MINI!FILL: Cold Hands, Warm Heart (Cold Aramis)

Date: 2014-04-13 11:10 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
"Get off!"

The indignant yell from other bed made Porthos snigger and D'Artagnan looked at him in surprise. He wondered what the hell Aramis had just done to make Athos shout like that, given that Athos' anger normally took the silently seething route. If Porthos was laughing though, it couldn't be anything too bad. Could it?

"Touch me again, I'll cut it off," Athos said distinctly.

D'Artagnan's eyes widened even further. He knew Aramis had a reputation, but he found it hard to imagine the man making advances on Athos of all people. Particularly given that he and Porthos were in the room.

At that moment Porthos blew out the candle and the room was plunged into darkness. The far bed creaked, and there was a certain amount of muttering, which D'Artagnan found himself straining to catch.

"Oh for - go on then," Athos sighed. "If you must."

D'Artagnan stared into the gloom, in a kind of fascinated alarm. Were they seriously going to - surely not. Were they?

No matter how carefully he listened though, no further noises were forthcoming from across the room, and all he could make out was an unmoving mound of blankets. The more he tried not to picture what they might be doing, the more his brain provided disturbing suggestions, and he finally fell asleep dogged by certain awkward mental images that followed him into his dreams.

Across the room, oblivious to D'Artagnan's plight, Aramis was tucked firmly against Athos' back. His cold nose was pressed against the back of Athos' neck, buried in his hair; his freezing feet were entwined with Athos' considerably warmer ones, and an arm was thrown round Athos' waist, Aramis' chilly fingers burrowed into the folds of Athos' nightshirt.

Aramis, warm at last, and Athos, enjoying the comfort of a body curled around him despite his protests, were both fast asleep.

--
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