#first prompt of the season

For@celticwildechild and a lovely anon who requested Athos/Aramis (and on such an obvious prompt too, you stereotypes!) <3 

I haven’t written the Musketeers boys in a while; a little NSFW, ‘cause why not.

6.  “You call that a costume? It’s like three tiny pieces of fabric!”

“Honestly, Aramis, I think it counts as streaking,” Athos commented off-handedly, having a hard time looking away from legs that never seemed to end and a smile that he hoped never stopped.

In his defence, when Aramis had appeared at the top of the stairs in what could only gratuitously be called a fancy-dress costume, he wasn’t sure whether to encourage or deny the sly smile that had graced Aramis’ lips. The supposed outfit was somewhere between a pair of underwear and a grass-skirt - although Athos had a very strong suspicion that Aramis was definitely lacking the former.

“It does not!” Aramis stomped his foot, coming dangerously close to revealing something that might very well derail the entire evening, and the movement came with a shower of sparkles.

Athos raised a brow. “Are you wearing more glitter than actual clothes?”

“Glitter counts as a body covering,” Aramis said airily, refusing to dignify Athos’ smirk with anything other than his nose in the air.

It came down rather happily when Athos held out a hand to help him down the last few steps. Aramis flowed into his arms, cattail-lined eyes falling shut on a contented sigh as Athos let his fingers see just how much the outfit covered - or didn’t cover, in this case.

It was second-nature to seek out the places his hands liked to rest, at the angelic slide of his waist and the sinful furrow of his hips, and Aramis rather quickly decided that he didn’t mind being late to the party as long as Athos kept doing that thing with his tongue.

As it turned out, glitter didn’t last long against a determined onslaught, and the costume put up even less of a fight.

Athos had been right, there was no underwear to speak of.

“I really don’t think glitter counts as clothing, mon coeur,” Athos drawled, thoroughly enjoying watching Aramis put himself back together again. “What does Porthos call it? Nature’s herpes?” 

Aramis strolled past him as if he hadn’t just been desperately whispering Athos’ name and crying out for the whole street to hear, and left a cloud of fairy dust in his wake. “Porthos dressed as youfor Hallowe’en, I don’t know why you’re defending him.”

“I’m not defending hi– he did what?”

Aramis pulled him into another kiss, his smile a satisfied thing. “You have glitter on your lips, mon cher.”