on his lips. Only when he is before the mirror in the bedroom does he begin to wonder if Aramis was, in fact, being something more than kind.

Almost absently, Athos runs a hand through his hair, and then tugs down his cuffs.”My compliments to your tailor,” he says finally, meeting Aramis’ gaze in the mirror.

[afineseamstress]

Indeed, the effect has not been overstated. Aramis has not even looked at his own person in the mirror, standing next to Athos with his gaze caught in a continuous sweep of his form. "Yes," he agrees, "It is fine work," but he turns, studying Athos, for something is not quite right.

Reaching, Aramis takes a lock of Athos' hair curling over the wrong side of his part and rights it, tucking another behind his ear. "Now you are perfect," he murmurs, transfixed by the brilliant shine of Athos' eyes when framed in all those blues.

[somepoorsoul]

There are those who believe Athos’ heart made of stone; it’s a reputation he has not bothered to contradict, though he knows Aramis and Porthos saw past his veil of stoicism long ago. In that sense, he has no reason to hide his feelings from the man before him. But habits are difficult to break.

Athos closes his eyes in a long blink, moved by the words and the awe with which Aramis now regards him. He wonders if he will ever get another chance to act; Aramis and Porthos will be married soon, and both men have quite determinedly give up other lovers. Despite the offer made to him, Athos doesn’t know what, exactly, they wish from him in the circumstances, and half expects (with part relief, part disappointment) that their vows will mute any romantic interest they have towards him – assuming his rejection has not already done so.

But the look in Aramis’ eyes requires response, and with sudden clarity, Athos determines that he wishes to give it, before the opportunity is snatched away. With a hard swallow, he steps closer, and though he does not press his lips to Aramis’, they are close enough that it would be an easy thing to do.

“I do not know what has come over me,” he confesses softly, and he could be talking about the past few minutes, or the past few months.

[afineseamstress]

For all that Aramis has wished for it, his eyes widen when Athos steps closer. He feels his heartrate pick up, his body awash with a feeling that is at once familiar and new - hope for what is to come, surety of his welcome, a desperate wish that he is not wrong, for this is Athos. But for all that Aramis looks for moments to seize, this is a moment to fall into, and he does, laying a hand over Athos' heart as he slides fully into his space. He palms Athos' narrow hip with the other, an urge to stay, even if Aramis will not force him to.

"Do not overthink it," he advises, for the best things in life are the simple ones. With a breath, Aramis lifts his chin, catching Athos' warm, dry lips against his own.

[somepoorsoul]

Convincing a man like Athos not to think overmuch is no small task, but miraculously, Aramis manages it. This time, there is no surprise, no thread of panic that’s intoxicating, but ultimately overwhelming. This time, it is just a kiss, memorable and longed-for, and though Athos trembles slightly, and his heart beats a staccato under Aramis’ hand, no instinct tells him to flee this time. In fact, he fully enters the embrace, one hand resting on Aramis’ arm while the other cups the side of his neck, Athos’ mouth coaxing a little more out of the kiss than he probably should.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis' hand contracts against Athos' hip for that touch to his neck, and if Athos means to steady him, Aramis feels his knees grow weak, a reaction not many have managed to provoke. But he keeps his feet, elation making him smile into the kiss even as he deepens it. By Aramis' standards, it remains quite chaste, and still the pleasure derived in it is enough to spin his head. Athos, he thinks. This is Athos. The tiny moan that tries escaping him for the thought is what finally reigns him in.

Aramis breaks away to breathe, though he does not go far, resting his forehead against Athos' own. "Don't be angry," he says, just in case. "Sometimes I am just so glad that you are here."

[somepoorsoul]

“Ah, is that all you were trying to tell me?” Athos murmurs with a flicker of a smirk, startled to hear his voice so steady. But if Aramis’ knees feel ready to buckle, then Athos’ feet feel surprisingly firmly planted. In fact, it is Aramis who keeps Athos grounded - and is that so unexpected, really?

He can still feel where Aramis’ beard roughed his cheek, and wonders at the strangeness of kissing a man, of kissing this man, and the fact that it does not seem so strange at all.

They cannot stand here like this forever, though Athos longs to with the power of all that dammed-up foolishness he has until now kept at bay. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “You are to be married.” The statement is almost wry.

[afineseamstress]

"Yes," answers Aramis, and suit be damned, he wishes Porthos were here now to help him navigate. He has never been one to need help parsing his own feelings, but this involves all three of them, and this glimpse of what could be only makes the getting there feel more precarious.

"To someone I love very much, who loves you in turn, just as I do. Athos." Reaching for his hand, Aramis lifts it, pressing his lips to the center of Athos' calloused palm. "Our dearest wish is to be as we were at home - the three of us, but more, as only Darrow could allow us to be. I don't expect that desire will ever be truly gone from us, even if you deny yourself to the end of your days."

Aramis lowers Athos' hand, but he keeps hold of it, and will, until Athos takes it back. "It is not entirely selfish. We think we could make you happy."

[somepoorsoul]

For all his steady feet, this show of tenderness leaves Athos lightheaded. He looks away, but hooks his fingers around Aramis’ to keep him close. In all honesty, he cannot imagine that any arrangement among them could mean more than the depth of the friendship they have already forged, but he knows what Aramis means, even as he struggles to wrap his mind around it. What Aramis describes is everything Athos could want, and yet so strange and foreign that he can barely comprehend it. “You have given up other lovers,” he reminds Aramis, for he still cannot quite believe that he is some miraculous exception. He would never betray Porthos’ confidence, but Athos has not forgotten the man’s fears that Aramis will tire of him - unfounded though they might be. Athos would do himself harm before he stood in the way of what Porthos and Aramis have forged.

[afineseamstress]

"Porthos hates that word," murmurs Aramis, looking down at their entwined hands. "I know - " he says and stops, hating that he has never been able to articulate this to Athos. It is clear enough in his own heart, but he can't blame a man who hid him from a jealous husband on their very first meeting for holding doubts.

"I know you have thought me fickle," he says at length. "But for years, it was as if there was an itch beneath my skin. I wanted a home, a family, and I found as close to it as I ever thought I might in the garrison - a bed, brothers - more than some ever find, Athos. But it never felt quite like enough. And then..."

Aramis shrugs. "Darrow. The world opened up, Athos. Porthos is more than my brother now, and you are here. My life is more complete than it has ever been, and Porthos is happy. Nothing could make me endanger that, so you must believe me when I say I am sure. We both are."

[somepoorsoul]

They want him. They want him as part of this bond that they have forged, indelible as anything between the two of them. If what Aramis suggests is unorthodox and difficult to comprehend, then is that not part of the power that has always existed in their friendship? Is it not right, somehow, that they make their own sort of life, and damn the rest?

Understanding rocks him back as though he has been struck a blow, and Athos nearly flees from the excess of feeling that sees fit to overwhelm him after all. This is not the first time he has asked himself such questions; nearly ten years ago he had said damn the rest and pledged to marry Anne, never mind the scandal and disgrace that might come. Such blessed possibility has not laid out before him since, with hope so tangible. And Athos is terrified.

He slots what scraps of his stoicism he can gather back into place, for it is either that or collapse under the weight of memory, though he clings all the tighter to Aramis’ hand. “I need to think,” he admits, hating how his voice breaks slightly. Swiftly he adds, “Understand, it is not you or Porthos that I mistrust.” Athos’ own heart is the truly dangerous thing. Experience has taught him that much.

[afineseamstress]

"I know," Aramis assures him. He thinks of Isabelle, of Marsac, of the fissures they'd carved in him and the long years it took to again feel whole. "The heart takes time to heal, but it is our most resilient organ."

Aramis squeezes his hand. "You will see. Now." Lifting Athos' hand for a last kiss, Aramis releases him and smiles. "I will leave you to your thoughts, or to Space Hospital. Whichever proves the most intriguing."

[somepoorsoul]

For a moment, Athos feels as though he has forgotten to stand without Aramis’ support; he takes a breath and finds his footing and steadiness, first clasping his hands behind his back, and then, seeing Aramis’ tie pushed off-kilter by their embrace, reaching out to straighten it.

“Tell the tailor that the suits are perfect,” he says with decided wryness, aware that that goes without saying. Clearing his throat as he steps back, he adds more gently, “Thank you.”

He owes Aramis and Porthos the world, and dearly hopes they know it - for their patience, and their steadiness, and yes, their love.

[afineseamstress]

"They ought to be," says Aramis with a wink, the rakish effect somewhat spoiled by the large, happy grin he wears. "You paid enough for them."

He cannot help himself a last, needless touch to Athos' hair, fingers trailing against his shoulder after. "You are welcome. Come to dinner, yes? Tomorrow, if not tonight. You have my word we will only eat."

[somepoorsoul]

“I did, didn’t I?” Athos knows he must leave this room, and step beyond the reach of Aramis’ searching, gentle touch, but this simple departure might as well be the most difficult thing he has ever done. The thought that Aramis and Porthos will be waiting for him when he is ready gives him the courage he needs. “I will be there tonight,” he says without hesitation, though his stomach does a flip. He suspects that Aramis will waste no time in telling Porthos about this, and Porthos will look at him differently when they see each other again. With more disappointment, perhaps, at the further rejection. Or maybe with more hope.

“Don’t let Porthos see you wearing that. He shall rip it off you, and then all my money will have gone to waste.” With that parting shot, Athos leaves Aramis alone with his thoughts.