somepoorsoul | (no subject)

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Athos awakens in a weary haze of memories. Though the clock tells him it is mid-morning, he feels simultaneously like he has slept for days and not at all. A few moments pass before he realizes why he cannot shake the sights as senses of his childhood - the smell of forget-me-nots, Catherine’s bright red hair (he has not even thought of her for ages), Thomas’ boyish laughter. Then he remembers, and he exhaustedly presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He is tempted to remain abed until someone comes looking, but that would only delay his shame, and anyway, Athos is too honorable. He dresses slowly in garments that once again seem familiar as he tries to piece together the last few days, memories coming to him as though being relayed by someone else. Sheepishly, he misses the body and heart of his youth; he had been frightened and shy, world-weary too soon, but free and unfettered in a way he has not felt in some time.

Unfettered, perhaps, but also a fool. He has matters to explain, and hearts to mend.

When Athos carefully comes downstairs, his eyes are red-rimmed, and though he has tried to put himself back together, he knows he must still appear out-of-sorts. He can already smell coffee, thank goodness. But whether or not Aramis and Porthos will welcome his company is something he has yet to discover.

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"I miss them," Aramis sighs, which is not to say he does not appreciate Porthos' shorn head, for he does very much - he simply wants all of Porthos, in all possible ways, and all of the time. He takes the opportunity to pull Athos' shirt from his shoulders, tossing it aside without care for wrinkles (the man probably retrieved it from the floor, anyway), and takes his time running his hands up and down Athos' bare arms.

"You were a lithe little thing," he observes. "Porthos thought you quite handsome."

Is there anything better than being pressed so close between these two men? If there is, Athos cannot think of it, especially not with his head already a little hazy with want. He scoffs, gazing with a skeptical look into Porthos’ eyes as he runs his hands under the man’s shirt and pulls it over his head. Lithe seems like a terribly kind word for scrawny, though it does thrill him to think of Porthos wanting him even then.

Porthos cannot help a hapless shrug while Athos is pulling off his shirt, leaving him with very little on as he tenderly glances between Aramis and Athos both, a great deal of affection and love in his eyes. "Can I help it? You really were a beautiful young man. It's why I thought maybe you found a few admirers."

"I'm as certain that he did as I'm certain that he was entirely unaware of it," Aramis laughs, for Athos had been a shy youth, and all the more charming for it.

Before him now, they are both beautifully nude, Porthos half and Athos entirely so, and Aramis makes no mystery of gazing upon them both. It has been two long weeks since the three of them lay together, and Aramis means to look his fill.

"Someone please get on the bed in all haste."

With a smirk, Athos takes advantage of the rare opportunity to shove Porthos towards the bed, almost as if to prove that he is a youth no longer, and he should certainly not forget it. He turns round and takes a hold of Aramis’ collar, pressing his naked body against the other man’s as they kiss. He wants them both and he wants to forget, wants the quiet misery of the past two weeks chased out of him with taste, and touch, and pleasure.

Funny, because he'd been about to suggest that Athos take the bed, given that he's the one who's gone weeks without a single touch, whereas he and Aramis have definitely been indulging. Porthos writhes and wiggles out of his trousers, kicking them aside as he settles on the edge of the bed, eyes hungry as they take in the men before him.

"I think Athos should fuck someone," he says casually.

Aramis takes hold of Athos' hips and keeps him close, kissing him fervently until Porthos' words penetrate and make his eyes go wide and dark. "Indeed?" he still manages in conversational tones. "And shall he be ridden?" he asks, angling Athos towards the bed in order to bear him down against the sheets, easily within arm's reach of Porthos. "Or would you like to be in control, amorcito?" he asks, nipping Athos' bottom lip.

Easing back, Aramis takes an elbow, free hand working at pulling away his own shirt. "I assure you there is nothing we will not enjoy."

Athos catches his breath as he hits the sheets, Porthos’ suggestion striking him hard and making his eyes go wide and dark. He always feels most exposed in moments like these, heart and body equally bared. “I think…” He exhales shakily, fingers curling where they press against the mattress, “I would like to be ridden."

"Well, now, that's your specialty," Porthos says knowingly in an aside to Aramis, beaming away because he can't think of anyone better at riding than his husband, and Porthos is more than happy to settle near to them, working their skin with his lips and hands where need be. "If Athos is good enough to describe it, of course. Wouldn't want to get it wrong."

"Would you do that?" Aramis wonders aloud, pushing his pants down and toeing them from the edge of the bed, eager for the space to contain only the three of them. He plucks Porthos' hand from his skin and kisses it, mouthing at his fingertips as he studies Athos. "Would you tell him what it feels like to be buried in me? I don't normally like to leave a person able to speak while lovemaking," he adds with a faint smile, "But for that I could make an exception."

Athos swallows hard, unable to speak even at the mere thought. How is he going to say anything at all when a few absent words and his imagination alone leave him barely able to breath? “I can try,” he manages in a voice already roughened with desire, transfixed by the way Aramis mouths at Porthos fingers.

Porthos grins around Aramis' fingers, giving Athos the dirtiest smirk in his entire arsenal, reaching over into the bedside table for the lube, wiggling it as he leans in closer to kiss Athos through whatever it is he's feeling right now. "And once Aramis is done riding you, maybe I'll let him fuck me, right in front of you, hmm?"

"Bless you, Porthos," Aramis exhales, and would laugh if he had the breath for it, "That was my very thought." He, too, leans forward, nuzzling at Athos' shoulder as he watches them kiss. "I'd pictured putting him on his hands and knees," he confides, "Braced half-over you so you can watch his face as I push into him." Lifting up, he kisses Porthos' cheek, mindful that he does not disturb the way he licks into Athos' mouth. "He makes such beautiful faces."

Athos whimpers softly as they sketch out their plans, and he arches into the kiss eagerly. Fleetingly wishing that Porthos’ hair were long enough to bury his fingers in, his hands end up clasped at the man’s shoulders as he pulls him deeper into the embrace. As is so often the case when they are like this, just the mere talk of their plans threatens to overwhelm him, and he can do nothing but ride through his eagerness.

Porthos gives a soft laugh, but it's muffled by the kiss, drowning in the way he falls into Athos' touch so eagerly, drawing away only to resituate and to uncap the lube, eager to prepare Athos and Aramis for their little show that's about to happen. "Aramis, come lie on your back," he coaxes. "So I can prepare you."

They are gorgeous together, each eagerly receiving what the other gives and taking just as much, pale and dark and twined together. It's enough to make Aramis' mouth go dry. Still, Aramis needs no further coaxing at the missive, falling next to Athos with one arm tucked behind his head, his body splayed and open to whatever either man might wish.

"I tend to think this is my favorite part," he says. "The intimacy of fingers opening me up, reaching and stretching, building past the burn of intrusion to pleasure." He grins. "And then a cock follows, and that becomes my favorite part."

“Everything is your favorite part,” Athos deadpans, even as a shudder goes through him at the thought of what is to come - a shudder of need, and anticipation, and shamefully, of fear. He rolls towards Aramis, tenderly brushing his hair from his face before he kisses him, still savoring everything he has missed these past weeks, missed without even realizing what he longed for. “Aramis,” he whispers shakily as he runs his hands over him, still startled by what is being offered to him.

Porthos is quiet as he works, eager to bring them to that next bit of pleasure as fast as he can and that requires quick, nimble fingers, which he's always had. Slowly, easily, he works two of them into Aramis with lube coating the tips, brushing soft kisses to his hip as he works, allowing Athos to prepare himself mentally for what's to come.

"You're next, Athos," Porthos warns. "Don't go too far."

"Everything is my favorite part," Aramis agrees in a whisper to Athos, catching his shaking hand in one of his own to kiss it. He had meant it as a joke, but now he means to reassure. "Everything. You cannot hurt me, Athos." He shivers, breath coming a little quicker as Porthos works within him expertly. "And you cannot disappoint. You wrest as much away from me as you like, but from on top I can control the depth and the pace." He leans in, wondering if Athos' fear leans less towards this, and more to the length of time his body has waited to be within someone again. Still, Aramis can't help confessing, "I cannot wait to feel you inside me."

As if on queue, Porthos' fingers crook, and Aramis buries a sigh of pleasure against Athos' shoulder. "Porthos."

Athos gives a tremble of pure desire this time, watching Porthos as he works his fingers within Aramis, and as he feels Aramis sigh into his arms. Perhaps his nerves should be less alight, for women have ridden him before. But it has been so very long, and everything is different with Aramis and Porthos, and not merely because of the obvious; they leave his every sense dizzily heightened, and the thought of disappointing them still terrifies him to excess. Thank God for Aramis and his ability to say just the right thing, to reassure without the slightest hint of condescension. Athos tips the man’s chin up so that he can gaze into those reassuring eyes, and then he murmurs, “Do that again, Porthos,” before he kisses Aramis with a hunger that is both slow and devouring.

Porthos chuckles a low and throaty thing as he rubs his head up against Aramis' hip and does the same, building him up and waiting for the right moment before he crooks his fingers, aiming to bring Aramis as close to the edge as he can before he eases away. He slips a third finger in gently, stretching and pushing, kissing Aramis' hipbone before he eases out to add more lube to his hand, easing to Athos now.

Without warning, he wraps his palm around it and begins to stroke, slow and cautious.

Aramis gazes into Athos' eyes, a little drunk with the look that's gazing back at him, and then Athos kisses him so deeply that Aramis' sense fails him, body floating on pleasure until Porthos' shorn head brushes his hip just as his fingers crook, and pleasure shoots hot and electric down Aramis' every nerve. Trapped gloriously between their attentions, Aramis cannot pick out just one name to call, and instead groans his pleasure into Athos' mouth.

It is almost a shame when Porthos removes his fingers, but Aramis knows there is more to come, and he laughs and puts his arms around Athos as Porthos slicks his cock. "I know he is excellent with his hands," he tells him, "But do not come."

Even knowing the touch must be coming soon, Athos is still surprised, and he gasps as Porthos wraps his slicked hand around his cock. He rolls onto his back, though his arm remains wrapped around Aramis, fingers in his hair where they have tangled in the midst of their passionate kiss. “Another reason to be glad I am no longer sixteen,” he deadpans, pushing his hips only slightly into Porthos’ touch.

"Oh, but I would've liked to take you apart, knowing it would happen so quickly," Porthos admits with a smirk and a pleased grin, given that he would've taken great pride in that, if he's honest. "What sort of fantasies did you roll around in that brain of yours, hmm?"

Aramis hums in delighted interest. Even in the act of sex, he is eager, always eager for talk of more, and he kisses down Athos' throat as he waits for his answer. "Did you pleasure yourself?" he can't help asking, smirking at Porthos even as his lips wrap around Athos' ear. "Alone up there while we lay beneath you in our bed?"