(no subject)

Porthos had lost his shirt ages ago. On purpose, at least, but the humidity has been killing him and in combination with the hard physical labour he's been after, it all boils together to become one very big bad idea to be too clothed. He keeps the shorts on, mainly because they're loose and breath and he needs something to protect him from too many splinters. He keeps prying off the ridiculous hat Aramis had foisted on him, mopping up his sweaty face and curls with his t-shirt, exhausted but knowing this is saving them money.

It just seems silly to pay someone to move the beams out of the rooms when Porthos has two working arms. That said, after two hours of labour and getting the wood to the yard for pick-up, he's beginning to think he ought to take on a side job and just pay for it. Ducking to pick up a bottle of water, he only drinks half before he douses himself with it, giving Aramis a suspicious look.

"You'd better not be lifting too much," he warns, still anxious even though it's been weeks since the hospital stay. "I'm gonna be cross if you throw out your back."