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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

"I'm sure Aramis has pictures stashed in an album," he guarantees, having recalled that Allison had managed her own fair share of album shots. He leans forward and strains at his core in order to do it, but gets himself snug with Athos, a sad look in his eyes as he cups his cheek and stares at him longingly. "I never, not ever, not once, thought you did anything wrong, in those memories."

Aramis' fingers lose their rhythm, and he pretends it is because he's found the lump on Athos' scalp, and not because Porthos has sent them careening unexpectedly into territory where he can't be sure of Athos' reaction. Guiding Athos' soapy hair away from his face in case he needs to open his eyes, Aramis continues on in silence.

Though he does not move, Athos immediately tenses, his shoulders going rigid where they rest against Aramis’ chest. Even with his eyes closed, he clearly flinches, as though struck. Porthos’ voice is full of gentleness, but his mind cannot help but drift to the awful future he has been imagining since the man revealed his speculations. “Of course I did,” he says, voice a little raw, for what could be more wrong than leaving Porthos, leaving d’Artagnan, and Treville, and his king for her?

Athos takes a careful breath, desperate to stop the demons that have followed his step so closely drag him down now, just when he has begun to claw his way back. He opens his eyes, his expression entreating. “But that is not your fault, Porthos. Please, we do not need to speak of it."

Porthos nods, but some of the light in his eyes goes dull when Athos says they don't need to talk about it. That's the problem. They never talk about the things that fester and they get a chance to. "Okay," he says, but he's so tired of fighting and he misses Athos that, at this point, he's willing to give in. "Fine."

He keeps his palm firm on Athos' cheek and leans in for a kiss, one of the ones he's been missing, his other hand on Aramis' thigh as he slides it up that skin there.

Exhaling slowly, Aramis resumes working the shampoo through Athos' hair, taking care to knead now at his scalp to help him to relax, but his free hand he threads through Porthos' at his thigh, squeezing it as he gives him an encouraging smile.

"I think we have had enough excitement tonight to live firmly in the present," he says, "Certainly for the evening. Now are the pair of you going to stop necking long enough for me to rinse Athos' hair?"

Athos exhales into the kiss, a tremble going through him as cups Porthos cheek. The man’s hand on his thigh is warm, even under the water, and he deepens the kiss for a moment, savoring Porthos’ taste, and all he has missed. When Aramis interrupts, he breaks away - just barely - and shoots the man a sideways look. With a sigh that is only half serious, he reluctantly lays back in Aramis’ arms and close his eyes.

“If you insist."

Porthos does ease back, but it's with a smug look on his face both from the kiss and for the look he throws Aramis. "Did you ever think this would be your lot in life?" he jokes. "Caring for your fellow Musketeers' hair on a constant basis?" Which reminds him, he needs to pick up more cream for his curls or just another bandanna to cover them up.

"Not in my wildest fantasies," Aramis promises, chuckling as he refills the pitcher. Hand again cupped over Athos' eyes, Aramis rinses the soap from his hair in long, carefully measured belts of hot water, leaning in to kiss Athos' cheek when he is done. "Now you are clean enough for Porthos to dirty up."

The water, again, frees Athos of his dark thoughts, and when he opens his eyes, he offers Porthos a smile that is only a little tentative. Porthos may have given up his anger, Aramis may have insisted that they have no way of knowing what Athos did when he left the garrison, but Athos still carries the guilt of that damning possibility. Perhaps he did flee with his wife, his murderess, his Anne, that devil of his own making. If he did, he does not deserve to be here with these men, in the warm embrace of their arms, soaking in the healing heat of the water.

He does not deserve it, but he is weak. He craves comfort. And he seeks it now, leaning across the tub to capture Porthos’ mouth in a kiss.

Porthos is possibly a little more aggressive than usual, his hand working into the wet tangle of Athos' hair to hold him firmly and tip his head to the side for Porthos to get a chance to kiss him deeply, tongue insistent before he eases back, sliding one hand in between them to wrap around Aramis' cock before he settles back to kissing Athos, stroking Aramis in time with the rhythm.

Not expecting the touch, Aramis gasps, the curve of the tub taking all his weight as he closes his eyes and allows himself the brief pleasure. But the bath is too small for much exertion, and their limbs tangled as it is. With rather a lot of will, Aramis grabs Porthos' wrist to still it and begins to extricate himself from the water.

"I will turn down the bed."

Athos whispers Porthos’ name as the kiss envelops him, and whines just slightly as Aramis begins to extricate himself. “Look what you have done,” he murmurs against Porthos’ lips, though his intentions are playful enough. Already, their skin is wrinkled from time in the water, and already, they are longing for something a bath cannot provide, however fine. Giving Porthos a final fierce kiss, he follow Aramis’ lead, carefully pushing himself to his feet with the help of the tub’s edge.

"He never usually runs away from my hand," Porthos confides with a secretive grin, watching as Athos gets up and walks away with all that lovely dripping wet water sluicing over his skin. "I think we'd better go and see where he's got to," he adds a little louder. "And it's a shame, no towels left for me. Best to do this naked."

Aramis laughs, pulling the towel from his own waist to slap Porthos' arse with as soon as he's near enough. "I expect we'll be dampening the sheets with sweat soon enough," he says, throwing himself down upon them, "Why not a bit of water, too?"

Athos sends Porthos a skeptical look, though his eyes twinkle with amusement as he snatches a towel for himself and scrubs his hair dry. Leaving it to dry draped on the bathroom doorknob, he follows Porthos, catching the man around the waist and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. They have been up all night and the sun will be rising soon, but Athos still buzzes with energy, and he intends to spend it.

Porthos enjoys all the attention, practically buzzing with it as Aramis smacks him and then Athos kisses him. "So, I was thinking," he murmurs, staring at Aramis and then back to Athos. "That maybe you should let us both take care of you. Maybe one of our mouths on you and the other in you?"

Aramis presses up on an elbow. "Well I know what I'd choose," he says as if Athos has asked. "There's no beating that cock of yours," he says with a look at Porthos, "And I'm awfully good with my mouth." Aramis grins. "If that is amenable, of course."

Athos blinks a few times, unable to speak in the face of what they have laid before him in so few words. He swallows hard and flushes, and though he has been naked since he stepped into the shower, only now does he feel truly bare. More than a year has passed since they begun to learn each others’ bodies, but still they have that effect on him.

“Me?” he says, expression nervous as his gaze flickers from Porthos to Aramis. Perhaps he misunderstood.

"Why not you?" Porthos wonders, feeling like this might be the thing he needs. If he can lavish attention on Athos, if he can coax him into relaxing and talking, then maybe it will be enough to make him feel like they're bridging the issues that still lie between them. "Unless you don't want us to..."

"Perhaps he thinks we mean the other handsome blue-eyed vampire slayer in our bedroom," says Aramis, rising from the bed. "With the furrowed brow." Turning Athos to him by his chin, Aramis kisses the worried divot between Athos' eyes. "You certainly don't have to," he adds with a quick grin at Porthos, "Though I promise you would enjoy it, and so would we."