(no subject)

Porthos had seen a glimmer of a familiar face in the crowds when he'd slipped through into the other city. It's not like he's truly familiar, but he knows that he'd seen him around Paris, which means that he knows that this man is someone he ought to know. More than that, he also knows he's one of the prettiest things he's ever seen and when he overhears him speaking French, he knows that he has to have him.

Waiting until he's distracted, Porthos yanks a blindfold over his eyes after he empties his pockets, hauling him over his shoulder and ignoring the kicking and protests.

Only when he's back through the seam and into the alleyways where he holds Court does he let him go, telling the few guards he trusts to leave them be in his maze of comfortable rooms, tying the man (the priest, isn't it, that's where he must have seen him) to a chair before he yanks off the blindfold, pouring wine in the corner of the room.

"What's a priest like you doing in a place like this?" he drawls, like he hasn't just kidnapped him here.