Porthos should probably have been spending his day off in the forest, stretching his legs in bear form. But he’d been wanting to take a look at the orphanage. More importantly, he wanted to see how Aramis looked there. If everything felt right and safe. Aramis could suffer through a great deal with a mustered up smile, but Porthos didn’t want him suffering. Besides, he himself had a soft spot for orphans.
They’d flittered around him since he arrived, energetic and buzzing with questions. Porthos had answered a fair number of them and now they were distracted by an art project. Really, Porthos should have been pointing himself towards the door, but things felt warm and homely here. And he wanted to spend more time where Aramis was.
“You know that lightbulb thing has flickered three times in the last hour.” It was half a lie. He was pretty sure one of the flickers was just a large moth flying into the light fixture. He stepped up under the fixture anyway, twisting at the covering with his fingers. “I should figure out how to fix it.”
Aramis walked towards Porthos with a grin on his face and towel in his hands, wiping away the paint that had made its way there from setting up the project. The older kids were there directing the others, as they often were all fond of sticking together.
Unless they were fighting. Which, frankly, just reminded Aramis of his younger years and couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed with. Right now, there was peace, and only laughter drifted his way one room over as Aramis watched Porthos fuss about. “I just assumed it was the magic of this place being finicky.” It hadn’t flickered enough to annoy him, but he liked having Porthos by too much to point that out.
“There’s a doorknob that keeps jamming as well that I’ve been meaning to look at, but--” Aramis gestured vaguely behind him as if that was reason enough.
Porthos looked visibly relieved for a moment. Aramis had every right to tell him to stop hovering and get a move on, but he’d done the opposite. He’d given him an excuse to stay. And Porthos greedily accepted. With a twitch of a grin in return, Porthos let go of the light fixture to move back towards Aramis.
“You have your hands full, I know. I can take a look. I need to learn my way around the toolset I borrowed anyway.” It might’ve been easier to get someone actually trained at this sort of thing, but Porthos was determined to learn new things whenever they presented themselves. He’d done repairs on their hideout house. He could fix a doorknob. He peeked up over Aramis’s shoulder at the kids. “They’re not a bad lot. You’d tell me if they were secretly awful, wouldn’t you?”
“At this point, Selene is going to appreciate having you around even more than she does me.” Aramis flashed Porthos an easy grin as he referenced the owner of the orphanage. She was an older half-orc herself, gruff in her way, but cared well for the children and had begrudgingly taken to Aramis despite herself. He had always been good at winning over the gruff ones, too.
Aramis looked where Porthos was peeking and turned back to his best friend with another casual shrug. “Eh. Probably not.” A lie. But an unnecessary one, and his wink said as much. “They’re good kids. Remind me of ones at home, just trying to get by. And,” as if on cue, he heard Tristan squeal with delight from the art room. “They’ve pulled Tris into their fold with no issue.”
“Please,” Porthos scoffed, smirking even as he rolled his eyes. “You and your charm and all these kids? I could swing a hammer for a year and not level the playing field.” He knocked Aramis gently with a shoulder as he moved towards the door that had been indicated. A twist of the knob proved it was jamming right this very second so Porthos headed back to his borrowed toolkit and carried it over.
“I’m glad things are going well. I was…well, I wouldn’t say worried, but something near it.” He crouched by the door, setting down the toolkit and looking back up at Aramis. “It’s good he’s getting a chance to spend time with other fae folk. Or whatever they consider themselves here. I wasn’t sure how long it would be at home before he’d be free to do that sort of thing.”
Aramis could’ve easily taken the opportunity to let Porthos do his repairs in peace and drift out of the conversation, but he was far too selfish for that. Instead, he found a comfortable spot to lean against the wall and stare at the other Musketeer, getting in a good view of Porthos as he worked. “All you have to do is bake for them and this empire could be yours, Porthos.” Aramis gestured around the room, as if it was the empire, grin on his face.
It was a good tease, but only partially honest. Porthos’ baking was unrivaled, to be sure, but he still had a way about him that could win people over even with the gruffest of tones. Tristan was proof of that, and the thought of his son had him glancing back towards where the children were. “I miss a great deal about home, but I’m glad he’s able to have that here. I’ve been worried.”
Porthos guffawed disbelievingly. “I could win over the kids easy, maybe. But adults aren’t so easy when that face of yours is involved,” he gestured at Aramis with a spray can of something called WD-40. He’d been told it could handle this kind of thing, but there’d been no chance to test it until now. Even still, he tried to look like he knew exactly what he was doing with the little nozzle attachment and hoped Aramis would be too distracted talking about Tristan to notice.
“Me too,” he murmured. “Been worried about you both and the stress of all this.” He sprayed the WD-40 around the doorknob and squinted a sideways glance at Aramis. “I’m glad you found something that fits you both so well. I was gonna offer to keep him in the kitchens.”
It was a long-running joke that Aramis could win over just about anyone with his face, he knew it was pretty. The compliments still went to his head, though, especially where Porthos was concerned. But he ignored the fact that his heart was beating a little faster (even if he willed it to be quiet, reminding it that Porthos could hear these things) and looked back at Porthos just so he could grin. “Well, thank you.”
Aramis watched closely, trying to pick up little things that he could memorize for the next time something was wrong. Learning from Porthos was something he always enjoyed, given how all-in he was. “It’s been a while since either of us have had to put our lives on the line. How long do you think until we’re restless with just orphanages and kitchens?”
Being under Aramis’s close attention was always good and bad for Porthos. “Bad” being that it made him want to do reckless things. It made him give Aramis a furtive glance and soft, appreciative eyes. But this wasn’t the place for all that. He had Aramis’s question to mull over anyway.
“Just orphanages? You’re doing a good bloody thing here, so I wouldn’t say it’s just anything,” he insisted. His tone turned softly thoughtful though, once that kneejerk defense of Aramis was out of the way. “I don’t miss half the things that came with being a Musketeer. Guard duty while the king did something stupid. Parades. Politics.” Chewing on his lip, he turned back to the doorknob and gave a few test wiggles. It turned easily enough. “But I suppose the honor of it...the glory...maybe defending the city against strange beasts and a monthly fight club will be enough to stave off any restlessness.”
Aramis saw that glance and willed his heart to fucking stop, it’s just Porthos. But there was never really a just Porthos. Just like it was never just Anne, or Adele or-- Oh, that was an avenue Aramis knew he should not go down, and he blew out a frustrated breath at himself. Idiot.
It was easier to focus energy elsewhere, to clean up a little in the room around them, picking toys up and putting them in their proper place. Avoidance was something he was well versed in.
“I liked the parades.” He pointed out with a forced grin. “We’ll need to find someone to trust to watch Tristan if I want to do patrols here, because I would like to help. Even if new politics make me nervous when it’s not just me I have to worry about.”
Porthos lifted a teasing judgmental eyebrow. “Well I don’t know bloody know why you like parades, but everyone’s allowed to have a fault, I suppose.” Realizing quickly that his words could easily mean he was calling Aramis ‘otherwise perfect’, he scowled and picked up his toolbox to look around for something else to fix.
“Have you been talking to the other parents?” He leaned over to pick up a discarded teddy bear with his free hand and stood there, looking unsure where to put it before he finally just held it out to Aramis. “Any of them especially trustworthy? Maybe they can point us--you in the right direction for a watcher.”
“If that’s my only one,” Aramis raised both eyebrows and lowered them again comically, pointing a wide, flirtatious grin at Porthos before he could stop himself. “I think I’m doing rather good for myself.” He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in mock-thanks, fully committed to teasing his very best friend in this moment before taking the teddy bear from Porthos.
If he let his hand linger just a little too long against the strong fingers that had picked it up, well. He was only fae. He couldn’t be blamed for such a weakness. “A few. I’ll ask them, and see if there’s anyone we-” he was firm with that word, without Porthos, he would have been lost the last several months. “Can trust. Smell out. You know.”
“You think,” Porthos grinned right back, but it came with an embarrassed roll of his eyes. If he held tight to the flustered feeling in his chest, maybe he wouldn’t read into Aramis’s lingering touch. Aramis had always been one for tender touches, after all. Even when Porthos was new to him and a much more distant grump, trying to find his place in the Musketeers, he’d been soothed by Aramis’s and his gentle hands. A shoulder squeeze here, a pat on the back there. Was it any wonder Porthos had been half in love with him before that first month was out?
He smiled slowly at the insistent we and puffed up his chest a bit. “Alright. Good. I probably would’ve sniffed them out either way, but I’d rather you approve.” Reaching out, he ruffled a hand over Aramis’s wild hair. His teeth flashed on a huff of a laugh. “Every time you bow, I wonder if you feel a little naked walking around without a hat.”
“And I’d rather you sniff them out before I approve,” Aramis shot back with a matched grin. It was the honest truth, he trusted a lot of people with his own life, but very few actually made it to the level of trust for Tristan’s life, and Porthos was on the top of that list. Athos, d’Artagnan, Constance and Treville were there as well, but no one quite hit it like Porthos did. It was that all-encompassing overwhelming needy leve of things that Aramis often felt like he should apologize for, but couldn’t bring himself to be that selfless.
“Sometimes,” He confirmed and went back over his hair with a smoothing hand. It did nothing to soothe the mess of curls, but he did it anyway. His voice dropped a little, just so the children one room away wouldn’t overhear, even through their laughter. “I like to think I look better actually naked, however.”
“That means a lot. I won’t let you down.” Porthos’s grin was decidedly prouder, hearing Aramis say he’d rather Porthos sniff them out first. He knew Aramis trusted him. But having such blatant confirmation that it was the deepest of trust - that of a parent entrusting the life of their child - made Porthos feel ten feet tall.
That was until the thought of Aramis naked painted a picture across his mind, mentally staggering him. He’d only ever seen Aramis shirtless, with the flashes of more that occurred while living at a garrison with a great many men. But those flashes were enough to drag Porthos’s gaze from the mop of loose curls on Aramis’s head all the way down to his thighs before reason prevailed.
Porthos coughed and laughed all at once. “I’m sure you do look better actually naked,” he admitted. “It’s really unfortunate that humans are so hung up on clothes, eh?”
Oh, God, how he wanted to offer. Now wasn’t the time or place. Porthos wasn’t the person he should have been offering to, either, but that part he’d always struggled with. What was a little flirting between friends? They’d always been ones to push the boundaries.
“Extremely unfortunate.” It was only fair that he should agree, wasn’t it? Aramis grinned right back at Porthos, enjoying the sound of his laughter. “Speaking of, we’re due for a day trip to the beach. I haven’t checked out the local aquatic life yet, and I’d at least like to go for a little swim.” His grin grew and he reached forward to nudge Porthos. “If you can handle me half naked, at least. It’s alright if you want to admit I’m too much for you.”
“Anyone who claims they can handle you in any state of undress is probably lying through their teeth, Aramis.” Porthos wished sometimes that he was more the type to mince words. His life would likely have been much easier - as a were, as a black man, and as a man who was attracted to other men. But it was too late for that. He was set in his ways. And Aramis grinning and touching him, even to tease, was enough to bring out the honesty.
Thankfully, Tristan wobbled towards them, seemingly aiming for Porthos because he was the closest.
“The beach sounds good, though,” he growled cheerfully. The sight of Aramis’s son made him light up with a toothy smile. “Bet this one could use a dip. You wanna sing to the turtles, little man?” he asked, lifting Tristan up into his arms.
Oh, his smugness, it was palatable in the air as Porthos spoke so candidly. He might’ve said something more, but they were interrupted by Tristan who went straight in for Porthos.
Aramis couldn’t blame the toddler. He wanted to do the same thing sometimes. He did, however, stroke a hand along his son’s curls and lean in to press a kiss against the side of his temple. It put him in close proximity with Porthos, and was too tempting to pass on the urge to do the same, especially when Tristan giggled and repeated “Pofos!” a few times, clearly excited to be the center of both of their attentions.
So he did. He followed up the toddler kiss with a grin and let his lips touch Porthos’ cheek immediately after. “He’ll have all of the turtles following him around in no time.”
Porthos wasn’t so distracted by Tristan that he didn’t see it coming. Affection from Aramis was never a bad thing anyway. Even if he hadn’t been distracted at all, he would’ve stood still and quietly waited for the brush of Aramis’s lips to raise goosebumps across his skin.
He huffed through his nose - once, loudly. Like a bull.
“Yeah he will,” he grumbled, more fond than frustrated. “We’ll have to get our days off lined up.” Tristan wrapped his little arms around Porthos’s neck and babbled some nonsense. Porthos laughed and gave him a squeezing hug that inspired another round of toddler rambling. “I know, I know, but I’ve gotta get goin’, pup. Tell me later, yeah?” He pressed the boy into his father’s arms and used it as an excuse to stroke a hand down Aramis’s back afterwards. “See you at the inn later?”
It was an intimate moment, between the cheek kiss and Porthos touching him, and a family moment that felt just.. Right. Aramis wanted to lean in for more. He settled - it was no settlement at all as he glanced oh-so-fondly at Tristan - for taking his son from Porthos and grinned in return. “I’ll be home in time for dinner,” he promised, shifting Tristan to sit on his hip.
Reluctantly, Aramis started towards the other room, letting Porthos go. He gave his friend a lingering, parting look. “Don’t get into trouble on your way back.”