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It was one of those days. Porthos usually liked to think he was too optimistic to resort to such thinking, but he had his limits. He snoozed his alarm clock too many times, leaving him to choose between breakfast and a shower (the shower seemed the priority after the summer night that had been sticky for all the wrong reasons). Work was a blur of deathly slow meetings about non-starter projects that would just lead to months of chasing their own tails. The last one of the day overran and Porthos had to rush to the metro to make it to the practice of the young teen’s rugby team that he coached, only to find out that they had lost out on the funding for a mini bus that he and Aramis had spent hours on the application for. To crown a fantastic day, when he trudged home, hungry and tired in his sports hoodie, not one but two people happened to choose the moment they saw him to suddenly feel the urge to cross to the other side of the street.
He failed to hold in a sigh when he closed the front door behind him and leaned against it. He wished he could shut the door on the whole damn day. He just wanted to lay down on the couch for the rest of his life, preferably with his head in Aramis’ lap, but the apartment was lit only by the fading sun and bereft of company for Porthos’ misery. He flicked more lights on than was strictly necessary, just to make himself feel better, and tried to determine where Aramis was. There was an appetising smell in the kitchen, which Porthos followed to discover a pot of one of his stews that they had frozen a while ago, keeping warm in the oven. His heart lightened a little at the prospect of food, but he was none the wiser as to Aramis’ location.
Just as Porthos was about to succumb to his hunger, the door opened and Aramis entered, laden with a couple of bags.
“Ah, you’re back.” The bags were placed on the worktop with a deep thunk. “I stupidly took the bourguignon out this morning, without realising we were out of bread. I had to go out now, it’s not the freshest but better than nothing.” He spoke breezily, unpacking bread and a few other groceries. Porthos closed his eyes, letting the husky voice and domestic sounds wash over him.
“Oh,” Aramis’ voice was suddenly nearer to him and one of Aramis’ hands cupped his cheek. “Porthos.”
Porthos opened his eyes slowly, meeting Aramis’, which were clouded over with concern. “I’m alright darlin’,” he said, wanting to chase that cloud away, “just had one of those days.”
He gradually told Aramis everything that had happened as Aramis pottered about with cutlery and crockery, listening attentively and making sympathetic noises, until at last Porthos choked out about the loss of the funding and Aramis gave him an aggrieved glance, before quickly crossing the distance between them and taking Porthos in his arms. Porthos sighed out and put his arms tightly around Aramis’ waist. He breathed in the scent of his lover and felt some of the tension that had been gripping his neck muscles dissipate.
“I should shower before dinner. Been rushing about all day, I must stink.”
Aramis made an indignant noise. “Hardly. But go, it’ll make you feel better. Plus, I bought a bottle of wine. It’ll give it time to breathe a bit.”
When Porthos made no effort to move after a few seconds, Aramis raised an eyebrow and helped him out of his hoodie, giving him a push toward the bathroom.
Aramis was right about the shower freeing more of his tension and the headache that had been building disappeared. It didn’t leave his head clear however, and he couldn’t face looking for new clothes, shuffling into pyjama bottoms. It was still hot in the apartment anyway.
Aramis smirked at his apparel when Porthos joined him at the table, but refrained from comment. He poured the wine and pushed Porthos’ glass over to him.
“Drink up.”
Porthos tipped the glass slightly in Aramis’ direction in grateful acknowledgement and took a healthy mouthful, letting it rest in his mouth a second or two before easily swallowing it down. It was one they often bought and it performed admirably with only a little time to breathe.
By the time Porthos had demolished most of his meal, he was beginning to feel like a fully functional human being once more. It was about that time that he realised Aramis was eating more slowly, though that was not too unusual, and giving Porthos lingering glances while he sipped at his wine.
“What?”
Aramis made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing. Are you feeling a little better?”
Porthos leaned back a bit in the chair, scratching at his nicely full belly. “Yeah, I really am.”
“I bet Athos can think of somewhere else to apply to for the bus grant.”
“Yeah,” Porthos considered, “that’s true. S’long as he doesn’t buy it himself this time.”
“Definitely.”
Porthos cleaned the last trace of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread and sat back again, sighing in something now approaching contentment. He patted his belly and was about to ask Aramis how his day had been, when he noticed Aramis looking at his hand intently. Porthos instinctively stilled the gentle movement and Aramis looked down at his meal suddenly, as if chastened. Porthos blinked. Then he prodded at the air with his fork.
“You’re turned on by me sitting here, half naked,” he accused, with just a hint of gleeful amusement.
Aramis, being Aramis, did not see fit to deny the accusation. He took a long drink of wine and shrugged.
Porthos grinned and leaned forward. “This ain’t the first time you’ve seen me eat without a shirt on, darlin’.”
“Yes, at a picnic, or a snack on the sofa. Not to mention that time with the cookies in bed, you were totally naked then.”
Porthos nodded and shuddered a little. “Never knew those damn crumbs could be so painful.”
“I think I warned you, actually.”
Porthos made a gesture with the fork that he hoped adequately communicated how irrelevant that statement was to their current conversation. “So?” he prompted.
Aramis shrugged again and laughed. “So… I don’t know. This is our dining table and you’re only wearing those soft old pyjamas and it’s just…” He trailed off and bit at his lip, clearly quite taken by the concept. Porthos swallowed, suddenly quite taken himself with Aramis’ reaction.
He poured himself some more wine and relaxed back into his chair. “Finish your meal.”
Aramis faltered, perhaps not being able to read Porthos’ tone, but dutifully cleaned his plate, helping the last couple of mouthfuls go down with frequent sips of wine. He then went to get up and clear the table but Porthos shook his head and rose. “Stay there, I’ve got it.”
He quickly loaded the dishwasher and returned to the table, where Aramis was still sitting, draining the last of his wine and watching Porthos. His lips were faintly darkened by the liquid and Porthos took his face between his hands, ghosting his thumb over the bottom lip that Aramis had been worrying a few minutes before, until he applied a bit of pressure and could feel the first hint of the wetness of Aramis’ mouth. Aramis’ breath hitched a little.
Moving closer to him, Porthos laid Aramis’ head against his belly, and stroked through his hair. Aramis snaked an arm around his hips and then huffed out a little laugh, presumably as Porthos’ stomach gurgled. He pressed a kiss just above Porthos’ navel.
“Do you want to go and watch some TV, or take a walk or something?” Aramis’ tone was deliberately measured and Porthos snorted.
“No, not really,” he replied, amused and touched all at once.
He stepped back and tugged lightly on Aramis’ hair, causing his lover to slide down from the chair to his knees. He was already familiar with Aramis’ attachment to the pyjamas, soft and thinning in parts from wear; past the point of really being acceptable clothing in the presence of anyone but Aramis. Or Athos, if Porthos was feeling impolite.
With the hand tangled up in Aramis’ hair, he pulled Aramis closer to him, not quite touching, but close enough that there was a distinct sensation of warmth when Aramis exhaled. Porthos kept himself relaxed, letting his arousal build slowly and naturally. He was fixed in the present and the clarity of everything around him was exceptional; he was aware of the warmth of Aramis’ breath, could see each of his eyelashes, sense the hardness of his skull through the thick curls wrapped up in his palm.
Aramis pulled forward and laid his cheek against Porthos’ groin, nuzzling slightly where the fabric was thinnest. Porthos cursed and pressed forward into the jut of cheekbone and jawline, hand moving rhythmically, massaging the back of Aramis’ head. He was starting to lose track of who was teasing whom. Aramis took a deep breath, filling his lungs with Porthos’ scent, and they both groaned. Aramis shifted and then Porthos felt the warm pressure of his tongue trying to curl itself around one of his balls. Porthos’ eyes slipped closed and he directed Aramis to lavish the same attention on his other side.
He pulled him back after a few moments, as Aramis’ breaths got too shallow. Aramis was flushed and starting to shift uncomfortably.
“You’re too overdressed for this darlin’.”
Porthos crouched down and stripped Aramis of his t-shirt. Then he undid the button on his jeans and carefully slid the zip of the fly down, until Aramis’ arousal was only constrained by the more yielding material of his boxers. He cupped his hand around the straining hardness, giving a light squeeze until Aramis moaned softly. He leaned forward to press his lips against Aramis’ and then stood up, just as his thigh muscles were starting to burn.
Aramis leaned up and put his hands on Porthos’ hips. His thumbs dipped under the waistband of the pyjamas, but he didn’t pull them down as Porthos half hoped he might. Instead, with two fingers and a wicked smile, he pulled the elastic a few inches away from Porthos’ abdomen, allowing Porthos’ cock to curve up to his stomach. Then he carefully allowed the elastic to fall back in place, restraining Porthos’ cock an inch or so below the head.
“Jesus fucking Christ Aramis.” Porthos’ hips rocked into empty air as Aramis smiled beatifically up at him.
“My beautiful Porthos,” he whispered in response.
Porthos just about got his consciousness to rise above the almost overwhelming pulsation at the tip of his cock to truly focus on Aramis. He could just about see the dilation of Aramis’ pupils and the slight slackness to Aramis’ mouth was a familiar sign to him, showing that Aramis was on the verge of losing his composure. He tamped down on his impatient need, intrigued to see how Aramis would proceed with no cue.
Porthos forced his arms to be loose at his sides and Aramis smiled, taking Porthos’ hands in his own and shuffling forward a little until his lips could easily meet the smooth skin lying exposed just above the constraining waistband. Porthos rubbed his thumbs over Aramis’ knuckles as Aramis drew a line of kisses and nips across his hips and stomach, until finally he kissed the exposed head of Porthos’ cock.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Porthos whispered, just because he had no control left to stop the senseless words tumbling out of his mouth. Aramis flattened his tongue and pressed it down, then swirled it around and lapped delicately at the fluid already leaking from the tip. Porthos desperately hoped he wasn’t going to leave fingerprint bruises on Aramis’ hands, though consoled himself that it he did, it would be partially deserved.
Aramis extricated his hands and Porthos blearily wondered if that was the reason, but Aramis wrapped them around his hips, needing the stability to be able to suckle earnestly. Porthos’ hands flew up, one to Aramis’ shoulder, the other to his head again. Porthos was making small, abortive movements with his pelvis, and was starting to lose track of whether he was still talking or just groaning. The contrast between the intense stimulation at the head of his cock and the confinement of his shaft was making sweat trickle down from his temples.
Aramis shifted so that his weight was on one arm and he had a hand free to squeeze Porthos’ buttocks, before moving it to roll Porthos’ ballsac in a firm grip.
“Aramis,” Porthos choked out in wonder, as the material of the pyjamas slid across the sensitive skin there. A sound akin to a sob rang out. Porthos’ leg muscles shook and he was using Aramis for stability as much as Aramis was using him. There was a whisper of teeth against his glans.
“Darlin’, I don’t know how but,” he took in a shuddering breath as Aramis gripped his balls even tighter, “oh fuck darlin’, please, I think-“
His words cut off as Aramis pulled his pyjamas down and in a swift blur of movement, took as much of Porthos’ cock into his mouth as he could in one go. Porthos roared out incoherently and frantically blinked sweat out of his eyes. Aramis was looking up at him, permission and want and eagerness in his eyes. He let his mouth relax and Porthos intuitively entangled both hands in his hair, as his body’s need overrode his last iota of control and he rocked forward again and again into wet heat and soft flesh. Tears rose in Aramis’ eyes but his hands at Porthos’ back urged him on and Porthos was so close, his orgasm was upon him before he could begin to formulate any words of warning. He felt the fluttering of Aramis’ swallow just before everything went hazy. He lost a second or two, clarity returning to him with the coolness of the air as he slipped from Aramis’ mouth. He drew in great gasps of air, watching Aramis catch some come trickling from the corner of his mouth with a thumb; taking it to his lips and closing them around the digit with a moan.
He shook his head in awe and then shakily knelt down with the help of Aramis’ guiding hands. He lowered his forehead to Aramis’ shoulder, muttering one final, emphatic, “fuck.”
Aramis made an agreeing noise and ran a hand soothingly up and down Porthos’ spine.
As Porthos began to regain some of his equilibrium, he sat back and let his eyes roam. Aramis’ lips were glossed and starting to swell and his eyes, as he looked back at Porthos, swiftly flicked from one spot to another like a butterfly chasing the sun.
“So close darlin’, you’ve made yourself wait so long,” Aramis closed his eyes as if in pain as Porthos continued, “you were hard weren’t you, even when we were still eating.” Aramis opened his eyes, everything about him beseeching, and Porthos could do nothing but grasp him tightly, pulling Aramis into his lap.
He kissed and bit blindly at the first flesh his lips found, at the junction of Aramis’ neck and shoulder, simultaneously working Aramis’ jeans and underwear down as much as he could. Aramis’ head lolled back and Porthos wanted to touch him everywhere at once, but Aramis’ hips were making stuttering thrusts against Porthos, accompanied by what Porthos thought might be the quietest, most desperate whimpers he had ever heard Aramis make. There was no particle of Porthos that would relish making Aramis wait any longer so he unceremoniously licked his hand and forced it between the crush of their bodies. He swiped his palm over the head, collecting fluid, then took up an almost brutally quick rhythm.
“Yes, yes,” Aramis curved his body into Porthos, his head now resting on Porthos’ shoulder. Porthos increased the speed of his movements and slid his free hand over the small of Aramis’ back and between his buttocks. Aramis came with a cry the moment that Porthos pressed the tip of his middle finger against his entrance, his body arching as if unable to decide which stimulation to covet. Porthos groaned himself as he felt his lover’s orgasm in the pulse of his cock and the flutter of muscle against his finger, his own spent cock twitching valiantly. Aramis collapsed back against him and alternated between panting and nuzzling at Porthos’ neck. Porthos smiled and put an arm round his shoulders. He kissed Aramis’ temple and cheek. Aramis muttered quiet, sincere words of love directly into Porthos’ ear and Porthos hummed in reply, letting the happiness ring through his body.
He gently pushed Aramis back. “Just a second.”
He made his way into the kitchen on shaky legs, laughing to himself as he avoided anyone being able to see him through the kitchen window. He washed his hands in an awkward diagonal pose, a grin still playing at the corners of his mouth.
He returned to find Aramis still kneeling on the floor and looking beautifully wrecked. He received a wide grin in greeting and Aramis put his hand out. Porthos grasped his wrist and pulled him to his feet and then into a hug. He encircled him and squeezed, perhaps with a bit too much vehemence, but Aramis reciprocated wholeheartedly. Porthos wanted to find the words to tell him how every moment of his day that had cut into his soul like a barb, now seemed distant, almost dreamlike, but his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could only hope that Aramis could feel his gratitude and overpowering affection as he held him so close.
“Let’s have Athos round for dinner tomorrow, give him a good home cooked meal and get him to put his knowledge of the filthy rich to our use,” said Aramis, breaking free of Porthos’ hold just enough to be able to speak.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Porthos smoothed his hands down the bare skin of Aramis’ back. “Fancy an early night?”
“Mm,” Aramis assented, then shivered a little, “and maybe some pyjamas.”
“No!” Porthos laughed. “No more pyjamas.”
Aramis grinned and winked. “Oh yes, I know you have those brushed cotton ones in the-“
Porthos shut him up with a kiss, then ran to the bathroom and locked the door so he could piss and brush his teeth in peace, even if he had to do so with a grin on his face as Aramis sighed dramatically outside the door.
Porthos fell asleep quickly, exhaustion catching up to him, but he woke up a few hours later. He stretched some kinks out of his neck and settled back down, wrapping an arm around Aramis to feel the rhythmical movements of his deep breathing. He was blessedly free of clothing except an old pair of boxers, the nights still too warm for him to need anything else. Aramis, however, had purloined Porthos’ brushed cotton ones for himself, and Porthos moved his hand down Aramis’ body to his hip, moving the soft fabric over Aramis’ skin. Aramis sighed out a little in his sleep and Porthos placed a light kiss to his nape. He let his head fall back against the pillow and smiled.