Aramis is still clinging on to Porthos's neck after he has demonstrated how much he has mastered French kissing. Porthos isn't complaining at all. The way Aramis's lips suck on his ear and his earring is making him all hot and bothered on the booth. He can't help hissing a little when he feels the tip of the other's tongue on his skin.

Porthos knows better than to moan too loud in the pub, even though given the noise and the music, he wouldn't be heard. He keeps Aramis close to him, one arm around his waist, clutching his shirt and his fingers rubbing through the fabric.

He's pleased to hear the low gasp coming from Aramis at this. It's only an encouragement to continue.

If he could, Aramis would climb on Portho's lap, would get better access to all the hot flesh of his neck and the small spot of chest he can glimpse down the collar of Porthos's shirt. But then, he isn't sure it would be appreciated by the owners of the establishment.

So he settles for worshipping and tasting as much of what is available to him. One of his hands gets tangled in Porthos's hair, a soothing and calm sensation compared to how his lips glide, nibble and bite, just a little bit at first. And when Porthos tilts his head and seals Aramis's lips with his, Aramis actually whimpers in delight at the tongue in his mouth, gladly lets it in.

Porthos feels like he would easily lose control with that man, so open, so ready and obviously so in sync with what he desires. The hand he's been rubbing over Aramis's waist moves lower, rubs the other's thigh roughly.

Aramis's cry is muffled by their kiss, which only picks up pace. It's getting a bit sloppy, they're fighting for air when they eventually have to part. He's flushed, so is Porthos, but they're also smirking.

"You were right," Porthos concedes, watching Aramis intently as his hand keeps on rubbing, so close to his groin that Aramis is panting. It's difficult for him to focus. He wouldn't change a thing.

"About?" he manages to ask. He lets go of Porthos's hair, much to the other's disappointment, to reach for his forgotten beer and takes a big sip.

"You are talented."

Aramis grins once more, returns his fingers to Porthos's neck, rubs the back of it. He presses closer to his side, their legs touching, no space between them at all.

He briefly glances around, content to realize nobody is paying them any mind. Still.

"You have only seen the tip of it."

"Or have I?"

Porthos is clouded by desire and excitement and clearly not thinking straight before talking. It takes a few seconds for Aramis to understand. He cocks his head, and then snorts when he gets it.

"That was a terrible one!"

"I know...Got you to laugh, though, which is a nice sound."

"Now, don't get all cheesy on me." Later, maybe. Aramis agreed to the drinks and all that followed because he's extremely attracted to Porthos. The attraction is mutual. They'll worry about feelings another time.

"Yeah, not the task at hand, you're right. So...what else have you got?"

Porthos brushes his lips to Aramis's, the hand he has on his thigh moves to his ass, pushes him closer. Aramis comes willingly, their legs hook under the table.

"So many, many wonderful tricks but I fear most of them would ban you from that pub. And I'd hate for that to happen."

Porthos can only agree. Yet, his fingers dip underneath Aramis's shirt, catch the hot and smooth skin there.

"Can't you tell me instead?"

"I'd rather show you."

Porthos finally gets his payback as his companion puts his hand on his jeans, fingers trailing up and down his thigh. He has to close his eyes at the sensation. It seems to him that he's ready to combust. He's dying to take some clothes off.

His brain is somehow foggy so it's rather difficult to make a decision for what is to follow. And all his efforts are completely annhilated once Aramis gropes him through his jeans, his fingers closing on his groin and white spots of ectasy appearing behind his eyelids.

So the decision is made for him.

"Come on," Porthos urges, downing the remainder of his beer, waiting quite patiently in his current situation for Aramis to finish his.

It's cool and windy in the street. A relief after all that heat inside the pub.

Aramis breathes out loudly, takes out a cigarette and lights it.

"Do you want one?" he offers Porthos. He refuses, shakes his head. "I live two subway stations away from here, by the way," he adds once he's checked his phone.

There's nothing subtle about it, even though Aramis is acting as casual as ever.

"Would you invite a stranger into your house?"

"I wouldn't really call you a stranger. Even if, it's true that I do believe you know more about me than I do about you. Crash course?"

Porthos snorts, has to bury his hands in his pockets so he won't reach out for Aramis and push him against a wall for another kissing session.

"I'm 30. I own a gym. I love dogs and I hate cucumber. When I was younger, I wanted to become a palaeontologist because of Jurassic Park. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I like reading. More?"

"Nope. You had me at the loving dogs part."

Aramis grins, motions for the other to come to him. Porthos does as he's asked.

Their kiss smells like tobacco this time, and Porthos still comes back for more, slides one hand in the back pocket of Aramis's jeans. He pulls him towards his body until they're pressed together and the apparent erection in his pants brushes Aramis's.

Porthos has no idea who moans the loudest.

"You've been granted access to my house," Aramis decides, has to stop grinding against Porthos to get moving.