PORTHOS DU VALLON + ARAMIS
SPARRING ON THE BEACH LEADS TO FEELINGS TALK
PG | COMPLETE
There was apparently a party down the beach. A lingerie party even. Porthos had realized nearly a little too late, but managed to find a spot for sparing along a quieter stretch of sand. The moon lit up the area well enough to spar. Even if it hadn’t, they’d fought under worse conditions. The beach had added a bit of challenge already, sinking and swallowing his booted feet as he stalked a wide circle around Aramis.
“You gonna keep your shirt on? Don’t want you complainin’ if it gets a little bit of blood on it,” he taunted, eyebrows raised. He pulled his own off as he moved, tossing it off into the sand. His blood still felt a little hot. Which wasn’t particularly fair. Aramis had just been being Aramis - comfortable with telling a man he’d been practically in a relationship with for the last two months that he should go sleep with another person and tell him about it after. It wasn’t Aramis’ fault that Porthos would’ve rather just kept things as they had been in that weird other world.
Porthos dropped his eyes away from where they’d lingered on Aramis, kissed by moonlight and as frustratingly pretty as ever. “Tryin’ to decide if the boots should go too…”
“I don’t think you want me complaining about sand in my boots or blood on my pretty shirt.” It was one of those obnoxious floral design ones, that he had purchased on a whim because someone told him it looked good. As vain as Aramis was, he was easily talked into such things, and yanked the pink hibiscus shirt over his head to toss to to the side.
Boots next, he toed them off and tossed them over, shifting his weight around in the sand. “And, of course, it should be even. Can’t have you stepping on my toes in those things,” he pointed down at Porthos shoes as he stretched a little, eyeing his fellow Musketeer with a dark gaze. He had no predictions on how this would go, but he wasn’t completely blind to Porthos’ mood. All that really did was serve to make him both wary and turned-on, though, knowing he was about to have some aggression taken out on him in the way Porthos knew best.
Porthos snorted. If he’d had his sword, he’d have pointed at it Aramis for dramatic emphasis but he just kicked off his boots instead. He had some new clothes he’d picked up since they got their heads back too - the jeans he was wearing, for one - but he’d been hard pressed to give up the boots just yet. He’d spent a pretty bit of coin on them back at home. And coin wasn’t something he was generally swimming in. Once the boots were carefully set aside, he stalked back out into the sand, medallion swinging from his neck.
“Don’t wanna hear you complain at all, you know. Are you feelin’ soft after two months of the easy life? Should we stick to wrestlin’ just in case?” Porthos could hear the little bit of temper in his own voice. It should’ve been aimed at his own dumb self and not Aramis, but now that he was making fists and lifting them half in front of his face, it was a little inevitable. “Better make up your mind quick.”
“Not wanting sand in my boots doesn’t make me soft,” Aramis scoffed, wrinkling his nose. He squared himself off, toes digging delightfully in the sand as Porthos was readying himself. The fact that the bulkier man was so ready to fight made him falter, just a bit, and his eyebrows pinched together.
Aramis might have been oblivious at times, but it was at least clear something he did annoyed the other man. If he took their conversation at face value, it was that he pushed too fast after their previous lives. Even if he hadn’t been bothered by all of that - why would he? Rene had a damn near perfect life and had felt satisfied in every way because of Isaac - that didn’t mean Porthos had felt the same about all of it.
That left the possibility of Porthos being upset at just how close they were there, adding feelings to the measure of occasional-sex was a step further than they ever took it at home. “My mind’s made up.” Porthos wouldn’t have realized that was directed at the both of them, as Aramis moved forward with his own hands at the ready, jumping forward to take the first swing.
Porthos dodged and readjusted his stance. The sand was a bigger challenge than he’d given it credit for, but it might come in handy if he decided to fight dirty. For the moment, he just flashed his feistiest grin, and kicked a little sand towards Aramis. Not getting distracted by how good Aramis looked like this was going to be the real problem.
“Good. I’m in the mood to mess you up a little.” With that as a warning bell, Porthos lunged forward and swung one fist after the other.
Aramis dodged the first fist but took a stomach full for the second, and doubled over with his hand on his hip, sucking in a breath. It wasn’t the hardest hit he’d ever taken, but Porthos always felt like he had lead in his fists, so it took him half a second to dodge from any other hits before finally readjusting himself to go at Porthos from another side, the side he knew his friend neglected, usually.
Not quite ready to go for the knees yet, Aramis dug his toes in and tried to stay planted, so he wasn’t toppling them over. “Usually when you’re in the mood to mess me up a little, it means you’ll make me sweaty in a different way. What changed?”
Normally, Porthos would be a little smug at just the one hit. It was part of the way they did this on good days - toying with each other and grinning between swings. Swaggering around to get each other riled up. And it wasn’t a bad day really. Just...frustrating. But Porthos still frowned at Aramis and gave him a little shove.
“You encouraged me to make someone else sweaty,” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say it, only think it. Still, it was out there now. He sank into the sand a little too much in his distraction and he shrugged a shoulder as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Figured this was the next best thing.”
Aramis let his brow wrinkle, eyebrows coming together in an annoyed fashion. He didn’t normally let things get to him, and the shove pushed him further away from Porthos. “I apologized for doing that so soon after the portal had messed with our heads.”
And yes, Aramis could be oblivious, and was oblivious in this case, but since their “fight” still seemed to be going on and Athos wasn’t there to stop him, Aramis dug a heel into the sand and pushed off, charging at Porthos to knock him off his balance. When they were flat on the sand, Aramis sitting on Porthos’ chest, he let his annoyance fade away to puzzlement as he looked down at his friend. “We used to encourage each other at home frequently enough.”
“Oof,” Porthos grunted as he was knocked on his ass. He was too distracted trying to come up with a misdirection for this conversation, otherwise he would’ve reacted faster to all of Aramis’ I’m going to try and tackle you tells. The sand didn’t offer as much cushion as it should so it took a few seconds to get his breath back to normal.
“I know,” he mumbled petulantly. “Alright? I know. I just...got my head mixed up and I’m bloody cranky about it, that’s all.” Grabbing Aramis by the arms, he lifted his hips and rolled hard to the side, hoping to flip the pin. Regain some of his equilibrium.
Porthos was stronger, Aramis knew it. But the sniper could hold his own against his friend, knowing all of his weak spots. That left them wrestling in the sand, until Porthos got the upper hand and Aramis was flipped with a grunt.
“I can’t,-” He wrapped a leg around Porthos thigh and tried to leverage his body back over, unsuccessfully. “Make it better,-” Another grunt, another attempt with the other leg. “If you don’t talk to me.” Still unsuccessful, Aramis took a different approach, grasping at Porthos’ arm in an attempt to push it behind the larger man, fingers drifting across skin as he pushed in.
Porthos may have been stronger, but he didn’t have Aramis’ flexibility. He could generally bash his way out of a lot of problems. Aramis would never be that kind of problem. Even if he did punch him anyway sometimes. He tried to unwind himself from Aramis’ hold, but he mostly got them further tangled. This would be a lot easier if that made Porthos angry instead of distracted.
“I don’t need you to make it better, Aramis,” Porthos growled. He twisted, trying to regain the use of his arm, but he ended up rolling to a shoulder instead. Their legs were still coiled, so he squeezed his thighs together to keep Aramis’s legs immobile. “There’s nothin’ wrong with how things are.” I know where I stand, he thought, but thought better of saying out loud. “We're good,” he said instead.
Good obviously meant sinking into the sand, and doing a poor job of wrestling when they could have been fucking - if there wasn’t a party going on nearby, anyway. Aramis was still frustrated, his face not having smoothed out and breath coming in pants now as he worked against Porthos’ brute strength. God help him, he wanted to just lean in and kiss off the growl from Porthos’ face.
Instead, he got an elbow in on his friend’s side, not hard enough to do more than make him back off slightly, and give Aramis a way in to break his friend’s hold. He was tempted to elbow Porthos in the stomach for the pang of hurt he felt at being told nothing was wrong--
But nothing was wrong, was it? Rene had been thinking seriously, which wasn’t a surprise to Aramis. Home, more could never happen between the two of them. It wasn’t practical, and they both knew it. But here… Maybe Porthos was right. Maybe this was it for them no matter where they were. Now his own mood was sullen, and Aramis shoved away from his larger friend to regain some footing. “Good, then.”
Frowning childishly, Porthos gave Aramis a return shove and rolled away. There was sand under the waistband of his trousers and it grated. A more poetic man might have done a bit of waxing on about the metaphor there. Porthos preferred flicking a little sand Aramis’ way.
“Don’t go gettin’ in a mood now. I was tryin’ to get out of mine.” He sounded uncertain even to his own ears. Maybe a devil-may-care smirk would help. It was worth a try anyway. Reaching back for Aramis, he tucked his fingers into one of his pockets and tugged. “Come on. Come here, will you?”
It really didn’t take much to get Aramis back into a good (or slightly better) mood, and Porthos had an upper hand in all things when it came to that. With a little sigh, he allowed himself to be tugged forward, and ended up with his knees pressing up against Porthos’ thighs, hands only coming up so far as one of Porthos’ belt loops.
“Is this how it’s always going to be? Even here?” His chin was down, and he was quieter now, as if he’d been thinking far too much. “Something happens, I say something stupid and you punch me to get it out of your system, and then we have to apologize and things are always a little different after?” He yanked on Porthos a little. “Not that I don’t love when you manhandle me, but I get just as turned on with talking about it, too.”
Caught off guard by Aramis’ candor, Porthos stopped tugging and raised his eyebrows. His voice turned quiet, barely audible over the distant sound of waves, and water lapping at the sand.
“I guess that depends on exactly how you want it to be,” he murmured. He knew it wasn’t precisely fair to drop that all in Aramis’ lap, but it was hard not to try. Cowardice, though, wasn’t his style. Porthos sighed and rolled to his side to look at Aramis straight on, propping his head up on his hand.
“I was feelin’ clingy after Breck and tryin’ not to be. So gettin’ nudged towards someone else’s bed put me in a shit mood.” Porthos swallowed and shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sayin’ you gotta feel the same way, just...maybe hold off on expectin’ me to act like we weren’t practically livin’ together?”
Aramis frowned a little, his face quiet from movement as he tried to figure out where this conversation had went. Not where he had expected, given he had assumed Porthos was just distancing himself or angry because of how they were in Breck. So the opposite being true changed all of that, and made him shut up for once.
“I’m sorry,” He was, and sincere, as he went from tugging at Porthos to patting him gently on the bare arm. “I assumed you were trying to forget everything in Breck, and annoyed because I seemed so… okay, with it all.” He stopped patting and rested his hand against Porthos. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I liked our lives there.” His eyes went searching into Porthos’ dark ones. “Our life together.”
“Yeah?” Softness in Porthos’ face wasn’t all that rare around Aramis, but the tiniest bit of optimism gave it a new flavor. “So what you’re sayin’ is, you were keepin’ a few things to yourself too,” he teased. While he wasn’t willing to read too much into what Aramis was saying, it did soothe his stubborn heart.
“It was nice. The life, not the secrets,” Porthos smirked. He rolled to his back and covered the hand Aramis had rested on him, tender but easy. There were plenty of stars to lose his gaze in so he did just that. “I--he wanted to ask you to move in for good. And being so out in the open there--it’s funny how you get used to life’s little miseries. Had never so much as let myself daydream about a life like that. With you.”
“Perhaps,” Aramis was coy, his eyelashes fluttering a little as he smiled. The smile shifted to a glance of surprise, Aramis turning sharply so he could raise his eyebrows again. “Oh?” Okay, moving in together - well, given Rene had wanted to do just that, and had made excuses for staying over with Isaac…
Aramis huffed out a laugh, and dropped his head down to Porthos’ shoulder. “He would’ve said yes,” the confirmation lifely wasn’t needed, but was there regardless. “We’re Musketeers are heart, but both of us have always wanted connections like that, haven’t we? It’s not exactly a surprise with you being the person I’ve cared for most throughout the years. I, on the other hand,” His hand squeezed Porthos, “have only ever let myself daydream about a lot of things.”
Porthos turned his head to press his nose into Aramis’ hair and linked their fingers together to hold Aramis’ hand to his chest. It was a little too sappy, but he risked it. “Yeah. Never plan on givin’ up soldierin’ but...home and a family?” He shrugged, not nearly as cavalier as he hoped. Aramis could usually read through that rubbish, anyway. “Who doesn’t want someone to share a home with, to comfort and find joy together...?”
As he trailed off, Porthos turned his eyes back up to the stars. “You’ve been the family I picked for myself for long enough that it’s no wonder at all that it chose you.”
Aramis almost felt silly, knowing he had went on his own soul-searching journey, leaving the Musketeers behind. He had lost the opportunity (he’d never had it, really) with a family back home and had never been the best at coping. All along, Porthos had been there for him, when as much as he was pained to admit it, Anne could never be.
“Likewise, Porthos.” Aramis pulled their joined hands to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Beach sex is always uncomfortable, so carrying me to a bed is probably the safer option, you know.” He paused and looked back up at the sky that Porthos was staring at. “Unless you want to keep staring at the sky and listening to the party over there.”
There was a masochistic part of Porthos that wanted to argue with that likewise. To bring up the Queen and Aramis’ son. He very nearly did, just because he was on a roll of spilling his thoughts and feelings. Aramis’ lips touching his skin pushed back the urge, thankfully. Porthos grinned and rolled to perch over Aramis on his hands and knees.
“Carry you, huh? Lazy arse,” he teased. Just like that, he pushed back and onto his feet, bent over and tugged Aramis to his feet. “Come on, then, Trouble. Don’t make too much racket when I carry you past all those kids in their knickers.”