It was Aramis' birthday and they were all out drinking. That's all they did it seemed, they drank.
d'Artagnan won a duel, they went out to drink. Porthos won some money in a card game, they go for drinks. Aramis tasted the fruit of his labor after wooing a girl he had had his eyes upon, and they went out for drinks.
Athos, well Athos was always the one they joined for drinks. It seemed like that guy was always just there wherever there were drinks to be had.
It was an ability Aramis had decided he would have to learn.
Today's excuse was Aramis' birthday. It was a fine excuse, Aramis thought, one that should be getting him more than just a few more drinks. The attentions of a particular curly haired musketeer, for example.
He however was at a loss at how to get the man to notice his interest. Aramis knew that Porthos would welcome it, but wouldn't ever take the first step, leaving that to the confident charmer that was Aramis.
And Aramis was done waiting. He wanted Porthos, and he wanted him now.
That was why after having a few drinks and sharing a few laughs with his friends Aramis discreetly lay a hand on Porthos's elbow and said, "All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me."
Athos grinned into his glass, and d'Artagnan coughed to hide his splutter of laughter. They had noticed his blatant staring at Porthos throughout the night. Aramis only had eyes for Porthos though.
Porthos looked at his friend, his eyebrows coming together in an adorable confused look. "Friend, is something affecting your eyes? Did that lady from before slap you harder than we thought?"
Aramis groaned. He tried again, looking at Porthos through lidded eyes, seductively. "No, I wanted to tell you… where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation."
Porthos looked at Athos. "I don't think Aramis is feeling right." He out a hand on Aramis' brow and Aramis leaned into the touch. "Yea, he's getting hot. He might be coming down with a fever."
Athos just nodded sagely at the bigger man. "Aye." D'Artagnan smirked and Aramis shot them both a glare.
How was this not working? By now any girl would be a puddle at his feet, gibbering nonsense about wanting him. Porthos however seemed oblivious to his charm.
He thought for a moment, and mentally went through his armory of great lines, he settled on his favourite. He pulled on his best Stare and took Porthos's hand in his own.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Porthos looked at his glass and frowned, unhappy. "Look man, you know I don't like talking religion. I get that you are on good terms with God, but He and I don't look eye to eye on many things." Porthos extracted his hand from Aramis's grasp. "I'll get us more drinks."
He left the table and walked away to the bar and Aramis let his head fall on the table with a frustrated sigh. "What is wrong with him?" he moaned.
"Alas that love, so gentle in his view, should be so rough and tyrannous in proof." d'Artagnan said, and Aramis looked up to find him staring at him, nodding sagely, before his face split into a shit- eating grin.
"Sod off, you two," he grumbled staring into his cup dejectedly.
"Love is blind, and lovers do not see the petty follies themselves commit," Athos offered. Aramis looked at him, betrayed
"You too? Why aren't you sitting in some corner brooding?"
"This is far too much fun, that's why." Athos and d'Artagnan shot each other a grin before sobering when they saw Porthos making his way back, four glasses balanced in his hands.
"Maybe try for something more direct?" d'Artagnan suggested quietly as Porthos sat down, taking pity on the hopeless idiot.
Aramis thought for a moment. Maybe, maybe d'Artagnan was right. The other three raised their glasses and drank but Aramis fixed Porthos with an intent gaze, the man's full lips catching his attention "You have witchcraft in your lips."
Porthos spat out the wine he had drunk, spluttering and spraying spit and wine all over d'Artagnan who sat across him. "What!" he wiped his lips furiously "Am I hexed?"
Aramis groaned and covered his face with his hands while d'Artagnan tried to calm Porthos down. Athos started giggling uncontrollably until Aramis kicked him under the table to shut him up.
D'Artagnan had managed to get Porthos to sit down again and not go charging at the unsuspecting innkeeper with his sword for hexing him by telling him that Aramis was just jesting with him. Porthos looked at the forlorn musketeer angrily. "What is wrong with you, fool? Do not jest about such matters!"
Aramis looked at him, helpless. "Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, love, not for such contempt…?"
Porthos just shook his head disgustedly and drained his cup.
Athos leaned forward. "What our friend has been trying to say throughout the evening is that he rather fancies you and would like you to kiss him."
"Also he would like to go down on his knees and take your cock in his mouth and suck you dry." D'Artagnan added and Aramis choked on his drink.
"Then he would like you to take him to the nearest empty place and fuck him raw." Athos finished, reclining in his seat, staring smugly at Porthos.
Porthos looked in surprise at his friends before turning to Aramis, who looked through his mortification, hopeful that maybe, just maybe the message had gotten through. "Well then, why didn't you just say so?"
Aramis spluttered, but was prevented from replying by two chafed, warm lips capturing his in a hot, demanding kiss.
After that, no words were really necessary.