Chapter 2 - Christmas (early) morning
They live in a small appartment (it's Paris after all) so Porthos is trying to make as little noise as he can. It's not as if it was really early in the morning. It's past nine after all, but Aramis and his snow-watching and subsequent cuddling left them awake for a couple more hours. He's still sleeping like a baby.
Porthos surveys the sorry excuse of a living room slash kitchen slash hallway that they rent and ponders making some breakfast for later. The smell might wake up the starving elf in his bed.
There's an empty bottle of champagne on the counter, two empty plastic cups and leftover Yule log and cold pizza on the floor by the couch. Dirty plates and dirty cutlery and Porthos sighs loudly but picks everything up anyway.
Aramis's mother would be ashamed to know what they had for dinner on Christmas Eve, so it might be a good thing that they cannot visit them today. Cooking breakfast is a way to at least redeem himself a little in her eyes. Because Porthos knows that she's bound to call sometime during the day and Aramis can never shut up when he talks to his mom. She'll know about the pizza and the chips.
He puts some music on, deciding that it's a nicer way of waking Aramis up than jumping on the bed and yelling that he wants to open his presents. The memory of their previous Christmas comes back to the fore and Porthos grins, remembering that he did promise his boyfriend he'd have his revenge. It was a horrendous way to wake up, especially as they were sleeping in the room next to Aramis's parents. Another time perhaps. Another year. Another Christmas. He's not planning on letting Aramis go. Ever.
Porthos is done with cutting the oranges, feeling satisfied that Louisa will be proud of him for feeding her son some fruit. He is starting the French toast when there's a loud groan from the bedroom, followed by a thud. He turns the music a little bit louder and returns to his eggs.
There's padding, shuffling in his direction until it stops and Aramis rests his head against his arm. He's almost lost in the giant bedcover he carries around his shoulders like a cape. His hair is a mess and he rubs his eyes with one hand, the other keeping his precarious clothing in place.
"I hope you're wearing something underneath that," is Porthos's greeting.
"Of course I am. What are you making?" He can hear the sleep dripping from Aramis's mouth.
"Good. I don't want to have to drag you to the doctor. French toast. You hungry?"
Aramis shrugs, considers the question and then tip-toes to kiss Porthos's cheek.
"Thank you. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas again." Porthos cannot help but smile even more when he turns slightly so that he can reach Aramis's lips and have a proper good morning kiss. It takes only a few seconds for Aramis to remember he just woke up and to withdraw. Or try to. Porthos keeps a firm hold on his hip, through the layers of fluffy material.
"But I stink."
"So do I."
"You don't!" Aramis sounds offended.
"Sure, I do, but it doesn't matter. You love me anyway."
"Absolutely."
"And so do I." Aramis opens his sleepy eyes at this, smiles like a little kid. And yawns. "Why don't you go sit down while I finish this, sleepy head?"
"Presents?"
"After these are done. I promise."
Satisfied, Aramis attempts to hop on a stool and proceeds to carefully watch his boyfriend's every move.
"It's still snowing, by the way," Porthos informs him.
"Is it?" There's a crash, the stool is on the ground and Aramis is at the window. "That's great! Hey! There are kids making snowballs down there. Do you think..."
"I thought you wanted presents? And breakfast?"
"After?"
"That was the plan, yeah."
And out of the blue, Aramis is crushing Porthos in a hug, the bedcover forgotten in the middle of the appartment to reveal the same sweater he was wearing during the night. He squeezes with all his strength as if he wanted their bodies to fuse and make one.
"You're amazing."
"Hardly. But thank you for the compliment."
"You are though." Aramis disentangle himself and stands in the small space they use as a kitchen, looking more awake than he was a minute before and extremely serious. "You're making all of this, elaborate breakfast and all, and you've planned so much and..."
"I didn't plan the snow, 'Mis."
"I'm aware but, you knew. And I'm not doing anything. I'm just looking at you working. I even made you go to church last night." He almost looks ashamed. Porthos stops what he is doing entirely to come closer and make Aramis look him in the eye.
"Hey. I wouldn't go to church with you if I was completely averse to it. You know that. You're doing everything I need you to do by being here. You've cancelled all your plans with your family when I got word that I would be on call for the holidays. That's more than enough. Besides, French toast is a piece of cake."
"It doesn't look like it," Aramis sounds doubtful as he takes a good look at the kitchen counter and the ingredients scattered on it. Then his face lights up. "I'll help! What should I do?"
"You can cut the bread."
Aramis happily grabs the knife and they work side by side for a few minutes. After a while, he canno help but set the music volume louder, and Christmas music fills the small appartment. They often bump into each other. Porthos is actually doing it on purpose, glad to see Aramis so excited and delighted to help.
Shoulder against shoulder, a hand on a hip to silently request Aramis to move out of the way, a kiss on the cheek to swipe away the egg mixture which found its way there, Aramis's fingers in his mouth so he can clean sugar off them. A wink.
When there's a pile of French toast on a plate and that Porthos is setting orange juice on the counter, Aramis looks him dead in the eye, all playfulness gone.
"And Porthos?"
"Yeah?"
"You're my family, too."
Cold breakfast is the best sort of breakfast.