somepoorsoul | (Reply)

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Even with his jaw clenched, Athos hisses shakily, certain he must be trembling, certain he will be driven to madness by Aramis’ mouth, and the obvious relish with which he takes to the task. Only Porthos’ steadying hold keeps him halfway grounded, assuring him that this is real and not some incredible dream. How much time has passed since he poured wine and told them in his own understated way that yes, he needs them both like he has never needed anything, and damn the rest? Less than an hour, surely, though it seems like a lifetime. His body arches greedily of its own volition, and as his head falls back on Porthos’ chest, he flutters his eyes open, meeting the other man’s gaze with wild eyes. As wonderful as the restraint may be, he wishes he could reach for Aramis’ hair or hand – anything to keep him steady in this moment.