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Chapter Text

"This was a terrible idea," Aramis muttered darkly as he eyed the slick surface in front of him. His skates were still set firmly on the floor at the edge of the rink, not yet touching the slippery ice. "Why did I agree to this?"

"It was your idea, love," Porthos chuckled, nudging him from behind. "Go on, don't be a baby."

Aramis made a face at the reminder. Yes, he had suggested they try something outside of their usual routine, and yes, he'd been rather excited by the prospect of ice skating with Porthos, but now that the time had come, he was feeling decidedly nervous about the whole thing.

Falling on one's ass was not exactly an attractive pastime. Even worse when one's boyfriend could skate perfectly.

"It looks slippery," Aramis complained, not budging from his spot by the gate. People behind him were starting to mutter mutinously. "Clearly my ideas are all terrible and you should never listen to them."

Porthos only laughed. "I'll remember that in bed tonight," he teased. "Now get out there, you're blockin' the little kids." With that, he gave Aramis a firm push, shoving him away from the safety of the solid floor and sending him skittering across the fresh ice.

"You heartless monster!" Aramis shouted back at him once he was sure he wouldn't collapse immediately, remembering at the last moment not to swear in the presence of small children. Porthos's laugh rumbled from somewhere over his shoulder, but he dared not turn to look for fear of losing his already precarious balance.

After a few moments, his slow slide across the ice stopped. Aramis found himself standing still in the middle of the crowded arena, without a wall in reach to use for support, and surrounded by lunatics with sharp blades strapped to their feet.

"Why does anyone enjoy this?" he huffed to himself, tentatively shifting one foot forward. Porthos said he was just supposed to slide his feet, right? When he didn't collapse immediately, he grew bolder, stretching his leg as if to take a step.

His foot shot away as if possessed, and he found himself on his ass on the ice. The impact seemed to reverberate up his entire spine. A few kids nearby laughed.

"Dammit!" he cried angrily, fighting back the urge to slam a fist against the ice beneath him. Not only would it hurt, he'd look even more of an idiot than he already did.

"Need a hand?" Porthos asked as he glided into view. He was smirking. "I hear they got these walker things people can use if they keep fallin'. Maybe I oughta get you one." He held out a hand, chuckling at his own joke.

Aramis glared at him furiously but accepted the offered hand, snatching it back as soon as he was on his feet in case Porthos decided to push him again.

"Don't be like that, babe," Porthos said, still grinning smugly. "You just gotta get used to it. C'mon, I'll help you."

"Just get me to the wall," Aramis muttered, letting Porthos grab his arm and haul him back toward the nearest wall. "I'll figure it out there."

His dark spirits did nothing to dampen Porthos's smile, which came as something of a relief. He'd have felt awful if his bad mood ruined their date.

Porthos tugged him easily over to the wall. Aramis clamped on to it with a feeling of immense gratitude, trying to ignore the young children cheerfully speeding by them.

"You'll get used to it in a few minutes," Porthos promised, watching him struggle. He kept looking over at the people shooting by with longing expression.

Aramis ignored him and focused on sliding his feet forward: left, right, repeat. He hung heavily off the wall, knowing that he'd be on his ass again the moment he let go. What a romantic evening this was turning out to be.

"You don't need to hover, I'll work it out in a few minutes," Aramis told him after a few minutes of this, glancing over toward where Porthos was keeping pace with his snail's crawl along the wall. "Take a few laps, you know you want to."

Porthos flashed him a smile so bright it could've melted the ice beneath their feet and was off like a shot, weaving in and out of skaters. Several people stopped to stare as he zoomed past, and Aramis gave a small exasperated chuckle. It wasn't like he could blame them.

He stopped for a moment against the wall to watch. Porthos moved as easily on the ice as he did on solid ground, speeding around with a gleeful smile. Aramis fought not to gasp aloud when Porthos executed a neat jump, boyish grin firmly in place.

Aramis was struck by the sudden desire to see Porthos in his full getup. By all accounts, he'd been quite good back in the day. Too bad he'd stopped playing in college.

He wondered if Porthos still had the uniform.

After a minute of watching he turned back to the wall, making his way slowly around the rink once more. His right hand never left the low ledge of the wall. Even with the support, his feet always seemed seconds away from sliding off without him again.

"Got your feet under you yet?"

Aramis nearly jumped out of his skin when Porthos spoke practically in his ear. His left foot was slid wildly away from his body, and his right followed a heartbeat later. If Porthos hadn't caught his arm, he'd have been flat on the ice again.

"It seems not," Aramis said gloomily. "I don't think I'm cut out for skating, to be honest."

"Rubbish, you just need practice" Porthos said, crowding up against him slightly as he helped him regain his balance. Aramis fought the urge to lean into his warmth, knowing he'd likely just send them both crashing to the ground. "You trust me, yeah?"

"Yeah," Aramis said warily, not sure where this was going.

"Good. Remember to move your feet."

Porthos flashed him a grin and grabbed his hand, yanking him away from the wall with dizzying speed and hauling him forward. Porthos himself spun expertly so he was skating backwards, holding Aramis's hands with both of his own.

Aramis yelped and nearly crushed Porthos's fingers as he tried to figure out how to slide his feet to move forward without the support of the wall. Porthos laughed at his panicked expression and tugged him closer. "Relax, look 'ow much better you're doin' already."

Aramis swallowed heavily and looked around. To his horror, the wall was a good ten feet away. He nearly panicked before he realized that he was actually moving steadily with Porthos's help. Aramis wobbled uncertainly and felt Porthos shift to compensate, keeping them both moving while skating backward himself.

"Wanna go faster?" Porthos asked with a wicked grin. Before Aramis could say a word, he increased their speed, and Aramis couldn't keep from smiling at the excited expression on Porthos's face.

"This isn't so bad," he breathed, loosening the crushing grip he had on Porthos's fingers. His hands were warm where they touched his skin.

With Porthos's help, Aramis began to find a rhythm at last. Several people shot them strange looks as they circled the rink, but he ignored them, focusing on Porthos's smiling face just ahead of him and trusting him to keep him from falling.

"Told ya," Porthos said, grinning hugely. "I'm gonna let go o' one hand now, okay?"

"No, no, wait, that's a bad idea!" Aramis cried, but the words had barely left his mouth before Porthos released his left hand and tried to swing around to skate on his right.

Disaster struck mere seconds after.

Aramis's right leg went first, slipping over to crash against Porthos's foot. His left followed. Somehow, Aramis's skates managed to collide with Porthos's, knocking them both to the ice. They fell heavily, Aramis all but crushed under Porthos's weight before he caught himself.

"Shit, Aramis, you alright?" Porthos asked worriedly, propping himself up.

Aramis waved a hand, all the breath knocked out of him. "I'm fine," he wheezed, chuckling a bit as the air returned. "But I really think skating isn't my thing."

Porthos's face creased into a smile and he laughed, ducking his head to nuzzle at Aramis's hair before he clambered upright, hauling Aramis with him.

"C'mon," he said, helping him over to the gate. "I think there's a bar down the street. You can kick my ass on the dance floor."

At the gate, Aramis paused. When Porthos turned to look at him, he allowed himself a small smile and asked in his most charming voice, "Couldn't you demonstrate a bit more first?"

Porthos grinned and was off like a shot. The sight of him turning graceful loops on the ice warmed Aramis in a very welcome way, and he wondered if Porthos wouldn't mind skipping the bar and heading straight home.

Chapter Text

D'Artagnan stared around the apartment with a mix of awe and dismay. Aramis had said he was decorating for Christmas, but D'Artagnan had never expected this.

Tinsel lined the walls and ceiling. Tiny lights flickered merrily from the glittering strands. Actual boughs of holly were twined artfully amidst the gold and silver, and fake snow coated everything.

D'Artagnan made his way further into the apartment, wondering if he'd find Athos or Porthos buried under all the decorations, or perhaps dressed as Santa. At this point, he wasn't sure it would surprise him.

Then again, the sight of Athos in a Santa costume might traumatize him for life.

Thankfully, he didn't find any of his roommates wearing giant white beards. He did manage to knock over what appeared to be Santa's sleigh, complete with every reindeer. He just managed to catch Rudolph before the statue crashed to the ground.

"Best be careful with that." D'Artagnan turned to see Athos lounging in a doorway, mercifully beard free. "Aramis is touchy about his decorations."

"How did he even do all this?" D'Artagnan asked, realigning the reindeer. "I've only been out since this morning!"

"Who knows how Aramis does the things he does?" Athos muttered, eying the reindeer as if they had personally insulted him. "He's full of holiday spirit, or some such nonsense. Besides, Porthos helped him."

"Not you?" D'Artagnan teased. Athos sent him an affronted look and eased his way through the doorway, back pressed against the frame.

When he caught sight of D'Artagnan's bemused expression, Athos sighed and jerked his head toward the ceiling. "He does this every year," he said, sounding torn between fondness and exasperation.

D'Artagnan followed his gaze and saw a cluster of berries and leaves dangling innocently from the ceiling.

"Mistletoe?" he asked incredulously. "What does he even need that for?"

Athos rolled his eyes. "Aramis finds it amusing."

"But he could kiss you any time. I'm the one who's in trouble," D'Artagnan stared at Athos, willing the older man to do something. Like knock the damn thing down.

Athos merely smirked at him. "Be that as it may, I won't take it up with him," he said. "I know when to pick my battles. Just keep an eye out in the doorways and you'll be fine. He didn't have more than a dozen to start with."

"What, every doorway?" he asked, appaled.

Athos just chuckled and continued to the kitchen.

The next few days passed in a haze of paranoia for D'Artagnan. He began peeking around corners before walking down a hallway, careful never to pass one of his roommates. He was pretty sure Athos would just smirk at him and not fulfill the mistletoe obligation, but he didn't trust Porthos or Aramis not to plant one on him.

It was hell, and there was no escape.

It didn't help that the others seemed to be greatly enjoying the new decorations. He'd stumbled onto Aramis and Porthos gleefully making out in the hallway more times than he'd even thought possible. And Athos, who he'd thought was sensible, seemed completely fine with it all. D'Artagnan never saw him initiate what basically amounted to wall sex at this point, but he certainly wasn't objecting.

D'Artagnan was going to have to wash his eyeballs with bleach by the time this was all over. And then find new roommates. He couldn't live like this. Still, he had survived thus far through a combination of paranoia and avoidance skills that would have made Ethan Hunt proud.

So naturally, when he looked up one afternoon from where he was sitting on the couch to find a sprig of mistletoe dangling over his head, his reaction was… extreme.

Three seconds later, he was halfway across the room, and Aramis was laughing his ass off behind the couch, mistletoe clutched in his hand.

"You should've seen your face!" he wheezed, clutching his side.

"Do you just fucking carry that around with you?" D'Artagnan asked crossly as Porthos and Athos wandered in to see what all the fuss was about.

"Yes," Aramis said smugly, yanking it out again to wiggle it at Athos. D'Artagnan groaned and turned away as they stalked toward each other.

Salvation came in the form of the ringing doorbell. "I'll get it!" he called, beating a hasty retreat from the room before the kissing could begin. He scrambled down the hall, bouncing off the wall in his rush to escape. A strand of tinsel got tangled around his shoulders along the way, but he ignored it in his haste.

He wished he'd taken a moment to remove it when he wrenched open the door to find Constance standing there, snowflakes in her auburn hair and cheeks red from the cold.

"Oh, hello, D'Artagnan!" she said cheerfully. "You've got some fake snow in your hair, did you know?"

His cheeks flushed crimson as she reached out to casually bat it away. "Uh, thanks," he muttered, tugging awkwardly at the tinsel still around his shoulders. "Were you, uh, looking for someone?"

"I just thought I'd see if anyone wanted to grab a bite to eat," Constance said.

There was a thump from the living room. "I think they're all a bit, uh, occupied," D'Artagnan said, glancing around for someplace to stuff the tinsel. His gaze caught on something hanging above his head and he froze.

"What is it?" Constance asked, looking up as well. And then… "Oh."

He stared at the mistletoe for a moment before scrunching his eyes shut, cursing Aramis and all existence. He was about to make a break for it when soft lips brushed his own.

If he hadn't been rooted to the spot, he'd have leapt back in surprise.

"Can't break a Christmas tradition," Constance breathed, leaning back again. Her cheeks were far redder than they had been a moment ago.

The curses in his head turned to praise as he rocked on his heels. "Yeah, right," he said, hoping he sounded casual. "So, you wanna get dinner?"

Chapter Text

When Athos went to bed on Friday night, his plan for the weekend was to sleep past noon and then stay in bed all weekend. Christmas was only a few days away, and he was sorely in need of a recharge before the real festivities began. Athos wasn't afraid to admit he was a bit of a Grinch on any day, and he was already sorely tired of all the holiday spirit.

So, when he was woken by the alarm clock blaring "Let It Go" at an unholy hour the next morning, he was less than pleased.

"Turn it off," he groaned, burying his face in the pillow. Aramis shifted where he was pressed against Athos's chest, mumbling a protest to the noise. There was a moment of shuffling somewhere behind Aramis, and then the noise blissfully stopped.

"Why was that even set?" he growled, refusing to lift his face from the pillow. Aramis shifted again, presumably irritated at the chill his shirtless back was now exposed to.

"I set it," Porthos admitted. Athos opened his eyes long enough to see him slotting back into place behind Aramis, who made a happy noise, clearly still mostly asleep. "I, uh, I thought we might get up early today."

"Why in god's name would we do that?" Athos asked, wishing Porthos would be quiet so he could just go back to sleep.

"Well, I just thought… there used to be this tradition, see, and… but we don't 'ave to, it's silly, go back to sleep."

Athos was on the verge of doing just that when Porthos's hesitant tone finally registered. With great effort, he pried his head off the pillow, murmuring a soft apology when Aramis made a noise at the movement.

"Porthos? What was it you wanted to do?"

It was still so dark he couldn't clearly make out Porthos's face, but he could see the outline of broad shoulders just behind where Aramis lay between them. Porthos appeared to be sitting up against the headboard, which meant he had been planning to actually get up.

"It's nothin', really," Porthos said evasively, but Athos was awake enough now not to be deterred.

"You wouldn't have set an alarm at the crack of dawn for nothing," he said dryly, rolling so he could prop himself partially against the headboard as well. Aramis gave a great groan at the change in position and rolled over to cuddle into Porthos's lap instead, clearly fed up with Athos's wriggling. "Out with it."

"It's just…" Porthos began, shifting to accommodate Aramis, who'd slung both arms loosely around his waist and seemed intent on falling back asleep, "We sorta had this tradition. Back at the orphanage, you know?"

In Porthos's lap, Aramis shifted, rolling until he could look up at him. Apparently the rare chance to learn more about Porthos's childhood outweighed his desire to keep sleeping. Athos shifted closer as well, until he was pressed close against Aramis's side.

"We didn't get a lotta time to watch TV and things, yeah? Too many kids, too many potential arguments. But every year, the week before Christmas, they'd let us watch it as much as we wanted, so we could see all the Christmas specials. We used to get up really early so we wouldn't miss anythin'." The room had lightened enough for Athos to see Porthos was smiling slightly. "Must've watched Rudolph about a dozen times each year. But it was fun."

"You want us to watch Christmas movies with you?" Athos asked, honestly surprised.

Porthos nodded, looking a bit nervous. "Uh, yeah. I mean it's alright if you don't want to. We just used to get up and eat cereal and get one o' the ladies to make us hot chocolate and pile together in the blankets all day. But it's okay if we don't," he added unconvincingly. "We can just go back to sleep."

"Of course we will, querido," Aramis murmured warmly, blinking up at him. "It sounds fu-" A huge yawn cut him off, but it seemed Porthos had heard enough, for he glanced over at Athos, a hopeful smile beginning to form on his face.

"On one condition," Athos said, feeling his lips twitch in response.

"Yeah?"

"You make the hot chocolate." The words had barely left his mouth when he finally lost the battle not to smile at the boyish grin that had broken out on Porthos's face.

"Fair enough," he said excitedly, and Athos found himself dragged in for a kiss faster than his sleep-deprived brain could process. He was released a moment later, still reeling pleasantly, and chuckled when Aramis was subjected to the same thing before being unceremoniously flung from Porthos's lap with a quick 'sorry!' as Porthos rushed to the kitchen.

Aramis sat up, shivering as cold air hit his chest. He looked so adorably bemused with his curls still mussed from sleep that Athos simply had to kiss him too before climbing out of their warm bed.

"You're on blanket duty," Athos told him as he rummaged under the bed for his slippers. They had little bunnies all over them. Aramis thought they were hilarious, which was why he and Porthos had presented him with them a few weeks ago. They'd insisted that Athos toss his old, ripped, normal slippers in the garbage.

He could've returned them and got plain ones instead, but they'd both looked too pleased with themselves for him to deny the absurd gift.

"Where are you going?" Aramis asked, stealing a sweatshirt from Porthos's drawer.

Athos tugged it from his hands, claiming it for himself. Porthos would be pleased. "You'll see." Aramis made a face and grabbed another as Athos strode from the room.

He slipped back into the apartment less than a minute later, hoping the lack of shouts meant that Porthos hadn't burned anyone with his enthusiastic hot chocolate making. The moving pile of blankets headed toward the couch was probably Aramis.

"Where'd you go?" Porthos called as he walked into the kitchen. The smile on his face told Athos he'd been right: Porthos was quite pleased that Athos had worn one of his sweatshirts.

"To get this," Athos told him triumphantly, revealing his prize. Porthos stared. Aramis dropped the blankets and wandered over the look at it too.

"Lucky Charms?" he asked incredulously. "Where did you get those?"

"That's none of your concern," Athos said haughtily. He'd deal with that later. Right now, all he cared about was the giant, ridiculously delighted smile on Porthos's face.

"S'perfect," he said happily. "Aramis, grab some bowls."

A few minutes later, they were slumping down together on their oversized couch, juggling bowls of cereal and mugs of hot chocolate and trying very hard not to spill either on anything. Porthos wound up squished between them, Athos tucked against his side with Aramis sprawled half in his lap.

"This is lovely," Aramis sighed contentedly, blowing on his hot chocolate. Porthos chuckled and pulled a few of the blankets over them just as Athos's phone dinged on the table.

"Who's textin' you so early?" he asked with a frown. Before Athos could tell him to leave it, Porthos had picked it up.

"It's from the pup. Athos just stole my cereal," Porthos read. "Can I come get it back?" He glanced over at him. "Did you steal his cereal, love?"

Athos shrugged noncommittally as Aramis grabbed the phone and began typing. "Having a pyjama party," Porthos read over his shoulder. "Bring Constance and more cereal."

Aramis sent them both winning smiles as he passed the phone back. "The more the merrier, right? Wait, what's Athos writing?"

Porthos leaned into him to read, "Bring marshmallows, too." The bark of laughter Athos got at that was worth the near deafness it caused in his ear.

D'Artagnan and Constance piled through the door a few minutes later. D'Artagnan was weighed down by half a dozen blankets and looked ready to bounce off the walls. Constance looked torn between fond exasperation and the desire to commit murder, rubbing blearily at her eyes.

"What's all this, then?" she asked, tugging the blankets from D'Artagnan's hands and motioning him towards the kettle to make them both hot chocolate.

"We're watching holiday specials," Aramis told her proudly. "Look, we've got cereal and everything." He held up his mostly empty bowl as proof.

"It's somethin' I used to do as a kid," Porthos confessed. Constance's face softened instantly.

"Well, let's do this then," she said, tossing him the controller. Porthos grinned at her and began flipping through the channels. D'Artagnan charged in a moment later, somehow carrying a bowl and a mug in each hand. He and Constance settled beside Aramis, cuddling together under a second pile of blankets.

"How's Santa Claus is Comin' to Town?" Porthos asked, smiling gleefully. As the movie started to play, Athos allowed himself to press closer against Porthos's side, his mug of hot chocolate warming his hands.

Maybe a little holiday spirit wasn't such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Porthos shifted the bag of groceries in his arms, struggling to hook the keys from his pocket and open the door with one hand. It had been a long, tiring day, and he still had to unpack the groceries and get started on dinner.

He sighed with relief when the door finally swung open. He was so focused on getting through it that he didn't notice the shadows darting about behind the snowbank next to the house.

But he did notice the ball of icy slush that struck him between the shoulder blades with unerring accuracy, sending a wet patch spreading across his too then jacket.

Pure dumb luck saved him from dumping the groceries across the snowy steps.

"Aramis!" he growled, whipping around to glare back toward the snowbank. Giggles rose from it. A moment later, two heads popped up, both grinning like loons. One of them was wearing a ridiculous, hand knitted hat with a bobble on the end.

"Sorry, mon cher!" Aramis called, still grinning gleefully. Beside him, D'Artagnan sniggered.

"Shouldn't you be at 'ome?" Porthos asked darkly, eyeing the younger man.

D'Artagnan shrugged, tossing a snowball up with one gloved hand. "Constance is out late tonight at a meeting," he said. "And she told me I should try out my new hat. Let's have a snowball fight!"

"An excellent proposal, young padawan!" Aramis crowed, snatching the snowball from mid-air and lobbing it towards Porthos. He stepped to one side and it shattered against the house right above his head, sending ice particles all over him.

"Not a chance. I got things to do, I ain't got time to play," he growled, still irritable from the long day. He caught a glimpse of Aramis's rather hurt expression just before he stomped into the house.

Shit. Now he felt like a bastard.

A second snowball sailed through the doorway before he could kick it shut, and he knew D'Artagnan must be retaliating. Porthos dumped the groceries on a chair and tossed the freezing thing in the bathroom sink. He didn't have time for games.

He found Athos curled up in the armchair when he trudged into the living room, depositing the groceries on the kitchen counter. Athos looked up when he walked in and shifted so that his legs hung over the side. Porthos dropped heavily to the ground to lean against the chair between them, flopping his head back to rest on Athos's thigh.

"Long day?" Athos asked, leaning forward on the chair.

"Somethin' like that," Porthos mumbled, closing his eyes. "I swear the whole world was out to get me today. I nearly had to kill an old lady for some clementines at the store."

"You have ice in your hair," Athos murmured, picking out the offending slivers out from the dark curls. He raked his fingers gently across Porthos's scalp when he finished, and Porthos sighed happily at the sensation. "Are they still throwing snowballs?"

"Yeah," Porthos said, sighing heavily. "Aramis 'it me with one. But I think I mighta hurt 'is feelings."

"I'm certain he will recover," Athos said quietly.

"I still feel bad, bu-"

Something splattering against the window cut him off, and he sat up in surprise, staring at the slushy remains dribbling down the glass. "Feelin' less bad now," he growled, clambering to his feet and stalking over. "They're gonna break a fuckin' window."

He looked outside and groaned. Athos got up at the noise and came to investigate as well.

"Oh, you'll have to go out now," he said, smiling wryly.

Outside, Aramis was dragging his feet through the snow, carving out the words Sorry Porthos please come play with me. He couldn't see D'Artagnan: he assumed the lad was somewhere around the back of the house.

"Dammit," Porthos huffed, pressing his forehead to the window. Below, Aramis had noticed them standing there and was waving up at them with a hopeful expression.

"I'll get the snow boots," Athos said, voice heavy with reluctance, but when Porthos glanced over at him, he was smiling.

"You're comin'?"

Athos nodded, chuckling softly. "Yes, I'm coming. Can't send you out there on your own."

Porthos grinned, a bit more excited at the prospect of a four person snowball fight, and hurried to get his gear.

Ten minutes later they were outside, soundly bundled in coats, hats, mittens, boots, and snow pants. They rounded the corner of the house to find a wall of snow across from them, built up nearly waist high. Behind it, D'Artagnan was putting the finishing touches on low igloo.

"When did you even have time to make that?" Porthos called, amazed.

D'Artagnan flashed him a grin. "I'm just talented!" he called back. "Look upon my works and despair, motherfuckers!"

"Language," Athos muttered darkly. "Where's Aramis?"

The mischievous twinkle in D'Artagnan's eye as he ducked into the igloo was all the warning they got before snowballs rained down on them from behind. D'Artagnan cackled like a madman as they ran for cover, pelting more snowballs at them from the igloo to keep them away from his wall. They dove behind some bushes, staying low to avoid more projectiles.

"Where the hell is 'e?" Porthos growled, trying to peer through the bare branches.

"Behind the hydrangeas," Athos replied, already packing snow into neat balls. "Shall we go after him, or storm the igloo?"

Another snowball rattled the branches over Porthos's head, dumping some snow down his collar. "His aim's too good to take 'im without cover."

Athos nodded. "Igloo, then."

Porthos grabbed a few of the snowballs and shifted into a crouch. When Athos was ready, they leapt out from behind the bush and charged toward the igloo, diving around the wall to avoid the snowballs Aramis was lobbing at them with alarming precision. Porthos took three before they made it to safety.

As they'd suspected, their reckless charge caught D'Artagnan entirely by surprise. He only managed a handful of defensive snowballs before they were upon him. They crowded into the igloo and Porthos watched in delight as Athos bodily tackled the boy to the ground.

More snowballs slammed into the igloo, but it held steady. He turned to D'Artagnan. "Nice job on the igloo, pup. Now, you got two choices: you c'n join us, or I'll 'ave Athos sit on you 'til we've won."

D'Artagnan looked up at Athos, clearly not convinced Athos would make good on Porthos's threat. Athos simply raised an eyebrow. His smile was feral.

D'Artagnan gulped. "I'll join you."

"Wise choice," Porthos told him. "Make more snowballs. I'm goin' to see if he's moved." He ducked into the low igloo entrance, scanning the seemingly empty yard.

There was no one behind the hydrangeas.

"Fuckin' hell, he's gone," he muttered, clambering out and scrambling over to the wall. He half expected to find the silly fool trying to climb onto the roof or something. When he reached the wall he rose, looking for his lover.

Only for the man to pop up from the other side of the wall, mere feet away, clutching a snowball bigger than Porthos's head.

"Don't you dare-" he began, but Aramis was already tossing the thing at his head with an expression of absolute glee.

It exploded into powder on contact, showering him in cold white fluff.

He didn't wait for it to settle. Instead, he lunged over the wall, tackling Aramis to the ground. A few moments of wrestling were all it took for Porthos to straddle his hips, pinning him in the snow.

"Ah, help! Murder!" Aramis shouted, trying to wriggle free. Porthos laughed when all he managed to do was get snow down the back of his jacket. Keeping Aramis's shoulders pinned with one hand, he reached out and scooped up a big handful of snow, sprinkling it cheerfully over Aramis's face.

After another moment of struggling Aramis seemed to accept he wasn't going to escape, going limp beneath him. "Cheater," he muttered, pouting.

"Oi, you did a sneak attack, any retaliation was justified. Least I came out like you wanted."
Aramis shot him a grudging smile. "Yes, you did," he admitted. "Thanks."

Porthos grinned and leaned forward, intent on kissing Aramis as long as he had him like this, but at that exact moment, something cold and wet slammed into the back of his head and dripped down his jacket. Aramis stared up at him in stunned astonishment before bursting into laughter.

Slowly, Porthos turned to look back at the igloo. He expected D'Artagnan. Instead, he found Athos smirking at him, clutching another snowball in his gloved hand. D'Artagnan hovered behind his shoulder, staring in awe.

"Et tu, Brute?" Porthos growled. He had to duck low over Aramis to miss the second one.

"We can take him," Aramis whispered in his ear as he straightened. He gave him a huge grin and nodded, rolling off in one smooth movement and scooping up a snowball. He and Aramis turned as one to face the new enemy.

This meant war.

Chapter Text

"Are you ready?" Athos called, struggling with the zipper on his coat. It had been broken for weeks, but he'd stubbornly refused to go shopping for a new one, even when Aramis had offered to go with him.

He was regretting that now, with the prospect of a long walk to the train station in the December chill.

"Why are we walking, anyway?" he called, tugging the zipper savagely. "Aramis! We're going to be late!"

"I'll be down in a minute!" Aramis shouted. "Is my blue hat down there?"

Athos rolled his eyes and went to search. He found it sitting on a chair in the kitchen. He shook his head at the tangled threads and ridiculous bobble. Aramis had knitted it himself during one of his 'crafty' phases and was outrageously proud of it.

At least he hadn't made one for Athos or Porthos. This time.

"I've got it, can we go now?" he shouted up the stairs.

A moment later Aramis clattered down. Athos huffed out a laugh, raising one eyebrow.

Aramis was at least three times larger than he usually was, crammed into a puffy white jacket that made him look alarmingly like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Under this, he had one of Athos's jackets, and then two layers of sweaters. He'd completed the look with thick, fuzzy gloves and a maroon scarf.

"What?" Aramis asked, snatching the hat from Athos and cramming it onto his head. Dark curls sprung wildly from under the edges.

"I thought you said you were okay with walking rather than getting a taxi."

"I am!"

"Then why are you dressed for nuclear winter?" Athos asked dryly.

Aramis glared. "You know I get cold easily. I wanted to walk, but that doesn't mean I have to be cold doing it!"

"But you'll melt when we get to the station," Athos pointed out, slipping on a pair of fingerless gloves as he led the way to the door. "Take off one sweater, at least."

"No," Aramis said stubbornly. "I'd rather be too hot than too cold."

Athos sighed but let it go, opening the door for Aramis. They stepped out and were immediately assaulted by an icy breeze. Aramis squeaked and burrowed deeper into his scarf.

"I can still call a taxi," Athos said.

Aramis's head shot out. "No, I want to walk!" he insisted, pride kicking in. "Come on, then." He strode off up the street.

Athos shook his head, smirking. He locked the door to their apartment and caught up with Aramis halfway down the road. Aramis shot him a dark look but allowed Athos to hold his hand.

They walked in silence for a few streets. Normally, Aramis would be chattering on about things at work or the latest book he'd finished, while Athos listened intently and offered occasional comments, but it seemed he was too cold for conversation today.

At that thought, Athos looked over at Aramis, slightly concerned at the unusual silence. Sure enough, his face was already bright red from the cold.

Athos frowned and tugged Aramis's hand, pulling him against his body so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders. Aramis was shivering.

"How on earth do you get so cold, so fast?" Athos asked, rubbing his hand up and down Aramis's arm.

Aramis gave him a half-hearted shrug, shrinking still closer to him. "Winter hates me," he declared, sounding thoroughly miserable.

Athos sighed, looking around the street. A few doors down, he spotted what he was looking for.

What the hell, they were going to be late anyway.

He tugged Aramis toward the store, both of them sighing happily when the heated air hit them. A few minutes, they were leaving, two more sweaters added to Aramis's many layers.

"That wasn't necessary," Aramis muttered. He was now wearing so many layers that his arms could not hang straight down to his sides.

"It stopped you shivering, didn't it?" Athos asked, bumping him with a hip. Aramis stuck his tongue out. "Come on, the station's just ahead. Porthos might already be there if the train was on time."

It seemed the prospect of seeing Porthos after a long weekend apart was enough to spur Aramis on, and they reached the station a few minutes later. There was no sign of Porthos, and the lady at the counter told them his train was running late, so they settled in the waiting area.

"Athos?" Aramis murmured after a few minutes, interrupting Athos's Angry Birds streak. He'd found he sympathized with the irritable creatures.

"Mmm?"

"Can you help me get my jacket off? I'm too hot."

Athos sighed, biting back his 'I-told-you-so' with great effort. Before long, a small pile of discarded clothing had formed on the seat beside Aramis, and he was down to only two sweaters.

Athos was attempting to free him from the second to last one when a deep chuckle echoed across the room, and Aramis wiggled free to charge at Porthos, who dropped his bag to catch him in a hug. Athos followed more sedately and allowed himself to be drawn in as well.

"Miss me?" Porthos asked, grinning cheekily.

"We hardly noticed you were gone," Athos said dryly.

Porthos just laughed. "Let's go home."

"I'll call us a cab," Athos said, looking pointedly at Aramis, who just nodded meekly and wandered over to the pile of clothes.

"Aramis, leave that bum al- are those just clothes?" Porthos asked, staring in shock as Aramis hoisted half the pile into his arms and dumped them on Porthos before grabbing the rest.

"I got cold on the walk over," he said darkly, his eyes daring Porthos to laugh.

Porthos did, and Athos couldn't resist smiling as the whole station echoed with it. He punched in the number for a cab service as they bickered, scooping Aramis's hat up with his free hand.

Then he groaned aloud as he realized they had to put all of that back on Aramis before they could go outside.

Chapter Text

Athos slammed the phone down furiously, feeling a childish sense of pleasure at the clatter it made. Of all the terrible calls he could have received mere weeks before Christmas, he had never expected to get one from his parents.

"We expect you to do the family proud, Athos," he mimicked bitterly. He'd been under the impression he was no longer part of the family. Maybe his parents were hoping he'd mess up horribly enough to give them an excuse to disown him once and for all.

Well, that was a thought. Maybe he should mess up horribly.

He glared at the phone once more and stalked from the room, wondering what on earth had even prompted him to agree. He could have simply said no, how hard was that? He blamed Aramis for instilling him with a Christmas-y feeling of charity, or some shit like that. Whatever it was, it had stopped him from saying not in a thousand years and made him say very well instead.

He fought not to bang his head against the walls as he walked down the hallway. There must be some way to get through this. It was only a family dinner, after all. Hardly even a party.

Aramis and Porthos were on the couch when he walked in. They looked so peaceful, cuddled together under a pile of blankets, that he almost walked out again. Before he could escape, Aramis caught sight of him.

"What's wrong, mon cher?" he called, gesturing for Athos to join them on the couch.

Athos sighed, lingering behind it rather than slumping down beside them, loath to bring his bitterness into that contented nest. "My parents called," he said shortly. Porthos's head whipped around and Aramis let out a soft oh of understanding. "They want me to host a dinner party."

"What? Why?" Porthos growled, reaching around to tug on his belt until he finally submitted, clambering over the back of the couch to join them. Aramis immediately moved over to make room for Athos in the middle. Athos almost smiled: Aramis must think him truly miserable, to give up the warmth of the middle.

"They seem to think I have been too lax in my so called 'family duties'," Athos said dryly. "They want me to host the dinner and invite some of my family."

"And you told them to shove it up their asses, right?" Porthos asked warily.

Athos heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately, no. Apparently all the holiday cheer you two have filled the house with prompted me to have 'goodwill toward all men' or something like that. I agreed to host a dinner party within the next two weeks."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged looks that bordered on terrified. "But that means they'll be comin' here!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos winced, suddenly realizing the burden he'd placed on them by agreeing without consulting them. "If you'd rather, I could rent a private room. They would probably prefer that, anyway."

"Of course we'll rent a private room, Athos, this is your family! They wouldn't all fit in our apartment anyway," Aramis said decisively. "We'll need to find a restaurant that isn't completely booked, and have our suits cleaned, of course, and perhaps invite a few of our own friends to even the odds a bit, but it's manageable as long as we keep everything organized. What?" he added, noticing Athos and Porthos staring.

"We?" Athos asked weakly.

"Well, we certainly aren't going to throw you to the wolves alone!" Aramis said, sounding horrified at the thought. "No, we'll each take a certain number of duties, and if we divide them correctly, it won't be disastrous. Only mildly unpleasant. No offense to your family, mon cher."

"Oh, by all means, insult away," Athos said, smirking a little. "Heaven knows they deserve it. You really think we can pull this off?"
"Oh yes," Aramis said. "I'll call Ninon, I'm sure she'll have some suggestions about a room. And Constance will certainly help me plan the décor, we can't rely on the restaurant providing a nice enough room this late in the season. Porthos, you're on suit duty. Yours doesn't even fit you anymore, so get to the tailor. Get Athos a new one, too."

Athos opened his mouth to protest that he didn't need a new suit, thank you very much, but Aramis fixed him with a piercing stare and said, "Your suit looks like what Dracula was buried in, querido. Give Porthos your measurements. Mine fits perfectly, so if you could drop it off at the cleaners, Porthos, that should be sufficient."

Apparently satisfied, he turned his gaze on Athos once more. Athos almost shrunk back at the sheer amount of focus levelled at him. Aramis on a mission was frightening.
"Athos, dear, you're in charge of guests. Invite whomever of your family is the least insufferable, and figure out which of our friends are least likely to cause an international incident. They already hate us for being poly; let's not add fuel to that fire, at least for one night. Can you handle that?"

"Yes?" Athos said, stunned by how quickly he'd gone from feeling overwhelmed to feeling like they could pull this off.

Aramis nodded. "Good. I'll call Ninon first and get to work on the restaurant options so we can get a date down and work from there." He all but vaulted off the couch and bustled into the other room, leaving Porthos and Athos staring after him in awe.

"Don't think I've ever seen him get like that before," Porthos said, obviously impressed. "You know 'e could throw a dinner party?"

Athos shook his head, still reeling. Porthos must have noticed, for his face softened and he slung an arm around Athos's shoulders. "Hey, don't look so grim, love, s'gonna be alright. You'll see."

Athos leaned into his warm side and prayed he was right.

Two week later, Athos was standing in the corner of the room, three drinks down and still praying. All was going well so far, mostly due to Aramis's unflappable charm. He was darting around the room like some strange butterfly, winning smiles from even some of Athos's more taciturn relatives. They had arrived obviously determined to hate both him and Porthos, but he was slowly charming them, if not changing their minds entirely.

At least his parents hadn't found anything to criticize yet, apart from every one of his major life decisions. The room was flawless, bedecked with tasteful and elegant holiday decorations. Aramis and Constance had gone for a classic look, all silver and gold, with no garish Christmas colors to offend his ridiculously upper crust family.

There was even a goddamn ice sculpture. Athos wasn't sure he wanted to know where that had come from.

In addition to that, the food was fantastic. Ninon must have chosen the place, because Aramis had certainly never eaten here before. His family had been so busy stuffing their faces, they'd hardly had time to open their mouths to make scathing remarks about his lifestyle.

Constance appeared at his side, auburn curls neatly pinned back. Over her shoulder, Athos could see Ninon chatting with his mother. Excellent. Ninon could take her.

"Between Aramis and Ninon, things are going pretty well," Constance said cheerfully.

"D'Artagnan and my cousin nearly got in a fistfight," Athos said mournfully, staring into his glass of wine as if it could rescue him.

"Nonsense, they would never have come to blows," Constance said bracingly. "That was just boys being boys. Your cousin's an ass, though."

Athos choked on a sip of wine and looked up to see Constance beaming at him. "See? That made you smile. Cheer up, all is well. I'm off to make sure my boyfriend isn't accidentally insulting your uncle or any such nonsense."

She bustled off into the crowded room, charming people almost as easily as Aramis. Athos watched her for a minute before he felt Porthos's warm presence at his side.

"You alright?" he asked quietly when Athos looked over at him.

"Yes," Athos said, surprised to find he meant it. "Aramis may be a miracle worker."

"Nah, it's almost Christmas, so must be he's Santa," Porthos said, chuckling.

Athos cracked a smile. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll be convinced it means he's gained weight."

Porthos chuckled again, shifting until their shoulders brushed together in a form of silent support. "It's going well," he rumbled. "Dessert's finished, they'll start leavin' soon, and then we can go home and sleep. Or not," he added with a wicked grin, winking at Athos's elderly grandmother.

To his immense shock, she blushed scarlet and smiled back.

Athos took a quick gulp of wine to cover his surprise. Porthos was right: the party had not turned out as horrible as he feared. Soon it would be over and they could all go home.

Though Athos had a feeling they wouldn't be getting much rest. He had a lot to thank them for, after all.

Chapter Text

"You've been to this place before?" Porthos asked, tugging nervously on the cuff of his shirt. He glanced through the window, wishing once again he could stay on the street. The sprawling private room of the ritziest hotel he'd ever seen in his life was just through the main lobby, and they were expected to go there. He felt like a child outside a candy store window, except he was actually going to go inside.

That might be worse, really.

"Once or twice," Aramis said breezily. He was the picture of calm as he readjusted his mask, shifting it so that his eyes could be seen more clearly through the holes, dark and flashing with mischief. "It's lovely inside, you'll see."

"That ain't what I'm worried about," Porthos muttered, allowing Aramis to turn and fix his mask as well. "I don't think they had people like me in mind when they sent out the guest list."

"Nonsense," Aramis said firmly. "Ninon invited me, and she specifically told me to bring you. So none of that, mon cher. And smile. It's a party, after all."

Porthos obediently pasted on a smile. When Aramis nodded and turned away, apparently satisfied, Porthos reached out and pinched his ass. The indignant yelp was enough to put a true smile on his face, and he offered Aramis his arm to lead him inside.

They left their coats in a room outside the private ballroom where Ninon was hosting her charity event. Porthos knew Aramis had told him what it was for, but he'd already forgotten in his nervousness. This time, when he offered Aramis his arm, it was as much out of the need for comfort as chivalry.

They stepped through double doors glowing faintly gold in the light of a thousand fairy lights, strung along the ceiling and draped down the walls of the short hallway that led to the larger space. The carpets underfoot were so thick and plush Porthos felt guilty just for walking on them. Soothing classical music drifted toward them.

"We make a lovely picture," Aramis purred, nodding toward the wall. Porthos turned and saw a full length mirror leaning against it with an ornate golden frame.

As ever, his eyes were drawn first to Aramis, resplendent in soft blues and purples. When he'd told Porthos what he was going as, Porthos had been privately convinced they'd be a laughingstock, even with Constance's help. But his final costume was instead elegantly muted, the colors blending together to form the subtle impression of feathers. The only place he'd opted for opulence was the mask itself, trimmed in gold and bedecked with real peacock feathers. He'd probably turn every head in the place, and he knew it.

Peacock, indeed.

Porthos hesitated before glancing at his own reflection, convinced he could not live up to the standard set by Aramis, but to his own surprise, he looked, well…

Ferocious.

Aramis and Constance had outdone themselves with this one. Jagged black lines stretched from his shoulders to down over his ribcage, cutting through the dark amber of his suit. Thinner lines twined around his legs and arms. Now he saw why the jacket had felt too tight. Seeing it like this, it was clear Aramis had designed it that way, to emphasize his muscular arms.

Normally, that would piss him off, but he was a little in awe of the costume at the moment. He'd save the irritation for later.

At last, he met his own eyes in the mirror, appreciating that Aramis had given him a simple mask, mostly black with only a few hints of orange. The subtlety increased the impression of wild creature one the prowl.

He grinned at the mirror, and the tiger grinned back.

"If you're done staring at yourself, I'd love to get going," Aramis told him. The giant grin on his face told Porthos he was pleased his choice of costume was so appreciated, though, and Porthos ducked down to press a quick kiss of thanks to his lips before they continued into the main room.

It was like a wonderland. Porthos would have stopped dead in the doorway if Aramis hadn't laughed and tugged him along. Everything sparkled like fresh snow. Fake icicles hung from the ceiling, while real ice sculptures adorned every table, glittering like diamonds. The crowd was a blur of colors, everyone masked, everyone beautiful.

For a brief moment, Porthos had the insane urge to run. Then Aramis bumped him with a hip, smiling excitedly, and he remembered how to breathe again.

Even though Aramis sent longing looks toward the dancers whirling gracefully in the center of the room, he did not lead them there. Instead, to Porthos's immense relief, he led them over to a table by the windows. The centerpiece seemed to be a champagne glass tower, perched beside a sculpture of a stag.

He grabbed gratefully at one of the pretty glasses, earning a wry chuckle from a man standing nearby. Aramis had gone back to staring longingly at the dance floor, so Porthos looked over at the stranger.

He was dressed rather somberly for the occasion, in a simple black tux with a white mask that only covered half his face. He glanced over at Porthos with a bored expression, and Porthos took a hurried sip of his drink. The half of his face hat he could see was hot.

As if sensing his attention, Aramis turned as well to regard the stranger. His addition gave Porthos the courage to flash the man a charming grin.

"What're you supposed to be? The Phantom of the Opera?"

The man huffed out a laugh. "Is that what it looks like? I suppose I am, then. Ninon chose it for me when I showed up in only a suit. Thought I'd got around the damn mask rule, but of course she was prepared."

"I knew you'd try to get out of it." The lady in question appeared at the man's side, radiant in a white dress cascading with feathers. Ninon's golden hair was twisted so that it tumbled down over one should, woven through with glimmering silver strands. Her mask told Porthos she was meant to be a swan. "Porthos, Aramis, I'm so pleased you came!"

She fluttered toward them, and Porthos ducked his head to receive a friendly kiss on the cheek. Aramis grinned wickedly when it was his turn and planted one directed on her mouth. Ninon, to her credit, didn't even flush. She only laughed a bit and said, "Have you two met Athos? Athos, stop trying to sneak away and come be social."

The man in question had in fact been trying to slip away behind her back. He returned with a wry smirk, inclining his head toward her. "I could never trick you, could I?"

"Non, c'est impossible," she said, laughing. "This is Aramis and his boyfriend, Porthos. Aramis and I worked together on the charity. Boys, this is Athos, one of my old friends."

Athos snorted. "I've known you since you were born, mon cher. I think that makes me your oldest friend."

Ninon waved a hand airily and turned to Porthos. "What do you think of our little event? It came together quite nicely."

"Yeah, it's, uh, lovely," Porthos grunted, feeling a bit awkward. "S'a nice dress," he added.

Ninon beamed at him. "Thank you! I believe you know the designer. Constance does such wonderful work, don't you think?"

Porthos glanced over at Aramis before looking down at his own costume and nodding earnestly. "Yeah, she does. She here?"

"I believe I saw her by the fountain with young D'Artagnan," Athos murmured.

Aramis laughed. "Good for him!" He tipped his head to one side as the music changed. Ninon eyed him speculatively.

"It would be good manners to ask a lady to dance, Aramis," she said, smiling. Porthos laughed when Aramis immediately bowed low, offering her his hand and leading her onto the dance floor. Ordinarily, he'd be a bit annoyed to be abandoned at a party where he knew no one, but Athos still stood beside him, and the way he was watching Aramis walk off made Porthos bold.

"You don't dance, then?"

Athos's eyes darted over to his, the blue striking within the white mask. "I dance very well, actually," he admitted. "But I seldom have cause to use it. I tend to avoid it, as a rule."

Porthos hummed an agreement, looking back over the dancers. He thought that was the end of it, but a moment later, Athos spoke again.

"I have, of course, been known to make exceptions."

Porthos looked down to see a gloved hand extended in his direction. Half a smirk was visible on Athos's face. Portho found himself wondering what those lips would taste like.

Besides, Aramis would kill him if he said no.

With a fierce grin, he took the offered hand and tugged. "I'm leading."

Athos only smiled, permitting himself to be led. "We'll see."

Chapter Text

"This wasn't how I expected to spend my weekend," Athos muttered darkly, slamming the door of the car as he climbed out.

Aramis rolled his eyes, following him out into the snow. "Christmas is in three weeks, mon cher. We need a tree!"

"What's wrong with the kind you can buy from a farm stand?" Athos asked, surveying their surrounding with marked distaste. "Or better yet, from a damn store."

"This is more traditional," Aramis insisted. "We've got to have a real tree."

"It's impractical," Athos shot back. "There will be pine needles everywhere!"

"I've never 'ad a real tree before." Porthos's quiet confession had them both falling silent. He was standing off to one side, looking out over the rows of trees with something like childish excitement on his face. Aramis grinned, knowing victory was now assured.

Athos sighed, shoulders sagging in surrender. "Fine. We'll pick out a tree. But I am not hauling it back to the car."

Aramis smiled, slipping beneath Athos's arm. "We wouldn't dream of asking you to, mon cher. But perhaps you'd like to carry the axe?"

Porthos sniggered as Athos glanced over at him, clearly trying to hide his interest. "Well, I suppose I ought to do my part," he said nonchalantly. "Where would I get one of those, exactly?"

Aramis laughed and led them both over to the shed that served as the base of operations for the small tree farm. Warm air puffed from an electric space heater as they walked in to find an elderly couple sitting behind a counter. The old man smiled at them when they came over.

"Come to pick out a tree?" he asked.

Aramis nodded. "We need to rent an axe," he explained, gesturing toward the assortment of tools leaning against a wall.

The man chuckled. "Not a problem, young man. I'm guessing you won't be needing one of our boys to help you with the cutting?" he asked, glancing at Porthos, whose muscles were somehow visible even beneath his thick winter jacket.

"I think we'll be fine," Aramis laughed, handing over the rental fee. Athos took the axe the man offered, eyeing it with poorly disguised fascination.

"Pick whichever one you like and drag it back here," the old woman told them. "We'll ring it up once you've chosen."

"Will do, ma'am," Porthos told her with a small salute. Aramis grinned at the adorable image and led them into the maze of trees.

For a few minutes, they crunched through the fresh snow, stopping every so often to inspect the trees. Even the biting cold wasn't enough to deter him from his search. He just snuggled more closely between his boyfriends, using them for warmth.

"How far are we going, exactly?" Athos asked, swinging the axe a bit.

"As far as we have to. It has to be perfect," Aramis exclaimed. "Otherwise Christmas will be ruined!"

Athos gave him a dark look at that. With every neat row of trees they passed, the muttered curses coming from him got louder and louder. It seemed not even the appeal of carrying the axe was enough to distract him anymore.

"Just pick one!" he snapped at last, glaring murderously at Aramis. Combined with the axe, it made for a rather deadly picture.

To Aramis's relief, Porthos stepped between them, looking at something behind Athos's shoulder. "How 'bout that one?"

Aramis followed his gaze and saw a tree a few inches shorter than him. It was… well, a bit pathetic looking, if he was being honest. Half the branches seemed to be drooping too low, and there was a large gap on one side where apparently no branches had grown at all. The trunk was too skinny to fit properly in the base they'd bought, and pine needles already littered the snow below it.

He was about to laugh, thinking Porthos must be joking, when Athos elbowed him in the side, hard, and nodded at Porthos. Aramis looked over and saw him staring at the tree with a fond smile, his heart obviously set on the straggly thing.

Well great. Now they were all screwed.

"That one looks lovely," he managed to say. Beside him, Athos breathed a tiny sigh of relief and nodded when Porthos looked back at them, grinning eagerly.

"Can I chop it down?" he asked, practically bouncing with excitement. Athos handed over the axe, smirking affectionately.

"Have at it," Athos murmured. Porthos shrugged his coat off in preparation and passed it to Aramis before heading for the tree.

As Aramis watched Porthos check his grip on the axe and start to push aside the lower branches, he tried to find something to love about the sad little tree. In his head, he began to compile a list: Porthos loved it; it wasn't too big for their living room; it might perk up with a bit of water; it…it…

This was hopeless.

Then Porthos hefted the axe, and all thoughts of miserable Christmas trees vanished.

Beside him, Athos let out his breathe in a whoosh, clearly just as affected as Porthos began to hack at the trunk, the muscles across his back rippling with the motion. Without his coat, they were much more obvious.

Aramis was watching with such rapt fascination that he actually leapt in surprise when the tree finally crashed to the ground. Athos wasn't much better, but thankfully Porthos didn't seem to notice, too intent on his new tree.

"Athos, can you take this?" he asked, holding out the axe. "I c'n haul the tree back to the car."

Athos obediently took it, swinging it a bit wistfully. Porthos must have noticed, because he suddenly looked down at the tree and muttered pointedly, "Think we could take another foot off the trunk?"

He barely leapt out of the way before Athos swung the axe downwards, slicing cleanly through the wood. Aramis laughed and passed Porthos his coat. "You've created a monster," he teased.

Athos glared at them. "I'm going to head back and get the car ready," he said, still clutching the axe. "Don't be too long."

He stalked off through the snow, back toward the parking lot. Aramis helped Porthos move the tree until it could be easily dragged. Once they had it in position, they set off after Athos.

"I know this ain't the tree you were hopin' for, babe," Porthos said quietly as they walked.

"No, it's nice," Aramis said, a bit too quickly.

Porthos shot him a wry look. "It's a bit sad lookin', I get it. I just… I dunno, I liked it. And no one else was gonna take it. It was like, if we didn't take it, it was never goin' to fulfill its Christmas duty, or somethin'."

He'd gone faintly red by the end of the speech, but Aramis was smiling. Seeing Porthos so earnestly attached to the little tree was, quite frankly, adorable.

"You know how I said we had to find the perfect tree, or Christmas would be ruined?" he asked softly. Porthos nodded. "Well, I think you found it."

"You don't 'ave to say that, I know it's not-"

"It's perfect," Aramis said firmly. "And if you love it, then I love it."

Porthos beamed at him. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Not today," Aramis said, chuckling. "Now let's go, before Athos abandons us and goes to find some coffee."

As it turned out, Athos had not abandoned them. He was seated inside the tiny shed with the old couple, drinking something steaming merrily out of a mug. Aramis and Porthos were welcomed by the owners with offers of hot spiced cider to warm them up, which they accepted gratefully. The old woman seemed especially fond of Athos, who she kept trying to press Christmas cookies on, saying he 'needed fattening up.'

Aramis could have happily stayed there all afternoon, snacking on the delicious cookies and drinking the cider, but Athos was starting to look like a cornered animal. So Aramis made their excuses and paid for the tree, and they made their escape back to the car.

"How exactly do we get this home?" Athos asked, eyeing the tree speculatively.

"We tie it on top," Aramis explained. "I'll stand on the hood, and you two can pass it up. Then we tie it down with twine and go our merry way!"

He caught their doubtful looks as he clambered up onto the car, but they ultimately managed to get the tree on with only minor amounts of cursing. Aramis did manage to smear sap all over his hands, but he scrubbed it off with a few handfuls of snow, which he dumped on Athos's head before leaping into the relative safety of the car. A glowering Athos and chuckling Porthos followed a minute later.

"Don't look so grim, love," Porthos teased. "The worst is over now."

"Well, not exactly," Aramis said, grinning. "We still have to decorate it."

Athos's groan reverberated through the car.

Chapter Text

Constance glared down at the skis, or, as she liked to call them, pointy metal death traps. They sat innocently in the snow, but she had a feeling they were just lying in wait, ready to slide away the moment her feet touched them.

When she'd said the phrase aloud, Athos had rolled his eyes and told her they were made of fiberglass, actually, and could she stop being such a child? They weren't asking her to go to down a black diamond or anything like that.

In a fit of childish petulance, she'd thrown a snowball at him. He'd been insufferable since they got to the mountain. Aramis assured her it was just because he was excited.

"You need 'elp?" Porthos asked, cocking his head to one side. "Look, you just click the boots in an-"

"I know, I got it," Constance sighed. She'd been hoping they'd just leave her if she dragged her feet about it long enough. Damn their loyalty.

Aramis gave her an encouraging smile. "Come now, my dear, it's really not going to be so bad!" he said. "An hour's lesson and you'll be speeding down the slopes with the best of them."

"Are you including yourself in that assessment?" she asked peevishly. Aramis just smiled charmingly. Rolling her eyes, she finally stepped onto the skis, wincing as her boots snapped into place.

Tentatively, she tried shuffling a few steps forward, waving her arms wildly when she almost lost her balance. Aramis took a glancing blow to the cheek but caught her before she toppled over.

"I think this was a bad idea, boys," she groaned.

"Nonsense, it's the perfect distraction!" Aramis said bracingly.

She shot him an exasperated smile. "Aramis, I hardly think skiing is the best medicine for a divorce. Especially when one has never skied before!"

"You'll catch on quick," Porthos told her, wrapping an arm around Aramis's waist. "It really ain't that hard."

"If you're ready, can we go now?" Athos muttered. When Aramis and Porthos sent him dark glances, he sighed. "I haven't skied in years. I am a bit impatient."

"You boys can go on ahead," she said, hoping they would leave so she could scurry off and hide. "I can wait for the instructor on my own."

Athos was opening his mouth, probably to agree to just that, when she noticed someone racing toward them on a long pair of skis. She was about to shout a warning when they suddenly twisted to the side, sending a wave of ice and powder over their legs.

The three men turned as one to regard the newcomer, Porthos shifting ever so slightly so that he was between her and the stranger. Constance shook her head fondly. Overprotective fool.

The stranger was wearing exceptionally good looking gear. Constance watched curiously as they reached up and pulled off their helmet (an honest to god, helmet, who was this person?), revealing a cascade of blond hair in a tight French braid.

Oh lord. Constance prayed this woman wasn't her instructor. She'd look a proper fool next to her.

"Ninon?" Athos murmured, a sincere smile on his usually grim face. Not her instructor, then.

"I thought I saw you, mon cher," Ninon said, smiling as she released her boots. Even the awkward, clomping walk of a person in ski boots didn't detract from her looks. Constance sighed self-consciously. "What are you doing back on the mountain?"

"We've come on an adventure!" Aramis exclaimed, clearly impatient for an introduction. Constance tuned them out until she heard her own name and looked up. Ninon gave her a friendly smile.

"Are you here alone, ma chérie?" Athos asked quietly.

"What, afraid of seeing the old circle, Athos?" Ninon asked, laughing. Teasing, Constance realized. Ninon was teasing Athos. She'd never seen anyone but Aramis or Porthos do that and live.

"Something like that," Athos said dryly.

"Well, no, I'm not alone, but I'm not with anyone you abhor, either," she told him. "Actually, Porthos, you might be pleased to see my date."

Porthos let out a great bark of laughter. "You got Flea up on a mountain?" he asked, grinning. "This I gotta see."

Ninon smiled at him. "She's back at the lift. Are you all coming up?"

"Constance is waiting for her instructor," Aramis explained.

"Oh, no, it's fine, you all go on," she said quickly. "My instructor will probably be here in a minute anyway."

"You sure?" Porthos asked, clearly torn between a desire to go see Flea and the urge to be a good friend.

Constance fixed him with a firm smile. "Absolutely. Off with you all. I'll text you when my lesson's over."

Athos offered her a rare smile and set off with Ninon. Aramis and Porthos shot her dubious glances, but they both followed after the others. Soon enough they were out of sight.

Constance tugged thoughtfully on her hand knit scarf, wondering if she should make a break for the lodge and a cup of warm hot chocolate while she had the chance. She was on the verge of running for it when a voice from behind said, "Constance Bonacieux?"

She started guiltily and turned to find a man standing behind her, goggles pushed down over his eyes. "I'm Charles D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan's fine. I'll be your instructor today." He reached up and pushed the goggles back so they rested amid his dark hair, and she felt her fingers clench instinctively on the ski poles.

Maybe it would've been better if Ninon had been the instructor. At least she wasn't so…

Adorable, her brain supplied. She cursed silently when her cheeks flushed.

"Oh, right," she said weakly, staring into unfairly enormous brown eyes. "Um, hi."

"So, are you ready to get started?" he asked, giving her a smile so bright she was surprised the snow hadn't started to melt around her. She was so busy staring that it took her a moment to realize his cheeks were as red as hers felt.

The sight gave her a jolt of much needed confidence, and she smiled.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. He grinned and led the way over to a small ski lift. It was short enough that she could see the end a few hundred feet up the mountain. Still, it was intimidating.

"Ever used a ski lift before?" D'Artagnan asked as they waited in line.

"No," she admitted, thnking it was better to tell him now. At least then it wouldn't look so bad if she fell out. "Never skied before at all."

"This part's pretty easy. Just sit back when the lift comes around. Let it carry you," he told her as they got into position. She tried to do as he said, and a moment later they were being carried along by the chair.

D'Artagnan slid the bar down into place and smiled at her, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. He hadn't bothered to put the goggles back down, and it was becoming very distracting. "See? Not so bad."

Constance managed a shaky smile in return, suddenly very aware that their thighs were pressed together. As if reading her thoughts, D'Artagnan flushed too.

"Uh, when we get up there, just sort of push off and stand up. You should just slide down the little slope and stop on your own, and then we'll get to work," he said quickly.

She was about to ask for a bit more explanation when suddenly her feet were skimming the snow, and D'Artagnan was pushing off and coasting away. She tried to follow and managed at least to gain her feet and slide from the unloading area. She smiled, thinking she'd done okay.

Naturally, that was when she toppled over.

"Sorry, sorry!" D'Artagnan said, skidding to a stop next to her. "I should've warned you about how to get off before we got on, I'm such an idiot."

Constance accepted the hand up, getting the skis beneath her once more. "It's alright, I'm fine," she told him. "Nothing hurt but my dignity."

"This is my first solo lesson," D'Artagnan told her miserably. "I really wanted it to go well."

Damn, but he looked unfairly like a kicked puppy. She found herself smiling warmly at him. "I think it's going quite well, really."

The grateful look he gave her warmed her. "Thanks. That's uh, really nice," he muttered, going bright red once more. "Shall we, uh, begin?"

She nodded and shuffled along behind him to spot beyond the unloading area. Maybe Aramis was right about distractions being good for her.

"So, you wanna hold your poles like this," D'Artagnan told her, demonstrating. "And lean back a little, but not too far, and- no, like this." He reached out and fixed her purposely flawed grip. Even through the gloves, her hand tingled.

Constance smiled at him, wondering how long it would be before the others missed her if she never texted. She had a feeling this lesson was going to take longer than an hour.

Chapter Text

The buzz of the intercom had Porthos tumbling off the couch, where he'd fallen asleep. Cursing under his breath, he hurried to the door, stumbling over the mess on the floor in the darkness.

He jammed a finger against the button to shut it up and yanked the door open, yawning. A moment later a woman in a postal worker's uniform appeared.

"Package for you, sir," she said, passing him a box. He took it, wondering what it was. He didn't remember ordering anything, but he was a bit groggy. "If you'll sign here?"

Porthos nodded and grabbed the clipboard, noticing the woman was smirking. If he had to put a name to it, he'd call it appreciatively.

He returned the clipboard and she smiled at him. "Have a nice day, sir," she said, eyes dropping pointedly down his body as she turned to leave.

Realization sunk in and he darted back into his apartment, slamming the door behind him. He'd forgotten he'd fallen asleep in only a pair of ratty gym shorts.

Porthos dragged a faded hoodie off the back of a chair and yanked it on, eyeing the box he'd dropped on the kitchen table. He grabbed a knife from the drawer and cut through the packing tape. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what he'd ordered.

He cracked the box open and lifted out some packing bubbles to reveal…

Porthos stared at the odd thing. What the hell was it?

He pulled it out of the package. It looked like some kind of terrifying Santa figurine. It was delicate looking, probably handmade, and absolutely the strangest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Porthos definitely hadn't ordered this.

He flipped up the edge of the box and froze when he saw the address. It was for his neighbor. Porthos lived in apartment 12A, and one over was 12B. It seemed the postmen never bothered to check past the number, because Porthos had been getting mail for René d'Herblay since September.

Normally, a trip next door was the opposite of a problem. His neighbor was extremely attractive, after all, and he'd been very friendly every time Porthos had to drop off his wrongly delivered mail. But now Porthos had opened one of his packages, which he felt was a serious breach of etiquette.

Especially when he'd been planning to ask him out next time he had to go over there.

He eyed the bow speculatively, wondering if he could just tape it back together and pass it off as unopened. But he'd ripped through the packing label. There was no going back.

He sighed heavily and traipsed into the bedroom to switch to sweatpants. Maybe he could just ask next time.

Once he was changed, he grabbed the box off the table and walked down the hall. Every door had a nameplate, and 12B's read R. d'Herblay, only the whole thing had been covered up with masking tape that had Aramis written on it in silver sharpie.

Porthos took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

There was a clatter from within, a sound like a table falling over, and then the door was wrenched open.

Porthos swallowed hard. Here he was, looking like he'd crawled out of a dumpster, and Aramis looked like he'd just stepped off the fucking catwalk. The universe was cruel.

"Porthos," Aramis said, looking surprised. "What are you-?" He glanced down, eyes alighting on the package. "Another mix up?"

Porthos grimaced. "Yeah." He passed the box over, flushing. "Sorry it's opened. I was, uh, sleepin' when the woman showed up, and after I just opened it without checkin' the address."

Aramis gave him a warm smile. "No harm done. What do you think?" he added, pulling the demented Santa out of the box.

Porthos eyed it warily. "S'nice," he offered, hoping he sounded sincere.

Aramis flashed him a pleased grin, and Porthos fought the insane desire to kiss him. Date first, then kissing.

He was just working up the nerve to ask when Aramis spoke again. "I'm just doing a bit of decorating," he said, nodding behind him. Porthos looked past him to see piles of boxes against the walls. Tinsel and ornaments were strewn across the floor.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Porthos said quickly, backing away. "You're probably busy. I should go."

"You could come in for a drink," Aramis said, smiling again.

"Nah, I've got, uh, some stuff to work on," Porthos said, mentally cursing his own cowardice. "I'll see you 'round."

He all but ran back to his apartment, slamming his head against the wall the moment the door was shut. What was it about that man that robbed him of all self-possession and turned him into a cowardly, babbling fool?

He stalked straight into his bedroom and flung himself down on the bed, pulling the covers over his face and trying not to think about the drink he could be having with his hot neighbor, or how disappointed Aramis had looked when he'd fled.

After a week of paranoia, checking around corners and hiding from Aramis in shame, another package arrived. He was absolutely certain he hadn't ordered anything this time, but this one was addressed to him, so he sliced it open.

Inside was a bottle of wine. He stared at it in confusion until he noticed the note that had slipped beneath it. It had his name on it.

Porthos, I'm tired of waiting for you to ask me out. Consider this an open invitation. Aramis.

Porthos stared at the note. Aramis had even drawn a little heart next to his name, for god's sake.

For a long moment, he just stood there, stunned. Then, without allowing himself time to chicken out, he scooped up the bottle and strode down the hall, knocking firmly on Aramis's door.

Aramis smiled when he saw him, and smiled even wider when he saw what was in Porthos's hand.

Porthos grinned back at him. "So, how 'bout that drink?"

Chapter Text

"Did you get him?" Aramis asked, ducking into the supply closet.

"No, I got you. Bloody useless. Did you? This ain't gonna work if we don't pull 'is name."

"I got Constance," Aramis said, looking as irritated as Porthos felt. "Shit. I thought you rigged it?"

Porthos swore. "I did. They must've added a few people last minute."

Aramis looked up suddenly. "All may not be lost. Who do you think the pup got?"

Porthos laughed when he realized where his boyfriend was going. "You think 'e'd be willin' to trade?"

"Let's find out," Aramis said, turning to leave. Then he paused, glaring. "And I am not useless!"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Not you, babe, just the damn name. I gotta get you somethin' anyway, bein' your Secret Santa seems like a waste."

"Hmph." Seeing that Aramis was not mollified by this, Porthos ducked down to press him back against the nearest shelf, kissing him until his frown faded away.

"Oh no you don't," he murmured when Aramis's hand drifted south. "We got work to do."

Aramis batted his eyelashes. "Everyone will be busy comparing names," he said wickedly. "No one will come in as long as we're quick."

Porthos didn't have the self-control to argue with that.

Fifteen minutes later ("that was hardly quick, you bastard"), they were cornering D'Artagnan in the cafeteria.

"Who'd you pull for Secret Santa?" Porthos asked bluntly.

D'Artagnan frowned at him. "Why do you want to know?"

Aramis flashed him a dangerous smile. "Let's just say we have plans for a certain someone, and leave it at that."

D'Artagnan made a face. "Gross. Aren't you done trying to get in bed with the boss yet?"

"Never," Porthos chuckled. "Does that mean you 'ave him?"

"Oh no," D'Artagnan said, trying to back away. "I want no part in this. I'm not helping you seduce Athos!"

"I have Constance," Aramis purred, waving the slip. D'Artagnan went very still.

"Well, what do – I don't care about – why should – oh, fine! Take it," he growled, shoving a slip of paper at Aramis and snatching Constance's from his hand. "I don't want to know anything about what you're planning."

"Think of this as an investment, young pup," Porthos said sagely. "If we make 'im happy, he'll be less likely to fire you next time you break the copier!"

D'Artagnan cast him a dark glare and strode off, muttering something about 'sex-crazed maniacs.' Porthos laughed, looking over at Aramis. "Well, we got 'im."

Aramis grinned gleefully. "Indeed we do. Shall we begin?"

Porthos slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the door. "We gotta do some work today, babe." Aramis pouted but allowed Porthos to half drag him back to their shared office.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like they'd be getting much work done in there, either. Right across the hall was a huge conference room with glass all around it, and sitting alone, smack dab in sight of their office, was Mr. Athos de la Fére, Vice President of the company.

He was typing idly on a laptop, dark hair mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it. There were circles under his blue eyes, but even they couldn't detract from his hotness.

"He looks overtired," Aramis whispered from his desk. "We should offer to help him with that."

"He's wiggled away every time we've tried," Porthos muttered back.

"Not from lack of interest. Just propriety."

"Stick to the plan, babe. S'gonna work."

Aramis frowned at him and went back to mooning over their boss out the window. Porthos went back to his computer and opened a new tab. Fuck work: he had some shopping to do.

Before they were quite ready for it, the day of the gift exchange had arrived. Three people were already loudly criticizing their gifts, while Constance was walking around beaming at everyone with D'Artagnan following her like an overgrown puppy, smiling beatifically.

Porthos had given Aramis his gift at home. His muscles ached from the memory. He couldn't wait to try it again.

Even President Treville seemed in unusually good spirits, sporting a fancy new watch. Porthos and Aramis saw him pass by from their hiding place, crouched inside a closet outside Athos's office.

"Who do you reckon that's from?" Porthos whispered.

"His boyfriend," Aramis shot back. When Porthos opened his mouth to demand further elaboration, Aramis waved a hand at him. "Shut up, he's coming!"

Sure enough, Athos walked past them and into his office. Through the glass door, they saw him glance curiously at the present they'd set on his desk.

"He's opening it!" Aramis whispered gleefully.

Porthos cuffed him gently across the back of the head. "Shut up, idiot, I'm watching the same think. Cut the narration."

Athos sliced neatly through the wrapping paper with a penknife he pulled out of his pocket, and fuck if that wasn't hot. It wasn't until he lifted the top off the box that Porthos wondered if this had been a bad idea, but it was too late now.

Athos's eyebrows shot up. He reached into the box and began pulling things out, too straight faced for Porthos to tell if he was angry.

"Was the lube too much?" he whispered to Aramis.

"No, but the four packs of special ordered condoms might have been," Aramis said thoughtfully. "Oh, hell."

Athos had pulled out the final object, staring in shock at the black leather cuffs. "We're gonna get fired for harassment," Porthos groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"He's found the note," Aramis said tersely. They'd signed their initials on a slip of paper.

"We're doomed," Porthos moaned.

"No, wait…" Aramis laughed, sounding relieved. "He's smiling. Fuck, Porthos, he looks pleased."

Porthos felt a ray of hope shoot through him. "Yeah? Maybe we should go in there."

"It would be rude to get him all excited and not follow through," Aramis agreed, smirking.

Porthos stood, tugging his tie until it lay straight. He grinned lazily at Aramis. "After you."

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you're leaving. It's the week before Christmas!" Aramis cried. Porthos sighed and stuffed another shirt into his bag.

"S'just a few days, babe. This is important. Flea needs my help with the orphanage fundraiser."

"I should come too," Aramis said, pulling the shirt back out and folding it properly. If he wasn't going to be there to check that his boyfriend was properly attired, the least he could do was send him off wrinkle-free.

"You know someone's gotta stay 'ere. Treville would never let us both off, not with Athos gone 'til Christmas Eve."

"I can't believe you're both abandoning me," Aramis said dramatically, yanking a tie out of the drawer. He nodded, satisfied that it matched, and packed it away.

Porthos's arms wrapped around his waist. "Nobody's abandoning anybody," he said seriously. "I'll be home before the weekend, and Athos'll be back a few days after. Imagine how much trouble we'd be in if we both ran off. Who'd watch after the pup?"

"The boy is not a pet to be shuffled around," Aramis grumbled, burying his face in Porthos's neck. "It's going to be so cold!"

Porthos's laugh rumbled through him. "So that's what you're worried about. Just turn the heat up while I'm gone, I promise you won't get hypothermia."

Aramis sighed, lingering in Porthos's arms as long as he could. Eventually, Porthos pulled back and zipped his suitcase. "I gotta go, babe, I'm gonna miss my flight. Have D'Art and Constance 'round for dinner or something. Don't just camp out 'ere."

"I can't, it'll be too cold," Aramis complained, following him to the front door. "Call me when you land."

Porthos dutifully promised to do so. Then he flashed him a smile, pressed a kiss to his lips that left Aramis craving more, and disappeared into the light snow.

Aramis shut the door, staring moodily around the empty apartment. It wasn't like he had nothing to do: there were a thousand things still to be done before Christmas, decorations to put up, presents to wrap; he just didn't like doing it all alone.

He walked down the hallway to the kitchen, pausing by the thermostat as he went. He clicked the temperature up a few degrees. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Aramis made a quick dinner and ate in front of the TV, watching Spanish soap operas that he normally never got a chance to watch. Athos texted a few times, but the cell reception where he was staying was too shitty to let him call.

Aramis stayed there until Porthos called from his hotel, and fell asleep on the phone with him. When he woke up, the house was dark and everything was freezing.

"I hate this I hate this I hate this," he chanted under his breath as he hurried to the bedroom, crawling hopefully under the covers. But the sheets felt just as icy as the rest of the apartment without another body there to warm them, and it was a long time before he fell asleep.

"You look like hell," D'Artagnan said unhelpfully when he got to work the next morning.

Aramis eyed him darkly over his peppermint mocha and did not deign to answer.

At least work was warm. Treville had given up trying to control their sporadic heating problem and just turned the thermostat up to the 70's all winter.

Between the warmth and the distraction of work, Aramis forgot about how chilly his apartment was. Afterwards, he convinced Constance to go out for some last minute Christmas shopping with him. By the time he got home, he was so tired from hauling bags about all evening that he didn't notice the cold beyond turning the heat up some more. He kept himself busy wrapping presents after dinner while on the phone with Porthos, which resulted in several paper cuts. It was a good thing the wrapping paper was red.

Eventually, though, he had to go to bed. It was slightly less miserable than the night before, but it still felt far too cold and empty.

The third night, he heated three hot water bottles and stuck them under the covers before he went to bed. They helped a bit, but when he woke up in the middle of the night, they'd gone cold. He was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him that meant his own body did not produce enough heat to warm the bed.

The fourth night he gave up on trying to warm the bed and just huddled under every blanket he could find in the house, curled like a cat in the middle of the bed and wearing two sweaters. He kept reminding himself that Porthos would be back in the morning. The thought allowed him to drift off to sleep much more easily than the previous nights.

He had no idea what woke him up. One moment he was sleeping soundly, and the next he was sitting bolt upright, blankets sliding off him to pool around his waist, exposing him to the winter chill.

"Fuck," he muttered, scrambling for the blankets. A rumbling laugh came from the doorway.

He spun toward the sound, a grin spreading across his face. "Porthos! You're early!" he said happily.

It was too dark to see more than the outline of Porthos's head and shoulders as he walked over. "Thought I'd take pity on you. Not comin' to greet me?"

"It's too cold to get up," Aramis muttered, leaning forward to grab Porthos's arm and haul him onto the bed. "Besides, I'm still mad at you for leaving."

Porthos only laughed and slid beneath the covers. A moment later he tugged Aramis down until he was sprawled across his chest. Aramis nearly moaned at the warmth.

"Still mad?" Porthos asked, smirking.

"Shut up," Aramis muttered, sticking his cold nose into Porthos's neck. "I'm pretending you're a furnace."

Porthos laughed and tugged him closer. Warm and content, Aramis was asleep again in moments.

Chapter Text

Waking up and realizing he'd forgotten to buy new coffee beans was a terrible thing. Athos cursed the world, assuming the day couldn't possibly go downhill from here.

Then he stepped in the puddle.

He leapt back, swearing viciously as icy water soaked through his socks, and stared in disbelief at the floor.

Puddles stretched down the hallway, soaking the wood. Some still had bits of snow and ice floating in them.

"Aramis!" he bellowed. A moment later his boyfriend came skidding out of the kitchen with a mop, catching himself on the wall before he fell in one of the puddles.

"I can explain!" he cried.

"Start explaining," Athos growled, peeling off his soaked socks. "I swear, if this has something to do with that asshole across the street…"

"I can't just let him win, Athos!" Aramis wailed, jamming the mop down on the floor. It made a plopping sound as it hit a puddle. "I don't know when he did it, he's like a fucking elf or something!"

Athos sighed and stepped gingerly down the hallway, avoiding the rest of the puddles as he made his way to the kitchen window to peer out. Sure enough, two snowmen sat on the lawn across from their house, appearing just a day after Aramis had built a perfect one in their own yard.

"I don't see what the fuss is all about, mon cher. They're just snowmen," Athos said, letting the curtain fall closed again.

Aramis looked around at him, an expression of righteous indignation on his handsome face. "Just snowmen?" he spluttered. "It's an insult! We've had the nicest snowman on the block for years, and this bastard moves in and thinks he can just one up us?"

"Don't you mean you, dear?" Athos asked, smirking. Aramis shot him a dark glare. "That still doesn't explain where all this water came from."

Aramis's indignant expression faded to sheepishness. "Ah. Yes. Well, I got up to get a drink, and I saw the snowman, and… I may have gone out and built three before you woke up."

"What? Where?"

Aramis pointed toward a part of the front lawn out of sight of the kitchen window. Athos sighed and darted through the flooded hallway to the living room. Three snowmen, all picture perfect, stood just to the side of their front step.

"If you turn this into a war, I will not help you!" Athos called.

"Yes you will!"

Athos threw up his hands in despair and went back to the kitchen to make a coffee-less breakfast. It was going to be a long winter.

The next day, five snowmen sat across the street. One of them was fixed in such a way that it appeared to be tipping its hat at them.

Aramis had charged outside and spent the afternoon building half a dozen snowmen. He even gave one a snow dog. Another was reading a newspaper that Aramis had literally snatched from Athos's hands.

"Let's see him top that," he said smugly.

For a few days, all seemed well, and Athos held out a hope that perhaps their new neighbor was not as insanely competitive as Aramis. Or perhaps he'd just run out of ideas. He should have known that was too good to be true.

He was in the kitchen making coffee Saturday morning when he happened to glance out the window. Aramis was scrambling eggs, but stopped to look over when he heard Athos sigh.

"That asshole!" Aramis shouted, brandishing his spatula like a sword.

Athos sighed again, staring at the scene before him. The madman had built what appeared to be a perfect replica of an Easter Island head the height of a man out of snow. It almost looked as if it were smirking at them.

"This means war," Aramis seethed, pacing the kitchen. Athos quietly took the spatula and began prodding at the eggs before they could burn into the pan.

"Can the war start after breakfast?" he asked mildly. Aramis huffed but nodded, resuming cooking duties while Athos handled the toast. It was one of the few things he could make without burning the house down.

After breakfast, Aramis stomped out into the yard in full gear. Athos watched him work from the window, refusing to take part in the childish games. As he worked, Aramis shot glares so fierce at the house across the street that Athos was surprised it didn't just burst into flames. Athos really hoped their neighbor wasn't home to witness this.

An hour later, Aramis trooped back in, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. Behind him on the lawn, its head stretching almost above Athos's, was a copy of the Sphinx.

"Surely I've won now," Aramis told him in bed that night. "He can't top that."

Athos stayed silent. He was fairly certain the man could.

The next morning, three snow pyramids sat in their lawn, right beside the Sphinx. Across the street was a fresh snowman. In its hands was a handwritten sign that read, Keep 'em coming, handsome. It appeared to be winking.

A bit behind it sat still more snowmen. Their neighbor apparently had a spare table lying around, for it sat in his front yard, surrounded by snowmen. Each one was holding a couple battered poker cards, and snowballs served as the chips.

Aramis was beside himself with outrage, bodily dragging Athos outside with him. "Our yard, Athos. Our own fucking yard!" He bent down to scoop something out of the snow. "He chopped my Sphinx's nose off!"

"You built it with a nose?" Athos asked, feeling a bit mystified.

Aramis shot him a dark look. "That is not the point!" he shouted. "I will not go down like this!"

He stomped back into the house, cell phone in hand. Athos sighed, wishing they lived somewhere that was never touched by snow.

Aramis enlisted D'Artagnan's help that afternoon while Athos and Constance sat in the house commiserating about their insane boyfriends. It wasn't until the sun had nearly set that Athos mustered the courage to look outside.

His jaw dropped. In a stunt straight out of Calvin and Hobbes, Aramis had created a snowman army, complete with stick swords and snowball ammunition. The swords all pointed at the house across the street.

"You're actually mad," he informed Aramis after the others left. Aramis grinned, plopping himself down on Athos's lap. "He could be a psychopath for all we know. If we get murdered in our beds over this petty competition, it'll be your fault."

Aramis just batted his eyelashes and cuddled up against him until Athos gave up on being angry and took him to bed instead.

The next morning, the poker playing snowmen were still there, and Athos breathed a sigh of relief. Aramis pranced around the house like the cat that got the cream, insufferably smug. Athos bore it patiently, pleased that this silly war was over.

He should have guessed it was only the calm before the storm.

Aramis's strangled shout woke him the next morning. The walk to the kitchen window felt like the walk to the hangman's noose. When he finally got there, he found a fresh set of snowmen across the way. Snow soldiers surround a snowman wearing what looked to be a crown made of twigs. Attached to one of its arms was a white flag.

"He surrenders!" Aramis shouted gleefully. "Let's go over there and gloat."

"We are not doing that," Athos told him sternly. Aramis ignored him, already pulling on his boots over his pajamas. Athos sighed and followed, knowing he couldn't let him go alone.

Which was how they ended up on the guy's front porch in the freezing cold, waiting for a man they'd never met or even seen to open the door.

The handle turned. Athos saw Aramis take a deep breath, ready to gloat. The door opened.

All of Aramis's breath left him in a whoosh. Even Athos had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping.

In every scenario he'd run through in his head, he'd never considered that their neighbor might be this attractive.

"Howdy, neighbors," he said, a sunny grin on his face.

Aramis still looked to be floundering, so Athos took the initiative. "We've come to accept your surrender, Mr.….?"

"The name's Porthos," the man told him. "And I ain't surrenderin'. Just needed a reason to talk to you."

"And what was it you wanted to say?" Aramis asked, flashing the man a charming grin. Apparently attractiveness outweighed competition.

The man's grin widened, as if an important question had just been answered. "Wanted to show you my next design, actually." He pulled a scrap pf paper out and passed it over. There was a pencil sketch of a snowman beside a round table. On the table was a sign. Dinner?

Athos glanced over at Aramis, who was grinning like Christmas had come early, then down at Porthos's impressively muscled arms. He passed the drawing back.

"We'd love to."

Chapter Text

Aramis stared moodily out the window at the surrounding forest. What were they doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

Logically, Aramis understood that it was because D'Artagnan had invited them all out to his old family farm for the weekend. What he couldn't understand was why the lad had decided December was a good time to do it. It was already getting dark and there was nothing to do.

D'Artagnan had promised them all sorts of interesting pastimes for tomorrow, babbling on about some pond perfect for ice skating and mentioning something about cross country skiing, but that was tomorrow. Aramis was bored now.

"Stop sulkin', love," Porthos called from the armchair near the fire. "You're lookin' a bit too much like Athos."

"Why thank you," Athos said dryly from his position on the couch. "He is right, though. What's wrong?"

"I'm bored," Aramis muttered, looking back at him. "Go ask the pup how to work the TV."

"There isn't one, and besides, he's gone off with Constance. I will not be the one to track them down, thank you very much."

Aramis gaped at him. His brain had frozen after there isn't one.

"He doesn't have a TV?" he asked, horrified. "How did he survive?"

"Oi, not all of us are addicted to soap operas," Porthos told him. "I'm sure 'e found other ways to entertain 'imself growin' up." Aramis snorted at the phrasing and Porthos groaned. "Not like that, you ass."

"Perhaps we should find a way to entertain ourselves," Aramis said slyly.

Porthos smirked, but Athos shot them both a dark look. "We will not take advantage of D'Artagnan's hospitality by having sex during our stay. We can control ourselves for the two nights we will be under this roof."

"What if we weren't under the roof?" Aramis asked hopefully. "I bet there's a barn nearby."

Athos pointedly ignored him and went back to the ancient paperback he'd pulled off one of the shelves. Porthos shrugged and went back to watching the fire.

"I bet D'Artagnan and Constance are having sex," Aramis muttered sullenly. "You're cruel." With a sigh, he flopped onto the couch, letting his head tip back until he could stare out the window, upside down.

He stared blankly at the trees for a few minutes while the sky darkened outside. Then he blinked, focusing, and grinned. "Porthos, come look at this," he called. He heard Porthos grunt as he stood up. Aramis shifted over to make room.

"What am I lookin' at?" Porthos grumbled.

Aramis pointed up at the sky. "Those."

"Oh," Porthos breathed.

The sky above them was shining with a million stars, scattered across the inky blackness like handfuls of glitter. Swirls of what looked like mist wound through one section, and Aramis stared at it, entranced.

"I've never seen so many stars before," he whispered. "Athos, come look."

"I've seen them."

"Not like this, babe," Porthos murmured.

"It's just the lack of light pollution out here. And yes, I have."

"Let's go out and get a closer look," Aramis suggested. Porthos grinned and nodded eagerly. Together they tumbled out into the hallway, pulling on hats and coats and scarves.

"You comin'?" Porthos called to Athos, who shook his head, so they went out alone into the dark yard.

"This is a good spot," Aramis announced, plopping down on the ground. He spared a moment to be grateful for the fact that there was no snow at the moment before flopping backwards to stare up at the sky. Beside him, Porthos did the same, their shoulders pressing together.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, just gazing at the panorama before them. Aramis had spent his whole life in the city. He'd never even known what he was missing.

"What do you reckon that is?" Porthos asked after a while, gesturing at the misty blob Aramis had noticed earlier.

Aramis stared at it. "Aliens?" he suggested. "Whatever it is, it's beautiful."

"It's not aliens." Aramis looked around and grinned as Athos approached, neatly bundled up and bearing a blanket. "It's the Milky Way."

"I thought we were in the Milky Way," Porthos said.

Athos sighed, dropping gracefully beside Aramis. "We are, but we can still see some of it from Earth," he explained patiently. Aramis made a happy sound when Athos threw the blanket over them and lay down beside him.

"Oh," Porthos said, obviously fascinated. His hand found Aramis's, thumb brushing rhythmically across Aramis's knuckles. Aramis reached for Athos's hand, connecting them.

They fell silent again for a while, just staring up at the night sky. Every so often, Aramis remembered to shiver intentionally, which always resulted in Athos or Porthos shifting closer to him. Eventually, he was happily sandwiched between the two.

"I think I found the Big Dipper!" Porthos said suddenly, pointing up with his free hand.

"Where?" Aramis asked, peering in that direction. He couldn't see anything.

"There!"

"That's not the Big Dipper, mon cher," Athos murmured. "But Orion is just to the right. See those three stars?"

"How do you know about this stuff, querido?" Aramis asked, grinning when he found the constellation.

Athos was quiet for a moment. "My family had a hunting lodge in the mountains. There was a telescope there. My father taught me to find the constellations from the back porch. I used to look forward to it."

Aramis squeezed his fingers, knowing how difficult it still was for Athos to speak of his past. It was the first time he'd ever heard Athos mention a happy memory of his father. Athos returned the pressure, but no one spoke.

The silence was broken when Porthos gasped and pointed up. Aramis followed his finger in time to see the tail end of a shooting star, just as it fizzled out.

"Everyone make a wish," Porthos said, squeezing his eyes shut. On Aramis's other side, Athos rolled his own before following suit.

Aramis just smiled. He had everything he'd wished for already.

Chapter Text

"Where are the others?" D'Artagnan called, racing in from outside. His hair was practically white from the falling snow. "I told them to be ready for 10!"

"Maybe if you'd told any of us what was goin' on, we woulda been ready," Porthos told him.

D'Artagnan shot him a thoughtful glance, then looked furtively around the room. "I don't want to spoil the surprise," he whispered. "But I'm going to-"

Footsteps on the stairs cut him off. A moment later Aramis came clattering down, followed closely by Athos, who was brandishing the tattered remains of his favorite ratty sweater.

"You have mice!" he snarled, stalking up to D'Artagnan, who backed away hurriedly. "Mice in this damn farmhouse. Look what they did!"

"Mice do that," Porthos pointed out, trying to deflect some of Athos's anger. The boy already looked fit to burst with nerves, though he wasn't sure why.

"It's ruined," Athos snapped, showing Porthos the sweater. A hole had been chewed right through the center.

"It doesn't look all that different, really," Aramis said, stepping behind Porthos when Athos turned his icy glare on him.

"We don't have time for this, we have to go!" D'Artagnan cried. "Constance walked into town this morning, and I promised we'd pick her up in an hour!"

"Relax, pup, town's less than a ten minute drive," Porthos said soothingly.

D'Artagnan swallowed hard. "Not in that," he said, pointing out the window.

Aramis knocked Porthos out of the way in his hurry to look and let out a soft oh at whatever he saw. Curious, Porthos turned to look as well.

In the yard, amidst the drifting snow, stood a sleigh, complete with tiny little sleigh bells. D'Artagnan's two family horses were hitched in front.

"What's that for?" Porthos asked, feeling like they'd all just been sent back in time.

"I just thought Constance might like a real sleigh ride, seeing as we're out here already. That old thing hasn't been used in years, so I slapped on a fresh coat of paint and cleaned it up. Do you think she'll like it?"

"I think she'll love it," Athos said firmly. D'Artagnan's face broke into a relieved smile.

"You sure you want us comin' along?" Porthos asked. "It all sounds a bit private, if you know what I mean." Aramis sniggered.

D'Artagnan's face instantly froze. "No, no you have to come, it's important," he said, sounding almost desperate.

"Okay, okay, we're coming," Aramis said, clapping the boy on the back. "Breathe, D'Artagnan."

"We better get going," Athos said, herding them all through the door. There was an oddly smug look on his face.

Porthos stepped back to let Aramis and D'Artagnan through first. "What do you know that we don't?" he whispered. Athos smirked at him and nodded for him to head out.

Up close, the sleigh looked even prettier than it had from inside. There was more than enough room for all of them, and the seats were soft and surprisingly comfortable. D'Artagnan climbed up and grabbed the reins, urging the big draft horses to start pulling.

Porthos settled himself between Athos and Aramis, marveling over the fact that he was riding in a sleigh, bells jingling merrily and snow falling softly all around them. It was, well, magical.

The ride took nearly the full hour, since D'Artagnan kept mostly to back trails. They were silent for most of it, too busy staring at the wonderland around them to keep up a conversation. Athos and Aramis were nestled against his sides, and he thought privately that it couldn't get more perfect than this.

Of course, he'd forgotten how amazing it would be when Constance saw them. Porthos had never seen someone smile as brightly as she did when she settled herself beside D'Artagnan on the driver's bench. Aramis muttered something under his breath about "pup's getting lucky tonight," and Porthos laughed.

"I thought we might take a detour on the way home," D'Artagnan said, sounding oddly nervous. "There's a lake nearby, and it's quite a nice view."

Once they all chorused their agreement, he snapped the reins and they were off. The lake was only a few minutes away, frozen over and completely covered in fresh, untouched snow.

D'Artagnan called the horses to a stop and they all stared out over the ice. Porthos was so entranced that it took him a full minute to realize D'Artagnan was fidgeting anxiously.

Before he could draw attention to it, Athos spoke. "Mes chers, why don't we go see what the view is like from that ledge," he suggested, pointing at a place about a hundred feet away.

Aramis frowned. "You want us to walk in the snow? I'm not even wearing snow boots."

Athos fixed him with a deadly glare, and Porthos got the sense that he would not take no for an answer. "Come on, then," he said bracingly, climbing out. Aramis followed with a grumble, and Athos brought up the rear. Over the crunching of the snow, he only just made out D'Artagnan asking Constance to wait a moment.

The walk to the ledge was short, and the view was indeed spectacular, but Porthos honestly didn't see the point of walking through the wet snow just for this. He was about to say so when Aramis glanced back toward the carriage. His jaw dropped.

Curious, Porthos turned just in time to see D'Artagnan rising up off one knee and sweeping a beaming Constance into an embrace.

"You fucker, how long have you known?" he asked, nudging Athos with a shoulder.

"Three months. D'Artagnan needed a good jeweler to have his grandmother's ring resized. I just… pointed him in the right direction. And last night he asked if we would accompany him for moral support."

"Our baby's all grown up,' Aramis said with a sniff that sounded a bit too wet to be fake.

Porthos grinned and slung his arms over their shoulders, feeling indescribably content.

"Let's go offer our congratulations to the happy couple."

Chapter Text

When Porthos walked through the door of his apartment, the last thing he expected was to be accosted by what appeared to be a ghost moments after he'd dropped his bags.

"Whoa there," he muttered, bracing himself a moment before the impact.

Clouds of flour puffed into the air as Aramis landed neatly in his arms. "You're home early!" he cried, smiling beneath the white powder.

"Yeah, boss said I could take the rest of the day off. What're you covered in flour for, babe?"

Aramis beamed at him. "We're making Christmas cookies!" he cried, grabbing Porthos's hand and leading him to the kitchen.

"We?" Porthos asked, huffing an exasperated laugh when he saw Athos standing in the middle of a second flour cloud. "Oh, lord. He dragged you into it too?"

"I was blackmailed," Athos said, shooting Aramis a dark glare. The effect was ruined when he sneezed.

"Please say you'll join us, Porthos!" Aramis asked eagerly. Puffs of flour still came off him every time he moved, but his expression was unbearably hopeful. Porthos never had a chance.

"Yeah, alright," he sighed, kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket. "We using a recipe?"

"I thought we might try and make them from scratch," Aramis told him.

Porthos shot him a doubtful look. "Without a recipe? That sounds…"

"Idiotic," Athos supplied.

"…unwise," Porthos finished. "Can't we find one online?"

"My grandmother used to make these all the time when I was growing up. I'm sure I can remember it well enough," Aramis said airily. "Now get an apron, and let's get to work."

Privately, Porthos thought an apron was probably a waste of time, based on the amount of flour all over Aramis and Athos already, but he did as ordered, pulling on the apron Aramis had given him as a joke years ago.

It was supposed to make him look like a woman in a bikini, he supposed. The boobs were a bit ridiculous. Athos had nearly choked the first time he'd seen it and pointed out that it had probably been some time since Porthos had seen real ones, and this was the closest he was likely to get.

Porthos had got his own back by buying Athos one that looked like a naked man getting his dick eaten by a piranha. Aramis's, naturally, had a muscular figure wearing nothing but a G-string. All in all, it tended to make for a distracting kitchen environment, and left them with no aprons to wear when company came over.

Apron tied on, Porthos joined his boyfriends at the counter. Aramis was cracking eggs into a bowl of what looked like pasty tan glue. They didn't seem to be having any effect.

"I think it needs more eggnog," he muttered.

"Eggnog- what, Aramis, you don't put eggnog in Christmas cookies," Porthos cried.

"My abuela did," Aramis told him stubbornly. "I'm sure she did."

Porthos scanned the items on the counter, finding several other things that looked out of place. "Please tell me you haven't added molasses to it? And what's this? Love, I don't even know what this is."

"I am following and ancient family recipe," Aramis snapped, eyes gleaming fanatically. "Are you going to help or what?"

Athos met his eyes across the counter with a look that said please, god, don't leave me alone with the madman, so Porthos sighed and shut his mouth, nodding.

"Good." Aramis smiled again, apparently satisfied, and went back to stirring the mixture, which now resembled nothing so much as mud. The spoon seemed to catch within it as he stirred, and when he pulled it out, it nearly snapped back in.

"Time to put them on the cookie sheet!" Aramis announced happily. Porthos watched him struggle fruitlessly to get some of the mixture out before sighing and nudging him aside. With a great deal of manhandling, he managed to scrape most of it out into small, roundish balls. The rest he abandoned after his spoon got glued to the inside.

Aramis went to work on the globs, desperately attempting to shape them into snowmen and Christmas trees, but all he managed to create were a few lumpy piles of dough. He shoved them in the oven regardless, setting the timer far past what Porthos expected.

"Can I go sit down now?" he asked tiredly. Athos was already trying to edge away.

"No, stay, I want to keep an eye on them," Aramis said, giving him puppy dog eyes. Porthos was on the verge of denying him, eyes be damned, when Aramis slipped up against him and began kissing along is jaw. It was enough of a distraction that when he stepped away, Porthos didn't remember what it was he'd been about to do.

Athos muttered something about not standing around without something decent to drink, and soon they each had a glass of red wine in their hands. Porthos's mood improved significantly.

Aramis, however, grew more dispirited every time he cracked the oven open. "I think I did something wrong," he admitted at last, sliding on the oven mitts and pulling out the cookie sheet. Most of the lumps still looked oddly damp and glistening, as if they'd failed to bake at all.

"What's that one supposed to be?" Athos asked, pointing at one that looked more finished. None of the batter still looked moist, at least.

Aramis wilted. "A snowflake."

"Buck up, we c'n try again tomorrow," Porthos said, trying to wipe that sad look of Aramis's face.

"I was really looking forward to having Christmas cookies for Rudolph tonight," Aramis said dejectedly.

"Well," Porthos said, ducking out into the hall to grab his bag. "Why don't we just have these?"

He pulled out a box and Aramis immediately brightened at the label from their favorite bakery. Athos smirked, obviously just as excited.

"Porthos, you are a saint," Aramis said happily, cracking open the box.

Porthos just grinned as the scent of fresh cookies filled the kitchen. "I know."

Chapter Text

Athos swirled the contents of his glass around, staring moodily into it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here. He remembered the call from Ninon and being told about some charity event, and then he was here. The woman had magical powers of persuasion. This was probably made easier by the fact that he would do anything for her.

He wasn't sure why he was needed here, exactly. He'd have given her charity a sizeable contribution regardless. There was no need for her to drag him out into society just to parade him around. He'd much rather be at home with a glass of wine, reading a book.

At least it didn't appear to be a cause championed by their own social circle, Athos mused. None of their parents' high society friends seemed to be present. The only person he knew here was Ninon herself. Everyone else was well-dressed, but they were a far cry from the aristocracy he knew he himself oozed. That made it all more bearable, somehow.

His eye caught on a figure across the room and he smirked to himself. It seemed he did know someone here. D'Artagnan was following around a pretty woman with auburn hair that Athos vaguely recognized as Ninon's assistant. They kept smiling at each other.

He felt Ninon at his side before he looked over. "You invited my protégé?" he asked, amused.

Ninon laughed. "If you're training him, he'll need to get used to events like this," she said breezily. "He's still altogether too star-struck. I introduced him to Anne and Louis, and I thought the poor boy might faint. What'll we do when we need him to come to one of our families' events? Best to get him acclimated now."

She glanced over at the young man, now chatting animatedly with the pretty redhead. "Besides, I'm trying to fix him up with Constance. They're perfect for one another, and it's about time she moved on from that pathetic ex-husband. So don't you go distracting him, you hear?"

Athos bowed his head to her, smirking. "I shall not interfere with you, Aphrodite."

Ninon beamed. "Excellent. I'd best be off, lots of people haven't donated yet, and I intend to remedy that. Oh, before I forget, the auction begins soon. Promise me you'll bid for something?"

Athos frowned at her. "Is there anything I'll like?"

"Oh, don't fret, mon cher. I picked out one especially for you." Ninon blew him a kiss and fluttered away.

He stared after her, wondering what on earth he'd gotten himself into.

Sure enough, a few minutes later a voice over the loudspeaker announced the beginning of the auction. Athos sighed and left his seat by the bar, wandering over toward the main stage and picking up a bidding sign on the way. Several people were standing up on the stage, but he couldn't see anything that might be for sale. What kind of auction was this?

Then the announcer began speaking again, and he heard the words "date" and "lovely volunteers."

He was going to murder Ninon. She couldn't really expect him to bid on a date? She knew how much he hated people. He could barely keep up a conversation with her, let alone a complete stranger.

Athos scanned the assembled volunteers, wondering which one it was Ninon thought was enough to tempt him. There were several beautiful women, but she knew he wasn't into that. And the handful of men were all so far from what he was interested in that it was laughable. He turned away, ready to skulk back over to the bar, when a figure hurried onto the stage and took up a position near the middle, smiling apologetically.

Athos whipped back around so quickly he felt his neck crack. Shit. Ninon did know him too well. The newcomer was undeniably handsome, slim, with dark curly hair and a blinding smile, but it was his mischievous eyes that caught Athos's attention. He knew he was staring, but there was no one around who knew him well enough to judge.

He missed the opening remarks, too busy weighing the pros and cons of actually bidding on the delectable stranger. Winning would mean he would be forced to socialize, a difficult burden at the best of times. Just the thought of trying to make small talk or, heaven forbid, getting to know someone was enough to make him want to scurry for home. For all he knew, the man would turn out to be a terrible bore. And there was always the chance the crowd might not react favorably to him bidding on a man.

But winning would also mean a chance to spend an evening with the first person to turn his head in months. Athos wasn't so withdrawn that he couldn't recognize the appeal of that. And he must be interested in men, or Ninon would never have put him up there to tempt him. She knew he hadn't been on a date in ages.

The man was fourth in line, which gave Athos time to contemplate his decision. His dark gaze kept roving over the crowd, and every now and then he would smile. At last Athos followed his gaze and found that it ended on a tall figure on the other side of the room, broad grin and impressive shoulders visible even from a hall's width apart.

Athos huffed out a breath. Why on earth had Ninon invited him to a party full of such attractive people? This man was easily as attractive as the one on stage, despite the differences in their build and looks. The easy way he smiled up at the man on stage suggested a familiarity that Athos found himself envying.

When he looked back up, the announcer was calling the man forward. He missed most of the little speech, but caught the name Aramis, which was accompanied by a little bow that sent half the women in the room gasping.

Athos would be lying if he said it hadn't affected him as well.

The announcer opened the bidding, and half a dozen women's signs shot up. Athos ignored the amount for the bids being called: he knew he could top any of them, if he chose to bid. But he still hadn't decided.

Then the man across the room raised his sign, calling out a bid in a rough voice that left Athos a little breathless. There were several titters from the crowd. Urged on by some insane feeling of possessiveness, Athos's own arm raised as well. Heads turned to seek him out, staring at him curiously, like he was a specimen in a zoo. The man across the room glanced over at him and grinned. Athos looked away quickly and found his eyes drawn to the stage.

Dark eyes found his, and Aramis winked at him. He held Athos's gaze as he shot down every woman who tried to outbid him. The other man just grinned at him and nodded, as if conceding, and some of the tension seemed to ease from his powerful frame. Athos wondered if he was a security measure, meant to keep Aramis from getting stuck with anyone he didn't like.

Athos wondered if that meant he had been judged worthy.

It wasn't until the auctioneer cried, "Sold!" and Aramis performed his little bow again, this time aimed at him, that Athos realized what he'd just done. Aramis made no move to leave the stage, obviously expected to remain in sight until the auction ended, so Athos quickly slunk back toward the bar, still amazed at himself.

He'd only been sitting there a few moments before someone sat down beside him. A quick glance revealed the shoulders were every bit as muscular as they'd seemed from across the room. "You must be Athos," the man said by way of introduction. "I'm Porthos. Ninon told us about you."

"Us?"

"Me n' Aramis." Porthos said it as if they were a package deal, leaning forward into Athos's space. "Tell me something, Athos de la Fére: are you a man who likes to share?"

Athos looked over into dark eyes dancing with mirth and something far more appealing. A scar crossed one, giving the man a rakish charm. This night just kept getting better. "It depends," Athos told him cryptically, wondering if he was bold enough to see this through.

"On what?" Porthos asked. His grin had an edge to it that made heat flare in Athos's stomach. Oh yes, he could be bold enough.

"On whether that was an offer."

Porthos's teeth gleamed as he laughed. "Oh, it most certainly was."

"In that case," Athos murmured, smirking slightly, "I share quite well."

Porthos beamed at him, wiping away the last of his reservations. "Aramis'll be delighted to hear that. He was hopin' you'd bid."

Athos signaled the bar tender to bring over fresh drinks. "In that case, do you think he would mind if we got started without him?"

Chapter Text

"And you're sure the roads won't be clear until morning? Yes, I understand, I'll alert the building." It took all of Treville's self-control not to slam the phone down. What had he done to deserve this? He was starting to feel that the universe was punishing him.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up from his desk and crossed to his office door. Of course there would be a blizzard on the one night he'd asked his team to stay late. Most nights they would've all been home hours ago.

This was all going to end terribly.

With on hand on the door knob, he weighed the merits of just sending an email to his remaining staff rather than face their disappointment. But they'd just barge in here anyway, and he was better off facing them head on than trying to guess which one would be leading the charge.

He'd put money on Constance, if he had to choose. That woman was a force of nature.

Reluctantly, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway. From there it was only a short walk to the conference room. Even from here, he could make out Aramis and Porthos arguing about some detail. They fell silent as he neared, and he could only assume Athos had gotten them back in line.

Treville paused again outside the door, glancing over the remains of a massive feast of Chinese takeout he'd treated them to a few hours before. He was especially glad he'd done so now that they were likely to be trapped here all night.

Aramis spotted him first, raising his mug in a mock toast. "Our illustrious boss requires our attention," he said as Treville pushed the door open. "Here to tell us we can all go home now?"

"Unfortunately not," Treville said, feeling all eyes turn to him. "I've received word that the snow has been too heavy. The roads are closed until morning."

Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan all fired questions at him at the same time. He waited patiently until Constance's voice cut through them and they fell silent. "So we're trapped here, then?" she asked with a resigned practicality.

"It seems so."

"And are we likely to lose power?" Athos asked, watching him shrewdly. This was why he and Constance were in charge.

"They didn't think so, but it's always a possibility," Treville admitted.

A collective groan circled the room. "Well, at least we ate," Porthos said glumly. "Think it's worth reheating the leftovers now in case we lose power later?"

"It would probably be best," Athos agreed. Aramis and Porthos sighed and got up to gather the remaining food, carrying it over to the microwave in the corner.

"Maybe it's not so bad," D'Artagnan suggested hesitantly. "I mean, as long as we have power, it's kinda just like we're camping out a work."

Aramis looked back at him. "Like a sleepover?" he asked, looking interested. That was a good sign. If Aramis and D'Artagnan got behind something, their enthusiasm was infectious enough to carry the rest along with them.

"I'll check the closets for blankets!" D'Artagnan said happily, bounding from the room with all the energy of a young man.

Treville was attempting to sneak out behind him when Athos appeared at his elbow. "Surely you wouldn't abandon us to our plight, sir?" he asked, smirking.

Treville sent him a dark look. "I wouldn't dream of it. You lot have all the food." Athos chuckled at that. "But I thought perhaps I should make a call first."

"Oh?" Athos asked. Treville knew he wouldn't escape without answering.

"I believe our, ah, neighbors may also have stayed late," he admitted at last. "I thought perhaps it would be seasonally appropriate to see if they needed any food."

Athos raised one eyebrow, smirking, but he didn't press any further as he drifted back into the room.

Treville hurried back to his office and dialed the number before he could change his mind, praying no one would answer.

But of course, he was never that lucky. "Yes, what is it?"

Treville clenched his free hand in a fist. "Still here, then."

"Obviously," Richelieu said haughtily. "What do you want?"

"I take it you've heard we're snowed in?" he asked, forcing himself not to snap.

"Ah, yes," Richelieu said, and there was the faintest hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Thankfully I sent my team home hours ago."

So he was stuck here alone, then. "Right. Well, some of mine are still here, and we've got some leftover Chinese. We're making a night of it, I suppose. Thought I would extend the hand of brotherly giving, or some shit like that."

"Why?' Richelieu asked suspiciously.

Treville massaged his temples. "Because it's almost Christmas, for fuck's sake", he snapped. "It's here if you want it." With that, he hung the phone up and grabbed his hidden bottle of brandy to take back with him, still growling internally. He'd never met someone who could get on his nerves so quickly.

He stalked back to the conference room, calming a bit at the sight that greeted him. It seemed D'Artagnan had found piles of blankets and pillows, god only knew where, and he and Constance were setting up what looked like a blanket fort. Athos appeared to be supervising from where he was slumped beside Aramis and Porthos. Treville was fairly certain Aramis was asleep, slumped across Porthos with his head on Athos's chest.

"Seems you team is keeping busy," a snide voice said. Treville turned to find Richelieu stalking down the hall toward him.
"Didn't think you were gonna come," Treville replied, raising an eyebrow. "Food's inside."

Richelieu glanced down and nodded at the brandy. "I'd prefer that, if it's on offer," he said.

Treville weighed the risks of having Richelieu alone in his office against the benefits of having Richelieu alone and tipsy in his office, and grinned. "I'm sure the kids can entertain themselves for a few hours."

Chapter Text

"Just push it, dammit," Porthos growled, shoving fruitlessly at the tree.

"You're the one who picked it." Athos's muffled voice snapped. "Didn't you think to check if it would fit through the door?"

"I think our door might be unusually small," Aramis called doubtfully from where he was crouched beneath the tree itself.

D'Artagnan cackled from somewhere behind them. "Nonsense. Pivot!"

"Who invited you?" Porthos muttered darkly, trying to turn enough to glare at the younger man. He'd shown up in their driveway just as they were unloading the tree and was steadfastly refusing to help them get it inside.

Unfortunately, he couldn't turn without losing his grip on the tree, which led to his end falling from his hands and dropping onto Aramis.

"Shit, sorry, babe," he called, grabbing the trunk and hauling it up. "You okay?"

Aramis crawled out from beneath the tree, glaring furiously. His hair was full of pine needles. Without a word, he shoved Porthos aside and pushed against the trunk with all his might. There was a muffled "oomph" from Athos as the tree popped through the doorway.

"Remind me not to make you angry," D'Artagnan called, watching with an awestruck expression. Aramis sent him another glare and shoved the trunk back at Porthos before stalking into the house.

"How long before he forgives me, you think?" Porthos asked Athos glumly as they maneuvered the tree into the living room.

"Depends. Was it just needles, or did he get sap in his hair too?"

Porthos groaned and stood the tree upright in the base. "He did look a bit sticky, and not in the good way."

"Cheer up. I'm sure he'll forgive you when you show him the present."

Porthos perked up, grinning. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Where'd you hide it, again?"

"In the cupboard where we keep the bathing suits. Figured he'd never look there, this time of year," Athos told him, smirking. "I'll plump the tree, or whatever it is you're meant to do before you decorate it. You go get it and convince him to come back out here."

Porthos whipped off a mock salute and hurried to the cupboard, pulling out the lumpy package. He knocked hesitantly on the door to the bedroom and pushed it open to find Aramis in the master bathroom with his head under the faucet.

"I'm not speaking to you," Aramis muttered as soon as he saw Porthos.

"Ah, c'mon, babe, I brought you somethin'," Porthos said, wiggling the package. Aramis glanced over, his curiosity piqued.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously, rubbing a towel over his adorably tousled hair.

"Open it and find out, dummy," Porthos said, passing it to him.

Aramis spared another moment to sulk and then ripped into the package with gusto, shreds of paper littering the floor by his feet.

"A star," he said reverently, looking at the object in his hands. Porthos was quite proud of it, actually. He'd carved and painted it himself. He'd been covered with gold glitter for days afterwards, but it had been worth it.

"I love it," Aramis said happily. Porthos grinned, knowing he was forgiven.

"Shall we go put it on?"

Aramis shot him a look. "The star goes last, mon cher. We have to put the lights on first!" The manic gleam had returned to his eyes.

Athos had cracked into the boxes of ornaments Aramis had pilfered from his parents by the time they got back to the living room, and was looking through them as if they were strange relics from a bygone era.

"Is this meant to be a reindeer?" he asked, holding up an ornament that looked as if it were made of clay.

"I made that in kindergarten," Aramis said, snatching it away. "Don't mock it!"

"I wasn't," Athos said quickly. "How many ornaments are even in these boxes?"

Aramis shrugged. "We used to fight every year about which ones made it on the tree," he explained. "I think we can cram all these on ours if we try hard enough. But first, the lights!"

Without waiting for them to reply, he delved into another box and pulled out a string of lights that looked so old Porthos was sure they'd start a fire. D'Artagnan was roped into helping by Aramis's best pout, and wound up buried under several strings of lights as Aramis untangled them and draped them around his shoulders.

"We have to start at the top and work our way down," Aramis said, looking for all the world like a general commanding his troops. "Make sure the plug end winds up near the bottom, or we won't be able to plug them in."

They commenced with no small amount of swearing. Porthos soon found it was easiest to just stand near the back and take up the duty of passing the extra strings back and forth around the tree while Aramis and Athos positioned them.

"What do you want 'ere?" he asked when the lights were finished, gesturing to the rather bare bit toward the back of the tree.

Aramis glanced at it, considering, and Porthos could tell he was trying not to be dismissive of the tree's bedraggled appearance. "We'll lay extra garlands over it," he said at last. "And turn it so that side's against the window, so no one will notice."

Porthos nodded and grabbed a garland, noticing D'Artagnan had pulled emptied an entire box of ornaments onto the ground and was going through them one by one with a wondrous expression.

"Oi, pup, gimme a hand," he chuckled, whacking his head with the end of the garland as he passed. D'Artagnan huffed but jumped up to help him trail the glittering mass of tinsel over the boughs while Athos and Aramis draped a beaded garland in a zigzag pattern across the front.

Privately, Porthos was beginning to suspect their tree would resemble nothing so much as an upright pile of glitter and sparkly ornaments, but he said nothing. Aramis had let him choose the tree; Porthos would let him have his way with the decorations. Besides, it would match the rest of the house, which Aramis had turned into a winter wonderland the week before.

"Excellent! Now we can do the ornaments!" Aramis cried, beaming around at them as he collected handfuls from the floor. Porthos wound up with an armful of snowmen, wooden mice, tiny bells, and more of Aramis's childhood creations.

He began diligently hanging them from free branches, wincing when the boughs buckled under the weight of the heavier ones.

"We need music!" D'Artagnan exclaimed, leaping for Aramis's iPhone before anyone could stop him. A moment later, the unmistakable strains of "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" floated through the room. Athos groaned, but Aramis and Porthos grinned and sang along, loudly and terribly.

"Aramis, can't we skip some of these?" Athos asked over the music, holding up a clay tree covered with sparkly beads. A date on the back said Aramis must have made it in elementary school.

"Nah, I like 'em," Porthos said before Aramis could speak. "S'not like you an' me have any to add."

Aramis turned huge eyes on him. "You're right! Tomorrow we will all make ornaments! Pup, bring Constance."

Athos groaned. "Now you've done it," he muttered to Porthos. Porthos just chuckled and nudged him aside to hang a Rudolph ornament. Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to it.

Eventually, they ran out of ornaments. Porthos stepped back, looking over the little tree fondly. It was a bit of a mess, but he loved it.

"Can we put the star on now?" D'Artagnan asked excitedly.

"Actually, I have one more," Aramis admitted. He darted from the room and reappeared with a small box, which he handed to Athos to open. "I bought it at the craft fair I went to with Constance a few weeks ago."

Athos raised an eyebrow and opened the box. Whatever was inside was enough to soften his expression to a pleased smile. A moment later he pulled a small ornament free.

Porthos pressed in closer to get a good look. It seemed to have three snowmen holding hands painted on it. The one in the middle was slightly taller, and all were wearing powder blue scarves. Underneath each was written a name. Porthos grinned when he saw his own underneath the largest snowman.

"I thought it was sweet," Aramis said, smiling. "Athos, will you hang it up?" Athos nodded and shifted a few ornaments until it hung in the very center of their tree.

"Now the star?" D'Artagnan asked impatiently.

"Yes, yes, alright," Aramis said, laughing. Porthos passed him the star, but he shook his head. "No, querido, you should do it."

Athos nodded his agreement, so Porthos turned and plopped the handmade star on the top of the tree. It sat a little crookedly, but he felt no desire to correct it.

Their tree was perfect the way it was.

Chapter Text

"Athos, I don't know what to get!" D'Artagnan wailed, turning to shake the older man's arm and freezing when he realized Athos was gone. Confused, he spun in a circle, scanning the crowd, but Athos was nowhere in sight.

Fuck me, he thought blankly.

D'Artagnan pulled out his phone, figuring he would text his friends and ask where they'd all gone, only to find to his dismay that it had died.

Fuck me sideways.

His heart sank as he realized he was now alone at the mall with no idea where the others were. And Athos had the car keys.

He blew out his breath in a heavy sigh and started trying to work out where each one might have gone. Porthos was looking for a present for Flea, but D'Artagnan couldn't remember what he'd been thinking of getting her, so there was little chance of finding him. Aramis wanted to buy things for all his sisters, so he could be basically anywhere. And Athos... well, unless this mall had a bar, D'Artagnan had no idea where to begin looking for Athos either.

He fought the urge to bang his head against the wall and wondered how pitiful it would be to ask a security guard to call his friends over the intercom, like he was a little kid who'd lost his parents. D'Artagnan shuddered at the thought. No, he'd keep that as a last resort.

He wandered aimlessly through Target for a while, peering around in hope of catching a flash of Aramis's red beret or Porthos looming over the crowd. Athos would naturally have a circle around him as people tried to flee his dark glares, so he would be the easiest to find.

D'Artagnan amused himself for a while playing game demos in the electronics department, then backtracked through the housewares in hopes of finding Aramis or Porthos. When he had no luck, he resigned himself to braving the heaving sea of humanity that was the larger mall and stepped out the door.

Within minutes, he was nearly run over by three strollers and whacked across the head by two separate shoppers carrying rolls of gift wrap. He fought his way to the edge of the walkway and crept along the wall, keeping his eyes peeled for his friends.

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head. This is what you get for leaving your shopping until the last minute!

D'Artagnan wanted to argue that he'd at least picked out Constance's present months ago, but arguing with himself while lost at the mall seeming like crossing the line into insanity.

He caught a flash of red while walking by Macy's and darted in, trying to follow it. He wound up hopelessly lost in the kitchen department, and a nice lady had to point him toward the escalators so he could escape.

At least he saw a pie plate on the way out that would be perfect for his mother. One gift down.

He fought his way out of Macy's, clutching the bubble-wrapped pie plate against his chest to keep it safe, but the crowd swept him almost immediately into the next store over, which seemed to be full of cradles and baby clothes and absolutely nothing he needed.

D'Artagnan was on the verge of making his escape when he saw Aramis at the checkout, smiling at the cashier and just being his usual charming self. He hurried over, relived to have found someone else at last.

"D'Artagnan, I wondered where you'd got to," Aramis said, grinning at him. "Hold this, would you?" Without waiting for permission, he stuffed a bag into D'Artagnan's arms. He noticed Aramis was already carrying three others himself, so he took it without complaint.

"Find everything you were looking for?" he asked, trying to settle both bag and pie plate comfortably.

"Oh yes, I was just picking up the last thing I needed for my sister Martine. Sophie's turning a year old in January," he said, practically beaming with brotherly pride.

"Right, good. Do you know where Athos and Porthos are?" D'Artagnan asked, hoping he didn't sound worried.

Aramis shrugged. "Probably off buying their own things."

"Think we should call them and arrange to meet up soon?"

"Hmm, good idea. Go ahead."

"My phone's dead, you do it."

Aramis gave him a startled look. "Oh. Mine's with Porthos."

D'Artagnan stared at him. "Why?" he asked at last.

"These jeans are too tight to keep my phone in," Aramis said with a shrug. "I'm sure it won't be that hard to find them."

D'Artagnan doubted that very much, but he decided to let Aramis realize the folly of his words in his own time, following him closely through the packed mall.

"Do you know what they were looking for, exactly?" D'Artagnan asked after ten minutes of fruitless searching.

Aramis paused, juggling his bags to free one hand so he could adjust his beret. "Porthos wanted to get Flea some books. I'm not sure what Athos was looking for, but I know the Barnes and Noble here has a Starbucks in it, so he could be there."

"Right, let's try that then," D'Artagnan said, pleased to have a plan at last. It seemed like ages before they finally made it to the bookstore, which was thankfully a bit quieter than the rest of the mall.

He noticed a book that looked perfect for his father and stopped to take a look at it. It was about the history of naval warfare in the Pacific, and his dad was a huge history buff. He smiled and turned to ask Aramis to wait for him while he checked out.

Aramis was gone.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted under his breath, hurrying over to the café and praying he'd find at least one of his friends there. But then, when had he ever been that lucky?

Still cursing under his breath, he made his way to the register and paid for the book, shoving it in the bag Aramis had forced him to carry before leaving the store.

Where on earth was he meant to go and look now? He was tired and irritable and just wanted to go home and watch Christmas movies with some hot chocolate and as many marshmallows as he could fit in the mug. He checked a few of the stores nearby, but his heart wasn't really in it. Finally, he admitted defeat and trooped over to the nearest security booth.

"Can I help you?" the guard asked in a bored voice.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, lost," D'Artagnan said, hoping he wasn't blushing as hotly as he felt he was.

"Maps are over there, sir," the guard said, not looking at him.

"No, I'm lost. Like, I lost my friends," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

That made the guard look up, one eyebrow rising derisively. "You what?"

"Look, can you just make an announcement telling them where I am?" he asked miserably. He really was starting to feel like a kid who'd lost his parents.

Something in his face must have made the guard take pity on him. "What's your name and who am I calling for?" he asked wearily.

"I'm D'Artagnan, and call for…" D'Artagnan paused, considering. "Athos de la Fére," he said at last, praying Athos would be listening to the announcements.

A moment later, the loudspeaker crackled. "Will Athos de la Fére please report to the first floor security station to collect D'Artagnan? Athos de la Fére to the first floor security station, thank you."

D'Artagnan gave a sheepish grin of thanks and leaned against the counter to wait, setting his bags safely between his legs. For a while, he entertained himself with watching the people walking by, but after five minutes, he began to worry Athos might not come. He was dreading the moment when he'd have to ask the guard to make another announcement when he found three familiar faces in the crowd.

"Got a call about a lost puppy," Porthos called, grinning widely as they pushed their way through the crowd. "How the hell did you manage to get lost twice, lad?"

"Shut up," D'Artagnan muttered, unable to keep from smiling from relief.

"I could've sworn you were right behind me in the bookstore," Aramis said with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I have your bag," D'Artagnan told him, noticing that Porthos now seemed to be doing all the carrying. "Where did you find them?"

"Porthos was in the food court arcade," Aramis said, shooting Porthos an unimpressed look. "Athos was holed up in a tea shop."

"It wasn't as crowded," Athos murmured. "And Ninon loves tea."

"Please say you found everything you needed," D'Artagnan asked hopefully.

"Don't worry, pup, we're headin' home," Porthos chuckled.

"We'll even walk you to the door, so you don't get lost again," Aramis said wickedly.

"Constance will love to hear the tale of little lost D'Artagnan," Athos added with a smirk.

"I'm never coming shopping with any of you again!"

Chapter Text

Athos glared bitterly at his reflection in the mirror. He could not believe he'd let them talk him into this. This hat had a bell on it, for god's sake.

"I look like a fool," he growled.

"No, you look like an elf!" Aramis said, beaming at him. "These colors really do wonders for you, mon cher."

Athos glowered at him and turned his attention back to his own reflection, tugging the collar of the ridiculous costume. It was garishly striped in red and green and looked like a Christmas tree had thrown up on him. The only redeeming quality was that it had been well tailored, the credit for which went to Constance. All the rest was terrible.

The ridiculous shoes had bells on the end, and they were making him wear tights.

"How did I get stuck doing this?" he moaned, batting the tail of the hat away from his face.

Porthos's laugh rumbled from the doorway. "Cuz it's for a good cause?" he suggested.

"Because you love us?" Aramis added.

"Because it's Christmas!" D'Artagnan called from the hallway.

"I hate my life," Athos muttered.

"Come now, mon cher, it's time to get going," Aramis said brightly. He looked unfairly adorable in his own costume. Athos was fairly certain he'd dusted glitter through his beard.

Standing beside him, Porthos looked… well, not adorable, but certainly attractive, arms bare beneath the short sleeve tunic. Athos let his eyes trail down and had to jerk them up again quickly before his face gave anything away.

Tights were certainly a good look.

They trooped into the living room, bells jangling. D'Artagnan was waiting on the couch, already dressed. Athos raised an eyebrow. The elf look suited him surprisingly well.

"Ready to go?" he asked, leaping up. "Constance and Flea are already there. They said 'Santa' will be arriving soon."

"Let's just get this over with," Athos sighed. The other three beamed at him.

The drive was mercifully short, even if it was full of Aramis reminding him not to glare daggers at any of the children. They arrived at the orphanage fifteen minutes head of time found Flea and Constance waiting in the front hall with a few other volunteers.

Porthos went over to Flea, checking that everything was still running smoothly, while D'Artagnan bounded over to Constance, who was looking lovely in her elf dress. Athos sank against the wall beside Aramis and reminded himself that he was doing this for a good cause.

When Athos had agreed to this event a few weeks ago, it had only been because Porthos had seemed so eager to do something for his old orphanage. He'd told them all about how Flea was arranging for Santa to come visit the kids and take their letters to the North Pole. They'd use the lists to get the kids presents, drawing on Ninon's generous donations.

Athos would normally have been content just to toss in a hefty check and leave the dressing-up to the others, but Porthos had given him such a hopeful look that he'd agreed without considering the consequences.

Damn his soft heart.

"Cheer up, mon cher, it'll be over soon," Aramis whispered, smirking at him.

Before Athos could come back with a cutting retort, Porthos hurried up to them with Flea, a worried expression on his face. "We got a problem."

"What?" Athos asked.

"Santa ain't comin'."

"What do you mean he isn't coming?" D'Artagnan asked, wandering over with Constance.

"The fucker just called and pulled out," Flea snapped, looking livid. "We got fifty kids in there waiting, and he isn't gonna show!"

"There must be something we can do," Constance said, looking horrified.

"Like what? It's supposed to start in ten minutes!" Flea said, shoulders slumping. "No way we can get someone else in time."

D'Artagnan shifted. "Well, there might be something," he said. "I mean, we already have the costume…"

"The kids know all of us from the volunteer shifts," Porthos said bitterly. "They'd recognize us, even with the beard."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Not all of us," he said, glancing at Athos.

Athos found himself pinned by five sets of eyes. "No," he said flatly.

"Athos…"

"Aramis, I am not dressing up as Santa Claus!"
"But Athos, think of the kids," Porthos tried.

"No! You can do it. They probably won't figure it out."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Yeah, Santa with a scar across his eye. They'll never guess that one!"

"S'gotta be you, babe," Porthos said, turning enormous, pleading eyes on him.

Shit.

"I cannot interact with children," he muttered, knowing it was a weak argument even as he spoke.

"You barely have to! Just get them on your lap, ask what they want for Christmas, and send them off. We'll handle the rest," Flea said desperately.

"Please, Athos, it'll ruin Christmas for them if Santa doesn't show," Aramis begged.

Under the combined power of their puppy dog eyes, Athos crumpled.

"Bring me the suit."

Constance darted off, returning a moment later with a red monstrosity and a terrible fake beard. D'Artagnan followed a moment later with a pillow.

"Right, put that on and stuff this down your front," he said, shoving the pillow at Athos.

Athos kicked off the elf shoes and removed the ridiculous hat, pulling the suit on over his costume and slipping into the big black boots. He let Aramis handle the pillow and focused on getting the beard attached behind his ears. It was terribly itchy.

"Right, we gotta get out there, Athos, we're already late," Flea said, ushering him forward.

"Don't forget this!" Aramis called, plopping a giant red hat on his head. Athos barely had time to adjust it before they shoved him out into a hall of screaming children.

The things he did for love.

He could see the exact moment that the kids located him. They turned to stare, eyes wide with excitement. Behind him, Porthos whispered, "Be jolly!"

Athos gritted his teeth, grateful the beard hid most of his face. "Ho, ho, ho," he forced out. "Merry Christmas!"

The kids shrieked in glee, and he felt Porthos relax behind him. "Just get to the chair, alright? We'll take care o' the rest."

Athos nodded and allowed them to clear a path through the crowd for him, remembering to add a 'ho, ho ho' every so often for effect. At last he collapsed in the big chair, watching D'Artagnan and Aramis keep the kids in order.

He was just starting to think that perhaps he could handle this when Porthos plopped a small child down on his lap.

For a long moment, Athos and the child just stared at one another. Athos couldn't even tell if it was male or female.

"Go on, Santa," Aramis hissed, giving him a pointed look.

Athos spluttered a moment before remembering what he was supposed to say. "Hello there, little child, ah, what do you want for Christmas?"

The tiny thing beamed at him, waving a slip of paper in his face. "I wanna Batman!" it shrieked.

"Oh. Right. Yes, good. I'll, ah, get my elves right on that," Athos murmured, totally at a loss. This seemed to be sufficient, however, because the child beamed again and allowed itself to be ushered back into the crowd.

One down, fifty to go.

It got easier from there. Flea and Porthos worked seamlessly to get the kids to him one at a time, while the others entertained the rest to keep them from rioting. There was a brief moment of terror when one little girl pulled on his beard, but Aramis swooped down and got her away before she could destroy the illusion.

At long last, Flea was standing before the crowd, smiling down at all the tiny faces. "Did everyone get a chance to give their letter to Santa?"

"I didn't!" a little voice called. A boy darted up and leapt onto Athos's lap. He was older than the others, and Athos got the feeling he wasn't fooled by the disguise.

Still, he went through his routine, asking what the boy wanted for Christmas. "I want a sword," the boy said, chin sticking out defiantly.

Porthos barked a laugh and even Athos grinned under the beard. A child after his own heart. "Well, I'll see what my elves can do," he promised solemnly. The child nodded, apparently satisfied, and joined the rest of the kids being shepherded back to their rooms.
"Nicely done, Santa," Porthos said, grinning. Aramis plopped himself down in Athos's lap and tugged on his beard.

"Flea," Athos called, ignoring them both. "I would like to arrange fencing lessons for that boy. I will cover the costs myself." He tried to ignore the pleased and startled looks his friends all shot at one another.

"Will you grant my Christmas wish too, Santa?" Aramis asked wickedly, leaning down to whisper such filthy things in Athos's ear that he almost choked on his beard.

This job might have its perks after all.

Chapter Text

"What is the point of a party like this, exactly?" Athos asked, casting a disparaging look over the crowd.

Constance sighed, straightening the gaudy ornaments that hung down the front of her sweater. "It's just fun, Athos."

Athos eyed her doubtfully, leaning back against the buffet table. "I fail to see the appeal."

"You just don't like it because Aramis said you could wear any o' your sweaters and still be okay," Porthos said with a grin as he appeared at Athos's elbow. Constance sniggered: Athos's sweater was rather hideous without any extra effort to make it so.

"My sweater is perfectly fine," Athos said haughtily, shoving Porthos aside to fetch more punch.

"Aramis 'as knitted sweaters better than that," Porthos said, completely uncowed by Athos's dark glare. "You've already 'ad four people compliment you on 'ow ugly it is."

Athos muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Constance missed it, but Porthos grinned and said matter-of-factly, "Nah, you love me."

Constance laughed, feeling a twinge of longing. She was so pleased that her friends were happy, but it was hard lately to be around them. D'Artagnan had been away for three weeks, and it would be another week before he came home. She didn't like to admit it, but she was getting lonely.

"What're you doing hidin' out over 'ere, anyway? Aramis's lookin' for you," Porthos told Athos.

"Oh, hell. What does he want?"

Porthos chuckled at his doleful tone. "He jus' wants you to join the party proper, love, and not steal Constance away so you can 'ide out in the corner."

Constance hid a grin when Athos rolled his eyes, knowing the reluctance was all for show. He (and Porthos, too, for that matter) would do anything Aramis asked of them. He had them wrapped around his finger.

"Oh, go on then," she told them. "It's his party, after all."

Porthos shot her a grateful smile as he dragged Athos off, and Constance laughed again at his sweater. He'd just wound one long strand of bright red tinsel around himself like a rope. It was hilarious and ridiculous and lovely.

Constance shook her head fondly and scanned the crowd for more familiar faces. She felt a bit off balance without D'Artagnan by her side, dragging her around to meet everyone. Flea waved to her and she wove over to where Flea was standing beside a gorgeous blonde woman who held herself like a queen. Must be one of Athos's friends, very high society.

Although, the arm she had wrapped around Flea's waist kept dipping lower than was strictly proper. Constance grinned when Flea winked at her. Perhaps not so high society after all.

"Have you met Ninon?" Flea asked.

Constance held out a hand, smiling. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," Ninon said. Her voice held a faint French accent. "I've heard excellent things about you from Athos."

Constance raised an eyebrow. "Athos talks about me?" she asked, nonplussed.

Ninon laughed. "He likes to pretend he's the big bad wolf, but really, he's a sweetheart," she said conspiratorially.

Constance decided she liked Ninon.

"Oh, bloody hell, who invited them?" Flea muttered under her breath, nodding toward the makeshift bar.

Constance turned to look and saw D'Artagnan's boss glaring daggers at someone with his back to them. Then he turned his head, and she recognized the boys' biggest business rival.

"Ah, he came," Aramis cried, popping up at her elbow. Porthos and Athos followed, taking in the turn of events with bemused expressions.

"What'd you invite 'im for, love?" Porthos asked, slinging an arm around Aramis's shoulders.

"Watch and see," Aramis murmured, eyeing the pair by the bar.

From across the room, Constance couldn't make out what they were saying, but both Treville and Richelieu were wearing expressions of extreme dislike. They seemed to be getting more animated now, inching closer together as their expressions darkened further, and then…

"Holy shit," Porthos muttered.

"Who'd have thought?" Flea added.

"I knew it!" Aramis crowed.

Constance just stared as Treville and Richelieu staggered out of the room and down one of the darkened hallways, still firmly attached at the lips.

"Victory is sweet," Aramis sighed, draping himself against Porthos.

"Terror," Porthos murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Constance sighed and wandered away, feeling rather bereft again. Before she'd made it more than halfway across the room, however, Athos caught her arm.

"I need your help," he muttered, nodding down a hallway. (Not, she noted with some relief, the one Treville and Richelieu had vanished down. Some things she did not need to see.) "One of our friends has had a rather embarrassing wardrobe malfunction. Any chance you could give them a hand?"

"Oh, right, of course," Constance said, honestly relieved at the chance to get away from the party for a moment. She let Athos lead her through the house until they came to a door upstairs. He nodded for her to go first.

"What's the trouble, exactly?" she asked without looking up.

"Well, I seem to have arrived with no ugly sweater."

Constance was across the room in a heartbeat and into D'Artagnan's arms. "When did you get in?" she asked, beaming, as he half lifted her off the ground.

"Just now," he said, grinning at her. "Surprise!"

She turned around to scold Athos for not telling her, but he'd already fled. Deciding she could scold and thank him later, she turned back to her fiancé. "I thought you were in Washington for another week?" she asked, making no move to step out of his embrace.

"Sealed the deal early," he said, looking rather smug. "I wanted to be with you."

Constance melted a bit at that. "So," she said, trying not to blush. "Am I meant to be uglifying your sweater?"

"Well," D'Artagnan said, grinning wickedly. "Aramis mentioned this section of the house is out-of-bounds for guests, so…"

Constance laughed as she understood where he was going. "So we won't be disturbed." He nodded eagerly and she laughed again. "Sounds perfect."

Chapter Text

Porthos jammed his finger impatiently against the elevator buttons, trying to force the doors to close faster. He was late, he was so late, and Athos was going to kill him. And then Aramis was going to dig him up, bring him back to life, and kill him again.

He tapped his knuckles on the railing, willing the damn thing to move already. He'd promised he would be there by ten, and he was already half an hour late.

Porthos hated breaking his promises.

The doors finally closed, and he huffed out a sigh, leaning back against the wall. This was all Charon's fault. If he hadn't called right before the party started, begging Porthos to come bail him out ("the last time, brother, I swear"), then Porthos wouldn't have had to leave work to go bring his sorry ass home. Again.

Porthos scowled at his reflection in the mirrored walls. Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Charon. Flea had cut ties a while back, sick of dealing with the shitstorm that followed him.

Aramis had tried to convince him that it wouldn't do Charon any harm to sit in a cell overnight, pissed off on Porthos's behalf. Athos hadn't said anything about it, speaking only to extract the promise that he would be back by ten.

And now he was late.

Porthos fought the urge to jump up and down in the hopes of speeding up their building's ridiculously slow elevator. After what felt like a thousand years, he finally felt it come to a stop, doors opening onto a deserted hallway. The party must still be in full swing, then.

He hurried down the hallway towards the office he and his boyfriends worked at. He kept an ear out as he went for the sound that would certainly spell his doom.

Thankfully, all he could hear was the sound of faint music spilling from the doorway at the end of the hall. He was halfway there when someone bounded out of it to meet him.

"Porthos, help!" D'Artagnan whispered desperately.

He paused reluctantly, cursing his own inability to leave the lad in distress. "What is it?"

"Constance's ex showed up! What do I do?" D'Artagnan's eyes were wide with worry, and he seemed to have picked up Aramis's habit of running his hands nervously though his hair.

"What the fuck's he doin' here?" Porthos asked, frowning.

"I didn't stop to ask him!" D'Artagnan snapped. "I was going to ask Athos to scare him away, but I couldn't find him or Aramis, and frankly, I didn't want to look too hard. I like my eyes not burned out of their sockets, thanks."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Porthos asked, trying not to feel impatient.

"Scare him away!" D'Artagnan said, as if it were obvious.

"What do you think we are, your personal thugs?" Porthos asked, amused despite himself.

"I thought you were my big brothers," D'Artagnan said pitifully, making puppy eyes at him.

Porthos sighed. "Fine, I'll get rid of 'im. But you owe me."

D'Artagnan beamed and led the way into the office. A careful glance around the main room revealed he didn't seem to be in trouble, yet, so he let the lad point him toward Constance and the evil ex.

"Oi, Jacques, 'ow are you?" he said, grinning broadly at the shorter man, who leapt half a foot in the air when Porthos loomed over him unexpectedly.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," he said rudely, turning back to Constance, who looked at Porthos hopefully. She clearly wanted to get away.

"Say, you still driving that snazzy convertible?" Porthos asked casually.

Jacques preened, looking altogether too full of himself. "Why, yes, I am," he said.

"Ah. Well, mate, I hate to tell you this, but I think someone slashed your tires," Porthos said, trying to sound apologetic.

Jacques swelled with rage and dashed off without so much as a goodbye to Constance, who looked relieved to see him go. D'Artagnan popped up at her side in an instant, and Porthos gave him a wink.

He was about to slip away and leave them be when Constance called after him, "Oh, I think Athos was looking for you! He was heading for the lounge."

Porthos froze. "There wouldn't happen to be karaoke in the lounge, would there?" he asked, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Yeah, I think there is," D'Artagnan told him.

"Shit," Porthos muttered, striding away. He was dead. He'd be lucky if there was anything left to bury after Athos was through with him.

He heard the singing before he reached the room and winced. Aramis was definitely drunk, then. He'd really hoped Athos would keep him from getting to this stage, but he should've known better. Aramis could do anything he wanted when he put his mind to it.

Unfortunately for them, what he wanted, year after year at this party, was to get staggering drunk and sink karaoke. Normally, Aramis and karaoke went perfectly together. He had an excellent voice and loved the attention. But for some reason this party never ended well for him, and it always took both Athos and Porthos to get him home.

Which was exactly why he was meant to be here before it got this far.

Porthos got to the doorway and stopped, staring disconsolately in. Aramis on the stage they'd made out of desks? Check. Singing? Check. Half-naked and missing both jacket, shirt, and tie? Check, check, check.

"You promised you wouldn't be late," Athos murmured, appearing at his elbow.

Porthos nodded glumly, not bothering with excuses. "Should we get 'im home before the pants go too?"

"Let him go a minute longer." Athos's voice had roughened. "I think first we should discuss the nature of your punishment. You did break your promise, after all."

Porthos grinned as heat uncurled in his stomach. From the tone of Athos's voice, he got the feeling he might enjoy this more than he'd let himself hope.

Chapter Text

D'Artagnan rapped on the door, popping his collar up with his free hand. The snow was still coming down heavily, piling in drifts all along the road.

He knew his friends were meant to be going to Aramis's family's house for Christmas, but Constance had pointed out that the lights were still on in their windows. They'd agreed that he should come make sure everything was okay.

D'Artagnan was regretting his decision as snow slid down his collar. He stamped his feet, rubbing his arms to try and warm up. He was about to give up and assume they'd left a light on when the door opened.

"What're you doin' here?" Porthos asked, ushering him in.

D'Artagnan shook snowflakes from his hair. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Aramis's."

Porthos grimaced. "Change of plans. Weather's too bad tonight. His mom called and demanded we stay home and not risk the roads."

"Why so disappointed?" D'Artagnan asked. "I thought you wanted to stay here this year."

Porthos grinned ruefully. "I did. But Aramis is upset. He wanted to go 'ome and see 'is folks."

"Ahhhh," D'Artagnan murmured. "That does suck, then." He chewed his lip, thinking. "Well, let's all do something."

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Let's have dinner, all of us. Take his mind off it. Constance and I'll come over for the evening."

"That ain't a bad idea," Porthos said.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes at him. "Always the tone of surprise," he smirked. "You got anything you can make for dinner?"

Porthos shifted, thinking. "We got eggs," he said at last. "And maybe a couple cans o' hash. Didn't really do much shoppin' this week. Weren't plannin' to be home."

"We got hotdogs," D'Artagnan offered. "And burgers. We were gonna have a Christmas Eve cookout on our stove."

Porthos laughed. "Eggs, hash, and hot dogs and burgers?" he asked, shaking his head. "It'll be a strange meal, pup."

"Does that matter? It'll be fun!" D'Artagnan said, starting to get excited. "C'mon, it'll be great."

"Yeah, yeah, alright," Porthos chuckled. "Anythin' to get Aramis to stop sulkin'. Go tell Constance to gather the grub and make the trek over."

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly and hurried back out into the falling snow. The house he and Constance had moved into last summer was only a short ways down the street, and soon enough he was stomping the snow off his boots in their front hall.

"Were they home?" Constance asked, coming up and ruffling the snow from his hair.

"Yeah, weather kept then from traveling. Porthos said Aramis is upset, so I told him we should all have dinner together! We need to bring the food over there."

"Okay?" Constance said, looking a bit bemused.

"Get your coat!" D'Artagnan cried, rushing into the kitchen in his excitement. "We just need all the stuff we would've eaten ourselves with them."

He threw the ingredients for their indoor cookout into a bag, remembering to toss the buns in last so they didn't get squashed. He then hurried back out to the hallway to find Constance still pulling on her coat. She insisted on shoving a hat over his hair before the walked out into the snow.

The snow was falling more heavily now. They slogged through it until they reached the house, pushing their way inside without knocking.

A moment after they shut the door Aramis came barreling down the hall and nearly sent them both crashing to the floor.

"This was a fantastic idea, pup!" he cried, snatching the bag from his hands. He paused only long enough to give Constance a peck on the cheek before disappearing back toward the kitchen.

"I think he's pleased," Constance said, laughing. They hung up their coats and drifted hand in hand into the kitchen.

Porthos was standing at the stove, spatula in hand, calling instructions to Aramis and Athos while managing the hash and eggs. Aramis was busily separating out burgers and hotdogs and tossing them into frying pans, which Athos brought over and added to the stove. The atmosphere in the room was far more cheerful than it had been ten minutes before.

Constance caught D'Artagnan's eye and smiled. "What do you need me to do, chef?" she called to Porthos, rolling up her sleeves.

Porthos grinned. "Sort out the salad," he ordered. "I dunno what Athos did to it, but it needs rescuin'." She saluted and got to work on the pile of greens sitting on the counter as Porthos turned his attention to D'Artagnan.

"Pup, you get everythin' else ready. Buns, condiments, wine, all that. Aramis is in charge of assemblin' all the parts together."

D'Artagnan flashed him a grin. "Let's do this!"

Much later, they were all lounging in the living room. The coffee table was piled high with dirty plates, the remains of the massive, mismatched feast they'd cooked themselves. How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on the TV, and a fire roared in the grate.

Constance was cuddled up against D'Artagnan's side on the loveseat. Over on the couch, Aramis was dozing between Porthos and Athos, who was still nursing the bottle of wine.

D'Artagnan looked down at Constance when she sighed heavily, tangling her fingers in his sweater. "What is it?"

"Shouldn't we be heading home soon?" she asked reluctantly. It was clear she had no desire to go back out into the snow.

"Mm, no stay the night," Aramis murmured sleepily.

"S'cold out," Porthos added.

"And there's plenty of space," Athos finished. "You should stay."

"We can celebrate Christmas together in the morning," Aramis said happily. "This was a wonderful idea, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan ducked his head, flushing as the others added their praise before shuffling together off to bed. He and Constance moved over to the massive sofa, tugging an afghan off the back to use as a blanket.

"I think this should be our new yearly tradition," he murmured sleepily into her hair as they drifted off.

Chapter Text

Athos slipped silently into the kitchen, wincing at the beep of the coffee machine as he turned it on. He needed to make the most of this brief period of peace before the others woke. Aramis was a veritable hurricane of Christmas spirit, Porthos was practically Santa Claus, and he didn't even want to guess what D'Artagnan would be like.

It wasn't that Athos didn't like Christmas with his chosen family. Quite the opposite: it brought him more joy than any Christmas he'd spent in his family's home, entertaining endless relatives. It was just that he found the fuss of the festivities overwhelming at times, so he needed to take these stolen moments to prepare himself.

A glance at the clock showed that it was only 7 AM. As excitable as Porthos became on Christmas morning, he wouldn't be up for at least half an hour, and Aramis would stay asleep until Porthos's warmth left the bed.

At which point they would both turn into demons (adorable, festive, beloved demons, but demons nonetheless) and demand that the present opening begin at once.

This would delay breakfast by at least two hours, which was unacceptable. Athos needed food and coffee to survive the day, before the flood of wrapping paper overwhelmed the floor.

He drummed his fingers on the counter. Half an hour was plenty of time to prepare breakfast, right?

Aramis and Porthos hadn't let him cook since the disastrous Thanksgiving turkey incident had left a blackened patch in their lawn. Three years later, and the grass still hadn't begun to grow again.

Athos shoved those thoughts aside. Cooking was not that difficult. He'd hidden away some eggs and bacon last night, since it seemed everyone else had forgotten they would need food for breakfast. There should be enough for all of them, and Athos was fairly certain he couldn't mess up scrambled eggs.

He filled a mug, drank a sip of the coffee, and got to work.

"What's burnin'?" Porthos called, skidding into the kitchen twenty minutes later. His jaw dropped at the sight of Athos in the kitchen, surrounded by plates of eggs, bacon, and toast.

Athos glanced over at him, enjoying his surprised expression. "Oh, you're up," he said casually, scraping at a pan with a spatula. "I looked away from this last slice of bacon and it seems to have fused with the pan. The rest came out fine, though."

"You… you made breakfast?" Porthos asked.

Athos smiled at him and pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. "Merry Christmas. I'll wake the others."

He walked down the hallway toward the living room, pausing to give Aramis a kiss on the cheek as he went.

"Is he okay?" he heard Aramis ask behind him. "He's never done anything like this before."

"Maybe he's just getting' into the spirit o' things? Whatever it is, I ain't complainin'."

"Me neither. Merry Christmas, indeed!"

Athos smiled to himself as he padded into the living room. D'Artagnan and Constance were still tangled together on the couch, deeply asleep. He was loath to wake them, but to food would get cold, so he reached out and prodded the boy on the shoulder.

"Go 'way," D'Artagnan groaned, batting at his hand.

"I made breakfast," he said. "Get up."

The lad's head shot up, and to his amusement, Constance's did as well. "You made breakfast?" D'Artagnan asked, sounding unfairly nervous.

"Yes, I did," Athos said, raising an eyebrow.

D'Artagnan sniffed the air. "But it- it smells delicious," he said, obviously confused.

Athos rolled his eyes, somewhat offended, but before he could retort, Aramis and Porthos appeared in the doorway, each managing to balance several plates and mugs along their arms.

"Are we eating in here?" he asked, smirking.

Aramis set some of the plates down on the coffee table and beamed at him. "But of course. It's Christmas! We shall eat in sight of our lovely little tree and then open presents!"

His eyes had taken on that manic Christmas gleam. There were practically sugar plums dancing around his head. Athos knew it was best just to go along with it.

Which was how he found himself eating breakfast, squashed between Aramis and D'Artagnan, on a couch that was never meant to hold five people. He felt rather like a sardine squashing into a can. To his immense relief, they made it through breakfast with only some bread crumbs scattered on the floor and one coffee stain on D'Artagnan's sweatpants.

He was contemplating how dignified it would be to try and sneak away for a moment under the pretense of cleaning the dishes, but before he could make his escape, Porthos had clambered up and begun distributing presents. Athos got a particularly heavy one flung across his lap, putting an end to his plot.

At the le Fére residence, present opening was taken as seriously as a funeral. Each person waited their turn, opened the present as neatly as possible, and immediately thanked the appropriate relation. All the gifts were strictly regulated by his parents, and he'd always known what he would be getting. Athos had hated it.

This was nothing like that. Any semblance of order fled the moment Porthos took his seat once more. Wrapping paper flew through the air like a miniature blizzard as everyone began tearing at their gifts in a festive frenzy. D'Artagnan was flinging bows across the room while Aramis and Porthos built up a mountain of crumpled paper on the floor in front of them. Even the ever composed Constance was ripping into her gifts with gusto.

Athos smiled, a contented feeling sweeping over him, and began to unwrap his own gifts. Some were things he'd asked for, others were a complete surprise, but every single one was a treasure to him. He opened a book he'd been wanting to read, three excellent vintages of his favorite red wine, and a pair of stunningly soft alpaca wool fingerless gloves.

His parents had always given such practical, high-quality, useless gifts. He couldn't remember a single Christmas that he'd received a single thing he'd really wanted, unless it was from Thomas. This was also the only day of the year he could remember his brother without sadness. Thomas loved Christmas.

A shout of excitement from Aramis and awed cursing from Porthos pulled him from his nostalgia. They must have opened his gift. He was quite proud of this one, really, and he knew neither of them would ever have expected it.

"The Bahamas?" Aramis was shrieking in his ear, nearly strangling him with his embrace as he wrapped his arms around Athos's neck. It was a struggle to remain upright and not collapse sideways into D'Artagnan and initiate a domino effect down the couch. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Well, you wanted to go on vacation," Athos murmured, smiling at Porthos's dumbstruck expression. They'd been hinting for months now that it would be nice to get away, and he'd been careful to remain purposely disinterested. They were going to love the islands. "Merry Christmas."

As their excited cries joined those of D'Artagnan and Constance, still ripping through their packages, Athos leaned back into the couch, smiling quietly to himself. Years ago, he had hated Christmas. He'd have despised his presents, and he would never have dreamed of going willingly on a tropical getaway.

But things were different now. He had chosen this family, and he loved them fiercely.

Here, surrounded by people he loved, Christmas finally meant something.

Chapter Text

Athos stared at the clothes tossed across his bed in abject dismay. It seemed Aramis did not plan to give up his plan to drag them along to the city's New Year's Eve celebrations after all.

It wasn't that Athos did not enjoy the festivities of First Night. It was just that he'd rather enjoy them from the comfort of his own living room with a glass of red wine in his hand.

But Aramis loved to celebrate, and he'd been begging for months for them all to go out for the evening and take part in the festivities. Athos had thought they had a way out when they'd agreed to spend Christmas with Aramis's family, but when that had fallen through, he'd realized they would have to go out.

With a heavy sigh, he walked over to the bed, glancing over the items Aramis had set out. Aramis had chosen a deep, almost silvery gray cashmere sweater and a pair of his more comfortable pairs of jeans that were just dark enough to pass as dressy. There were no shoes; apparently Aramis trusted him with his own footwear.

He got dressed with a reluctance normally reserved for the gallows. He even ran a comb through his hair, flattening it down to some semblance of acceptability. He still looked a bit like a hobo dressed in fancy clothes, but it would have to do.

Athos padded over to the closet in search of shoes, only to find that all his footwear had mysteriously vanished. Frowning, he headed out into the hall in search of his errant shoes.

He found Porthos standing in the hallway, leaning against the closed bathroom door with an exasperated look. He glanced up when Athos appeared.

"You talk some sense into 'im," he growled, jerking his head at the door. "He sure as hell ain't listenin' to me."

Athos stepped closer in time to hear Aramis call through the door, "Talk some sense into me? Talk some sense into him! He's the one who hid every damn pair of shoes in the house!"

Porthos grinned, not even denying the accusation. "Can't go out with no shoes!"

"I thought we had agreed to go out for First Night," Athos put in mildly.

Aramis shouted "Exactly!" through the door at the same time as Porthos said, "That was before Aramis decided to get sick."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Are you sick, mon cher?" he called through the door.

Aramis's guilty "No!" was immediately followed by a hacking cough.

Porthos gave him a knowing look. "See? We're stayin' in tonight, love."

"You said we could go!" Aramis wailed from inside the bathroom.

Porthos turned pointedly to Athos, obviously waiting for him to contribute. "Well, we can't go without shoes anyway," he said, sighing. "Come out, mon cher. We'll have New Year's in tonight."

A long, drawn out sigh came through the door. A moment later it opened to reveal a dejected looking Aramis, already dressed for the party and looking impossibly amazing but, like Athos, sans shoes.

"I just wanted to go out," he sniffled, blowing his nose as he spoke. "I wanted a party."

Athos ran a practiced eye over Aramis's clothing. "We'll have a party here," he said firmly. "We already look the part. We can just order some Chinese, make some drinks, and play Monopoly."

Aramis pouted at him. "It's not the same. Porthos isn't even wearing his party clothes."

"Porthos," Athos said pointedly, "will go change at once while we make cocktails. Won't he?"

"Uh, right," Porthos said quickly.

"And then he will put in our usual order for Chinese and join us in the living room," Athos said decisively. Porthos gave him a look, but whatever he saw on Athos's face was enough to make him decide not to argue. They would do their best to give Aramis an exciting New Year's.

"I guess that doesn't sound so bad," Aramis said grudgingly. He let Athos take his arm and lead him off to begin the preparations.

Two hours later, Athos controlled half the board, and Aramis and Porthos were beginning to make whispered plans to team up on him. Empty glasses and Chinese cartons littered the floor.

Aramis shouted triumphantly when he landed on free parking and sat back, grinning. "This is nice," he admitted. "I'm glad we stayed in."

"As am I," Athos said, smiling at him. Then, giving into a rare urge for sentimentality, he added, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."