somepoorsoul | (no subject)

(no subject)

The night is damp and chilly for May, but that has not stopped the university’s young revelers from stumbling about in drunken celebration, even past midnight. Athos only ever comes this far north to visit the stables, and it is strange to be here so late at night, amongst the older, more scattered houses, stuffed full of students nine months out of the year. Outside the university, neighborhoods fall away to countryside fairly quickly; it is no surprise that so many could so easily go missing.

Athos has spoken little during their late-night trek to the edge of campus, thoughts focused, as best he can, on the task at hand. Is he glad that Porthos agreed to come along, or nervous? He still trusts Porthos with his life, and always will, but he fears that the man has been guilted or coerced into this venture. Believing what he does (knowing what he does), why would he follow Athos anywhere?

But they are here now. Athos leans against a lamppost that leaves him half-illuminated. Celebrants are now stumbling home in ones and twos, and fewer of them seem out and about. If the vampires intend to strike tonight, it will likely be soon, now that most students have gone home, leaving the more foolish (and the more drunk) to venture into the darkness alone and vulnerable. He glances at Aramis, their "bait" for the night, and then, briefly, meets Porthos' gaze. “Still up for this?" he asks them both.

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“Agreed.” Athos shifts in his seat, leaning back and closing his eyes. His muscles ache, and he knows that tomorrow will be a difficult day of contacting one distressed family after another. But as they rumble down the road, the sky barely beginning to turn pink, neither seems too troublesome. When the arrive at the Bramford a short time later, Athos lets Aramis pay, and then heads up to the building steps.

With the adrenaline no longer pumping, Porthos can feel himself start to turn to soreness, but also there's a part of him that's wary of what happens next. He's glad it seems as though things have thawed, but he's leery of letting things slide and never talking it through. After all, he doesn't want this to keep happening.

But talking never seems to go over well with Athos. Digging out his keys, he lets them into the building and holds the door to wait for Aramis.

Aramis is right behind, sighing in relief when the quiet of the Bramford lobby swallows them up. "In the elevator, all of you," he says, "I don't even want to see a staircase."

He enters when it arrives, resting against the wall with a small, but satisfied smile. "We did well tonight," he says into the little ascending room, feeling that it needs to be spoken aloud. "As ever."

“Mm,” Athos hums in agreement, clapping Aramis on the shoulder. He has not forgotten the way the other man recoiled when they had to enter that basement, or that he did not let his fears overcome him. Athos doesn’t dare tell the man how proud he is of him - when does Aramis ever need his ego stroked? - but he is proud. And grateful.

He strides into the hall when the elevator lets then out and leads the way to their door. “Thank you,” he says as he unlocks it, even now aware that only the good humor of these two men keeps them by his side, fighting of these creatures. “It was a difficult case, and I could not have accomplished so much without you."

Porthos shoots Aramis a pleased smile at the thank you, though he's beginning to flag. His eyes are half open and he knows until he gets in the water, he's prone to falling properly asleep. "Nah, you did all that groundwork." Porthos doesn't mention that he'd been doing it to stay away, he suspects, but he thinks that to be the truth.

He opens the door and starts the slow, aching work of divesting himself of his weapons, leather and bones creaking in tandem.

Dressed in more casual attire for the ruse, Aramis comes forward and undoes several of Porthos' clasps and belts to speed him on, then turns to Athos for the same. Suspecting he'll be chided for helping, Aramis pulls Athos in by his belt and kisses him as his fingers work, stepping away from a man much less put together than when he'd started.

"And your plan played out beautifully," he adds, then, "I'll start the bath, and then the shower." He pulls his own shirt over his head. "Porthos, you rinse off first before you drop."

"Your plan, you mean." Athos accepts the kiss, grasping the other man's shirt as he responds. For his pains, he steps away to discover that Aramis’ deft fingers have left his shirt untucked, and his belts and weapons pooled on the floor. Athos rolls his eyes, but he is smiling, and when Aramis departs, he steps towards Porthos for another kiss. “After you," he murmurs against his lips.

He sags forward into that kiss, his palms sliding up to cup Athos' cheeks. There's a guttural sound that reminisces a whine in the back of his throat as he leans in for more, but drifts past when his eyes keep closing. Cold water will wake him up and with the last of his underwear unlaced, he steps into the shower.

As predicted, the burst of cold makes him give a loud shout, but it does the trick of shocking him awake.

"May no subtly ever grace his form nor pass his lips," says Aramis with a smile for Athos, leaning against the sink as he waits his turn. "I can't wait to have a larger washroom. Baths, showers, and many sinks. Of course," adds Aramis, "Then there will be less excuse to share. We shall have to be creative."

"You will enjoy the challenge, no doubt." As he pulls his shirt over his head, he lets his mind drift to that house that will soon be theirs. In all his turmoil, he has thought less on it of late, but it still calls to him as a sanctuary from the city. A sanctuary, even, from his fears.

"Is it warm yet?" he asks Porthos, eager to get under the spray himself.

Porthos steps out from the brisk shower, shivering a little but awake for it. He wraps his arms around his dripping self and nods over his shoulder to the running water that's sliding to warm now. He yanks a towel from behind Aramis and leans over to start running the tub's water, most of the dirt off him but for that they'll have to scrub.

"Don't tease him, I bet he already has plans drawn up."

"I have plenty in my head," Aramis assures them both, content to wait his turn, and watch them traverse the bathroom nude in the meantime. Both men look bruised, but not terribly damaged, and Aramis feels no shame in taking in the curve of Porthos' arse, the pale expanse of Athos' back. They are remarkably well formed men. They deserve a bathroom that befits them.

Athos lets his trousers and underwear pool on the floor with the rest of his things. Then, with a brief backward glance and a smirk, he steps into the shower. He tips his head back, enjoying as he always does, the feel of the water running over his body. Athos refuses to enjoy most modern luxuries, but this he can get behind.

"Coming?" he calls to Aramis, inclined to linger a little longer, even if the plan is for them all to end up in the tub.

Porthos sits on the edge of the tub, giving Aramis an amused smile as he runs his fingers through the warm water below, taking its time to fill up. "He's going to use up all the hot water," he warns, and sinks into the hot water in the tub, scented oils easing the aches as he groans from pleasure at the temperature of the water.

It's more than he could've ever asked for.

Eyebrows climbing, Aramis strips the last of his clothing in a rush and steps in behind Athos, pressing him deeper into the spray with a kiss. "I did promise your hair a good lathering," he says when they break apart, though Aramis does not go far, fingers dragging down Athos' ribs. "In the bath, I think, lest Porthos get lonely."

His arms around Aramis, Athos sends Porthos a sly, admiring look. “We would not want to disappoint him,” he agrees, lingering long enough under the spray to kiss Aramis again. He is feeling terribly grateful for all Aramis has done lately - for his gentle prodding, his encouragement, his assurances that brought Porthos back to him tonight. And, of course, for his bravery in the cramped basement.

"I mean, I want the both of you in here with me," he admits, but even as he does, he stretches out both legs and enjoys the luxurious stretch of space that affords him, "but don't rush on my account. I'm enjoying all this space," he guarantees, sinking into the warmth of the water until it starts to dampen his curls.

Aramis chuckles, dropping his head to press a kiss to Athos' shoulder, his throat, whispering when he reaches his ear, "He'll fall asleep in there if we let him." Winding his arms around Athos, Aramis takes a fistful of soap and washes him free of the worst of the battle, pinching his arse when he's finished. The bar of soap is then set to his own skin, and Aramis starts with his neck where those teeth had dared to nip too close. He does love their shower, but he's never been moved more to rush when a tubful of the men he loves lies in wait.

With an appreciative hum, Athos tips his head to the side, grinning faintly at Porthos' words, and then at Aramis'. They are both clean now, or near enough, and Porthos does appear dangerously close to falling asleep. Athos tips his head under the spray once more, and then steps out of the shower, water dripping off his body.

"Is it too late to join you?" he asks Porthos with perfect innocence.

Porthos grins as he opens his eyes to the sight of a very naked, very wet Athos. It's practically the best thing he's seen in weeks (outside of Aramis' own very gorgeous form) and he splashes the water as he sits up and widens his legs to make room. "Who's going in the middle?"

"Athos is," Aramis answers, turning off the shower, "But he's reclining against me first. I have a promise of being allowed to wash his hair and I mean to cash in on it." He steps into the far end of the tub with a sigh as the hot water envelopes him. "You can enjoy the display," Aramis says with a grin, "Before you cuddle him."

Athos shakes his head at them both, but his expression is full of fondness, and his eyes are bright despite his well-earned exhaustion. He has spent weeks under a haze of work and wine, but in the steam-filled room that cloud dissipates.

Carefully, he grips the edge of the tub and steps in above them both, and sinks down to let the water envelop him. The tub is a tangle of limbs, but Athos manages to fit his legs around theirs and sink back into Aramis’ embrace. Smile gentle, he leans his head against Aramis’ chest and closes his eyes.

Porthos shifts up and makes a sound when his knees creak in protest. "Do you remember the very first time you and I got in this tub," he reminds Aramis with an overly-fond grin. "And you thought it'd creak and break and I thought my wings were gonna knock the porcelain to bits? Now, look at us."

Aramis exhales. "I'd almost forgotten your wings," he says with a chuckle. "It was quite a sight," he tells Athos, reaching for the pitcher. He tips Athos' head even further against his shoulder and covers his eyes, dousing his hair slowly in the hot water. Even from here, he can tell that the man's long pale neck is quite inviting from this angle, and he smiles faintly at Porthos as he reaches for the shampoo. "Safer to keep your eyes closed," he says and he begins to work it into Athos' locks.

"Sangdieu," Athos exhales, startled by the contentment that courses through him as Aramis douses him with water. As instructed, he keeps his eyes closed - he is happy to do so - but he smiles crookedly at Porthos. "I am sad I missed your wings," he says, half teasing, for he knows it had not been an entirely pleasant experience for Porthos. "That must have been impressive."