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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They are right to fear his ego, for Aramis will surely preen when he turns this moment over and over in his mind, but now he only flushes with the praise, whole body tingling with pleasure that snaps like an electric shock when Athos takes hold of his cock.

Wrenching his head up, he takes one look at Athos and knows the man wants him to come, and Aramis' lips quirk despite their slack, teeth finding the bottom one after as Athos strokes. Where they are joined, Athos' body pounds into him as relentlessly as Aramis thrusts down, and Aramis lets the hot core of pleasure draw in, lets it tighten into something so coiled that with only a few more strokes it will shatter. Smiling flush cheeked at them both, Aramis rises and lets his head fall back, mouth open as he reaches for orgasm and feels it streak down his spine, shake him from the inside out until come stripes Athos' belly as he spends.

Athos grins, and there is a laugh on his lips in response to Porthos’ warning, but it comes out as a moan that trembles through his whole body, a sound that’s shameless and needy as anything. His younger self still lingers near the surface, and his relief at being with them again is great, and that makes his usual control less appealing to cling to. He pants with each thrust, and he is so terribly close, but first, he wants to see Aramis come.

And when Aramis does, the sight is as miraculous as Athos hoped. Athos’ eyes are wide as Aramis’ body arches with what can only be called joy, and if he were not near release already, surely the sight would have brought it on. He cries out, buried deep inside Aramis as he comes moments later, only then closing his eyes tightly as shudders wrack his body.

Porthos smiles warmly as he watches the both of them find their pleasure, reaching down to begin stroking himself, eager to find his own end, though he's also willing to wait and let Aramis help take care of him. "Good, isn't he?" he murmurs, not clarifying which one of them he means.

Trembling, Aramis continues to rock, fucking himself down onto Athos' cock until he feels Athos seize, a cry that's gorgeous with abandon on his lips when he spends still buried deep within him. "Oh, Athos," Aramis sighs, smiling when he drops unsteadily down onto his elbows, nosing at Athos' sweaty belly, licking up his own release as he finds it even as Athos continues to shudder.

"Stop that," he slurs for the motion of Porthos' hand. He may need a minute, but he means to bring Porthos to the same ecstacy, and the near memory of this will certainly return him to hardness soon enough. Aramis lifts his head, leaning forward to push Athos' hair from his forehead, pressing kiss after kiss to his pink face. "Good is not the word," he says, and flatterer though he is, Aramis has none in him when he calls Athos, "Extraordinary. Are you alright, amorcito?"

Athos groans softly at the feel of Aramis’ lips feather-light against his skin, a sort of after-image of pleasure trembling through him. Chest still rising and falling with unsteady breaths, he opens his eyes and offers Aramis a soft smile. “Don’t call me that,” he admonishes, though with enough fondness in his voice that it serves as an answer. Tipping his head to the side with a sly look, he adds, “Patience, Porthos."

"Aramis has been teaching me anticipation," Porthos vows, watching the both of them with sheer, pure delight. "I'm ready to be patient and hold on, but if either of you have any better ideas..." he trails off, staring down at his cock in hand as if it's a mystery that bears investigating.

"A better idea than me fucking you?" Aramis asks, and he could blame the man for thinking it impossible, for his voice is gravelled and his breaths still fast, but Aramis knows he could manage it.

"I think not. But I imagine we can keep you occupied while we wait for my body to catch up." Turning his head, he looks back to Athos, still beautifully disheveled beneath him, and can't help but lean down to claim a kiss. "Perhaps we start by preparing him," he murmurs against Athos' lips, and kisses him again. "He'll be so hot around your fingers."

Athos hums softly into the kiss, fingers trailing lightly down his back, for he is not quite ready to relinquish Aramis yet. He slides another look at Porthos, smirking at the way he feigns nonchalance. “How much patience have you taught him, precisely?” he wonders, offering Aramis another lazy kiss.

"Not enough to test me," Porthos warns, because he might be better at it, but he's hardly sainted. He gives Athos a pointed look, turning it on Aramis as he moves his fingers slowly up his torso to linger at the muscles defined there, giving the both of them an eager look. "Athos, you should get Aramis hard again, so he can follow through on his promises."

"You see?" Aramis laughs, arching faintly into Athos' touch. "Some days he behaves better than others." He noses Athos' cheek until it turns and the pair of them can gaze at Porthos. "Leave your nest of pillows and get over here," he demands. "Watching you kiss Athos will certainly inspire me. He is pliant and relaxed." Aramis noses down Athos' jaw next. "I can still feel him trembling."

Too sated even to be embarrassed by Aramis’ comment, Athos turns his smile lazy and inviting, lifting an expectant brow at Porthos. He must admit, there is something unexpectedly thrilling in the thought of making Porthos beg, of testing the limits of his impatience, but that suggestion can wait for another time - or perhaps remain a pleasant fantasy in Athos’ mind that he dares not speak. For now, though, he only wants to be close to Porthos, and in some small way make up for the pain he has caused these last weeks. “Come here,” he murmurs, voice low.

Porthos smiles fondly as he crawls away from his bed of pillows, eager to tell Athos of his news, of the money, of the decisions, but that can wait until he's come because he doesn't think he can manage proper conversation until then. Drawing Athos in near, he cups his cheeks and begins to slowly indulge in the eager, clumsy kisses he's able to muster.

Aramis extracts himself with a shiver and a moan, unable to help feeling a touch empty now that Athos is gone from him, but he has seeming leagues of rich, dark skin wrapped around pale limbs now, and the sight is remarkably comforting. He drags his hand down Porthos' back, finding the lubricant they had discarded while the others kiss.

"No finesse," he says of Porthos, and it is hardly a criticism. Made to want like this, and Porthos becomes a barely contained cluster of need, the sounds and expressions he makes dear to Aramis' eyes and ears and he strokes Athos' hair with approval. "You may hear him beg yet, dear Athos."

“Aramis,” he chides with a quirk of a grin before sinking into the kiss and returning it languidly. Yes, perhaps another time they will make him beg, but now Athos is just glad to have Porthos in his arms again, the man tense with desire and clumsy with hunger. Athos smiles against Porthos’ lips, and rolls himself onto his back once again, bringing Porthos atop him. “I will touch you while he fucks you,” he promises, shivering at the thought of watching them both from this vantage.

This all sounds like too much to bear and the best possible outcome he could imagine. He climbs on top of Athos, kissing his way slowly down his neck and over his shoulder, nuzzling there affectionately as he holds tight to Athos' hips to position himself, eager for Aramis to give him some relief.

"I'm gonna feel like I've died and gone to heaven," he deadpans.

Aramis arches a brow, taking that as a challenge as he slicks his fingers and moves them to Porthos' entrance, circling it a few times before he begins to press inside. If he knows Porthos - and he certainly does - Athos will soon be swallowing a series of moans. Leaning down on an elbow where he can see them, Aramis grins faintly at Athos, curling his fingers within Porthos to feed his moans.

Athos smirks softly in return, brushing his thumb up and down Porthos’ cheek. “Patience,” he murmurs again, watching Porthos intently. His body is still lazy and pliable, nowhere near ready for another round, but there is still plenty of pleasure to be found in watching the two of them pant and moan, and he does not intend to miss a moment of it.

Porthos is already weak with it, moaning and writhing as each additional movement of Aramis' fingers brings him new pleasures that build on the last. His brow furrows, a desperate look in his eyes as he tries so hard to draw this out. He bows his forehead to Athos' as he leans down to kiss him slowly, with more measure and patience than before.

"We missed you," he murmurs, feeling his heart ache with how much he'd missed Athos for those two weeks. "Felt like we'd lost a limb."

Hearing the ache in Porthos' voice, Aramis leans in and kisses his thigh, watching them after. "It's better now," he says to both of them, hoping that bare bodies tangled and untangled and twined again will heal them all. He looks down and finds that it's this as much as anything that finally moves his cock to fill, a desire to make the three of them whole again, and his own ability to help. Aramis reaches down and begins to stroke himself, needing just a touch more to offer Porthos.

“I’m here,” Athos agrees, his stomach twisting with warmth, and fondness, and the ache of love. He kisses Porthos tenderly this time, running his hands over the man’s shorn head and trailing his fingers down his back. He swallows hard, and though he gazes into Porthos’ eyes, his next whispered words are meant for both of them. “I love you."

Porthos glances back before the kiss, a tenderness flowing into it that almost takes him by surprise given how easy and settled it is, how he leans into it with such affection and when he hears the words for what he thinks might be the first time, something in him breaks and a relieved sob gets caught in his throat. "Us, too," he vows. "So much, Athos, we love you so much."

Important as his task might be, Aramis can hardly remain so far away for that, and he pulls free of Porthos so he can see Athos properly, clean hand catching his cheek before they are distracted by another kiss. "Please say it again."

Athos flushes at the sudden attention, turning to look at Aramis with eyes bright and wide. He swallows back a lump in his throat, fingers still dancing lightly over Porthos’ back. He has thought the words so many times, even spoken them in different circumstances and with different intent, and now saying them feels like the most natural thing in the world, and yet full of meaning. “I love you,” he repeats in a shaky whisper.

It seems mad not to reward him for the loveliest words Porthos has heard all day, and swiftly, Porthos bears down on Athos to cup his face in his hands, kissing him as hard as he can, indulging in the knowledge that Athos loves them, loves them enough to say it, to tell people, and it feels finally like permanency. He eases off to give Aramis a chance, holding so tight to Athos' hips, as if he's scared to let him go.

Aramis smiles down at Athos, certain the words will come again even as Athos musters the will to say them, and he is still smiling when Porthos and Athos again break apart. "Thank you," he whispers back, for he knows how brave Athos has been for them, how much he risks even now, and leans down to kiss his cheeks. "He is quite right. I do love you. To distraction sometimes."

His smile widens, for he is quite aware of Porthos still in need. "I can't recall what I was up to at all."