Athos offers Porthos a strained half-smile for his eager assurances. What congratulations has he earned, and what child has he sired? None- and it is certainly better that way whatever either of the other men might say. But Athos does not wish to argue, not tonight. He lets Porthos’ words stand, as though they had truly managed to soothe.

Porthos’ hand on his neck is soothing - firm, and warm, and real, grounding Athos in the current moment, away from the confusing future. He sinks down in a chair at the table, exhausted by the news and all he cannot say. Sipping his wine, he eyes the two of them. “You have already been celebrating,” he observes, faintly amused. Yes, by now he can tell when they have been having sex. Of course he can.

And it’s a much more pleasant topic.