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"You know," Michele says as she taps her portable saw against her hand, standing by the front door, "I don't normally do house calls, but this was sort of a special favour seeing as he was so good in bed," she says with a winning smile in Aramis' direction. It's short-lived, though, as she shifts with Porthos' weight -- able to handle him given that she's not exactly a mere mortal. "And you're cute," she adds with a wink.
Porthos flushes pink in the height of his cheeks as he settles on the couch, staring at the new removable cast that's sitting to the side. There are bandages to go with it, but more importantly, there are no pills to go with it. With everyone having vanished from the city, Porthos is raring to get out there, but he can't do anything but sit here and try and heal.
"Do you need another explanation of the stretches you're meant to do?" she asks. Porthos shakes his head, thinking that they're fairly straightforward. She leans in to tuck the blanket over his shoulders and Porthos shifts uncomfortably, not sure he likes the shared history in that they've both bedded the same man, not to mention the odd feeling he'd carried the last time Aramis had been with her. She clucks her tongue and leans forward, hair falling over her shoulders. "Don't look so fussed, it's not like he had a chance," she says, leaning in a little closer. Her smile is wicked and all-knowing as she tugs his earlobe into her teeth, even as Porthos yanks his head away. "I'm a goddess of love," she whispers her secret. "And don't worry. He's all yours. I can feel it radiating off him. I'm not sure I could seduce him now even if I tried and I don't like lost causes."
She eases back and beams brightly at Aramis, handing him a pamphlet of stretches.
"Massage helps, that's all I'm saying," she says. "And I like red wine best, if you're in the market for a thank you drink." With that, she's gone, and Porthos is just as red as ever, staring at Aramis with shock and amusement as he rubs his hands up and down his newly-freed leg, staring at the loss of muscle mass with some dismay.
Porthos flushes pink in the height of his cheeks as he settles on the couch, staring at the new removable cast that's sitting to the side. There are bandages to go with it, but more importantly, there are no pills to go with it. With everyone having vanished from the city, Porthos is raring to get out there, but he can't do anything but sit here and try and heal.
"Do you need another explanation of the stretches you're meant to do?" she asks. Porthos shakes his head, thinking that they're fairly straightforward. She leans in to tuck the blanket over his shoulders and Porthos shifts uncomfortably, not sure he likes the shared history in that they've both bedded the same man, not to mention the odd feeling he'd carried the last time Aramis had been with her. She clucks her tongue and leans forward, hair falling over her shoulders. "Don't look so fussed, it's not like he had a chance," she says, leaning in a little closer. Her smile is wicked and all-knowing as she tugs his earlobe into her teeth, even as Porthos yanks his head away. "I'm a goddess of love," she whispers her secret. "And don't worry. He's all yours. I can feel it radiating off him. I'm not sure I could seduce him now even if I tried and I don't like lost causes."
She eases back and beams brightly at Aramis, handing him a pamphlet of stretches.
"Massage helps, that's all I'm saying," she says. "And I like red wine best, if you're in the market for a thank you drink." With that, she's gone, and Porthos is just as red as ever, staring at Aramis with shock and amusement as he rubs his hands up and down his newly-freed leg, staring at the loss of muscle mass with some dismay.