du_vallon | (no subject)

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At first, Porthos had been stymied when it'd come to Athos' true present for the holidays. It so often seemed like he didn't need or want anything, but Porthos had found the most perfect and expensive of jackets for Aramis and his new motorcycle that he knew he had to be fair and find something in turn for Athos. In the end, what he turns to isn't actually truly worth the same in monetary value, but is much more of a promise he intends to keep.

He's visited the printer and had two sets of cards commissioned, brought with him in boxes that he then wraps in shiny silver and gold. With that finished, he sets them under the tree and waits until he's finished a batch of spiced cookies to go with the brandy he sets out, waiting now for Athos. This is a gift he wants to open with just them and if Athos accepts, then he'll bring in Aramis.

No sense disappointing Aramis unnecessarily, no matter how much Porthos is bursting with a need to share this with him. He's terrible when it comes to keeping secrets after all.

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Though his commitment to Kingsman Consulting had been growing for some time, Athos has thrown himself into the business with renewed vigor since their return from Darrow’s dark underworld. Where before he had seen it as mercenary work to fill their time, he can now see the purpose, the opportunity to protect those he loves, and serve, if not a king, a people who need their help. Be better, Aramis had told him not so long ago, and Athos strives to do just that, for both himself and for Darrow.

He has spent most of his day at the office, charting expenses, responding to inquiries, studying recent newspaper reports for the telltale signs of supernatural crime that the police will miss. Even with Christmas so near, the city’s darker corners do not rest; if anything, the longer nights merely broaden their playground. Athos might have stayed longer yet, were it not for Aramis and Porthos, who surely expect him home quite soon.

When he arrives home, the warmth of the apartment immediately envelops him, and Athos easily discards both the chilly evening and brooding thoughts. The living room still looks like an exploded pine tree - Athos smiles a little despite himself and shakes his head - and the air smells heavenly.

“More cookies, Porthos? Really?” He can’t quite manage to scold, though, not when he means the words so fondly.

Porthos barely glances up from where he's finishing with the limited batch. "Only a bit," he concedes, lifting up the plate. "It's for your present. Cookies and a touch of brandy," he explains, finding the gold-wrapped gift topped with ribbon and handing it over to him with a sly grin.

"It's time for your present from me, I think."

“Is it?” Athos asks, amused and a little puzzled. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook. “It is still a few days until Christmas. Aramis will scold.” He does not actually think that Aramis will mind one way or another, but the man does seem very interested in doing the holiday properly. One never knows.

"I've got personal gifts for both of you that are before the holiday sort of gifts," he insists. "And others for the day itself." He watches Athos carefully, like tracking an animal that might spook if presented with too much holiday cheer.

"Sit," he coaxes.

Athos knows that Look. It’s the look of a man who desperately wants to please and is not sure he will be able to, and it makes Athos’ heart ache. Sometimes he fears that Porthos and he will be forever stumbling into one another, and he worries that Porthos might feel the same. He approaches, trying to hide his wariness, and sits on the sofa in front of the brandy that Porthos already has ready for him. When he tries it, his eyebrows lift in surprise - it’s particularly good, certainly none of the usual stuff.

Porthos presents both boxes, because while the gift is the same, he's not entirely sure yet what Athos wants to be most of all here in Darrow. He fixes them before Athos so they're equal, giving their partner an encouraging nod. "I didn't mean to get two, only I think you'll probably prefer one and I have no idea which."

Because inside each is a set of business cards with 'Kingsman Supernatural Consulting' written on them. Only, on one it's Athos de la Fère and the other is Olivier d'Athos and Porthos just doesn't know, really, which to use these days.

It's his way of agreeing. It's his full committal to what Athos wants to do, and he knows it doesn't match the monetary value of Aramis' gift, but it's the only thing he could think to do.

This explanation only puzzles Athos further, and he searches Porthos face silently for a moment, seeking some hint at what the boxes might contain. He discerns nothing, though, and sets aside his brandy in order to pick up the first box.

The wrapping is too beautiful to tear, and so Athos carefully unfolds it, lifting out the box and opening it without saying a word. The contents surprise him; he blinks as he lifts out one of the little cards, with its simple, elegant printing. Athos de la Fere, Kingsman Supernatural Consulting. His heart rises in his throat, and he does not trust himself to speak. The gift may not be extravagant, but the words look so right, unbearably so. He knows Porthos finds his idea half-mad, and yet he still offers this encouragement. Despite still-lingering misgivings about the life he is building here, Athos allows that glimmer of hope to catch in his chest.

He nearly forgets the second box, and when he does remember, he shoots Porthos another puzzled look. With a shrug he unwraps it, and when he lifts off the lid and sees what waits inside, he nearly laughs. “Oh, Porthos."

Porthos watches hopefully and expectantly. He knows the gift will be well-received, but he wants to make sure that Athos understands the whole of it, truly. "I know it's not exactly what I expected, not even when I founded the business, but this is what you and Aramis both want. So I figured the best way to say yes is to promise that I'm with you," he swears.

When the children are older, that might change, but that's a long, long way away and Porthos wants to be there with Athos until then.

“Many things are not what we expected.” As surreptitiously as he can, he wipes the corner of his eye with his thumb, not trusting himself to say more, not immediately. Taking a breath, he reaches for Porthos’ hand and grasps it, pulling the man to sit beside him and pressing their foreheads together. It’s nearly undignified, but Athos wants the man close, where Porthos can feel the flush on his skin that expresses his gratefulness more than Athos knows how in words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and then says wonderingly, half amused and half awed, “You made two sets.” Who but Porthos would have thought to do such a thing.

"I don't really know which name you'd prefer to go by," he admits, and it might be an admission of not knowing Athos enough, but there's a second part to this in which he just doesn't know what Athos feels at this moment. He breathes out, feeling safe and settled with his forehead to Athos', practically breathing the same air. "Which one are you going to use?"

Athos sees nothing but kindness in the gesture. He barely knows who he is some days, or what to call himself. For years he has been nothing but Athos, a name without a past or a future, but he cannot be that lonely man any longer, no more than he can be the Comte de la Fere. Porthos might fear that printing two sets of names signifies that he does not know Athos as well as he should, but to Athos it only means that Porthos has given him the chance to choose for himself.

He thinks for a while in silence, lightly stroking Porthos’ cheek with his thumb. “Olivier d’Athos,” he decides finally. Olivier still feels strange on his tongue, but he knows he cannot rid himself of his past entirely, and so he will keep that Christian name, which holds a few good memories yet, and discard the title that did him nothing but harm. “La Fere is too far behind me."

"Do you want us to call you that?" he asks quietly, because that's something else that he's always wondered. He'd asked Aramis very early on whether he wanted to be René and does call him that, but only in quiet, tender, and rare moments. It's not the sort of name for the street. "Not publicly, but between us?" he asks, leaning into the touch of Athos' thumb.

Heart aching with the gentleness of the question, he shakes his head. “For you and Aramis, I have always been Athos. And always wish to be.” They had known the broken soldier first, not the Comte de la Fere, or the proud, foolish Olivier. And they had embraced him all the same. Athos never wants to forget that.

Edited 2015-12-20 20:29 (UTC)

Porthos leans in to span the distance between their lips to steal a soft, slow kiss. "Athos," he confirms, because he's always been Athos to them. He eases back, one hand cupping Athos' neck, fingers lightly stroking as he relaxes. "I also might have switched all the names," he confesses. "They're in your name, now."

Even after the kiss they remain close, and Athos rests his hand lightly on Porthos' knee. “Switched what names?” he asks, a little puzzled as to what Porthos could mean.

"Used to be my name on the lease and the license," he explains. "It's not, anymore," he goes on, because it's Athos' now. Athos has a connection to the business that's more than his and he wants to respect that as much as he can. This feels like the right way.

“Porthos.” He shakes his head in wonder, a smile playing at his lips. It was a practical thing for him to do, yes, but the gesture means more than that. Porthos has given Athos charge. But as any good leader knows, a man needs more than his own power to accomplish anything worthwhile. “Whatever the name on the paperwork, Kingsmen will always belong to all of us."

"It's your new life here," Porthos says, trying not to be too blunt about this, but sort of feeling like he's going to have no other choice. "Aramis is becoming a medic. This is what you need to become the new version of yourself, I figure. It's more important to you than it is to me. For me, it's just been a good way to get out of the house, keep busy, and make money. I definitely think it's more than that for you."

Athos sighs, turning slightly so that he is sitting on the sofa with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. “If you are with me, then Kingsmen is yours as much as mine.” He looks at Porthos, eyes gentle despite the seriousness of his words. Yes, he has increasingly found himself drawn to this work of theirs, more even than Porthos and Aramis, but he is no lone warrior, no vigilante. He is a soldier, and a soldier needs men he trusts to fight beside. Kingsmen will never be his alone. “We are still les inseparables."

"It's still more important to you, that's why I wanted to put it in your name and put the business cards to you. Besides," he says, smiling sadly. "For all that things have come a long way, people still get tense around a big black man like me with a nasty scar over his eye," he says. "They open up to you and Aramis a lot easier."

Athos does not object, for he might detest the way that men and women still look at Porthos from time to time, but he suspects they can do nothing to change it. Still, there are practical advantages. “We are in the business of chasing monsters, Porthos. A little intimidation has its uses. And you are still the best fighter of all of us.” He reaches out to grasp Porthos’ knee again and squeezes it gently. “Thank you,” he says, for he knows that the gift being offered to him goes much further than calling cards. “For all of it."

"Merry Christmas, Athos," Porthos says warmly, beyond pleased that his gift has gone over well. He'd thought it would be decent, but he's still tickled to see just how well it's gone over. He leans in for another kiss, flushed in his cheeks for the praise being given to him. "Maybe one of our first items to do in the new year can be stocking up on new weapons?"

Athos returns the kiss softly, lingeringly, pouring what hope he can grasp into the embrace. “A good idea,” he concedes, sitting back again as he thinks on what they might need. “I suppose Allison would know something about that.” He doesn’t particularly like to encourage the girl’s monster-hunting pursuits, but she is the closest thing to an expert on such matters that they know.

He scowls at the mention of Allison and weapons, not entirely pleased with her new endeavor. While he knows he ought to support her, he also doesn't like the implications of such a dangerous business. "Or maybe we could just make do with what we've got," he counters, while he tries to figure out the conundrum in his head.

Even knowing that Porthos dislikes Allison’s pastimes at least as much as he does, and probably more, Athos is surprised by the man’s sudden about-face. He lifts a brow, sure that the protest has less to do with whether or not they need weapons, and much more to do with the girl in question. "She will do as she pleases, Porthos. If she is advising us, then at least you might keep an eye on her."

"I can't watch her every hour of the day," he points out and he truly feels as if he ought to, given how dangerous her business can be and where she's chosen to set up shop. "And she needs it, with the choices she's made," he adds pointedly, a little heavy on the disapproval. "She's in a dangerous spot and she's made enemies getting it."

“If we employed her in our own work, then you could watch her some of the time,” Athos reasons. “And merely asking her opinion on weaponry will neither help nor hinder her reckless adventures. She will have them no matter what we do.” Allison is a child - in attitude if not in age, despite her advances with the sword - but there is little any of them can do about that.

Athos has always been the sensible one, Porthos thinks. He sighs and nods his head, because it is the best course of action, he knows. "I still don't like giving in to this mad idea of hers," he protests with a growl. "It's reckless, and when I say that, you know that I mean it."

“I like it no more than you,” says Athos. He sighs and reaches for one of the cookies that sits waiting on the plate in front of him. “But there is little we can do."

Porthos gives Athos a look that says that if he really wanted, he could clearly have a word with her. "She respects you. And trusts you," he notes. "I mean, I'm just saying, if you were to talk to her, she might listen."

The suggestion takes Athos by surprise, and he lifts a brow at Porthos, skeptical that he can do anything of the sort. “I do not have the power over her that you seem to imagine,” he warns Porthos. “But I can try."

If she's going to listen to anyone, Porthos suspects that it'll be Athos seeing as he's the mature one of the group. Plus, she's so desperate to get his approval. "Maybe tell her she can only open when she's got two burly blokes standing on the corners."

“Perhaps,” Athos says, though he fears that Allison might not take such a suggestion very well. She seems to be one of those modern women, the sort of takes male protection as an affront, and not as the courtesy it is meant. But it would not hurt to try. Subtly.

Porthos absently sits down with Athos, his fingers disappearing in his hair as he idly strokes, brushing his thumb against his temple in circles. "You still want to buy weapons from her, don't you?" he accuses, pretty sure that's the truth of it.

“Why would I want to buy weapons from her?” Athos asks, leaning into Porthos and settling his head against the man’s shoulder. “I only suggested we seek her advice, as the one with the most knowledge in these matters."

Porthos drags his fingers through Athos' hair, a content and settled hum on his lips as he curls in with him, breathing in the scent of his skin. "She's going to pester you to buy from her," he says knowingly. "You're not going to escape that."

Athos shrugs, as though to say I can handle it. “She usually finds something to pester me about.” Why should this new scheme of hers be any different? Happy to let the matter drop when Porthos is so comfortingly toying with his hair, he closes his eyes.

Porthos grins at the way Athos relaxes in his arms, a fact he takes advantage of as he angles Athos' body right into the wide expanse of his arms. "Are you going to fall asleep?" he teases, scraping and scritching Athos' scalp. "And here I thought we were celebrating gifts."

“We were. Now I am falling asleep in your arms.” Just saying such a thing aloud, even with his usual dry matter-of-factness, warms Athos more than all the brandy in the world ever could. What a remarkable year this has been to have brought me to this moment. He opens one eye and smiles crookedly at Porthos. “Problem?"

"No," Porthos replies, fond and overly warm. "You usually don't fall asleep so readily in the middle of the day, never mind in my arms," he says, but he's not protesting it. After all, he loves curling up with Athos and just enjoying the warmth of the moment. "Turn over, though," he coaxes. "Or your back will ache."

Athos’ smile is lazy and soft. “You put me in a good mood. The brandy was excellent.” He shifts into a more comfortable position, though he remains resting in Porthos’ arms. “Don’t let me sleep more than an hour.” He can’t go sleeping the day away, no matter how comfortable he might be.

Porthos wraps his arms around Athos to keep him possessively close, grinning as he tucks his head under his chin. "We both know I'm not going to wake you up after an hour if you look comfortable," he informs him, not even a little apologetic for his intentions.

“You used to be better at following orders.” But Athos neither opens his eyes nor moves, too comfortable and too content to do anything else. Already he is drifting into sleep.

"That was before I knew the sounds I could make you make," Porthos replies cheerfully, waiting for Athos to fall asleep so he can sit up with ease, muscles straining a touch as he curls Athos into his arms and brings him back to their large shared bed for a much more comfortable lie-down.

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