somepoorsoul | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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Athos arches into the kiss, gripping Porthos by the shoulders as he returns it with equal fierceness. The embrace leaves him breathless - not so much out of passion as from the fullness in his heart, his relief and awe at every moment that has brought him here. His eyes are wet, but he barely realizes it as he lifts a brow at Aramis. “Come now,” he quips, voice rough despite his attempt at levity. “Do not be cruel."

Porthos is already well on his way to pouting when Aramis insists that he's forgotten what he's doing, reaching back to give his arse a hearty smack as if to remind him, a pointed brow rising as he kisses Athos firmly on the lips, nodding towards the back. "Go on," he insists to Aramis. "Don't act dim."

He is perhaps a bit too well trained now, for the sharp slap makes his cock thicken all the more, and Aramis laughs. "I am dim," he insists, "No blood left to fuel my thoughts at all." But he ambles back on his knees, thighs still shaky from before, but nowhere near spent.

Taking Porthos' urgency at his word, Aramis takes him by the hips and lines himself up, pushing into Porthos' tight heat without further delay. Below, he knows that Athos is watching Porthos take it, and Aramis is thankful he has recently spent, else he would not last long with these thoughts at all.

Athos sighs into the kiss, a soft chuckle on his lips when they part. He watches Porthos with gentle wonder as Aramis enters him, and though Athos only lies there, he swears he feels the shudder of lightning travel up his own spine. "Porthos," he whispers, voice a little shaky. Only days ago he had been a lonely, unsure version of himself, struggling so hard to be something he thought he had to be, something dictated by blood and paternal edict. He is a different man now, precisely where he chooses to be. And in this moment, it is perfect.

Porthos is so used to this, but he's not used to it happening while Athos is beneath him, making him feel as if he's been bracketed with such perfection that makes him writhe and moan and hiss with it, panting downwards as he leans into a hard kiss, thrusting his arse back to push Aramis deeper inside him, a selfish and sudden act that he can't imagine Aramis being upset with.

Well used to Porthos' bodily demands, Aramis grins and grips his hips more firmly, pushing deep. "Worth the wait, was it?" he asks as lightly as he can when Porthos is squeezing like heaven itself around him, setting a slow, deep rhythm he knows will unravel Porthos bit by bit, for he is eager to draw this out for Athos and Porthos both. "Are his eyes open or closed, Athos?"

“Open,” Athos murmurs, sounding a little breathless despite himself after Porthos’ rough kisses. He grips Porthos by the shoulders, chest rising and falling as he stares into his deep brown eyes, wondering if he might lose himself in them and never come out. “He looks wild."

Porthos growls, as if to show Athos what wild truly looks like, bearing down on him to stop his talking, kiss him harder than before, and drag his nails into Athos' sides as he holds on, rocking forward and dragging his hard cock against Athos' body.

Aramis imagines he can feel that growl reverberate around him, and he grins and closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feel of Porthos' skin against his hands, the tight velvety slick of him as he thrusts inside, the sounds the two of them make below as he works. "Do you like it when he holds you roughly?" he asks of Athos, for he knows that flex of Porthos' shoulders. "I do."

Athos moans with startled hunger as the kiss overtakes him, and he arches with need into Porthos’ trembling body. He has meant to wait before touching Porthos, to extend this moment, but now he only wants to drag more pleasure from the man, and on Aramis’ next thrust, he grasps Porthos’ cock and begins to stroke. Athos can barely manage a small sound of agreement to Aramis’ question, but surely the response of his body is answer enough.

Porthos only kisses Athos with a little more hunger than before when he's encouraged so sweetly, desperate to continue with these perfect, wonderful, amazing touches. He lets out a choked sob of relief when Athos takes him in hand, so that no matter where he moves (back or forward), one of them is giving him pleasure.

He breathes in raggedly as he eases back from the kiss to push against Aramis. "I can hold tighter," he vows roughly.

"You'd best not hold back on my account," says Aramis, groaning when Porthos begins to meet him thrust for thrust. "Do you want it harder, cariño?" he gasps. "If you don't - oh - " Aramis sighs as Porthos squeezes just right around him. "If you don't paint Athos to his chin I will be disappointed."

“Hold as tight as you wish,” Athos whispers shakily, trying to keep his strokes steady and even, holding back from the franticness flooding his veins. He wants Porthos to last, he wants, if he can, to make them come together, to fall apart as he watches with awe. Still, when he captures Porthos’ mouth for another kiss, the embrace is desperate and needy. Athos had not expected to want again so quickly, but these two drag need out of him like nothing he has experienced in quite a long time.

Happy to obey this command, Porthos grabs harder, digging his nail into Athos' hips until he makes marks and when he eases off and sees the pattern of them, feels the kiss, loses himself in Aramis all around him, that's when he lets out a ragged cry, coming and making an absolute mess of Athos' skin, as if he's been instructed to do just that.

Feeling Porthos begin to lose himself, Aramis thrusts harder, clutching at Porthos to grind against that sweet spot inside him, and when he hears Porthos cry out and seize in pleasure, Aramis can't help but follow, coming draped against Porthos' back and grasping blindly for purchase on either man as he gasps and shudders.

Athos gazes at them with eyes wide, breath coming shakily as both men fall apart even more beautifully than he imagined. Need has coiled in his belly once again, he is hard with it, but for the time being he can only watch Aramis and Porthos in awe, fingers digging into Porthos’ skin where he clutches his shoulders.

Porthos collapses down on Athos, scrambling to hold tight to him again and he feels Athos' problem against his hip. He'd like to move, but he sort of can't with Aramis pressed atop him like this. "Babe," he mumbles backwards. "Let me go so I can finish Athos off, will you?"

Aramis groans in reply. Between working himself against the two of him, what parts of him that are not burning with exertion feel entirely liquid, heavy and loose and barely within his control. Even so, he wants to help to bring Athos off, but he knows as he manages to slide out of Porthos, all he'll be able to do now is collapse.

Angling himself down onto the sheets, Aramis pants and watches them with hooded eyes. "Go on, then, I'm owed a show."

Athos cannot even scoff, a breathless smile curving at his lips as his eyes lock with Porthos’. His hips arch just at the thought of the other man’s touch, as unselfconscious and wild as he has ever been, thoughts of the two of them above him still dancing behind his eyes.

Porthos grins and he turns to place a long, lingering kiss to Aramis' lips right where Athos can see, falling into it and getting his lips good and red for what's about to come next. Next, he slides his hands over Athos' sides and bows his head down to swallow Athos deep into his throat, humming when he feels the tip of Athos' cock brush against the back of his throat.

Curling an elbow beneath his cheek, Aramis smiles sleepily and reaches for them, dragging fingertips through Athos' hair as Porthos sucks him down. "I like the sounds you make," he murmurs. "Let me hear them."

It’s an easy thing to comply. Athos cries out with surprise and pleasure, throwing his arm over his eyes as he is swept away by the feel of Porthos’ mouth. He only just stops himself from thrusting with his need, both for Porthos’ sake, and because Athos wants to be left at the other man’s mercy, just as Porthos was at their mercy moments ago. He arches his neck, though, exposing pale skin, and tips his head slightly into Aramis' goosebump-inducing touch upon his scalp.

Porthos can feel the way Athos is giving into such touches, which makes him all the happier to pursue them. He's giddy for it, pushing Athos to the edge and he seals his lips around him, wanting to taste him as he hasn't in weeks (only left to dream about it). He keeps sucking and working, eager for Athos to come to his climax.

Aramis' fingers tighten for Athos' cries, tugging gently as the man throws his head back and pants. "Beautiful," he murmurs, no longer able to remain far, and shifts forward on aching limbs to press kisses down Athos' throat, nosing his chin back further still so he can suck where his pulse beats hardest. Below, Porthos fills his ears with noises Aramis knows well, and he smiles, knowing Porthos will be hoarse after.

Thoroughly bared as he is, Athos can only pant and whimper. Porthos is relentless, insistent, perfect, and his mouth drives Athos towards release with as much fervor as the memory of watching the two men joined together. When he comes, he shudders, and groans, and bites his lip, relishing the way Porthos drags every last bit of pleasure from his body.