Come Hither Ashes

Porthos didn’t answer, just huffed a surprisingly shaky breath when Athos took over, pulling slightly too tight before loosening. Athos couldn’t help but smile when Porthos swore softly, a rare shiver spanning Porthos’ spine telling Athos he should do this sort of thing more often.

If he thought Porthos would let him get away with it, but then they both knew that growled orders and purred demands were a special treat for them both.

Porthos tried to dip his head, but Athos nudged a knuckle under his strong jaw and gave a soft tut, his fingers finishing the knot only to trail down Porthos’ bared chest, chasing a bead of sweat that disappeared into dark curls and tightening trousers.

Athos hooked a finger in the waistline, and tugged very slightly, smirking when it nearly pulled Porthos from his feet. “Perhaps we should lose these, too.”

Porthos swallowed loudly and tried a cocky smile. “Are you turnin’ me into a Playboy bunny?”

“Now there’s an idea,” Athos purred, slipping buttons with practiced ease.

“I ain’t wearin’ a fluffy fuckin’ tail,” Porthos answered, his laugh a distracted thing as he watched Athos’ hands.

“No, not the tail,” Athos mused, and seriously considered taking a pair of scissors to some sleeves. “The shirt cuffs would suit you though.”

A starched, white pair with some outrageously expensive cufflinks, the diamond ones to match his earring, the ones Athos refused to price. 

The imagery was heady, as was the hungry look in Porthos’ eyes.

“Could always use the normal pair of cuffs?”

Athos scoffed softly, just louder than the whisper of cloth down Porthos’ thighs. “That is an entirely different scene, mon coeur.”

“Worth a shot,” Porthos chuckled, kicking his trousers away as Athos’ fingers circled his wrists like makeshift cuffs. “You do wanna make me a damn bunny!”

“You’d make a beautiful one,” Athos replied honestly, and his smile was as slow as the upwards drag of his gaze, only to see Porthos’ eyes widening, his chest heaving.

“All right, Hef.” It was a breathless attempt at a joke, and Athos wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Porthos breathless before, not like this, not before, when Athos was still dressed and Porthos only had a scrap of silk around his neck.

Athos tilted his head to the side, teeth in his smile when he felt Porthos’ pulse skip. “You’re enjoying this.”

Porthos deliberately looked down and then up again, brow high, as if pointing at the evidence, as if he wasn’t swiftly turning into a shaky mess with every second Athos looked at him.

“Not this,” Athos continued, and savoured Porthos’ inhale when he slipped his fingers from wrist to something else entirely. “This, the showmanship.”

“I’m enjoyin’ the thought of us doin’ what rabbits do best, yeah,” Porthos growled, and when Athos squeezed a little tighter and bit his own lip, Porthos gave up the fight and groaned, “Fine, yeah, okay, I like you lookin’ at me, an’ tellin’ me what to wear, and the collar-- I mean, cuffs, fuck.”

Athos smirked, and suddenly knew exactly what he wanted for Christmas. “Shall I source some ears?”

Porthos launched at him, and Athos’ dark, delighted laughter only abated for the few seconds it took to get the bunny to bend over the sofa.

Fahrenheit tilted her head to the side in thought, and just when Deacon thought he was going to get away with this scot-free, she aimed a very small smirk over his shoulder that said, look who I found.

“Well, well, well, look what the kitten dragged in! Pen’s not here to save you now, Deacs,” Hancock taunted, using the nickname that Deacon would forever maintain he hated – and he did, but only when Hancock used it.

Fahrenheit gave him a smile full of teeth – and when did she start looking so menacing? That was definitely new. Had she grown? That hardly seemed fair. “Well, seems he’s been treating himself all night.”

Hancock tutted loudly. “Bet he’s not paid a single cap either.”

Deacon took a step backwards and found that, somehow, he had been cornered, and the brick wall at his back rudely refused to let him through.

Well, shit.

If they killed him, he was going to be so angry.

Fahrenheit looked past him to raise a brow at Hancock, and Deacon read the expression as clear as day, get it.

“Get what,” Deacon asked, enjoying Hancock’s frown when he could understand their silent conversation. “What is he getting?”

“Stop doing that,” Fahrenheit muttered, glaring when he offered her a smile. Amazingly, she was completely unmoved. Crazy. “I think you’ve pulled enough tricks today, time for yours.”

Deacon managed to get the word trick out of his mouth before a bucket of destroyed pumpkins was dumped over his head. The cold, slick mess sliding down his neck and making him shiver. If that wasn’t it all, Hancock topped it off by putting half a pumpkin on top of his head.

“Make a scary face,” Hancock said, disappearing with a bark of laughter.

Deacon raised unimpressed eyes to see Fahrenheit smirking at him, and then, of all things, she chucked him on the chin and murmured, “Cute, now clear off.”

Deacon reeled back with a vaguely affronted frown when she walked off without a backwards glance, but as he dashed his pumpkin helmet to the floor, he rolled on his heels and hummed.

She definitely liked him.

It was the work of seconds to break into the State House and slip past the few on-duty guards – most of them were celebrating out front, and the others were already a few too many sheets to the wind.

Following the blueprints he had committed to memory, he’d only managed to get his soaked shirt off of his head when he heard footsteps outside the double doors of Hancock’s room, and absent-mindedly congratulated the ghoul and his shadow for having trained their people so well.

Annoyingly well.

“If you’re going to prank him, my side’s next to the wall—” Pen cut herself off with a strangled noise when she saw him, somewhere between aggrieved and amused.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Pen wouldn’t look at him, hand shielding one side of her face. “I don’t know, seeing you like this feels like looking behind the curtain, it’s all wrong.”

Deacon snorted, wiping the rest of the pumpkin seeds from his head with a frilly shirt, and then pulled his jacket back on. “What’s funnier, me pretending to be you in your bed, or just getting into Fahrenheit’s?”

Pen opened her mouth as if to roundly deny both ideas, but then she saw him trying to get seeds out of his ears. “Both, I’ll stall Fahrenheit. Do you have a blonde wig?”