Aramis (romantichero) wrote in the100, @ 2016-04-20 21:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, aramis, porthos |
WHO: Aramis & Porthos
WHEN: April 17th, evening. After they’re back from Storybrooke and settled.
WHERE: The Rose
WHAT: Talking out Storybrooke, a little awkwardness, a little of their normal flirting, figuring things out and where to go from here.
WARNING: PG, some dirty talk and a little swearing, that’s about it.
Porthos walked right past the tavern entrance on his first try. Distracted wasn't a big enough word. As fuzzy as everything from over there was, and as diverting as the last of the goblin cleanup nonsense had been, his head felt like it might spin forever. A priest! Bloody hell. Porthos wasn’t even a little surprised that he was still following Aramis around like a lovesick fool, no matter the world. And he'd never been particularly religious. But falling for his friend even when Aramis was a man of the Church was still laughably heretical even for him. Back at home, they'd probably want to execute him twice. He had to keep telling himself none of that mattered, though. They hadn't been themselves. And he hadn't hardly seen Aramis for longer than a minute since they got back. Porthos pushed into the tavern, hoping he’d find Aramis there, and breathed a sigh of relief when he did. He turned in saved rations for a pair of drinks at the bar and plopped down in the chair next to Aramis once he had them in hand. “You got started without me.” Should I be worried is what he wanted to say next, but Porthos took a swig of whiskey and smiled his squint-eyed smile. “You're not hiding an injury, are you? Nurses get cranky about that sort of thing.” Aramis wasn’t hiding persay, but he had slipped away from anything heavy in conversation out of desire for a quiet drink while he could get one. Things were chaotic enough, cleaning up after a rather large battle in their mountain and then with all of the memories of Storybrooke rattling around in his head, he… He honestly didn’t know how he was. Aramis was typically good natured, and could take a drink, tip his hat and move on with his day to anything. Magic, though? Magic, changing his very being. And yet he still ended up in the life - and arms, eventually - of Porthos. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. But he did need that drink to battle with his inner demons on a personal level. Porthos finding him wasn’t shocking, though he gifted his friend a charming smile and lifted his drink to him. “I thought I’d get a head start before you drink them dry, yes. No injuries to report of, outside of a headache that doesn’t seem to want to go away.” “Cheers to drinkin’ them dry.” Porthos knocked his glass against Aramis’ in toast. Old habits had him leaning into Aramis’ side, but he self-corrected, still staying close, just not elbowing into his friend like he would have three weeks ago. “Sorry bout the headache. Can sympathize, for sure.” Staring into his drink, Porthos swallowed a quiet laugh. All these years, he’d kept his feelings locked under the friendship, the bloody brotherhood, that kept his heart full even on the worst days, and some damn witch or something had gone and tipped him right over. He wouldn’t be able to throw together supper or clean one damn dish without thinking about Aramis’ mouth now, for fuck’s sake. It was maddening. No, the maddening part was how he was already catching himself staring at Aramis, worse than he ever allowed himself by far. Clearing his throat, he turned his eyes back to his drink and flashed a small, crooked smile. “Are we...are we alright? I don’t want to move, but if you need me to or you just want some space for a while, I can find somewhere else to sleep.” Aramis made his own subtle move, closer to Porthos. He tried to make it not-obvious, but he was practically starving for his friend’s touch. Going from having it nearly constantly in Storybrooke - even if it hadn’t really been them - to not getting it at all here was maddening. Almost as maddening as having all these memories of being a terrible, terrible Priest. There was never even any argument from him on how bad he would be at it. It had been a desire of his mother’s, for him to go that route, but Aramis was a much better soldier. And lover. He was far too passionate for the cloth, and that passion was constantly being reigned in by people like his mother. Still, on a spiritual level, it made sense, things had progressed and Aramis likely could have done a lot of good in a future removed from their century. Only that he still failed and managed to fall in love with Porthos, regardless. And was regularly sleeping with a married woman - another thing that wasn’t a surprise. But Porthos’ question was a surprise, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you worried I’m going to make you uncomfortable, or attack you? Because if you stick me with someone who snores obnoxiously or clips their nails on my bed, I might run my sword through you.” He paused, tilting his head. “No innuendo intended.” Porthos snorted, meeting Aramis’ squint with a dangerously warm grin. It was hard to wallow in his own head when Aramis was getting his back up and talking about his sword. Christ, he was attractive. “Nah. You never make me uncomfortable, Aramis. And I’m pretty sure I can take you, anyway.” The second the words were out of his mouth, Porthos remembered saying something similar to Father Rene. His grin stuttered. Telling himself to focus on what was important here - making sure they were okay - Porthos took another drink of his whiskey and nudged against Aramis with his shoulder. He leaned in close, dropped his voice below the din of the tavern, and watched Aramis’ face carefully for any hints on how he was feeling. “You didn’t answer my question. Are we all right?” Porthos whispered. Aramis choked out a laugh, and if the lighting had been any brighter in the Tavern, a blush might have been visible to Porthos as the red flushed up his cheeks. He knew he shouldn’t have kept up this … joking flirt. Whatever it was. But it was far easier to do that than it was to pout, which was far more Porthos’ thing than it was his own. “I’m fairly certain after the last few days, we are well aware of just how true that statement is, my friend.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. Too soon, too fast, too forward (the story of his life) and Porthos would no doubt reel back or become awkward, which is exactly what he did not want. Aramis would have been happy to simply move on, joke about it and then it would become a funny story later on - that was what they always did, wasn’t it? “We’re fine, of course. Neither of us were executed, which I would say is a feat on it’s own.” He grinned into his whiskey glass, before downing it. “And I can only imagine what Athos would have to say about it. Something shrill, no doubt.” Aramis dropped his voice down to a hiss and scrunched up his face in mockery. “Aramis, I cannot believe you fucked Porthos!” A blush didn’t need to be visible for Porthos to feel warm down to his toes. Aramis was laughing and flirting. He was downing his drink too, but he clearly wasn’t feeling...violated. Porthos didn’t realize exactly how worried he’d been until that moment, when he finally breathed easy, and his own laugh came out throaty. He flat out didn’t get flustered, but Aramis flirting could fluster him. Porthos stretched out one arm across the back of Aramis’ chair and tugged at his own collar with his other hand. “Fuck. It’s not like it was all on you,” Porthos smirked. His fingers were close to grazing Aramis’ back, but he kept them on the chair. “There was magic involved, for one. And hell, you were a bloody man of the cloth and I still--I mean I--” Shit, still was a telling word choice, and Porthos stumbled, searching for a way to finish his thought without revealing his feelings so blatantly. In the end, he smiled, embarrassed but not turning his gaze away. “--You didn’t exactly have to twist my arm, Aramis.” He gazed warmly at Porthos, trying to figure out how to put his friend at ease and coming up mostly flat. He didn’t know what to say that would make it instantly better - or what they should say, in this case - because he was still feeling unsure and trying his best to cover it up. The magic had managed to put up quite the stumbling block, but at the same time seemed to.. ease things in Aramis’ brain. Flirting was always one thing with them, and something that was always there, but never with the knowledge that there would be anything more. They both knew it. Only still- now things had changed. The world had changed. “No, but as you said, magic was involved. Worry not, Porthos, I have no intentions of drowning myself over this, nor do I have any real complaints.” Aside from being out of his own mind, he truly didn’t. “I’m simply thankful that I had the benefit of it being with you, of all people, given you’re the person I’m most comfortable with.” “Glad to hear it,” Porthos murmured, chewing on his lip. “I mean, if you’d drowned yourself over bein’ with me…” He’d bloody well off himself too, wouldn’t he? How could Porthos keep on knowing Aramis chose death over living with that memory? Instead of heading down that disturbing road, Porthos fixed on a tight smile and moved his hand from the back of Aramis’ chair to his lap. “...I’d have to seriously wonder how bad I am in bed, eh?” Porthos huffed a laugh through his nose. “Sorry, that’s about as morbidly inappropriate as it gets. I’m just--I’m glad too. That it was you. I’m not happy something was fuckin’ with our heads and that you had no real say in the matter, but I’m glad it was you.” Going for his second glass of whiskey, Porthos downed it in one long swig. A dribble escaped, trickled into his beard and down his throat, and he swiped the back of his hand across his neck to take care of it. He didn’t look at Aramis for what he said next. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he said it, here, in the middle of the damn tavern when Aramis has just said they were okay. Stupid oaf. But out it came, anyway - and with a soft, crooked smile at that. “In the spirit of clearing the air though...it wouldn’t have taken magic to get me there.” Aramis gave Porthos a look - not the sensual ones that normally cropped up, but an eyebrow raise, as if his eyes were saying ‘Porthos, really?’ His words were far more gentle, however, and he reached over to clasp a hand on Porthos’ shoulder, tightening his fingers with a firm grip. “Never because of you, Porthos. The entire thing, namely priesthood.” He was glad that his friend jumped on board the flirting train, however, because Aramis’ grin grew to a toothy laugh with that eh. “I think even God would have been impressed enough by your performance that he would have graced us leave of Hell, worry not.” How did he one-up it after that. He was still flushed, and still not sure exactly where they were to go from here. But Porthos words should have shocked him more than they did, right? Obviously. He should be reeling from that admission, but instead all he felt was … agreement. Pleasure. A tightening in his chest. To say that Aramis loved easily was an understatement, and was still something of a joke to some people but to him… to him, there were a few that were notable. Porthos. Anne. Athos. Even d’Artagnan in some way. Isabelle, Adele, Pauline- he’d had love for all of them, over the years, and none of it had ever truly gone away. Truthfully, as soldiers, he’d had plenty of what-if moments with Porthos, and brief pauses where something could have happened shockingly easy, had they not known they would have been executed if it was discovered. Not that it was a good excuse, given the treason of sleeping with and impregnating a Queen, but… But putting each other in danger was never an option. It was a lot of thought in a short amount of time, his pause only lasting a moment before he smiled warmly down at his drink, glancing up at Porthos through his long eyelashes. “No, it wouldn’t have for me, either.” Porthos threw back his head and barked a surprised laugh. “God-graced forgiveness for a good performance in bed? Fuck’s sake, Aramis. You really are the worst priest, aren’t you?” His laugh eased off into an amused, and relieved giggle. Which is about when he realized the whiskey was kicking in. Still, he was going to be needing more with Aramis agreeing with him. He’d expected a flattered smile at best, more awkwardness at worst. Now he was a little stuck as to what to say next. He bought some time by waving towards the other end of the bar for a refill of his two glasses. “Did we…” Porthos snorted another quiet laugh and turned sideways in his chair, knocking knees with Aramis. “...Did we just admit we’d sleep with each other by choice? I just--I don’t want there to be any confusion here.” He saw his glasses get filled out of the corner of his eye, so he grabbed for one and took a smirking drink, watching Aramis over the rim. “I mean, have you actually thought about it?” “I warned you! I warned everyone.” Aramis might have been protesting, but he was laughing as well. He knew what a terrible priest he made, though it was less about celibacy and more about his desire to not follow the bible as explicitly as the Church might’ve liked. There were too many rules, regulations, and he preferred to keep things simple. God loved, and God forgave, that was all Aramis had to know to believe, and still refused to spread the hate that so many members of the cloth did. Aramis leaned back in his seat, stretching, which caused his legs to move into Porthos’ space. Athos would be grumbling at both of them right now, half because of their flirting and half because it was actually taking on a tone of seriousness. God he missed that man - but now wasn’t the time or place to wallow over that. “Of course I’ve thought about it, I’d have to be blind and celibate not to think about it. Especially when you’re fighting someone with your bare hands. It’s a good look for you.” Without realizing it, his teeth grabbed onto his bottom lip and tugged as he looked over at his friend. “Have you thought about it?” “Hell,” Porthos smiled slow into his drink, darting his tongue out to wet his lips in an unconscious mirror to Aramis. “I’m thinkin’ about it right now.” He laughed, half the whiskey and half nervous energy escaping from him like steam hissing through a valve. His eyes cut over to Aramis, and the wild energy in them died down some. This was Aramis. He couldn’t really make a wrong step, right? Something still had the liquor in his gut churning, but there was a faith underneath that. He didn’t give a shit about religion most days, but this? Trying to make sure Aramis was happy and protected and laughing every damn day of his life. That was kind of its own religion, wasn’t it? “Aramis…” Porthos leaned back after Aramis did, finished off another drink, and hummed his name again. “Aramis. Is it weird that I feel like I missed sayin’ your name? Didn’t even know the damned thing, but still. I missed you. Somehow.” He huffed a half laugh, rolling a crooked smile Aramis’ way. “Gonna miss some of it, though. I had plans to make you about ten pies and do terrible, Confession worthy things in every room of your apartment.” Aramis barked out another laugh, but his blush was finally settling down as he got more comfortable with the conversation at hand. Or the whiskey started doing it’s work. Either way, he was always happy to keep up this level of camaraderie, especially with Porthos, and stopped second-guessing himself for once. Which had been more than most people probably guessed of him. Thinking of all the ways he could mess this up if it didn’t pan out. He often coasted by on the outside acting like nothing chinked his armor and bothered him, truly, but Aramis knew how good he was at messing up things that were important to him. Even if Porthos seemed like a sure thing-- What if? But he stuck that behind him, instead choosing to draw a deep breath and give Porthos the stare. “You know, René is my given name. I didn’t use it much, opted to Aramis fairly early for soldiering purposes. But there’s… that.” Just a little tidbit of information, and a name only his mother ever used for him in private. But he still did like hearing his actual name on Porthos’ lips. “What do you say to… Seeing how we feel about all of this in a few days? Once the dust has settled and we’ve got all of our memories sorted, figuring out what’s us and what’s back from Storybrooke? Then I’d likely be happy to point out the different rooms in our apartment at current.” Porthos was caught up in appreciating The Stare being aimed at him and rolling the name Rene around in his head with this new information attached to it, so he almost smiled stupidly right through Aramis’ withdrawal. It wasn't a physical withdrawal, but it was something like it. A flare of worry settled back into Porthos’ chest, but it didn't show on his face. Well, perhaps a little, in the way his smile got a little tight around his eyes and he shifted to give Aramis a little breathing room. “Of course,” he said. It wouldn't change anything for him. But maybe it would for Aramis. That sobering thought added a little more oomph to his words. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Aramis.” Porthos smiled, lifting his glass to his lips. It was the last of his liquor and he intended to cut himself off for the night, so he savored the final mouthful. Once he set the glass down, he reached into his pocket, winked, and pulled out a deck of cards. “In the meantime, how bout I trounce you at cards, eh?” |