Dated early November

[du_vallon]

To say that Porthos is unhappy and in pain is an understatement. For a man who's had axes buried in his body, musket balls pulled out of him, and all other manner of injury (not to mention the knife to his eye and the tattoo), the fractured bones in his foot are proving to be one of the most painful things he's ever had to cope with. The hospice had set a cast on him and Aramis had procured him enough drugs, but there's a business to run and d'Artagnan's life shouldn't be made to revolve around him. Still, there's a reason the boys have to knock him out so often and it's because Porthos has a very bad habit of being an awful, awful patient.

Whining as he tries to adjust his foot, Porthos looks forlornly to the kitchen.

Aramis had left ten minutes ago, whispering something with Athos, but Porthos is already tired of sitting around while the cat mounts him like a playground. He casts his gaze around and shifts his weight onto his thighs, readying himself to stand on his feet and hobble to the kitchen for a drink. The pills that he'd taken surely will be fine, despite Aramis' constant proclamations that his liver will thank him if he doesn't.

Porthos nearly makes it to the kitchen, too, except that the cat darts out in front of him and to avoid jumping on the thing, Porthos smacks his broken foot against the table. The pained yowl he lets out is nearly inhuman, followed by a swift and steady line of curses as he falls back onto the chaise, groaning as he presses his temple to the fabric. He'd slept on this thing for months. How is it that it's so uncomfortable now?

Comments

[du_vallon]

It's nothing like what Porthos expects to hear Athos say and is taken aback with how much it means to him to hear it. "I'm sorry for thinking that you could mean it," he says, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around himself, the itch not going away, but the warmth of the blanket helping to distract himself from it for a moment. "You and Treville, you're the only two men I've ever wanted to earn approval from. It stung, to think I'd lost it."

[somepoorsoul]

“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “That’s why I said it.” Athos rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. “You don’t need anyone’s approval. Certainly not mine."

[du_vallon]

"I still sought it out," Porthos admits, resting his chin against a big collection of the blankets, staring at Athos from over top of them. "And with Treville not here, you're as good as I have in someone I have to be better for, to be more than the rat in the Court." The drugs loosening his tongue, he stares down at his covered lap. "When I got here, for two weeks, I might have...slipped. Fallen to old ways. Aramis doesn't know."

[somepoorsoul]

“Porthos.” The murmur is gently chiding, but holds no ill will or judgment. It is strangely comforting, knowing that even Porthos could crack under the thousands of tiny strains that Darrow placed upon a man. “It can bring out the worst in all of us, then, this place."

[du_vallon]

"I didn't like the money, at first, that came in automatically. So I thieved a bit, saw how quick my fingers still were," he says, rubbing his nose against the blanket and curling in on himself as he reaches for the wine to sip at it, thirsty in a way he hasn't been in ages. "Eventually, I got myself used to the idea that I could deserve those funds. Maybe that's why I spend them so often. Better to lavish you and Aramis with gifts than waste it gambling."

"Though, Aramis wants to improve on the flat and between that, the businesses, and the wedding, we haven't got enough money," he says, the fretting he's been burying coming up slowly.

[somepoorsoul]

“Then I'll lend you some.” They are words Athos has said a hundred times before, generous without sentiment or expectation of anything in return. But this an offer to do more than cover a gambling debt or buy the next round. It’s deeper, somehow. “I have more than I need."

[du_vallon]

"Athos, no," Porthos insists, firmly. "I can't, we couldn't. Aramis is taking on contracts to allow pictures of him to be sold and I'm prize fighting when I can manage. We'll pick up more, but we'll make do," he swears as he adjusts his blanket, listing to the side and only stopped when his shoulder nudges against Athos', gravity pulling him down as his eyes grow half-lidded from weariness. "I'm sorry, but no. I'd rather see you spend the money finding something you enjoy, here."

[somepoorsoul]

Arms crossed over his chest, Athos looks down at Porthos skeptically. There’s only one thing he is likely to do with the excess money piling in his account, and even he can only drink so much. “I live here, don’t I? If Aramis wishes to make improvements, then I will contribute."

[du_vallon]

His cheeks flush pink and he stares up at Athos briefly before he shakes his head. "Athos, it's not the sort of thing that you'd see benefit from," Porthos says, clearing his throat to try and get out the words. "Besides, at some point, he's going to want to leave the city and go into the country." This is something they haven't talked about and Porthos doesn't want to, seeing as they've reached a tentative truce. The last thing they need is for Porthos to talk about his plans for a future that involve taking care of children like him.

It speaks of longevity.

"It's more things like alcohol and food and a bed," he rushes through the last part, head lolling onto Athos' shoulder. "And you do live here. I'll accept money for your food and drink, nothing else."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos rolls his eyes. “Then take the money for the extra wine.” Frankly, he doesn’t care what his friends would spend it on, whether he would approve or not. His money has gone towards paying off gambling debts and cuckolded husbands; he learned to stop asking what a loan was for a very long time ago. But Porthos can be a stubborn bastard on the subject, and Athos knows he won’t get anywhere with him now.

He stills briefly at this talk of the country, sliding a look at Porthos, but he takes a breath and speeds past his pain before it can take root. He doesn’t want to think about Porthos and Aramis as this unit apart from him, with their own separate lives and plans.

Then Porthos head falls onto his shoulder and interrupts his thoughts, making him smile. “You’ve had too many of those pills."

[du_vallon]

"Probably, yeah," he agrees, feeling lethargic and heavy. His body, including his leg, has finally stopped hurting and he wonders if that's the help of the alcohol that Athos had given him. He readjusts himself until he's half on his side, pushing more into the warmth that Athos' body kicks off with a small sound of delight when he finds it. "You can pay for your own wine," he settles, thinking that will at least help them, given what Athos has a tendency to drink.

"Don't move, you're comfortable."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos shakes his head, decidedly fond, but he doesn’t argue. He can probably manage to slip in a bit more money than he owes, from time to time, without Aramis or Porthos noticing. At least for a while.

He tries to nudge Porthos away, but puts no real effort into it. Athos is tired, and Porthos weight is comforting against him; clearly, the wine, or the sleepness night, or the dredged-up emotions, have gotten to him more than any one of them alone might have. Still, he protests, “I’m not a cushion.”

[du_vallon]

"Nope, you seem like one to me," Porthos argues, because he doesn't see what else Athos is right now except that. He shifts, burrowing his cheek into Athos' shoulder as he wraps an arm around him to get comfortable, slouching down where he can sleep. It's the first time he's felt settled since he broke his foot and maybe it's for the best that he gets the sleep that he can.

"I'll fetch you wine in the morning if you stay still."

[somepoorsoul]

“I will not be bribed,” Athos insists, though already he can feel Porthos relaxing into sleep against him. Once he has drifted off, there will be no way to move him. Long-suffering as ever, he sighs, his arm slipping naturally around Porthos’ shoulder.

It really is quite comfortable here.

[du_vallon]

Porthos would reply to say that he's very good at convincing people, but he's already asleep, his lips parted and snoring softly as he nuzzles his way deeper into the warmth that Athos' body offers, leg-in-a-cast supported by a table and pillows and not much else. Still, he's found a comfortable spot to be in and he dare not move, now.

[somepoorsoul]

As a rule, Athos is not lulled by such warmth and contact. He keeps himself apart, pointedly alone. But now, buried deep, even more than alcohol, he craves the assurance in such simple touch. Without meaning to, he allows himself to drift, his head to dip towards Porthos, his eyes to slip shut.

And soon, he is asleep.