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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

“You would like to think that, wouldn’t you?” With a smirk of his own, Athos arches into the touch of both men. He does not take pleasure in talk the way Aramis and Porthos seem to. His natural reticence extends to the bedroom, and even as he lays himself bare in so many ways, he cannot find the words to express his more prurient thoughts. Nevertheless, he is glad to tease the other two men about what they are obviously eager to hear, true or not. “You would like to imagine me thinking of you."

Porthos gives Athos a curious stare, because this is something he has wondered. "Did you know about us?" he wonders. "Or, rather, how long did it take you to figure us out?" Because Athos is clever and he must have known, but Porthos finds himself now wanting to hear. He slides his palm up and down Athos' cock as he readies him, happy to be so close and comfortable with the both of them.

Aramis strokes Athos' hair, for of course they like to imagine him thinking of them. They might have even indulged in a spoken fantasy on the subject or two, before Athos ever came to them for more than friendship. He kisses his agreement into Athos' skin and stretches a leg to graze Porthos' thigh with his toes, eyes fixed on Athos' cock slipping rhythmically through Porthos' large palm. "Porthos," he murmurs, certainly unsure how much longer he can wait to have that inside of him.

Porthos’ question seems to come from another world entirely. “This is hardly the time for chit-chat,” Athos says, breath hitching with his desire. With a small whine this time, he presses into Porthos’ hand, wanting more of his touch and eager for what comes next, for all his fluttering anticipation. He cups Aramis’ neck as he pulls him in to explore his mouth anew - for he will never stop craving this, certainly. "Please," he whispers, his thumb brushing up and down Aramis scar on his neck where it hides beneath his tattooed cross.

"You are going to tell us," he promises, with one hard kiss to Athos' lips before he shifts and gives his hip a gentle squeeze, affording Aramis a firm nod of his head. "You're both ready," he says, clambering for a fort of pillows he makes. "So put on a good show for your husband and boyfriend, won't you?" he teases with a big smirk.

Aramis closes his eyes, savoring the brush of Athos' calloused fingertip to his scar, nearly as sensitive as his cock under the right touch, and moans shamelessly to hear that they will soon be joined.

He clambers up on an elbow, grinning at Porthos in his ridiculous nest. "Comfortable, are you?" he asks him, and swings a leg over Athos' waist. Looking down at him, Aramis cups his cheek. "I'm going to sink down on you," he tells him. "A man is tighter than a woman. If it is too much, if you need me to slow, you have only to tell me."

Athos scoffs at Porthos’ obvious and self-satisfied pleasure, but Aramis distracts him swiftly enough. Eyes wide and full of desire, he nods, hands coming to rest on Aramis’ thighs. He turns his head to press a kiss to Aramis’ palm and then nods, a tremble of anticipation traveling through him.

Porthos arches his brow as he lays back, relaxed and eager to watch as he lets his gaze slide down to enjoy the way that Aramis sinks down onto Athos, breathing out with heavy interest for what's about to happen. "Don't worry, he'll make you feel like bliss," Porthos promises.

Though he is very much attuned to Athos, Aramis can't help a quick smile at Porthos, now arranged like Cleopatra in her pillows before a show. He is ridiculous, and Aramis loves him for it, and for every hot squeeze his body makes around Athos Aramis means to let Porthos see it on both their faces.

"Alright," he murmurs, attention back on Athos as he takes him in hand, lifting to position him at his own entrance. He lets Athos rest there a moment, allowing them both to savor the blunt pressure, and braces a hand against Athos' shoulder as his body begins to part and give, letting Aramis sink down as Athos' cock is slowly buried within him. It is nowhere near that pleasure point inside of him, and still the breach feels instantly, deliciously good, and Aramis pants a little as he watches Athos' face, hoping he'll let him sink to the hilt before stopping.

“Oh…” It has been years since he has been inside someone, and this is more intense than any woman has ever been. Just the heat leaves him breathless, as does the fact that his pleasure is entirely within Aramis’ control. Underneath carefully crafted layers of stoicism, he is always eager for more, and he pants with the effort not to push himself further into Aramis quite yet, blunt fingernails pressing into the man’s thighs.

Porthos can't help the way he lights up when he sees how Athos falls apart slowly, that pleasure on his face amazing not because of how expressive it is, but because of how sure Porthos is that Athos is liking it. Aramis, now, is definitely liking it, but he'd like anything in this bed, with the two of them.

"What's he like, Aramis?"

"Different," Aramis breathes, his focus strangely fragmented. He can feel Athos' cock sliding deep, all the way in just as he'd hoped, can feel Athos' nails biting at his thighs, Porthos' voice calling to him and Athos' pale eyes, piercing him all over again.

Athos' lips are parted, his pleasure plain to behold, and Aramis smiles down at him, grinding shallowly and shuddering as his suspicions are confirmed. "A little curved," he tells Porthos. "Slides right against - oh. Right against that spot." Lifting up slowly, Aramis begins to move, a little stunned for how easily he can angle Athos within him just right, forcing his hips to roll faster before he can stop them. "My God, Athos."

Athos gives a choked cry as Aramis moves and the world shrinks to them, only them, the feel of being inside Aramis, and the bliss in his expression, and the nearby murmur of Porthos’ voice. Athos’ eyes begin to flutter closed as pleasure takes hold of him entirely, but he forces them open, wanting badly to watch Aramis as his lithe body moves in ecstasy. Able to keep a steady rhythm only with effort, he is soon moving with the other man, seeking more, wanting everything Aramis can give.

Porthos smiles crookedly, staring at the way they move together, drinking up the sight of it, breathing in and out fondly as he stares at the both of them, moving together so perfectly. "God, this is everything I've ever wanted," he admits, feeling so happy and settled.