His fingers slid across the smooth metal, turning it over carefully in his fingers.
"You're never allowed to do anything like this again," he whispered softly, tears filling his eyes. "I couldn't…what would we do without you? The brawns of the gang…we'd be dead within a week – well, two at least."
Aramis wiped his eyes quickly, clearing his throat and tightening his grip on the cross. "I wouldn't survive a week." He took a shaky breath, exhaling with a sigh. "My heart couldn't bear it, Porthos. If anything ever happened to you…"
A tear slid down his cheek and he squeezed his eyes shut. "If anything ever happened…" He looked up, breath catching in his throat, the air ripped from his lungs. Porthos had been out cold moments ago, he could have sworn. But now his eyes were open, staring up into his own, shining brighter than the stars in the sky.
He quickly covered his shock with a smirk, his hand quickly wandering to the bandages to check them. "If anything happened to you, I'd run you through with my sword. And rather than letting you die, I would stitch you up, make you admire my needlework and then set about killing you for real. "
Porthos pushed himself up onto his elbow, grimacing as the movement pulled at his injuries. A glint of fear passed momentarily though Aramis' eyes, quickly fading as the man's fingers tangled into his hair. Before he could even take a breath he was being pulled forward, his mouth crashing against Porthos'. It was an odd feeling, his mustache tickling at his nose, the smell of sweat, blood, and something distinctly Porthos surrounding him. He didn't know where to put his hand, one bracing against the table and the other hovering uncertainly over his abdomen. Before he could even decide Porthos pulled away, falling onto his back with a large grin.
"So, what about the others? Have you been weeping over their bedsides too?"