du_vallon | (no subject)

It's been a profitable day for him. Porthos has been quick with his hands and has managed to get himself a good helping of trinkets, money, and other possessions. After making his drop offs at the shelters and to the kids on the street he watches out for, he grabs the bottle of wine he'd "freed" from one of the wealthy penthouse owners and heads up to visit Mssr de la Fère. He's been robbing him a little lightly this week, only taking a cufflink pair from him in the streets along with some of his bills.

He hasn't even robbed his actual flat this week. It's practically a reason to visit (and not just because he misses the man and he enjoys the frustrated and pretty look on his face every time he actually gets close enough to rob him). Porthos isn't going to think too long about why he enjoys riling Athos so much, though he knows in his heart why.

With a good bottle of red, he adjusts his shirt (almost as tight as his jeans, even if that's an impossibility) and knocks on his door, ducking to check that his new diamond stud earrings glimmers as best as it can in the light.

"Delivery!" he announces, filled with gruff amusement.

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Athos raises his eyes from the book, lips parting slightly in surprise. When was the last time someone had gifted him something, anything? Certainly before Darrow, and likely some time before that. These days, he does not often buy himself luxuries, either, not even the books he has always been fond of. Now, he examines the book with new eyes, appreciating the color of the soft leather color, the smell of the pages, the rhythm of the Latin.

He swallows, unsure what to think. Athos hasn’t been given many reasons to trust Porthos, and despite the simplicity of this gestures, he senses a catch. “Why?"

Porthos wonders what happened to Athos to make him so hesitant to accept gifts like this in his life. "I like you," is his reply. "You're fun to steal from because you always have more and besides, I like watching your face when I give you things."

And now they're bordering in the place where it's awkward because Athos' proper social cues means he doesn't want to hear this. "Don't worry. I know all about your delicate sensibilities. And besides, I've got other crops to till, so to speak." Like that other fancy Parisian that's been around, though he never looks half as huffy when Porthos thieves from him.

Making a dismissive sound, Athos looks down at his hands where they hold the book, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. He isn’t shocked by the idea of the man’s flirtation – he has been with men before, and is aware of his predilections, even if he would never dare speak of it – and he expects coarseness from a man like Porthos, even if he hates it. But this gesture of friendship does not so easily fit his expectations, and he finds himself unmoored by their conversation.

“You have a strange way of showing it,” he says, words a little clipped.

"Would you feel better if I took you out on a tour and showed you where the money goes?" Porthos wonders. "I'd stop stealing from you if you could guarantee me that you put an equal portion to those places." He wouldn't stop stealing in general because it's fun and he's doing it for a purpose, but he'd stop taking specifically from Athos.

He lets his gaze rove over him, slowly. "Besides, how else would I get you all huffy and pretty if not my thieving?"

“What?” The momentary illusion that he might have found someone who cares about his wellbeing, however triflingly, vanishes. Porthos cares about his own base interests, and Athos’ purse – nothing more.

Athos purses his lips. Does Porthos really think it generous to suggest Athos use his money in any way he insists? “Do you make such demands of all your friends?” he deadpans. “Take your book. I don’t want your gifts, or your company.”

Katherine often calls him foolish and softhearted. She is probably right, he thinks. Next time Porthos steals from him, he will contact the authorities.

Porthos, however, doesn't move. He gives Athos a curious look and leans forward to challenge him. "So where would you rather spend it? On fripperies and fineries? You won't let me at least show you why I do what I do? The people I support with it?"

"And the book is a present for you, just like the wine." Just like the other gifts he's been leaving for him, to show his interest.

“To what fripperies do you refer?” The sofa Porthos sits upon is the same one that came with the apartment, the glasses they drink out of were here when Athos arrived. The things Athos does purchase – clothes, when he needs them, wine, the occasional book – are of a superior quality, but by and large, he spends his small income on very little beyond the necessities. He isn’t sure he could if he wanted to, for he is no longer the rich man he once was.

Even if that were not the case, Porthos has no right to judge him. “You do what you do because you are a thief.”

"Have been since I was five," he agrees, thinking back to when he'd been abandoned. Still, he likes to think that he's turned out better than Charon, who abandoned them, and cares more than the rest. Even here, he might be a thief, but it's not to serve himself totally. He just keeps enough to get by. "And you have to admit, you dress nicely. You carry yourself nicely. If not fripperies, what do you spend your money on?"

“That is none of your business.” Athos’ expression goes icy. How had he ever fooled himself into thinking that Porthos could ever be something nearing a friend? The man clearly cares not a whit for Athos, and Athos certainly has no reason to care for him. What sort of friend would invade his home, and steal his things, and then cast moral judgment on his life? Athos would prefer to be cruel than deluded and used.

“I am finished with this conversation. Get out, mongrel.”

Porthos' face goes dark when the namecalling starts, rising up from his seat and looming as tall as he can in order to give Athos a displeased look. He likes the man, sure, but not enough to stand being called such rude and awful things. "You should be kinder," he informs him. "Or it won't just be your pockets that get damaged in the streets."

It's as much a threat as he offers anyone, because he might be swift with his fingers, but when he needs to strike, he can do that too.

Athos' jaw tightens and he lifts his chin, refusing to be intimidated. "And you should not invade a man's home. You have overstayed your welcome, understand?"

Porthos gives him a cool look. "Same goes for you when you're walking in my part of town, then, if I'm such a mongrel to you." He looks him up and down, scoffing. "Shame. I could've made you see stars, if you'd let me."

Athos swallows hard, resisting the shudder that goes through him as they stand so close. A terribly long time has passed since anyone touched him with passion, and he cannot deny that he has been tempted. But he will not pay in humiliation, and that is all that Porthos has offered - through theft, and mockery, and now this attempt to dictate what he should do with his own life. “Your loss,” he says tartly. “Get out."