|Aramis (retiredrogue) wrote in blackpoint,|
@ 2015-05-11 16:15:00
Ocean Grill Vallarta was the number one rated restaurant on Tripadvisor, which wouldn’t have been enough to make Porthos remember the name if it weren’t for the hundreds of pictures of the ocean spread out beyond the outdoor dining area. It wasn’t like they didn’t see plenty of ocean in Hawaii, but still. A great view was a great view. Porthos sat back in his seat, arm stretched across the back of Aramis’ chair. He’d insisted on sitting next to him instead of across, but that was nothing new. He never could figure out why people insisted on sitting as far away from their date as possible. Then again, twenty years together and he was still eager to keep Aramis as close as he could get away with in a public place.
“I only have half an idea what I just ate, but it was delicious,” he murmured, patting his belly. This trip had already reminded him that he should probably have learned Spanish by now, but eh. He selfishly enjoyed using Aramis as a translator. And there’d always been something hot about not knowing most of what Aramis was saying when he slipped into Spanish. He knew the dirty words, so really, that was enough to get by in his book.
Porthos smiled lazily, tangling his fingers into the hair at the base of Aramis’ neck. “Can you order us more drinks or do you want to tell me what to say and I can bumble my way through it?”
“Mmmmm,” Aramis mumbled his agreement, mouth formed to a contented smile. His eyes were closed, perfecting the look of a satisfied kitten that just had a delicious meal, but it wasn’t long before he was looking at Porthos again, eyes roaming where they shouldn’t be in public - nothing out of the ordinary for them. He had a hard enough time keeping his hands in appropriate spots, but managed to contain himself to just reaching out to run a hand through the curls forming at the nape of Porthos neck.
“Surely you’ve learned how to order a Margarita by now, Porthos.” He had no real objection to ordering drinks, other than the fact that it would involve him moving. Instead, he was happy to stay there and lean in, placing a kiss on the hard-set jaw next to him.
Their view was perfect. A table right at the edge of the restaurant, a gentle breeze coming off the water that was several feet below them. A angry, feminine voice carried across the waves from the other end of the balcony, and Aramis’ eyes drifted over to where it came from, eyebrow raising as he noted two middle-aged men crowding in on a lone, visibly angry waitress. “On second thought, maybe we ought to order a round of drinks for some new friends.”
Porthos shrugged, smiling crookedly when Aramis kissed his jaw. He started to turn towards him, fully intent on pulling Aramis into his lap or kissing him properly, until at least the table full of women behind them blushed. But Aramis’ attention being elsewhere drew his own gaze to the men and he frowned.
“Hm. Order of round of somethin’ for ‘em anyway.” Stretching back out in his chair, Porthos looked deceptively nonchalant as he let out a high-pitched whistle. The two men turned their heads and he flashed a sharp-edged smile. “Oi! Why don’t you two stop harassin’ the lady?”
They didn’t seem to appreciate that advice. One puffed up his chest a bit before pointing at Porthos. “Why don’t you mind your own business?” he sneered back. Porthos was a bit disappointed to find out he was American. If he was going to pick a fight, which seemed likely with that return, he’d rather have beat up an Englishman. Still, he scratched at his jaw and rolled his gaze towards Aramis.
“What do you think, love? Mind our own business for the first time ever?” he smirked, one hand already flexing in anticipation.
His grin only grew as Porthos taunted the men, and he leaned back with an air of casualness that was only displayed when he knew Porthos had things well-in-hand. Both of them did, even, but Porthos was always remarkable to him when Aramis just got to watch. In this case, while he would have been happy to see Porthos lay them all flat (and knew that his lover could absolutely do just that with ease), sometimes it was more fun to join in.
Voice rising, Aramis waited until the group was ignoring them again before calling out. “Come on now, you could just make this easy for yourselves and do as he says.” They looked back at the Musketeers-in-question with even more anger on their faces, clearly not as amused as Porthos and Aramis were by this turn of events.
The older one flipped Aramis off and shouted in return, “How about you fuck off, old man?” Aramis somehow managed to not laugh at him, and turned to Porthos, expression of mock-insult clear on his face. “Can’t let people think we’ve gotten old, you know. We have an image to keep up.”
Porthos narrowed his eyes at the bloke who dared to call Aramis old. He was the only person allowed to tease Aramis about his age, and only because he countered it with dozens of adrenaline junkie stunts and athletic bedroom activities.
“Definitely can’t have that,” he agreed, climbing to his feet with an encouraging hand at Aramis’ elbow. His free hand grabbed for their glasses, snatching them up by the stems. “And we do need refills, anyhow.” Assuming Aramis would follow, Porthos stalked across the patio and stopped next to the men who were back to demanding free drinks in exchange for alleged poor service. Being the type of ex-cop who watched everything around him, Porthos knew for a fact that the server had done her job, and with a smile no less. That smile was gone now, of course, and Porthos mentally snarled at the injustice.
“You really want to let this go.” he said quietly, leaning past one of the men to set his drinks on the bar. He smiled at the waitress and then turned a hard stare on the man who’d cursed at Aramis. “Take your business elsewhere. Better yet, take your sorry arses back to your hotel and sleep it off.”
Aramis followed at a more leisurely pace, letting Porthos do the big talk while he took in the surroundings quietly. Making sure the group had no friendly supporters in the crowd was paramount to Porthos’ well-being, and also Aramis just liked making people feel more at ease. They did, usually, after he bestowed a friendly smile and quick, light word of compassion.
His attention turned easily to the waitress. Likely local, she was young (not young enough that he felt dirty for the smile he gave her that held an edge of flirting), and building up to boiling anger at the men Porthos was beterating.
"Mis disculpas por la interrupción, mademoiselle. No tuvimos ningún deseo de pisar los dedos del pie, solo que mi amante y yo no puedo cumplir con la rudeza de los demás." The Spanish came easily to him, more traditional than what they spoke in Puerto Vallarta, but smooth and unhurried. Aramis’ smile grew when the waitress looked impressed, and then finally smiled at them in return, reserving her dirty looks for the men bearing down on Porthos.
He wasn’t sure what they were most angry at, the fact that these two strangers took it upon themselves to impede their rudeness, or that the new strangers were clearly charming the crowd and waitress to their advantage. Aramis, having leaned in to the waitress (Francesca, her nametag said) and was brushing a hair behind her ear at the same time as the assholes were taking a swing at Porthos. “Porthos--” Just in time, he reached out to push his partner-in-crime to the side.
Porthos would be the first to admit that he got distracted. Watching Aramis calm the woman, nonverbally and in Spanish, was distracting. Even if he only got ‘toes’ and ‘lover’ and something about being rude out of what he actually said. He might have blamed that fact if the warning and push didn’t slide him right into his instincts like it always did. Rolling with the shove, Porthos dodged the punch and threw one of his own. It was a kidney punch, which kept him out of the way when the second man took a wild swing at Aramis, but instincts took care of that too. He shoved the first guy into the second and watched them bounce off each other before elbowing away to face the pair of Musketeers again.
"Disculpe," Porthos said to the waitress, using some of the little Spanish he knew and a hand over his chest to convey his apologies. “This lesson is probably gonna get ungentlemanly. But…,” he added, turning a wolfish grin back at the man opposite him, “...we’ll pay for the mess.”
With that said, Porthos grabbed a drink off the bar and threw it in the face of his opponent, blinding him to the gut punch that followed.
Porthos might have rebounded quickly, but that meant it was Aramis’ turn to become distracted. Porthos throwing punches always had a way of making him starry eyed. Thankfully, though, he was pulled out of his small daydream by the flash of a bottle being swung in his direction. What Aramis lacked in brute strength, he made up for in being exceptionally quick. Dodging, he glanced down as the bottle smacked on the bar, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
“I think you were aiming for my head there.” Aramis scolded, bringing his elbow up to smash with a sickening crunch against the man’s nose. “Porthos, what do you think? That these gentlemen could go for a swim?” With a charming grin, he bestowed a look full of love and promise (for later) on his significant other. Before he could get distracted - it was easy when Porthos was involved - he nodded toward the balcony over the calm waters below.
The lackadaisical chiding made Porthos laugh, even as he hooked an arm around his opponent’s neck and the man cursed up a storm. He patted the idiot’s head, shushing him. Between the look on Aramis’ face and the adrenaline, Porthos was already giddy on his favourite natural high. Aramis’s brilliant suggestion only added to it, encouraging another laugh as he dragged the man over to the railing.
“You know, I think you’ve got the right idea, Aramis. A bath is just what these two need.” The man scratched at Porthos’ arm and tried to bite him, which might have impressed Porthos under different circumstances. But since the bloke failed to cause any damage and immediately resorting to swearing at the waitress about suing, these weren’t those circumstances. Taking a quick look over the railing, Porthos verified that there was nothing but harmless water there, and a wooden platform nearby with a ladder. Conscience satisfied, he twisted to lift the man up onto his shoulders.
“Now, now, stop yellin’. Just take your medicine and learn your lesson,” he grinned, glancing over to Aramis before he made the last step to toss his baggage over the edge. “Waitin’ on you, love…,” he teased.
“You make it look so easy,” Aramis grumbled in return, snagging the unruly customer next to him by the scruff of his neck before the vagrant could make an escape. Pinching forcefully, he pushed the man towards the railing, only faltering when he was greeted with a string of vulgar cursing.
Pausing, Aramis glanced around at the crowd that all seemed to be watching them as they made a spectacle of themselves, Aramis gave it a full minute before turning back to the man in question. “Your mother clearly didn't teach you manners. I’d ask you to apologize to these nice people for using such language around them, but I doubt you’d listen. So,” With a casual shrug, Aramis acted as if he was almost just going to let them man go, even going as far as turning away slightly before he suddenly reached out to push a great deal of weight against the man’s chest, sending him over the railing.
Turning back to Porthos with a grin on his face, he brushed off an invisible speck of dirt from his shirt. “Happy Birthday to me.”
The man on Porthos’ shoulders twitched and kicked, but Porthos just tightened his grip and watched Aramis put on a good show. He didn’t need to be reminded of why he loved Aramis - there were too many reasons, after all - but it was enjoyable all the same. His peacock and his flair for the dramatic. God, he was beautiful.
Porthos smiled, slow and wide. He tossed his twitching combatant over the side without another word. Because really, how was he going to follow that act. There was a squawk of outrage and a splash, naturally, but Porthos was already ignoring everything but Aramis. He stepped into Aramis’ space and fisted a hand into his shirt.
“Happy Birthday to you is right,” he growled happily, pulling Aramis into a kiss. Some commentary erupted around them, good and bad, then a scattering of applause. Porthos smirked against Aramis’ mouth before pulling away to murmur against his ear. “If we don’t end up in jail over this, we should get back to the hotel as quickly as humanly possible. I’m gonna regret liftin’ that arsehole later and I want to thank you properly for being you before that happens.”
Aramis was grinning by the time Porthos’ mouth was on him, hands reaching up to firmly grasp his hips to keep the bigger man in his personal space even when he leaned away slightly. With a hum, Aramis glanced back at the bar and the waitress they’d made such a disruption over. She was laughing and cleaning up the mess the other men had made, and Aramis turned back to Porthos with a raised eyebrow.
“We did offer to pay for the damages. I think if we get ahead of your pulled muscles by making sure you’re properly stretched and massaged, it’ll go a long way, love.” His heart was still beating a little fast, adrenaline still pumping through his body. Aramis leaned in with a seductive hum, kissing along Porthos’ jaw. “But the sooner we get out of here, the quicker we’ll be able to pretend we’re on the run as fugitives.”
Barking a deep laugh, Porthos hooked an arm around Aramis’ waist and turned for the bar. He was already imagining a good rub down, and maybe turning this fugitive bit into an excuse to tie Aramis to the bed, but his easy-going expression didn’t give any of that away. “I love how your mind works. Let’s give ‘er some money and make sure everything’s fine enough to make a run for it.”