Porthos du Vallon

Once Porthos has managed to properly woo Aramis with his ideas and his plans, now it becomes very clear that Porthos needs to turn their attentions towards Athos. He purchases even more flowers until the apartment is bursting with them, lighting candles to dim the atmosphere, and while Aramis rests from their activities, Porthos makes Athos' very favourite meal. He changes, too, because while the yoga wear might be what Aramis wants, he knows Athos likes a little bit of a different thing.

That's why he changes into a sleek, fitting dark blue button-down and a pair of slacks that are tight around every part of his calves and thighs. He buttons the shirt to the elbow and styles his hair until it's as neat as his beard and mustache, heart beating ever the faster for his nerves.

He just wants it all to be so perfect.

"Aramis, I'm going upstairs to fetch my petit lapin d'amour," Porthos calls. "Don't move a gorgeous muscle."

Porthos had been on his way to the grocery to pick up food. Sure, it's mad chaos right now, but they still have to eat and he's able to take on just about most animals, even though it breaks his heart a little to see them harmed and down. The one trouble he does have is with the ones that are a little more domestic. That's how he'd managed to find himself in the trouble he's currently in, pinned down by three wolves in an alley.

Part of his brain wonders if they could be werewolves, but he doesn't think so. They just look like very large dogs, which is part of his problem. Despite his sword, despite his pistol, Porthos genuinely doesn't know if he can put down a dog. They'd had so many running around in the Court and he'd always had a fondness for them.

So now, even though they're growling and he's slowly running out of room, he doesn't want to kill them or make them bleed too much.

He just wants to sort of put them to rest for a little.

"Shit," he growls, when his back hits the dumpster and he's forced to make a decision or be mauled alive. He flexes his fingers as he raises his gun, but he still hesitates because they're not charging him, not yet. Maybe this doesn't have to go as badly as it could. Maybe there's some way out of this where everyone survives.

This holiday season is going to be different than the last.

If nothing else, this time they aren't tip-toeing around Athos with the worry of what one of their actions might cause him to do. Also, now that he's discovered what he can do and what amazing decorations there are, he goes out and buys as many as he can. He stops at the nursery and picks up a dozen sprigs of real mistletoe, too, eyes bright as he buys one last thing and heads home.

Clad in forest-green leggings that hug everything (and will be used for future workouts) and an awful holiday sweater of red knit reindeers, Porthos gets to decorating every surface. There's mistletoe hanging everywhere and wreaths on every surface. He's put up a small tree with bulbs and ornaments and a large star on the top of the tree, but puts an angel out for Aramis, along with a nativity scene.

He even buys a little bell for the Captain.

With the flat properly decorated, he gets to baking as many cookies as he can to fill the place with the smell of gingerbread, fully thrown into the season with all the joy of someone who's been after a little bit of happiness lately.

It's only been a few days since they've escaped from the underworld they'd been trapped in and there are two things he's been doing since. One is making sure to obsessively watch over Aramis and Athos, and the second is that he's been basking in the sun as much as he can, indulging in the feel of it on his skin. Today, despite his project of assembling the pieces of a fancy crib he'd purchased at the flea market, he's opened the window to the fire escape and perches half-in, half-out, allowing the sun to shine on his face and make him feel right.

He leans inside to pick up the screwdriver and two slats of wood, bringing them outside as he begins to assemble them in the crisp air. He knows he's getting far, far ahead of himself here, but he also thinks it will be a treat for Aramis. Besides, if nothing else, they can keep the Captain in it until they actually need it.

He knows that he should have more faith in Aramis, but the trouble is that things are a little tricky given the fact that right now, he's sitting in the back seat of a car while Aramis is at the wheel. He trusts Aramis with a lot of things, but the driving is still just a touch too new for him and it's making him ... well, edgy. The last turn had been a little hard and he grips onto the handle as the instructor guides Aramis through it, though Porthos is sort of wary about all of this.

He knows Aramis will pick it up, he just thinks maybe this is the last lesson he'll visit for until Aramis gets a few more under his belt.

Porthos plasters on an encouraging smile as they're taken to do parking trials, knowing that he wants nothing more than to be supportive and he damn well will be, even if they end up dead as a result of this lesson.

This has been a long, long time coming, but Porthos feels like it's inevitable. After all their conversations about it, Porthos has finally bundled up Aramis and pushed him along to the gym when Oliver is bound to be there, knowing that he's going to take it easy today, because today isn't about him. "Here he is," Porthos announces as he delivers Aramis to Ollie with a smirk, heading for one of the benches with the book he'd brought (as if he's really going to keep his nose in it the whole time).

"Now," he says. "Aramis here wants to learn a few moves so he can attempt to beat me," he says, his smile sweet and devilish at once. "And who better to teach him than you?"

He reclines back, foot propped up on the nearest chair. He does glance up after a moment, because he thinks he might have forgotten one or two things. And the biggest one is, "Try not to bruise up the face?" he suggests. "Or talk too much about me," he adds, as if that's not going to happen.

Wearing the scarf that had been purchased for him last year, Porthos has managed to recreate his outfit as best as he could. It's not exact and it's hardly the same (honestly, he doesn't remember much about the night beyond the scarf, the food, and Aramis bending down on one knee while the land passed by). It's all those things he's glad to recreate as he settles onto their table on the boat, fidgeting as if he's expecting yet another proposal.

Like an eager child at a party, Porthos' eyes are casting about everywhere they can, desperate to find the waiter for champagne, though he remembers to check in with Aramis, because being at sea (even so limited) can't be enjoyable for him. "Are you okay?" he murmurs quietly. "Should I get you something stronger to get your mind off the water?"

He's practically bouncing from eagerness, so happy to be back as he is.

Porthos had lost his shirt ages ago. On purpose, at least, but the humidity has been killing him and in combination with the hard physical labour he's been after, it all boils together to become one very big bad idea to be too clothed. He keeps the shorts on, mainly because they're loose and breath and he needs something to protect him from too many splinters. He keeps prying off the ridiculous hat Aramis had foisted on him, mopping up his sweaty face and curls with his t-shirt, exhausted but knowing this is saving them money.

It just seems silly to pay someone to move the beams out of the rooms when Porthos has two working arms. That said, after two hours of labour and getting the wood to the yard for pick-up, he's beginning to think he ought to take on a side job and just pay for it. Ducking to pick up a bottle of water, he only drinks half before he douses himself with it, giving Aramis a suspicious look.

"You'd better not be lifting too much," he warns, still anxious even though it's been weeks since the hospital stay. "I'm gonna be cross if you throw out your back."

Porthos had taken his own advice, albeit somewhat amended. He did make cupcakes, but he'd paired it with duck and roasted potatoes, making up a generous plate and bringing them up to Athos' apartments while he's still out (work? Porthos thinks, but isn't sure). Once they're set down in the bedroom, Porthos wanders a bit and tidies, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, then in the chair, and finally settles for stripping off everything but his boxers and t-shirt, not to seduce, but to show that he's comfortable.

That he gets under the covers is just because it's starting to become evening and Porthos imagines at this point, finding him in here is going to be the best option. He's had enough time and nights, now, sleeping back at home to let his mind clear and he's eager to get his apologies out, especially seeing as he definitely owes Athos at least a half dozen for being so worn and so pessimistic and so unlike him.