#cataree

"Am I to understand you don't want to be woken up like that, again?" For all of the gentle teasing behind it, a part of Athos was always unsure of his advances, as if he still couldn't believe that Aramis would delight in them. Their relationship was still new and - in Athos' mind - fragile, and he found himself fretting over the slightest little thing, like Porthos with his fledglings. 

Yes, Athos knew that Aramis loved pastry, but was it too imposing to hunt down a baker and request his favourite treat? Had Aramis ever heard the whispered words of wonder against his forehead when Athos was sure he was asleep?

When Aramis begged harder, how hard was too hard? Athos didn't want to hurt him - although he was getting rather good at evoking that particularly needy whine when he bit at the inside of Aramis' thigh.

There was an unhappy little noise near Athos' neck. "If I had more energy, I would scowl at you. I am not saying that!" 

Athos' smile, when it came, was silly with happiness, as it was every time he managed to get something right. Aramis' chin nudged into Athos' sternum as he tried to peer up at his face, and Athos wasn't quick enough at wiping his expression.

In a scrambling of sweaty limbs that had Athos protesting quietly, Aramis had straddled him, their noses touching as Aramis grinned.

"We should do this more often, I like that smile."

Athos tried to control the twitch of muscles in his cheeks, but Aramis pressed his face into one with a victorious laugh, and Athos couldn't help but join him, the sound bubbling and joyful.

It sounded strange coming from his own mouth, but he didn't have time to ponder it when Aramis started giving him gentle, almost feather-like kisses.

Which was around the time Athos realised he was being bribed.

"What," he asked flatly, but couldn't help himself from returning the nibbling at his lips, the taste of Aramis - sweet and tart, like spiced syrup - addictive.

"As it's such a hot day, I thought, perhaps, we could go to the river?"

Athos gave into Aramis on a regular basis, so why Aramis always tried so hard to persuade him, Athos didn't know. He wasn't complaining, mind.

"I don't see the harm in that."

----

The harm was clear, as clear as the water that Aramis was currently splashing around in.

Athos was sat on the bank, the grass beneath his toes - Aramis had manhandled his shoes off - and the long limbs of a weeping willow tree above him. It was shady, and cool, and peaceful, and yet Athos was feeling anything but.

Perhaps he had been caught up in afterglow when he had agreed to this, embroiled as tightly into Aramis’ wishes as their hands usually were, but Athos had sensed trouble the second that they had scouted an area for their impromptu picnic.

Aramis was that trouble, Aramis with his bouncing brown curls, his swiftly discarded shirt, the sly little look tossed over his shoulder when his fingers played with his jeans, and the accompanying, “Shall I take them off, mon cher?”

Athos was fairly certain he was well within his rights to tumble the gorgeous man to the ground, but for all he knew Aramis would encourage it, Athos still wasn’t comfortable with that level of public affection.

Or any affection, really; he was still learning. 

And so Aramis - without even one glance around the empty banks - started unbuttoning his jeans, and it was the gleam of sunlight on slender hipbone that had Athos suddenly praying to Aramis’ god that he had a pair of fucking boxers on.

He did, and they were Athos’.

Aramis was harmful in his perfection, simply being was harmful, because Athos didn’t think hearts should pump that fast or a man should be quite so bloody attractive.

And that was before he had swan-dived into the river like some beautiful bird, surfacing to cast Athos the sunniest grin and invite him in. The water glimmered on Aramis’ tan skin as if he were made of amber, and Athos’ heart the fossilised thing caught inside.

It was hot - and growing hotter - but Athos couldn’t quite divest himself of his dignity just yet, he wasn’t a swim-in-the-river type. What if somebody stole his shoes or something? He shook his head, Aramis pouted, and then they both turned at a splash from further up the river.

Athos’ eyes narrowed, a ball of fire starting in his chest, as green as the leaves that kept him in the shade. If he prowled to the water’s edge, he told himself it was because he wanted to dip his feet in, and not because his attention was rapt on the approaching interloper.

They called some greeting, Aramis replied in his usual friendly fashion, and the rush of the river kept much of the conversation from Athos’ ears. Aramis’ laugh threaded through the sultry air, an aphrodisiac if ever there was one, and the effect it had on the stranger was obvious.

A noise escaped Athos’ throat, a low sort of growl, but before he could do something drastic, Aramis said goodbye, and took his time peeking at Athos. “Stop glaring and come here.”

“I’m not glaring.”

Athos surprised himself, he was sounding, well, childish, and he wasn’t sure why. Aramis seemed to find it funny, though, so Athos strolled a little closer, mindful of any mischievous sparks that might enter those warm, brown eyes.

Aramis hauled himself up onto the bank, his arms crossed beneath his chest, his legs kicking lazily behind him as he leaned up for a kiss. Athos glanced around just once, and then he lowered onto his haunches, his fingers cupping Aramis’ chin until Athos was the only thing keeping him balanced. Their kiss was soft, sweet, but Aramis’ slow smile was far too smug. “Jealous, were we?”

Athos let go with a little push at Aramis’ chest, and sent him flopping back into the water, embarrassed that the little flaring in his chest had been exactly that. Still, Aramis had teased him about it, not gotten angry, and Athos wondered whether he had done something right. Once again, he didn’t hide his expression quick enough,and Aramis reared out of the water like a particularly delighted kraken.

Aramis was dripping wet, and Athos immediately settled into a defensive stance. “Don’t even think about it, Aramis.”

“Think about what, mon cher? The two of us, in the water?” Aramis’ mouth curled at one edge when Athos’ gaze slipped to follow the sparkling trails down his abdomen, but he yanked it back up again when Aramis’ thumbs fiddled with the sodden waistband of his boxers.

It was a ploy.

Athos had half a second to appreciate the slender length of muscle launching at him before his world tilted and suddenly became a lot more damp.

The bubbles frothed about his head, his clothes weighed down with water and, eventually, Aramis, who latched about him like said ship-destroying beast, apparently intent on dragging him down to the depths.

Athos broke through to the surface with a gasp, his hands safely wrapped around Aramis’ waist, focused only on keeping him aloft rather than worrying about being watched. Athos found his footing, barely, and lifted a leg to perch Aramis on his knee. “I’m still in my jeans, you little bastard.”

Aramis’ lips crashed against his, the words mumbled and wet. “I can help you with that.”

With Aramis’ hands twining about his neck, Athos overbalanced again, and they went under, the sound of Aramis’ laughter forming bubbles against Athos’ skin.

Despite the coolness of the river, Aramis was warm to the touch, scalding when he wrapped his legs around Athos’ waist and joined them at the hip. The push at the zipper of his jeans almost had Athos choking in freshwater, and so when they emerged, Athos pulling Aramis with him, his storm-worthy glare was mostly hidden by his hair.

Aramis swept it back, fingers gentle as he played with Athos’ hair, and Athos forgot to be angry when everything seemed so idyllic.

Naturally, that was when his brain worked against him. “What did that man say to you?”

Aramis didn’t hesitate, his nose coming to nudge at Athos’ as he replied. “He asked about you, actually, whether I knew that I had a brooding shadow at my back.”

“What did you say?” Athos asked uncertainly, realising that must have been when Aramis had laughed, light and carefree.

“I said you were my brooding shadow, and that we had claimed this part of the river.”

Athos ducked his head to smile against Aramis’ chest, joy burbling like happy trout through his veins as he held Aramis close. Possessiveness, it seemed, ran both ways. 

“Now,” Aramis murmured against his ear, his lips hot against the cool skin, and Athos found that his entire being was focused on the sunbeam in his arms. “What are we going to do about these jeans?”

Athos stood firm in the riverbed, refusing to let them fall beneath the water even when a hand slid down his stomach and Athos was lost in a river of love that Aramis kept him anchored in.

There was something to be said for lazy days.

--------

Inspired by,