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rainbowvamp · 2 years

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talking 'bout your daddy's farm we were gonna buy someday

24. Athos and/or Aramis

Athamis fluff and smut. Much more explicit than I usually write. this is your warning.

This is a prequel to the fic you read yesterday, and but the main fic posts tomorrow and whatever comes after tomorrow. I have all these queued and I’m not good with dates.

Title is not literal. More like just homemaking and fluff. I wrote sex for the first time in a hot minute.

warnings for mentions of alcoholism/unhealthy coping mechanisms

—

There aren’t very many nights when Athos doesn’t either turn to Aramis or a bottle to ease his mental anguish. This is one of the few nights where their dinner conversation has managed to quell the worst of Athos’ demons and they’re lounging on the couch, watching some baking show Aramis had promised Athos he would love but so far Athos had paid no attention to, in favor of reading a book for class and play with Aramis’ hair with his free hand.

“You know, if she hadn’t wasted so much time making the stupid little fondant people and put more time into the icing work, I think hers would be the best one.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Athos nodded without looking up from his book.

“You’re not even looking.”

“You knew I wouldn’t. I don’t know why you’re acting surprised. I’ve never enjoyed watching other people do things I can do myself.”

“You can make three tier cakes with fondant people? You’ve been holding out on me.” Aramis presses his head back into Athos’ chest, and Athos is glad he’d had the forethought to put the pillow behind his back to he wasn’t pressing into the unforgiving arm of the very nice but not very comfortable couch.

“I am a man of many talents.”

“I have no doubt. I’ve seen what skills your hands possess,” Aramis wiggled an eyebrow at Athos who smirked, moving Aramis’ own skillful hand back into Aramis’ own lap, stopping it from trailing up Athos shirt.

“Stop that. Watch your show. You hate to miss their sad faces when they don’t win.”

“That’s not true.” Aramis said, but his attention did suddenly become rapt on the screen when the tense who-will-it-be music began. “I like to see them support each other. When they’re happy for their fellow competitors. Compersion.”

Athos filed away the word compersion to look up later and returned to his book.

When the outro music plays, Aramis sits up and Athos’ hand trails out of his hair and down his warm back.

“Are you coming to bed, or do you want to stay up?” Aramis asked as he finally stood and stretched, languid and content. “Or I can run us a bath. It’s still early.”

“Nothing with eucalyptus. It gives me a headache.” Athos said and Aramis grinned and disappeared into Athos’ bathroom. Athos finished his chapter and by the time he got up to get his things from the bedroom, Aramis was relaxed in the bathtub, the bathroom door open, with a glass of something in his hand and another glass on the bathroom counter for Athos.

It’s sweet tea with a bit of lemon, one of Aramis’ left over loves from his brief stint in the American south with his father. Aramis doesn’t favor the drink, but it reminds him of Athos, and so he suffers it.

(There is very little actual suffering.)

Athos decides to hell with it and forgets going to get clothes. He goes straight to the bathroom and strips under Aramis’ watchful eye.

“Front or back?” Aramis asked, and Athos took a second to consider it.

“Back. I already spooned you on the couch.”

Aramis sighed happily and his knees became visible above the water as he spread his legs to make room for Athos. “I was hoping you would say that.”

It’s a good thing they’re at Athos’ apartment because neither of them are small men. Athos sinks into the tub and then back against Aramis’ who immediately wraps his arms around his, hands settling on his hips. Athos leans his head back against Aramis’ shoulder and Aramis kisses his jaw. They indulge in the warmth of the water and each other until Athos starts to shiver, his chest still exposed to the air as the water started to cool. When Aramis feels this takes the bar of soap from the holder and dips it in the water, lathering it and tenderly soaping Athos’ skin with his bare hands. Chest, shoulders, arms, stomach. Lather again, thighs as far down as he can reach. Then he rubs hard circles into Athos’ shoulder, working the knots that form when Athos spends all day at his desk. His posture is always too tight, and it leaves him rolling his shoulders and aching.

Athos groans when Aramis hits just the right spot and Aramis smiles, smirks, kisses his shoulder.

“Remind me to write poetry to your hands,” Athos smiled and turned his head to kiss Aramis’ shoulder.

“Hmm, along with the poetry you owe my cock?”

“I never said I was going to write it. I said you were the sort of thing Romantics write poetry about.”

“Are you not a romantic?”

“Not with a capital R.” Athos hums as Aramis runs his thumb over his sternum. “Or a lowercase one. I just like you for your body.”

Aramis laughed while Athos smirked.

“You’re a very good liar, but that was terrible. No believability.” Aramis kissed his shoulder again, cupped his hands in the water to bring it up and wash away the soap from chest, shoulders, arms. “Lean forward so I can get your back.”

Aramis worked soap over Athos’ back and dunked his head into the water to get his hair wet. Just to tease he shook it out and sprayed Aramis behind him when he sat back up, Aramis’ laugh ringing in the bathroom around them.

Aramis’ fingers are like magic in his hair, all warm and slick through well soaped hair. Aramis tilts his head back and so gently rinses Athos’ hair, keeping shampoo filled water from running down his face and getting into his eyes.

“You can’t rinse my hair with the soapy bath water.” Athos says this only when the his hair is finally rinsed.

“I can. I’m doing it. You’re just going to have to live with.”

Athos made a soft disapproving noise that he didn’t feel in his heart and laid against Aramis chest while the man started to wash his own arms and neck, the exposed parts of his chest not covered by Athos’ back.

“Athos, budge up so I can wash my chest. Then you can come right back.” Athos did as he was told, leaning forward and reaching for the shampoo that he knew Aramis would need soon. Aramis spent far too much money on it, but it made his hair smell nice and when he was away on business or came home late, being able to steal a bit of it made him miss him less.

What bubbles had formed at the top of the bath had all disappeared, just traces of white along the edge of the tub and around their exposed knees, too thin to even be called foam.

“You know, one day I won’t have to keep two bottles of this around, one for my place and one for yours.”

Athos hums adjusting to Aramis can sit up and get a better vantage to wash his own hair. “And one day I’ll go to therapy and work on my commitment issues.”

“Promise?” Athos said with a laugh. He never took Athos seriously when he said things like this. Probably because they’d been in an open relationship for the better part of five years.

“Mmm,” Athos said without any commitment, making them both smile and huff soft laughter. “And don’t forget to scrub behind your ears.”

“Yes sister Judith.” Aramis said with a sage nod and Athos rolled his eyes.

“Were the nuns terribly cruel to you, my dear Aramis.” The last is said with too much of a joke to be taken seriously, though they both knew it wasn’t untrue.

“Oh, always. I was terrible trouble.” He smirked and pressed a kiss to Athos’ neck. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Know that the nuns were cruel?”

“Know that I’m trouble.”

Athos had known what he meant, but he sometimes had to indulge his lover in his whims and flights of fancy.

Athos moves up to pull the plug on the tub and pulls the shower curtain so he can start running the water to rinse them properly. Aramis starts to complain but stops when Athos determine that the water is the right temperature and turns the flow to the shower hear, hitting Aramis in the face.

“You’re a terrible, awful man. I don’t know why I put up with it.”

“I imagine it’s got something to do with my poetry.” Athos stands and let’s the spray wash over him, also blocking it form hitting Aramis.

“Mmm, something like that.” Aramis gets to his knees, shampoo still in his hair and presses an open mouthed kiss to Athos’ bare thigh. Athos slicks Aramis’ hair back, taking the lather that had started to slide towards his eyes off his forehead and sending it backward.

“Don’t tease.”

“Who said I was teasing?”

“You still have shampoo in your hair. You’re teasing.”

Aramis pressed another kiss to Athos’ thigh, closer to his groin, his beard, soft and wet from the shower, brushing the skin that was becoming more sensitive with each expert touch.

“You’re not teasing.” He says, taking a shaky breath, Aramis tongue tracing a grazing line up his not entirely flaccid cock, kissing where the base turned to soft curling hair.

“I never tease.”

“Liar.”

“I never tease without eventually intending to deliver.” He massages Athos thigh, pressing a kiss to the head, swirling his tongue softly around just the tip and kissing his thigh again.

“Do I need to remind you why this is a bad idea?” He asks, a sharp inhale from Aramis’ teeth gracing his hip bone.

“No. I never listen.” Aramis reaches for Athos’ dangling hand and lays it with obvious intent on the back of his own head. Athos fingers curling into the still soapy locks and hisses at the soft pressure being applied to his entrance.

“I did miss some spots, you know.” Aramis murmured as he mouthed down the side of Athos’ cock. Wet finger just barely teasing around the rim of Athos’ hold.

“God. Aramis.” Athos is very well aware that sex in the shower is dangerous, but he can’t seem to muster a protest as his cock fills under Aramis’ expert kisses, and eventually licking and sucking, hollow cheeks and warm mouth as welcoming as they every are.

Athos forces himself to watch not the motion of Aramis’ head bobbing over his cock, but the trails of soap that keep threatening to drip down Aramis forehead and into his eyes. He slides them away, always, before they have the chance to sting.

Aramis hums around his cock and Athos feels his orgasm start to build. “I am going to torture you when we get out of this damn shower.” Athos said through gritted teeth as a wet finger pressed at his entrance with no intention to insert, just to tease.

For a brief, almost unforgivable, second, Aramis slips his mouth from around Athos cock and grins up at him, shielded by Athos from the majority of the spray of the shower, but still having to blink water droplets out of his eyelashes every few seconds. “I look forward to it.”

Aramis bit down on Athos’ hip, sucking a bruise into the skin before Athos pulled him away by his hair. Aramis needed to further invitation and returned with complete enthusiasm to the task at hand, tongue, lips, and hand working in tandem to drive all thoughts from Athos head.

Only, there are no thoughts that need to be driven away. There is only soft memories of shared baths and warm happiness in his mind tonight, and maybe that’s why the orgasm comes on so quick he can’t warn Aramis except by tightening his grip on the other man’s hair involuntarily. Aramis pulls back to let Athos cum join the spray from the shower head on his face, stroking Athos’ cock through the aftershocks and directing every spirt towards his face and neck.

When Aramis stands, knees almost certainly aching, Athos turns them on his own wobbly legs and tilts Aramis’ head back, rinsing the soap out of his hair before gently wiping away the cum in the shower spray. He pulls Aramis in for a kiss that tastes like his sex and finds that even though he’d just had an orgasm, he wants more.

“Easy there. You promised me torture.” Aramis teases, pulling Athos close enough to feel the press of Aramis’ insistent hardness.

“And I mean to deliver.” He kisses Aramis again and Aramis turns the water off and leads Athos to bed, towels haphazardly dabbing at wet skin and hair.

#athamis #aramis #athos #musketeer march but in may #the musketeers

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