somepoorsoul | (no subject)

(no subject)

Though he has spent much of the last week imagining Aramis and Porthos’ return - in anticipation, and joy, and a bit of fear - now that he knows the moment draws near, he finds himself teeming with uncertainties. There are things he must say - now, before the opportunity slips through his fingers forever, and all he has left is the memory of those moments in the stables, the press of lips against his and hands blissfully burning his skin. Athos still does not trust himself, and perhaps he never will, but he trusts his friends, more than he has trusted anyone. And so, there are things he must say.

But first, he must welcome his dear friends home. Athos has not attempted to make a meal for them, knowing that no meager fest he could concoct would match Porthos’ skill in the kitchen. But he has procured a few bottles of fine wine, one of which sits already open and half drunk on the kitchen counter. The steadying of his nerves has taken one, and then two, and three glasses. Now, shamefully, he pours himself a fourth.

He has never been very good with words.

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Athos hums softly as Aramis’ fingers leave his mouth, and clings to him as they kiss, as though with the embrace Athos could absorb Aramis’ easy confidence. He swallows and looks at Porthos, seeking some shred of reassurance in his uncertain, expectant expression. Whether or not he finds it, he has come too far to change his mind now.

Taking a breath and nodding faintly, he moves across the bed once Porthos is seated, and catching his gaze for a moment, lowers himself to the floor. Running his hand up Porthos’ thighs, Athos looks up to meet his gaze with a faint smile. “If you will permit me."

Porthos laughs softly as he shakes his head, settling into where he's sitting on the bed, his palms running up and down his thighs as he studies Athos. He's still worried about Athos taking too much, too fast, but that part of his brain is quickly getting eclipsed by the part that wants this so badly, shivering with anticipation to think of Athos' mouth on his cock.

"God, please," he finally gives in and begs desperately and earnestly, a wild look in his eyes.

Curling his body around Porthos now, it is his shoulder Aramis looks over, eyes keen on Athos where he kneels. "Now you are in my place," he whispers in Porthos' ear. "Those eyes of his." He noses at Porthos' stubbled cheek, arms wrapped around his middle.

"He's trembling," he tells Athos, mouth open against Porthos' throat. "He wants you so much."

Athos exhales softly, stomach tightening rather pleasantly as he first takes Porthos’ already hard cock in his hand and giving him a few firm strokes, watching his face all the while. He fears he will be a great disappointment - he knows that, at the very least, he cannot give as Aramis could - but Athos is determined to give Porthos what pleasure he can, even if it is less than he deserves. Still fighting nerves, but determined as ever, he runs his tongue experimentally along Porthos’ shaft, and then carefully takes him in his mouth.

Porthos is staring down at Athos like he's the most wondrous thing in the world. It's a look he's often given to Aramis -- besotted and boyish wonder -- and he slides his fingers into Athos' hair to curl softly, thumb brushing along his earlobe as he holds onto him, still shaking, still eager, and leaning his torso back against Aramis for the support. "I never imagined you on your knees in front of me," he gets the words out in a shaky rush, blinking rapidly as that wonder refuses to leave his eyes.

Aramis shivers himself as Athos' lips part. He has seen that mouth in so many forms over the years, smirking, scowling, chastising, the rare grin, but never like this. Already his lips are thin and stretched, and Aramis' own give a phantom pang, having been where his are now so many times before. "He tastes sweet," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That was my very first thought upon tasting him."

Porthos’ response is enough to urge Athos on, push him past the discomfort of newness to the surprisingly blissful pleasure of the task. He remembers what Aramis had said, he responds to Porthos’ low moans and the needy tightening of his fingers in his hair. Athos pushes himself further, and then further still, and even when he starts to choke he pulls back only a little, desperate to give as much as he can manage, and already longing to give more.

After a full week of honeymoon bliss in which Aramis had brought him to the very edges of pleasure, Porthos had thought he couldn't be pushed any further, but the tentative way Athos moves and sucks is enough to prove him wrong. He turns his head to indulge in a lazy, comfortable easy kiss with Aramis, parting his lips so he can kiss all those words out of his mouth before he turns back to look at Athos again.

"M'not sweet," he protests in a gruff, hoarse voice.

"You are," Aramis replies, "And now I have someone else to prove it." He kisses Porthos' cheek, refastening his mouth to the curve of his throat to feel his pulse raise against his own lips, a delicious but pale shadow of what Athos tastes below.

Aramis looks down at him, his red cheeks and his wide, determined eyes, and reaches, stroking his fingers over the veins in Athos' hand. "And you are still very beautiful. Let him slide along your tongue," he says, fingers moving back and forth across Athos' hand.

Though the touch is light, that play of Aramis’ fingers across his hand is enough to send a shiver through Athos, all his nerves afire. He is growing hard, and is yet too focused to be ashamed of what Porthos’ cock between his lips is doing to him. He does as instructed, sliding his tongue along the length as he had done to Aramis’ fingers not long ago, and with a hum he again chances taking more into his mouth. His jaw aches, but surely nothing could be less important than that.

Porthos is struck by an idea when Athos takes him deep and he scrambles for purchase, his hands gripping Athos' hair a little tighter as a whimper is ripped from the base of his throat. "You have no idea how much I want to find out if you're that hot inside as you are with your mouth," he rambles, letting the floodgates loose to let the filth spill from his lips. "I bet you're so tight and hot inside," he pants, trying so hard not to thrust into Athos' lips even though he's taking him deeper than Porthos might have expected.

"Or better yet, me on top of you riding and showing you that a woman's cunt isn't the only thing worth fucking," he rambles.

"My fault, I'm afraid," says Aramis, voice calm even as his hips hitch against Porthos' back, arousal pooling low despite his recent release. He cards his own fingers through Athos' hair, gentle in counterpoint to Porthos' tugs, and reaches down to stroke his jaw where he knows the ache is greatest. "I meant to teach him the joy of anticipation, and instead I taught him to want everything, all the time, by giving him just that."

But Athos hardly minds Porthos' eagerness: the groan that Porthos’ words pull from his lips surprises even him, twisting in his belly and making his cock throb. Like so many thoughts that have danced through his head this day, Athos will be horrified by his need when all is over, but now, in the midst of passion, he is lost in the beautiful moment. Even more than when the attention was on him, the hands in his hair and the taste of Porthos on his tongue make him tremble. He works with determined enthusiasm, fingers digging into Porthos’ thighs, wanting desperately to make Porthos come.

"Fuck," Porthos swears gutturally, because between Athos' mouth on his cock and Aramis pressing up against him, he wants so badly to be inside someone or to have someone inside him, but he knows that can come after. Right now, he stares down at Athos fondly, reaching out to slide his fingers over Athos' and grip just as tightly. "Athos, sweet, I need you to ease off, okay?" he gets out, his words strained and soft.

"Take your mouth off me, just a touch," he instructs, because he doesn't want to end this poorly with Athos choking when the alternative of Porthos' come spilling over his lips and chin far, far too appealing.

Aramis presses kisses to Porthos' shoulder and slides from behind him, joining Athos on his knees on the floor. "His release is as big as the rest of him," he explains, lest Athos think he has done something wrong. "Too much, too soon, and we'll see you choking."

He pulls one of Athos' hands from Porthos' grip, guiding it back in the cramped space between Porthos and the bed to rest his fingertips just behind his balls. "I know you want to feel him come," he says, nose brushing Athos' cheek as he guides his fingers, pressing rhythmically against that hot pleasure point. "I want to see it, too. Go on, Athos."

With a small, shaky nod, Athos obeys, pulling almost all the way back. He allows Aramis to guide him, silently grateful, his nerves spiking as Porthos nears his orgasm, though he does not dare stop. His eyes have been half-closed; now they open and he raises his gaze to watch Porthos’ face.

Aramis had been right. Those eyes looking at him like this is more than enough and if it weren't, the whole situation is. Aramis and Athos both on their knees before them, like he's something to be cherished and served and wanted. When he comes, his whole face crumples with adoration and gratitude, gasping Athos' name as he wildly reaches out and finds Aramis' hair, grasping those much-beloved strands to hold onto as he throws his head back and comes, his sigh turning into a low, content moan.

"So blue," is all he manages, when he calms his heart. "Your eyes are so, so blue."

Aramis curls a hand around Porthos' calf and watches, torn between the vision of Porthos in ecstasy, one of his favorite sights in the world, and one that is soon to join it. Dropping his eyes to the man on his knees before him, Aramis places his other hand low on Athos' back, rubbing slow circles while Porthos fills his mouth. They are both so beautiful, and Aramis twists his head against Porthos' grip, seeking a sting to distract him before his heart wells up and spills over, too.

For all Athos believes himself prepared, he still splutters and gasps, trying not to choke, trying to remember to breathe through his nose. He can feel the come running down his chin, and it’s humiliating, yes, but for Porthos’ pleasure, he does not care very much. His aching jaw serves as a heady memory of what he has done, and he sags back into Aramis’ embrace, still looking up at Porthos with wide eyes.

Porthos can't take being above him another moment, especially not when Athos looks at him the way he does. He goes crashing down to the floor, on his knees, and wraps his arm around Athos' back to haul him into his arms, kissing every last drop of himself from off Athos' skin before he turns his head to Aramis, a dazed and happy look on his face.

"Kiss me," he instructs. "And then pinch me because I swear, we're still on our honeymoon and I'm dreaming."

Aramis lifts up on his knees, kissing Porthos tenderly. He is so beautiful when he is truly happy, and Aramis gives him an obliging pinch, soft rather than sharp. He turns to Athos after, kissing him just as tenderly, even as the taste of Porthos on his Athos' lips is enough to heat his blood. "All right?" he murmurs, turning Athos' head in his hands so he can kiss his tender jaw.

Athos sighs into the kisses, clinging to Porthos and Aramis in turn. The last hour or so seems to be catching up with him, leaving him overwhelmed, and elated, and exhausted in turn. And yet, by God, he still aches with want.

He manages a nod, swallowing a few times before he trusts himself to speak. “You?” he asks Porthos over Aramis’ shoulder, voice rasping a little.

Porthos growls at the sound of Athos' voice, hauling him up into his arms and throwing him onto the bed, cocking his brow up before he does the same to Aramis, lifting him up and hooking his elbows under Aramis' knees to carry him over to his side. "Athos, dear, you look like you still have a problem," he clucks his tongue with sympathy as he crawls over the both of them, giving Athos' cock a stroke.

"I'm more than good," he promises, assuring the both of them with a fond smile. "Beyond happy that this is the first days of our new life."

Aramis curls into Porthos as much as he is able, both an instinct and a habit now. After a week of nothing but this man and their bodies twined together it feels strange to be far apart, even in inches, and he smiles at Athos as he nuzzles against Porthos' skin. Reaching, he slides a palm down Athos' side, fingers spreading high on his inner thigh.

"What do you need, Athos?" he asks. "Ask for anything, you will receive it, I promise you. We have long ago accepted our own unending need for one another."

“It’s all right,” Athos insists shakily, feeling his cheeks flush. He has taken so much already, he has laid bare one base desire after another, and surely he deserves no further pleasure.

And yet he arches needily at the touch, his body betraying what he cannot admit to wanting still.