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Porthos recognized the song immediately when he walked in.
He smirked – imagining Athos’ resistance had been worn down – and kicked off his work boots to hurry into the living room.
This was one that would make it into Aramis’ accapella shower rotation fairly regularly. Aramis would raise his voice to a much higher pitch to match Cristobal’s and Athos had been lured into the bathroom many a time: ‘to ensure the idiot doesn’t fall from trying to dance along on slippery tiles.’
Speaking of showers, it looked like Aramis and Athos were fresh from one. It explained why their hair was damp, unless they’d worked up such a sweat dancing. Perhaps also why Athos was in a long-sleeve sleep shirt and boxers. Given that Aramis was only in boxer briefs and a sleeveless tee he didn’t much care for the reason.
He’d come in on part of the instrumental, before it switched from Spanish to German – when Aramis would take to humming and yell-singing the Spanish words that were interspersed – and he took a minute to appreciate the flexing muscles of Aramis’ thighs as he stepped along. He’d shrewdly kept his hand on Athos’ wrist, even for the side-by-side moments to keep him from sidling off.
Porthos’ arrival was masked by the music. With their backs to him he leaned on the wall awaiting the moment when they noticed his presence. He wasn’t disappointed. As Aramis gave a valiant attempt to twist and turn them into a hammerlock he caught sight of him.
“Porthos!” Aramis crowed happily, reaching for him immediately.
Athos used the distraction – and his freed limb – to escape backwards. Presumably he was headed for the couch. He spread his arms behind Aramis as if to offer him over to Porthos before Aramis realized his error in releasing Athos. Aramis’ arm flapped in an impotent attempt to grab for a retreating Athos when he realized what had happened.
Porthos used his long stride to his advantage, he slid close and mirrored Aramis’ steps seamlessly. Aramis was sufficiently distracted when Porthos pulled him into a cuddle turn, modifying it slightly to accommodate the sling. Aramis was content to tuck into him and move along to Porthos’ lead.
For all that it was a catchy song, it was fairly quick. Or at least it felt that way when they were dancing in public. With Aramis damp and in his underpants Porthos was of the mind it was taking a bit too long. Watching the two of them had him eager to flip Aramis into his arms rather than around by them.
He caught Athos’ eye content to keep their excited lover distracted from attempting to retrieve him. Porthos couldn’t help a breathy laugh, Aramis’ movements were still smooth but he’d swear the man was vibrating in his own skin from happiness. Porthos slipped an arm around his waist, guiding him back while he was facing Athos.
He flashed a querying brow to their lounging partner and Athos quirked his lips in indulgence. Aramis’ joy was nearly irresistible, unless he’d managed to stress Athos past the point of tolerance. Apparently, on balance, against whatever he might have put Athos through when he was supposed to be ‘resting’ Athos was just pleased to see Aramis happy.
Or distracted.
They were nearing the end of the song and Porthos was curious about what they’d gotten up to. Whatever Athos saw on Aramis’ face drew a burst of laughter, but before he could consider it Aramis wriggled – impressively with the beat – and Porthos found they were face to face. For a fraction of a second. Before he’d registered the hand on his neck Aramis dipped himself into a back bend.
And overbalanced.
“Aramis!”
Porthos registered Athos standing as he’d called out to them, but he kept himself focused with the momentum so he landed with his knees either side and kept his weight off his downed partner. He’d managed to keep his hand under Aramis’ lower back when they fell and cupped his other hand under his head. He thought he had, in time, but he wasn’t sure. He’d slammed his knuckles into the floor, but it happened so fast. He ran his thumb along Aramis’ scalp, checking for anywhere that might have struck the carpet.
Aramis meanwhile was all smiles as his hair fanned around him and caught on the rug where it escaped Porthos’ hands.
“You okay? You didn’t hit it did you?” Poor bastard already had a pretty significant concussion, this would not go over well with Dr. Lemay if they had to explain Aramis striking his head. When he was supposed to be ‘taking it easy.’
Athos dropped to his knees next to them.
“Lo único que quiero es bailar…” Aramis voice lilted over the words as he sang at them both.
“You’ve made it quite clear that all you want is to dance today.” Athos stated, running his hand through Aramis’ curls. “And you have.”
Porthos hadn’t even registered the song beginning again.
Athos placed his hands to either side of Aramis’ face, leaning over him rather than turning Aramis’ head. “Aramis?”
Porthos stroked his fingers hoping to sooth him while Athos tried to get him to focus.
Aramis meanwhile crossed his eyes trying to look at where Athos’ thumbs were bracing him.
He stuttered out a laugh. “I’m fine.” Flicking his eyes between them, taking longer than normal, he finally registered their matched looks of concern.
“Really. That was wonderful! Can we all – ”
“No.”
Aramis frowned. He met resistance when he tried to turn his head towards Athos to confront the denial. He looked to Porthos with wide-eyes, pleading his case. “But you don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
Athos snorted and cut Porthos off from responding. “Unimportant. You’re answering the questions. Now, did you strike your head?”
Aramis looked like he wanted to keep teasing, but Athos’ genuine concern softened him. “I don’t think so, no.”
Athos turned to Porthos, keeping his hands firm along Aramis’ cheeks. “Did he?”
“Not sure. Think I got my hand under in time.” Porthos glanced over to Athos before glaring down at Aramis. “You’d no business doing that. Doc said not to jostle yer head.”
“Porthos, it’s okay.” Aramis arched trying to sit up, but his head was still bracketed.
He rolled his eyes and dismissed his captor. “Athos, please.”
Athos waited a beat before sitting back and placing his hands on his shoulders. “Slowly.”
Heeding Athos’ command, or perhaps despite trying to resist, he sat up gingerly. His body swayed and his chin dropped. Porthos drew him closer as his free hand clutched talon-like into the meat of Porthos’ upper arm. He hissed. “Dizzy.”
“Wonderful.” Athos admonished. His hands now braced Aramis’ ribs on either side.
“S’okay,” He breathed out harshly. “It’ll pass. Can...can you...turn that off?”
Porthos couldn't see his eyes from this angle, but he imagined they were closed. Aramis was hypersensitive to sound and light and numerous stimuli since the accident. Some days were better than others.
“You have him?” Athos waited for confirmation before moving to kill the music.
Porthos kept up a light stroking motion, guiding Aramis incrementally towards a full sit and waiting for Aramis to raise his head.
Rather than raising it Aramis dropped his forehead to the side of Porthos’ neck.
“Too bright.”
Athos had returned and was stroking Aramis’ back. “That’s it, back to bed with you.” Athos and Porthos shared a look over his head, he remained ducked into Porthos’ neck and no teasing was made over Athos’ reference to taking him back to bed. Athos’ lips twisted and he looked towards the kitchen.
“Are you able to manage?” He swiveled his head back, keeping his fingers light over Aramis’ back. “I want to make him dinner, we should have – ”
“No...s’...it’s…”
“It is no one’s fault.” Athos pressed his palm flat to Aramis’ back. “You’re still healing though and we all should have been more careful. Porthos can help you to bed.”
Athos’ tone was already indicating there would be no objections entertained. From either one of them judging by the look he leveled at Porthos. “And while he showers, I’ll make a light meal and we can join you.”
Athos nodded to him in command. He kept his hand braced on Aramis’ spine likely planning to steady him when Porthos moved.
Porthos rubbed along Aramis’ bare thighs when Athos asked. “Ready?”
Aramis didn’t verbalize a response but his arm came under Porthos’ to grip his back. Like a koala clinging to a tree. Porthos intended to be as steady as one for him. Porthos guided his legs around as Aramis moved them over his waist.
“Are you sure?”
Porthos resisted a quip back at Athos. He had the strength to pick either of them up – and had – from the floor before. He understood the hesitancy though, they needed to keep Aramis from any further abrupt motions, and just nodded.
Athos trusted that, he could see, but Porthos was nevertheless grateful that Athos used both hands to keep Aramis pressed to Porthos as they rose.
They both froze when Aramis released a half-breath half-whimper when Porthos was standing.
“What? You hurting?” Porthos tried to duck his head to look, but Aramis’ face was still buried under his chin.
“I...rug burn…?”
Athos moved to investigate at the whispered speculation. He trailed his fingers over Aramis’ bare arm, glancing to his legs and craning to peer at his knees.
It wasn’t until Porthos shifted his grip and Aramis yelped that they figured it out.
Athos sighed for Aramis’ benefit since he wouldn’t be able to see him roll his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? I warned you about dancing dressed like that.”
“I dunno, looked pretty good to me.” Porthos chuckled. His support thanked with a soft press of Aramis’ lips to his collarbone.
“Until he rubbed his cheeks raw.” Athos shook his head, but Porthos could see the upset he was covering.
“...be nice...m’wounded…” Aramis practically crooned it into Porthos’ skin.
“Alright, love.” Porthos soothed, resisting cupping the injured skin. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed and have a look.”