Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The shop was warm. Porthos wasn’t really enjoying the date he was on, but the shop was warm. He had very over-sweet carrot cake and very bitter tea. He was trying to politely pay attention to Dijon instead of dozing. He’d had qualms about going out with the man he fleeced at Beggar My Neighbour at Constance’s party, but Constance had seemed to think it was a great idea. She’d been drunk at the time. He’d also just cheated at cards at her party and caused a bit of a ruckus. Porthos looked at Dijon, who was sat with his legs very neatly crossed, hands around a huge mug, fingerless gloves, draped in a fancy scarf. He’d been talking for a good twenty minutes without pause.
“...so you’ll agree. How’s your tea? You haven’t drunk much,” Dijon said. Porthos had really zoned out he had no idea the subject. Before his tea was it. He took a sip.
“It’s okay. It’s quite bitter,” he said.
“It’s oversteeped,” a man said.
He just sort of appeared. Porthos had been watching the room, this man was sat over by a window with a small-ish child, last Porthos noticed. Now he was stood by their table, hands on his hips, eyes on Porthos’s mug.
“Huh?” Porthos said.
“Oversteeped.”
“How do you know? You don’t even know what he’s drinking,” Dijon snapped.
“Everything is oversteeped here. You have to ask for a pot, and get them to give you the leaves separately. What is it?” the man leant over Porthos’s mug and sniffed. “Jasmine?”
“Yeah,” Porthos said, enjoying himself for the first time. The man flourished. He added flourished to every gesture. Even the way he stood was a flourish. “You some sort of tea expert?”
“I absolutely am!” the man said, eyes going bright with happiness at the idea.
“Do you work here?” Dijon asked, reaching for the tray he brought their things over on, clearly hoping to get rid of this brand new entertainment.
“No, no. Just a concerned citizen. Shall I go get you better tea? Give me the mug, I’ll say you complained and I am saving their honour and reputation.”
Porthos handed over his mug willingly, watching the man stride to the counter. The shop server started laughing at whatever he said, reaching across the counter to smack the man’s shoulder. The mug was accepted back, and moments later Porthos’s tea saviour was sallying back, hips swaying, a tray balanced on one hand. He put down a pot, and a tea infuser, and a small plate, and a new mug.
“The water should be cooler, for Jasmine. They haven’t got a thermometer,” he said, pausing to exchange incredulous looks with Dijon and Porthos as if this was inconceivable. “We’ll just wait a few minutes for it to cool.”
They all watched the pot. Dijon cleared his throat a few times and made some indistinct noises that indicated he might start up on his conversation again, but Porthos was enjoying this interlude too much and ignored that. Soon enough, the teapot lid was being lifted (with a flourish), the infused put in (another flourish, it was fitted to the pot), and the lid returned.
“Three to four minutes,” the man said.
“Just enough time for introductions,” Porthos said, accidentally on purpose cutting across Dijon before he could get words out edgewise. “I’m Porthos.”
“What a good idea. I’m Aramis, lovely to meet you. And your quiet friend?”
The way Aramis said ‘quiet’ was loaded with meaning, and Porthos suddenly thought there was a chance Aramis had noticed him, as well as him noticing Aramis. Maybe he’d come over to save more than Porthos’s tea. Dijon had barely been stopping for breath let alone to allow Porthos to join in the conversation. Porthos grinned.
“I’m Dujon,” Dijon said. Porthos blinked.
“Like the mustard?” Aramis asked. Then he held up his hands. “Apologies, so rude, I didn’t quite hear what you said.”
“Dujon,” Dujon said.
“Du… jon,” Porthos repeated.
“Yes,” Dujon snapped. “Look, are you done with the tea thing? We were in the middle of something, Arthritis.”
“Aramis,” Aramis said.
“Did you call him ‘arthritis’? That’s not even nearly what he said,” Porthos said. “He just didn’t hear your name, he wasn’t being rude.”
“Yes well, whatever. Are we done?” Dujon said.
“Yeah, I think we are,” Porthos said. “Look, it was nice, thanks for the invitation, thanks for the tea and cake.”
“Seriously?” Dujon said.
“Yeah.”
“Right in front of my tea,” Aramis said, but very, very quietly, lifting out the infuser, putting the lid on the pot, and sliding away back to the small-ish child and the homework. The shop worker was sat over there with the child watching, clearly Aramis knew the people here.
Porthos turned back to his date, and set about being polite and charming to try and defuse the fuming man, clearly insulted and quite pissed off. In the end Dujon stormed out with a snappy ‘fine, but I’ll be the one to leave. You can pay’. Porthos was alright with that. He sat back, huffing out a breath, and pulled out his phone. It was full of notifications from Constance, which mostly seemed to be laughing face emojis and ‘think twice before starting fights with kitchen forks at my house next time Vallon’.
“So, how is the tea?”
Porthos looked up. Aramis was back, leaning a hip on the table. Porthos poured out some tea and took a sip. He was doing it for show, but he was genuinely surprised at the difference. Light, slightly sweet, and aromatic, the Jasmine tea was mellow and distinctive. He looked at the mug and then up at Aramis, who’s grin had turned soft and really genuine.
“That was lovely,” Aramis said, quietly. “I haven’t seen someone do that over tea in a while.”
“You do this a lot? Tea corrections?” Porthos asked.
“Better than homework corrections. He’s doing Spanish homework, it’s the worst,” Aramis said, making a face.
“I’m not complaining. Hey, do you mind doing me a favour? Another one I haven’t said thank you for the first one yet, thank you. And for the tea,” Porthos said. Aramis tipped his head on one side to work all of that out and then smiled widely.
“Ah. I thought I was being subtle.”
“You were. Much appreciated. I’m the butt of a joke, my friend was taking her revenge for a, hm, disturbance that I may or may not have caused,” Porthos said. “In the name of which, would you think it was weird if I asked you to sit over there and let me take a photo to show her how great this is going? Fake date.”
Aramis’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and his answer was unequivocally yes. He drew the other chair around to Porthos’s side of the table and fed Porthos a bite of the carrot cake for a photo, blew a kiss to the camera, and took a really nice picture of Porthos looking a bit bashful with his cup of tea. He sprawled afterwards, laughing, holding Porthos’s arm and trying to get him to tell the story about the kitchen fork. Porthos’s phone rang, interrupting, and Aramis took that as a cue of some kind, pulling himself together and retreating once more to the child and the Spanish homework, leaving Porthos to his tea and his phonecall. It was just Constance begging for gossip, Porthos told her he was having too good a time to talk to her.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
my most prized musketeers headcanon is that aramis sustained like permanent brain damage from that mortal head wound in savoy and now a stiff breeze can knock him out. he’ll be sparring in the yard with the cadets and one of them will cuff him on the cheek and he just drops like a stone. porthos is inconsolable like the first ten times this happens
