bakerstreet | hold me close

[ it's freezing — aramis does not say this lightly. he survived the fields of savoy, if only barely, but the silence of the snow surrounding them and that they are caught in the middle of the country, three days worth of riding from paris — he won't let himself dwell on it, but it is reminiscent of savoy. it means there is dread settled low in his gut that even the cold cannot seem to contain fully.

no matter — they've prepared a fire and aramis has pulled a blanket from his saddle bag; the only one they have. at least, he thinks, d'artagnan and athos are in paris and likely warm. ( the thought is accompanied by a not inconsiderable amount of envy. ) ]

Seems we will have to share. [ the blanket, that is. ]

[ aramis has been uncharacteristically quiet. porthos had at first believed his silence a consequence of the cold, but as the night progressed and the snow started falling, porthos understood; he's been on enough retreats out in the country with aramis to pick up on patterns. marsac's sudden reappearance, porthos had thought, scowling, probably hadn't helped the circumstances pacify any of aramis' ghosts, either.

winter had struck them all at once — they hadn't prepared for the possibility of it, having brought only a blanket to lie on but not to pitch a tent with, and no extra clothing besides to keep them warm. even with the fire, it's despairingly cold; the chill seeps through porthos' leathers and clothes, freezing him. it's wretched enough that porthos doesn't refuse aramis; he's not stupid enough to turn down extra warmth, no matter how much aramis kicks in his sleep. porthos grunts an affirmation, shifting over to give aramis space and reaching for the blanket, already resigning himself to wake to a few bruises come morning.

still, he puts in a token protest, injecting as much mirth as he has the energy to in his voice to soften the blow. ] I'd almost rather freeze to death. I wager at least then I won't feel any pain.

[ perhaps any other time, aramis would take offense, or some mockery of offense, in porthos considering his silence a blessing. right now, and with his mind in the past, he could scarcely muster up the energy to feel offended — or perhaps that is the cold, or some combination of both. he cannot quite bring himself to care enough for the introspection, either. ]

Athos would be quite cross. Not to mention the Captain.

[ as though it needs the threat of their friend and leader, or of captain treville, so make porthos do the sensible thing and share warmth. aramis is certainly cold enough that the indignity of hudding close to his taller friend seems worth it. it won't be the first time they've shared space. ]

[ not a blessing, far from it — a cause for concern, more like. porthos had tried his hand at distracting aramis from his thoughts in all the usual, unsuspecting ways: cards, games, mindless chatter, and drink, but as the evening wore on and the chill had settled in, all porthos had to show for his efforts was halfhearted participation and an uneasy silence.

but perhaps porthos can help aramis in this way. it's a small comfort, sharing body warmth in the cold, but a comfort all the same. porthos draws the blanket over them both, throwing an arm around aramis' middle to draw him close, chin tucked securely atop aramis' head. mind your cold nose, aramis. ]

Cross? [ he laughs, low and warm near aramis' ear. ] They'd be furious. Frozen together like this, we'd be a chore to carry away.

Edited 2014-03-28 03:44 (UTC)

[ there is no need for concern — or so he would claim, and porthos would do well to ignore any such claim for the deflection it is. he'd appreciated the distraction, he had; it just hadn't been sufficient to truly take his mind of the matters that weigh on it and so his participation had been slow and his smiles uneasy and forced.

there is something to be said, perhaps, for the warmth of porthos' body pressed against his, porthos' arm around his middle. aramis tries not to press closer, but it is instinct and it eases something inside of him. here is porthos, warm and undeniably alive, not a ghost of savoy.

the laughter by his ear is further proof of it. ] Perhaps they'd light a larger fire, to thaw us.

[ but he'd rather not speak of death. it's too close to the forefront of his mind already. ] What wouldn't I give for a warm stew and a bed in an inn right now.

[ he wonders if the shivers he can feel through the barrier of their clothing are because of the cold, or savoy. porthos welcomes aramis closer regardless of which.

aramis' hair is very soft where it grazes his throat. normally it would baffle porthos that it still can be, when they've been on the road for so long, but now, porthos narrows all his attention in not succumbing to the urge of brushing aramis' hair back away from his skin, or laughing from the tickle of it. as it is, there's a slight edge in his voice when he speaks. ]

We'll go hunt in the morning. I'll catch us some stew and you chase down the bed, hm? [ there's no chance of them finding good food and an inn to stay at any time soon -- it's still a day's worth traveling until they hit a town, or civilization -- but he can wish. maybe God will finally send them a miracle on this forsaken campaign. ]

Edited (gdi sorry!) 2014-03-30 18:53 (UTC)

[ must it be a choice between the two? if so, aramis himself would not have been able to tell porthos the reason for it — though if asked, his answer would most certainly be that it was because of the cold. he does not like the effect that the lingering ghosts of savoy have on him, nor does he like to admit it.

where porthos' distractions until now had failed to take hold and reach their intended goal, this now falls at least on more fertile ground: there's an undertone of longing in aramis' voice, admittedly, but he is playing along more than he has until now, and in a more heartfelt manner than the bravado and facade he'd kept up earlier. ] That sounds like a plan worth pursuing.

[ his voice is only slightly muffled but grows more so as he shifts, incidentally ( or deliberately ) putting him closer to porthos still. ]

[ maybe it is the cold that has made him slow, but porthos is only beginning to realize how close they are, now that they've more or less settled. aramis is certainly pressing closer than propriety would allow — maybe even more than the cold warrants. but there is something fragile about aramis tonight that porthos dislikes, so porthos sets his jaw; who gives a damn about propriety in a time like this, anyway?

(he shoves down the little part of him that tells him his gladness for proximity is unwise, for reasons other than the warmth that comes along with it; surely porthos has earned this comfort. the voice is halfhearted anyway, and easy to ignore.)

porthos twitches at the touch of aramis' cold skin to his throat, but subsides with a slow exhale. maybe it wasn't such a stretch to claim the others would have to thaw them apart after all. ]

Sleep first. I can't feel my fingers now, much less shoot worth a damn. [ his fingers flex against aramis' back. even with the gloves, they're stiff with cold. ]

[ they are closer than propriety allows, certainly, but then aramis has never given much thought to propriety to begin with, or when he has then in the context of how to circumvent it. he doesn't do it deliberately, precisely — it is more that he follows his heart and his desires when they are true.

aramis believes in a god who would not judge anyone for love, a god who is not cruel.

he doesn't question now why they are so close; what matters is that it helps. porthos is larger than life, more warmth than the merely physical heat his body provides right now. he still cannot bring himself to smile without it feeling forced, but the thought of the next morning no longer feels quite so far away, so unattainable. ]

In the morning, then. [ if his breath ghosts over porthos' throat where his skin is bare, he does not turn away. ]

[ aramis' god is a kinder one than porthos is accustomed to. in a court of beggars and thieves, lowborns and whores, porthos had grown up in cages fashioned from stricter principles than the ones aramis followed, out of necessity in order to survive. ( it is one of the reasons why he left — so that he might never again have to deny a part of himself against his own will. cages outgrown, but it is harder to unlearn some things than others. )

porthos' shivers at the brush of breath against his throat; he won't be able to hide it from aramis, as close as they are. he curses himself. it's been but a few minutes, and aramis in contrast seems wholly untroubled by their closeness while porthos cannot even pretend the same. it is inappropriate of him to be — savoy hangs over their heads like a looming thundercloud. aramis' mind is elsewhere, no doubt, and likely exhausted with all the unwanted reminiscing it's done tonight.

the thought of that softens him, pushing everything else to the back of his mind. this is more important. ]

Yeah. [ his throat feels stuffed with wool, more gravel than honey in his voice now. porthos ducks his head to press an affectionate kiss to aramis' hair, movement buried in a slight rearranging of limbs. ]

[ aramis would not want to believe in a god that is not kind, that is not love. surely god would not be cruel; cruelty and the petty are of the human realm and all too common there, but so is the good. aramis is, at heart, an idealist.

( he has seen a lot, but he has not seen the same things porthos has. )

aramis notes the shiver. how could he not? he notices and it brings with it an awareness that had not previously been there: of their proximity, of porthos' body pressed so close, hard lines of leather over muscle. are you cold he almost asks, but that would be nonsensical. of course porthos is cold; asking would not answer what aramis wants to know: did porthos shiver because of the temperature, or something else entirely?

the awareness is sudden and unexpected, but it is not entirely unwelcome. neither are porthos' lips to his hair, though aramis cannot be entirely certain that is indeed what he felt, the rearranging of limbs masking some of it. ]

Porthos — [ there is a questioning note to his voice, and a hint of breathlessness that is new as well. ]

[ damn.

there is a question and dawning realization in aramis' voice. porthos could lie -- it is not too late for him to do so, to pretend the kiss and all that had led to it had been but affectionate gestures from a concerned friend (which is truth enough, but not the entire truth).

perhaps he had overstepped his bounds with the kiss. but it is a familiar enough expression between friends; then perhaps his wants had been too obvious, even where porthos had tried to repress them.

frozen for long moments that seem to stretch on for ages, porthos' hands tighten around aramis' waist, then loosen all at once. the breathlessness in aramis' voice doesn't go unnoticed, but breathlessness from what -- surprise? disgust? -- porthos doesn't know. gently, he begins extracting his limbs from aramis'. ]

Sorry. [ the word sounds ripped out of him, rough with its unfamiliarity on his tongue; he is not sorry often but for the important things. he is sorry he could not hide himself better at a time as inappropriate as this one. ]

Don't.

[ aramid doesn't specify. don't apologise or don't move away is what he means, but porthos might take it differently and the silence before the apology, the sudden stillness of porthos who is movement and life and warmth, that is more telling than any confession could have been.

it is not proper, but aramis has never questioned his desires too deply and right now, he knows with absolute certainty that he does not want to lose porthos' presence and proximity. does he desire his friend? perhaps — he is almost certain, now that the possibility is suddenly laid before him. is it selfish not to want porthos to move away when his warmth was what drew aramis away from memories of savoy in the first place? most definitely, but likely not only.

still he doesn't clarify what his word meant; he does however settle a hand on porthos' arm and push it back around his waist.

don't leave. ]

[ the suddenness of aramis' response is more of an initial surprise than the nature of it. porthos' hand stills again, mid-way from pulling away from aramis' waist.

porthos releases a breath that shakes, held in for so long in anticipation of aramis' response that his head spins in relief. it is acceptance, however temporary. aramis will not turn him away or rebuke him tonight. whether it is because of the cold, or memories of savoy, porthos does not care to think on it; he would much rather bury his face into aramis' hair, rewind his arms around aramis to hold him tighter to porthos so that the chill and the ghosts alike might not reach aramis. ]

Alright. [ they'll sort it out in the morning, then. porthos grimaces at that thought, closing his eyes to it. for all he wishes for morning to come chase away the cold, he does not look forward to the undoubtedly awkward conversation that will follow. ]

[ aramis would not judge his friend for this even if it were not reciprocated in some manner. has he not himself slept with the cardinal's mistress, with the queen — considered more natural, perhaps, but no less inappropriate than any affection between him and porthos that might go beyond friendship or the brotherhood they share with all musketeers.

it is his time to shiver now when porthos' arms return around him, when porthos presses his face to aramis' hair and aramis finds his head resting against porthos' chest once more. there's a certain comfort there, just as before, but now there is more. ]

Thank you.

[ again he does not elaborate. perhaps in the morning they will need to talk; perhaps they will never bring it up or only when they are drunk. aramis is not so sure he will be willing and able to let this go, however, without pursuing the possibility further.

how had he never considered it?

and so perhaps it is deliberate when his lips brush porthos' throat when he speaks. ]

[ in any other circumstance, maybe those where porthos is not so involved, porthos might've laughed— a thank you? it seems absurd to him that aramis should thank him when it is porthos that has so irreversibly overstepped his bounds, had made his desires known where they are not wanted, nor welcome but for aramis' kindness.

it only reminds him how tasteless they are at this time, how shameful he should feel. he's settling in to sleep with those thoughts, finally, when aramis' lips brush porthos' throat. ]

Don't.

[ this time, it's porthos' turn. his breath has quickened in his chest, telling if not for the warning edge of anger in his voice— what is aramis playing at, surely that had to be deliberate— surely he'd know the effect that would have on— aramis is testing porthos, perhaps, to confirm what porthos has already made known.

perhaps if porthos plays it off as a mistake, like they so often do, it'll be less devastating for him come a time where they'll have that talk. it won't feel so serious then; they can mutually agree to forget to mention it, except as a passing joke. porthos clears his throat, injecting as much humor as he can into his voice. it falls flat. ] Do that again, and I won't be such a gentleman.

[ is it so absurd to thank him for chasing away the ghosts of savoy that have haunted aramis all evening, unwittingly or not? he does not think so, and equally it is not kindness that prompts him to remain so close to porthos. it is not kindness, nor pity.

aramis draws back — an insubstantial amount, but still — at the sharpness in porthos' voice, but while there is humour in his voice when he answers, his face is deadly serious and it carries into the undertone of his voice. ] That seems only reason to repeat it.

[ his own heart is beating faster now; aramis loves this. the uncertainty of courtship, the challenge and thrill of it — and perhaps he should stop to consider what he truly feels for porthos before he goes further, but with savoy heavy at the back of his mind, he does not wish to stop to think. introspection is the least of his desires tonight. ]

[ porthos loosens his arms enough to let aramis draw back, enough so that porthos can look him in the eyes; there is no jest in them as he speaks, nothing porthos can see as telling of insincerity once he gets over the initial shock of surprise that manifests as his heart tripping into beating like a rabbit's, catching in his throat, making it impossible for one moment, then two, to speak.

so aramis had meant that. meant what he did, and means what he is saying now. it is almost porthos' tipping point; he finds himself swaying closer to touch his forehead to aramis' despite himself, wavering on the edge of— something.

—but he cannot, should not. aramis' offer is a blow to his willpower, the most powerful yet, but porthos has honor and some sense of self-preservation besides; he knows his friend better than anyone, recognizes the look in aramis' eyes for what it is. desperation isn't what porthos wants from aramis. he is not a man of much self-control, but this is too important for him to risk for some fumbling, unfelt, meaningless distraction from the cold.

when porthos finally speaks, his voice is as mild as he'd ever heard it, but he feels in his bones a stirring lightness. hope, maybe. he shakes his head a bit, perhaps to rid himself of that feeling. they are both so unsure, and it would be so, so unwise to let himself hope for something that is unattainable tonight, and might be lost to him tomorrow. ]

I don't want you to think any less of me for taking this-- [ porthos gaze is momentarily drawn to aramis' mouth. porthos flushes as he continues. ] --while you're grieving. [ he hesitates here, but only barely. ] In the morning, if you're still interested, we'll do it proper. Yeah?

Edited 2014-04-01 19:50 (UTC)

Damn you — [ is only a breath, let out slowly and with barely any voice behind it, and certainly no heat to back up the curse. aramis understands what is stopping porthos: not a lack of wanting but a compassion and understanding for aramis' mindframe that is honourable and the opposite of what aramis wants, or what the less rational part of him wants.

he knows porthos is right; that is half the reason he is cursing.

for all that a curse is his immediate reaction, though, he does not move away from porthos in the slightest, lets their foreheads lean together, his breath caught in his throat if only for a moment at the touch of porthos' thumb to his lip. the cloth of his glove feels rough.

aramis is grieving, it is true, caught by old ghosts he has not yet managed to lay to rest, but he is aware enough of it not to mean the curse and not to take porthos' words for something that they're not. ]

In the morning, then.

Ha. [ more breath than laugh, but with that curse, some of his humor returns to him. porthos grins, bright and relieved — not wide enough as his usual, perhaps, but he is affected, so some excuse should be made.

affected enough that he considers throwing all notions of honor to the wind and leaning in to close the nothing space between their lips; it's a fleeting thought, but porthos still has to close his eyes to keep himself from chasing after it with action. dragging in one calming breath, then two, porthos leans his forehead away, tucking aramis more securely to his chest so that he might rest his chin atop aramis' head again like before.

just a moment ago he thought he'd driven a wedge in their friendship that could not be removed; it dizzies him that he will be going to sleep tonight with aramis still in his arms, and the promise of a better morning. savoy's ghosts would not be so bold as to follow them then. ]

hold me close

porthos | the musketeers

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no subject

i sure switched accounts since writing that tag don't mind me

two aramis's at once, what a blessing

i have entirely too many accounts for him already it's more of a curse

out of all the problems we could have, too many aramis's wouldn't be of them

certainly not. though there can never be too many i'm sure

exactly :')

also let me gently love on your porthos adsfkj

asghdfhj my kingdom for your aramis, bb

clings!!!

:* :*

these two asdfljha ugh

asdFGHJ stupid boys

DARLINGS claws at face

WOW OKAY i am screeching

I HAVE BEEN THIS ENTIRE TIME

COLLAPSES

SCREAMS

flops uselessly like a beached fish