itinere | open || all for one and one for all

Suddenly on the other side of a large blue door, Porthos tries the knob again and again, an attempt to reopen the door through which they'd just come. One moment they had been heading into their small cottage in that other place, then they had found themselves here. Behind them sprawls an expansive city. The salty smell of ocean water is hinted on the air. There seems to be... life here. Much more life than in the place they were prior.

Porthos draws a deep breath, trying to decide if he should kick in the door (if that is even possible) or if they should embrace this new adventure. His shoulders are tense, his eyes weary. Porthos does love adventure. But the compound had worn him down, in several ways. Aramis knows this.

He looks to Aramis now, one brow arched in question. Really, Aramis will have to help him make this decision. On one hand, this place looks much more inviting than the last. On the other hand, it still isn't Paris.

"Well." Really, this is amusing. How can it not be amusing? How many other worlds can there be?

Nevermind. There needn't be an answer to that.

Here they are, in a new place. A place that seems to be decidedly more posh than where they were. A place that - dare he dream it - may have plumbing and running water?

With his own tired smile, Aramis looks over at Porthos and gives a nearly helpless shrug. What else is there to do here, but roll with the proverbial punches? Nothing, right? Right.

So, Aramis rests his hand on Porthos's shoulder and looks around, nodding toward where there seem to be people. Let them see what there is to find, yes? At least they are together. "I had a hunch," he notes, keeping his tone light, "that that was not the end of the world."

Porthos is the opposite of amused, at least at first. He's just so tired of being jerked around. Teleios, he could have eventually handled. The compound had just been too much of nothing. He'd had nothing before. He never wanted to have nothing again. The only solace was that Aramis has been with him both times. Even now, here is his constant, Aramis, at his side. What would he do without his best friend?

That hand on his shoulder is somewhat reassuring. But still, Porthos has to wonder what this place will have in store for them. He has to wonder if this will change things between them or if that is a door that cannot be closed. He worries. He always thinks ahead. That's Porthos and Aramis knows it.

It's only when Aramis makes that joke in that light-hearted way that he has no matter the gravity of the situation, that Porthos smirks and briefly rolls his eyes up to the sky. A clear blue sky, sun shinning, birds flying, a few clouds here and there... it's beautiful really. Maybe he'd forgotten what it felt like to have the sun on his skin. He closes his eyes for a few moments and exhales a quick breath.

Okay, he can do this. He shrugs and steps away from the blue door. "Well, I was in need of another adventure." He tosses some teasing right back at Aramis. "The other place was a bit boring, if you ask me." Which, nobody had, but he's saying it anyway.

"And no fox-women, this time," Aramis notes, quite content with that idea.

If they are indeed in a different world, none of the people they knew there would be here. That's good, he thinks.

So, they can walk together, then, and see what there is to see here.

"This place seems nicer," he says, stating the obvious as he adjusts his hat on his head. No, nothing has changed between them, not if he has anything to say about it. First, though, they must assess their surroundings.

This place seems more modern than the compound, not quite as strange and conflated as Teleios. He daren't hope for the Garrison here, surely. And yet, he finds the wish fluttering in his belly.

There is a storefront to their right. With food displayed in the window. Bountiful and fresh meats and cheeses and bread. That's when Aramis's smile grows even larger and he winks at Porthos. If this is not a trick, it is very good news indeed. He does keep on hand on his sword as he heads for the door, signalling for Porthos to back him up.

Porthos has to both smirk and concede to that as well. No fox women, that he can see - no questionably moral Englishmen, no cocky space travelers. Of course, they still have an entire city to explore. There could still be these things. How are they to know. But the joke stands and adds more light-heartedness to what is otherwise another jarring experience.

They begin to stroll away from the door together, Porthos just a hair behind Aramis as always so as to follow him. He glances back at the blue door now and then as it grows smaller and smaller behind them. It's still there. It doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Nicer." He agrees with a nod, looking around. "You mean with the actual buildings that don't seem as they'd fall apart if you sneezed too hard?" He jokes, partly, because really that's where they had been.

Of course Porthos would back him up. The moment Aramis opens the door he's assaulted with the smell of food and his stomach performs an involuntary growl. He can't help it. Food had been scarce in that other place. He notices immediately that the lights inside seem to be that harsh electricity they had known in Teleios. Yes, this is indeed modern.

"The lights." He says simply.

Indeed, the lights, that garish, harsh beaming. Aramis squints, scowling a bit instinctively, before he truly realizes what this means.

Lights mean a kind of power! Oh, my. His scowl is replaced with a smile as he looks over at Porthos. It smells wonderful in here.

They are being watched, of course, as any armed persons seeming out of time like they are would be. They have no money, either, though they do note that there are not prices listed on the food here. So, Aramis takes the initiative and asks, "Monsieur," he says to the shopkeeper. "What would this cost?," gesturing to the basket of baguettes.

The shopkeeper quickly tells them that anything here is theirs for the taking, and to please take what they need. The man says it with a bright smile even. Porthos immediately looks suspicious. In his experience, nothing is free.

In the end, there is no coin in his pockets at the moment, and the man has walked off. He looks to Aramis with an uncomfortable arched brow and shakes his head.

"It's thievery, ain't it?" He asks, picking up the basket. As soon as the basket is lifted, another has appeared in its place. Porthos takes a step back and looks from the basket of baguettes in his hand to the newly formed one. Is it like belief magic? Is it not real?

Really, who knows? But what Aramis does know is that they are encouraged to take what they want. If there are to be consequences, they shall deal with it. However, this evening, wherever they are, they will feast. "We were told to take what we need," he reminds his friend and he makes sure that Porthos is still holding the basket and he loads it with some cheese, some meat and some wine.

Oh, and some chocolates, dark chocolates, not so sweet.

"Monsieur?" Aramis calls again when they have more than they need. "If you are sure that we are able to take what we wish, we shall be on our way."

Oh, how their stomachs will feel full soon. His mouth is practically watering. He's already opening the door, just waiting for the man's assurances before they find a place to sit and eat.

Porthos hesitates just outside the door to the grocers, waiting to fight off anyone who might come after them. The entire affair had smelled of a trap, but the catch never came. They stood there. He waited. Nothing happened. It was easy as that.

They start down the sidewalk and Porthos is taking it all in. He takes the basket from Aramis to carry it for him just because it seems strange to him to let Aramis do all the heavy lifting.

In the distance down the street past all the very tall buildings he sees a familiar tower then. He points at it, his heart in his throat to the point that he doesn't dare try to speak. Could there be a barracks attached to that? A stable? An armory?

That - it can't be, can it?

Aramis glances in that direction, then back at Porthos, his eyes growing wide.

"There's one way to find out," he says and he may start at a walk, but really, the idea of seeing the Garrison - of it possibly being here sends him running soon enough, his boots clattering against the drawn and smooth concrete of the pavements here.

A few corners and there - amidst the other buildings - sits the Garrison, so very real when he presses his hand to the wood.

He has to laugh because here they are, back where they started, it seems, in an entirely different place.

Inside, he goes, knowing Porthos is with him. It even smells the same.

Once Aramis is off, so is Porthos. Not only because as Aramis goes, so goes his nation, but also because there might be danger and Porthos will never let Aramis run head first into danger without Porthos by his side. So off they go, the basket switched to one hand and the other hand on the grip of his sheathed sword.

He slows near the entrance, looking around at all things familiar and wonderful. His heart is in his throat. Oh how he'd missed this, so much so that he's only just now, as he's seeing it again, realizing how much he'd missed it.

Everything is the same save for its emptiness. There are horses in the stables, of course. But beyond that, there's a silent eeriness to it as it had once been in Teleios. Porthos is fine with that. It's here. Aramis is here. Here is home.

Porthos, for the moment, is speechless.

It is eerily quiet, that much is true. And that quiet brings a disappointment of a hope that Aramis didn't know he had. If the Garrison had been here, a part of him had surely thought Athos and d'Artagnan and the captain would be here.

It seems that isn't so.

Alas.

And yet, with that quiet - with the idea that they have this place entirely to themselves, as they had in Teleios before Athos arrived? - well, that bodes well, doesn't it?

At least in one, very important aspect of their lives.

"This way," he tells Porthos, his gaze full of promise. First to the area with the kitchens and what had been their bathroom.

Plumbing. He all but laughs aloud. Yes! After so long!

Then, he starts for the stairs, taking them two at a time to what had been his - or their - room. He pushes open the door and it is just as they may have left it: two beds pushed together, the covers strewn.

From Porthos, he takes the basket and sets in on the linens. "What shall we do first?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, even if they are alone. "Wash or eat?" Because it's clear what is coming after either of those.

For a few moments Porthos is frozen just inside the arched entry to their home. He truly has no understanding of how entire buildings, seeming so like the real thing in Paris, can just appear in different places. It's magic. He doesn't trust it. But he wouldn't change it for anything if he has to be here, wherever here is.

He carefully follows Aramis into the Garrison, looking around both relieved and wary at the same time. He pokes his head into the kitchens just as Aramis notices the plumbing. That's something else he wouldn't change for the world, not when it makes Aramis's face light up like that.

Following Aramis up the stairs, he hands over the basket when they enter what was once and still is their shared room. Everything is as it should be. A spare change of clothes and weapons. Aramis's pistols sit on the table, as do Porthos's.

"I can't believe it." He says, more to himself than anything. Then to Aramis, he shrugs. "Cleanliness is probably a better idea, then food." He feels filthy and weary in the moment and tries so hard to glean some of Aramis's excitement for himself. Right now his head is spinning.

Perhaps Aramis should be more anxious; he knows this. But if nothing else, their "travels" (for lack of a better word) have left him less wary and more likely to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps tomorrow, they shall find themselves somewhere else. Who knows? So let them make merry whilst they can. Or something like that.

With the basket set down, he comes over to where Porthos stands, toe-to-toe. "This is all strange," he acknowledges. "But let us make the most of what we have, while we have it." His expression hopes to urge and reassure Porthos. 'A shower. Our own bed. Copious amounts of food and wine. Tonight, we shall live like we should be living, yes?"

As per usual, Aramis is a soothing balm on his rattled nerves. He isn't completely accepting and gracious and such, but he does seem to relax just a bit. After that place where they'd had literally nothing but each other, it sounds so good, after all: a shower, their own bed, food and wine.

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and exhales a heavy breath of concession. "Make the most of what we have."

Porthos nods and steps back into the hallway to make room for Aramis so that he can follow him. "You know this could be another of those tricks. Nothin' about it real..." He reaches a hand out to the wall. It feels real and solid.

"If it is, well, ever more the reason for making the most of it."

Aramis tosses his hat (and they will be able to tend to their clothing here! What good news) onto the bed and his cloak follows. He'll take a weapon with them just in case, but his doublet stays. Suddenly, with the prospect of bathing, his skin nearly itches with the need to be clean.

He gives Porthos a come-hither look as he starts to retrace their steps back downstairs. Even if it's cold water, he will glory in it.

Following Aramis's lead, because that seems to be the easiest course at the moment, Porthos discards his own hat and cloak as well. He keeps his weapons belts about his waist though, because he can't bring himself to feel safe without them at the moment. Then he's following Aramis down the stairs.

How could he not follow the look Aramis gives him? It's like an invisible tether keeps him there, just a few feet behind him as they move back downstairs toward the washrooms.

In the washrooms, Porthos finds that there is the modern showers and baths that Aramis has wished here while they were in Teleios. They're so different from the rest of the complex, sleek and shining, the rest of the Garrison out of date in comparison that they stand out.

Porthos shrugs and looks to Aramis. "Looks like you got your wish." He's looking for Aramis's pleasure, for surely his friend is pleased with the turn of events.

Oh, Aramis is. His smile shows it, even his posture.

Oh, what a long shower they shall have.

He turns on the water, watching with a kind of glee at the water coming down. It's warm, too, and he laughs aloud.

In this way, he is a simple man. He wants pleasure - he is a libertine - and he will revel in it.

Turning to Porthos, he makes short work of peeling away their stinking clothes, and he pulls his friend and lover into the water, under the shower. He tilts his face up, hands braced on Porthos's hips as he closes his eyes.

"We rarely showered together before we left Teleios," he observes. "Something we will now remedy.

Porthos can't help but glean a little of that gladness from Aramis. He's almost always happy when Aramis is happy. And he has to admit that the idea of getting clean, really clean, sounds so very good. It feels as if it's been too long since he's been clean.

Their clothes are easily discarded. In this moment there is a comfort here, in being in what seems like the Garrison save for this new, modern, addition to it. There is a comfort in being here with Aramis, his one constant in life.

Watching Aramis enjoy the spray of water is even more of a pleasure than his own enjoyment of it. The water is warm and comfortable. But Porthos cannot and does not remove his gaze from Aramis as the water spills over him.

"You'd think it was the second comin'." He teases Aramis.

Ah, what a play on words: Aramis opens his eyes, grinning - it could almost be said he's grinning lasciviously - at Porthos. Second coming indeed. And third and fourth, really.

"Come under the water," he urges, fingers tightening on Porthos's hips to urge him close. That way, their his can press together and Porthos can feel Aramis's inevitable reaction to his nearness. A sizzle of pleasure runs through Aramis's body, landing in the cradle of his hips, and he takes a deep, content breath even as he leans his face closer. "Will you help make it the second coming, Porthos?" he asks, words brushed over Porthos's mouth.

It's so easy for Aramis to guide Porthos closer to him. Porthos is willingly clay in Aramis's hands to be molded more often than not. Just that touch and tug at his hips has Porthos's cock twitching to life. Then they're pressed together and it's done. Porthos exhales a heavy breath he hasn't realized he'd been holding.

Their lips glide gently over one another and Porthos steals a quick, gentle nip of a kiss. The kiss deepens with that question, one of Porthos's large hands cupping the back of Aramis's neck while the other rests gently against his arm.

Something about those words from Aramis's mouth, the double entendre of them, arouses Porthos above and beyond. He is a wicked, despicable soul, isn't he? "For an eternity, Aramis."

Aramis smiles into Porthos's mouth, arms looping around his neck. He too is already hard, already wanting, content in this moment, simply to kiss in their familiar settings, with the promise of food and a comfortable bed and so much more.

"I will hold you to your word," he promises, running his teeth along Porthos's lips, teasing a bit. He traces down along Porthos's spine with his fingertips, feeling the muscle and bone, the strength. "How is it that I want you so much," he marvels aloud, cupping Porthos's buttocks, keeping him close. "And tonight, we shall be clean." Even better.

Feeling that smile against his lips rather than seeing it makes it feel like something even more. In his mind's eye, he can see Aramis's smile plain as day, how it presses to his own lips that can't help but tug their way into a small grin as well.

Aramis's touch is Porthos's heaven. Always. He reaches down to grip either side of Aramis's hips and pull him roughly in, grinding them against one another with a heavy groan that reverberates into Aramis's mouth when he kisses him.

He starts to rock his hips in, just getting off on the touch, the grind, the slick of the water between them, Aramis himself. "You sounds most pleased with yourself and your circumstance, my friend."

"Have I not proven easy to please?" Aramis asks, amused at the question and at his own simplicity in that way. "I cannot help but think that I am an open book to you, Porthos." The words come out grittier, but no less satisfied as the friction plays havoc with his reactions, with his desire, making him want Porthos more.

"I am a simple man," he says, mocking himself lightly. "I want you, a good wine, sustenance and a comfortable bed. That is all."

It isn't, of course, but for intents and purposes, he can say it is, right?

The joke of it is, at least from Porthos's end, that the simplicity of pleasing Aramis has not always been so simplistic. Because of his reservations about being with his best friend in that way, not to mention another man in general, had made for some complications to begin with. Yes, being with Aramis is so easy. It's also, at times, a frightening thing.

He doesn't want to lose Aramis, not because of Aramis possibly having one foot out the door if things get difficult, but also because of his own brute-ish stupidity.

Aramis is, perhaps, more of an open book than he wishes to be. For Porthos knows that there is much more to his best friend than most could ever know. He is a complicated man, intricate and unique. There is nothing simple about him as much as he'd like others to think it. Porthos sees Aramis beneath the superficial though. He sees him. And the look he gives Aramis says that.

"Simple." He smirks. Porthos reaches between them to grip both of them in one large hand and tug a few times. "You're a bloody spider web of complications, Aramis. But I'm glad you've caught me in your web."

That sounds like a a statement that should be discussed, but Aramis hasn't the wits to debate it at the moment. Instead, he cants his hips forward and lets his eyes flutter nearly-closed, feeling his body - muscles he didn't know he had flexing with want.

"If I have you in my web," he notes breathlessly, "then I can bend you to my will and make you do what I wish."

And right now, he wants nothing more than the love that they have found between themselves, primal and physical. He pulls himself from that grip and lowers himself to his knees, moving his hands to grip Porthos's hips as he nuzzles his lover's erection. He is Porthos's slut, willing to do his bidding.

What those words do to him should be positively illegal. And yet, the words seem to touch him somewhere deep inside, an intimate caress where no one can see. There's also the truth behind those words. Yes, Aramis could make Porthos do very near any and every thing he might be able to think of.

Porthos steals a quick kiss from Aramis and then the other is dipping down to his knees and Porthos isn't sure that Aramis's face so close to his own large cock isn't the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Of course, lately Aramis has been beautiful in all things as far as Porthos is concerned.

A heavy breath escapes him and Porthos leans his shoulders back against the wall of the shower. Fingers find Aramis's hair, combing it back out of his face.

"Of course, were I the savvy sort of captive, 'tis I who could command you." He says. "Do you want a taste, Aramis?" Of him, he means.

"I do," Aramis says, so quietly as to nearly be illegible under the pounding of the water. His fingers tighten in Porthos's hips as he exercises patience. Good things, he has found in situations such as this, come to those who wait.

He cants his head back to gaze up at Porthos, his cheeks flushed, dotted with water, his hair slicked back. "May I?"

Porthos barely hears that answer. But the look that Aramis gives him when he looks up, the way it seems to ask for permission without any words, leaves him momentarily speechless. There's something beautiful about Aramis being patient and asking permission. There's something about having the power to say no and making Aramis wait for a good thing that makes him hard as a rock.

He'll have to examine why that is later. Right now all he wants is Aramis's beautiful lips on his cock.

"Yeah. Taste me, Aramis." He says, grubby, calloused fingers gliding over Aramis's jaw.

Feeling as much as seeing Porthos's cock twitch like this has its own sense of power. Combine that with the permission that has been granted, Aramis feels a wave of peace and want.

He's been told he can, so Aramis leans forward letting his cheek brush along the thick length of Porthos's cock. That way, he can taste and smell what is to come. This is his way of waiting just that little bit more so that when he finally flicks his tongue along the damp slit.

The taste causes a shudder to run over his skin. Just that little taste makes it impossible for him to hold back. He takes in what he can as he feels Porthos's cock on his tongue, along the top of his mouth and back. His eyes fall shut with how good just this is.

Oh how Porthos loves the drawing it out, the way Aramis still takes his time. To Porthos, nothing between him and Aramis has ever just been about sex. There's the teasing and the admiration, taking their time, foreplay, flirtation. It all adds up to his want growing more and more intense.

By the time Aramis's mouth is on him, Porthos has to fight not to rut against him like a wild animal in heat. He has to fight to stay still and allow Aramis time to do as he wishes.

A hand rests in his hair at the back of Aramis's head and he feels that shudder race through him. It's a beautiful thing and the tremble seems to seep through to his own body as he feels his self shudder as well. "Ohhh your mouth, Aramis. Was made for such debauchery."

It was, wasn't it? Aramis smiles - internally - at the thought. His mouth has gotten him in his own share of trouble, both welcome and unwelcome, good and bad.

In answer, though, he flicks his gaze up to Porthos, letting his lover see how dark his eyes are, how his cheeks are flushed with want. Aramis knows he makes quite the sight and he's not above using that to increase the pleasure, to enhance the mood, because yes, this is about so much more than just physical intimacy.

Aramis finds that he very much enjoys making Porthos want him. Him and him alone. So, he will do all he can. He has learned to use his tongue, even the light scrape of his teeth, opening wide enough to let the head of Porthos's cock butt against the back of his throat, even fighting that urge to gag that is entirely new to just them.

He does all of that, his own groin tight to being nearly painful with desire. But he will be good. He will be good for Porthos.

Good doesn't seem the right word for how Aramis's mouth feels on Porthos's skin. Whether it's at his lips or his neck, his chest or his groin, it's perfection, it's ecstasy, it feels like it's his and just his. Aramis, who has always been with everyone else, is now his. Unlike those from Aramis's past, Porthos doesn't intend to let go of him.

What Aramis is to him is so much more. Were he a better wordsmith, he might could tell him so.

What Aramis does with his mouth only seems to get better and better the longer they're together like this.

The water is warm against his skin, warm without fire, unnaturally warm. But this, the most natural thing in the world, counters the strange heat of the water and evens it out. His fingers comb through Aramis's wet hair. He has to work very hard not to fuck Aramis's mouth like this. But eventually, he has to. He has to grip those silken strands and buck his hips, pushing into Aramis's mouth.

"Aramis. I cannot." He wants to fuck other parts of Aramis. "Stand with me."

With flushed cheeks, a sore jaw, tender knees, and an aching erection, Aramis leans back, to gaze up at Porthos even if he has to blink against the spray of water.

Ah, that he can inspire such a look of want. There is a most base sense of satisfaction at that. His hands still on Porthos's hips, he levers himself to his feet, leaning close for a kiss. God, he needs to taste Porthos's mouth, let Porthos taste his own pre on Aramis's tongue.

"Do with me what you will," he whispers, the words nearly lost in the raining down of water. There is nothing Porthos would do that Aramis would not welcome.

open || all for one and one for all

For Aramis

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject