afineseamstress | (no subject)

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porthos

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Aramis is no longer in the mood to celebrate Halloween. After the trials of the strange, gray nightmare world he and those he loves dearest had found themselves in, after watching the people he loves hurt again and again, it's not for the purpose of celebration that Aramis outfits himself into costume.

The motorcycle is newly purchased, the license newer still, and Aramis swings a leg over it, leathers creaking as he settles. He rides quickly across town to where Porthos will be waiting for him, and as the wind whips through his hair, he lets Aramis fall away.

He doesn't have to be that man for a few hours. He doesn't have to wonder if the city that has given him so much will try to hurt him again, hurt Athos or Porthos, or their future family. He doesn't have to pretend that he's been sleeping when he has not, or that everything is alright when it certainly isn't. Just for an evening, he doesn't have to be himself, worrying incessantly about the things he can't control.

Pulling up in front of the shelter, he lets the motorcycle engine roar once before he sets the engine to idle. He breathes deep, exhaling with an almost bored sound as he waits for his charge.

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While it's not exactly Halloween anymore, Porthos stubbornly refuses to be robbed of his fun. He may be bruised (though they're healing now) and he may be worried about things, but he has his paratrooper costume and his sunglasses, a bag slung over his shoulder, and he's got a gorgeous man waiting for him out front. He says goodbye to the kids and heads closer to Aramis, leaning over to peer at the ride.

"Are you my liaison, then?" he asks hopefully. "They didn't mention springing for such a handsome man."

"And your security detail," he answers, holding his hand out politely enough. "René." He had not been pleased with this assignment, a routine transport in the middle of the day is hardly adventurous, but at least his charge is handsome.

"I must say, monsieur," he adds, taking in the breadth of him, "You do not seem a man in much need of being protected."

Porthos leans forward and decides that he wants to play at someone else, entirely. "Isaac," he introduces himself in turn, sliding his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt as he looks over the vehicle and then René. "I may not need much protecting, but there's a bit of a secret," he confesses. "I never learned to drive. Plus, I like to think I'm important enough to be watched over, at least until my assignment is done."

"I've got a room at the hotel, so we can go there."

Aramis cannot help a quick flinch for the name Porthos has chosen - the sacrificial Isaac feels apt indeed after he nearly lost the man to Oliver's nightmares, but he slips back into Rene as best he can.

"As you say," he answers, for he is meant to look after Isaac in all things today. He scrubs his hand against his beard, a little longer than Aramis usually allows it. "Do you think you would feel safer behind the glass of an automobile, or will my motorcycle do? I guarantee it will be fastest."

Porthos sees the flinch on Aramis' face and isn't sure what he's done, but he watches the way the fingers moves on this Rene's face instead, eyes sliding over that beard and lingering there. He thinks he'd rather the motorcycle, if only because Aramis will be too fixated to think about his injuries.

"Never been on one of these before. How tight am I going to have to hold on?"

"Firm pressure will do," Rene tells him. He can't help but be intrigued by the prospect of being caught between the wind and Isaac's body. He slides onto the motorcycle, twisting to indicate that Isaac sit behind him. "Perhaps a practice session before I take us on the road?"

Isaac follows along as he adjusts his bag to strap on his back so that there will be nothing in between him and Rene. He slowly slides his arms around his waist and closes his eyes with Aramis unable to see him, drifting from his character just to appreciate the smell of his hair, but also how lucky they are. He's also glad Aramis is facing the other way so he doesn't see the grimace of pain on his body as he has to move bruised parts of his body to hug tight.

"No," he murmurs softly. "I trust you. They wouldn't have hired you otherwise."

They settle on the bike, and Aramis takes a moment just to breathe, comforted by the physical reminder of Porthos' arms around him.

"I promise I'll keep you safe," Rene answers, more of Aramis creeping into his voice when he asks with equal softness, "Are you comfortable?"

Porthos wants, so badly, to rest his cheek on Aramis' shoulder, but he settles for holding on and pressing his nose to his back, inching just a little closer as he shifts and presses in, hips slowly thrusting forward. "I'm fine," he promises, in more ways than one. "It's the hotel near the bay, with the view of the ocean. I'm there as Isaac du Vallon."

"You have fine taste, Monsieur du Vallon," Rene tells him as he kicks the motorcycle to life. It roars once and fades to a pleasant rumble beneath them, and Rene guides it into the street, slipping easily into the flow of traffic. There is not much opportunity to speak, but Rene is glad of the crush of wind that silences them, giving him more time to appreciate the flush of Isaac's body against his back.

He pulls up in front of the hotel and lets the engine idle. "I got into a bit of trouble here," he admits. "The good kind."

When Isaac holds on tighter this time, it's not to tease or to play, it's genuine worry for falling off. He closes his eyes tightly and grabs at Rene, refusing to let go. He needs to act tough, he knows, but jumping out of aeroplanes is very different than zooming along city streets, especially when it makes him forget other things.

He eases to his feet, a touch shaky, but stretches out. "What sort of good kind of trouble?" he asks, feeling a mild ping of jealousy he isn't even really permitted to, thinking of Rene having a good time with other people.

Spying the tremor in Isaac's hands, Rene grins as he slings a leg over his bike and dismounts. "I didn't startle the brave paratrooper, did I?" he teases, unzipping his leather jacket.

He jerks his chin towards the hotel. "As it happens, they have excellent cameras in the elevators." Rene winks. "Don't miss a thing."

"I don't often drive through the streets on two wheels," he protests, but the jealousy is quickly flaring to his eyes as he imagines someone else's strong hands on his escort. He steadies himself, thinking he must be told these things as a sign to back off. Hitching his bag into his hands, he gestures to the front lobby. "I'll check in, if you want to meet me at the room. I'm on the second most top floor."

"Of course, Monsieur," Rene answers, though he takes stock of the lobby and its occupants before deciding to leave Isaac alone to check-in. "I'll make certain the room is secure," he says and slips away.

In truth, they both already have keys, but Aramis pretends to pick the lock of the room and check it for threats. The bottle of tequila he'd ordered is already there, as well as limes and various mixers that he plans to ignore. He turns when he hears Isaac at the door.

"A curious mixup, Monsieur," he says of the tequila. "But I have checked it for poison, and it is harmless."

Porthos makes his way up after a brief stop in the bathroom on the main floor, taking great pains to apply some of the cream to his bruises, to help aid the pain away before he goes upstairs to join Aramis, smelling of the minty cream. He uses his key to get inside and drops his bag in the front hall, sunglasses set on the table.

"And here I thought I'd asked for a nice bottle of red," he admits, popping one of the buttons of his tight jumpsuit loose. "You might as well take your coat off," he directs. "There's a spare room, if you'd like."

"That's very kind," says Rene, "but I find I rarely sleep when working a security detail." Still, it will be nice to stow his things, and Rene leaves his jacket in the little room, reentering the main room in a wide necked t-shirt.

"You smell of creams, Monsiuer," he can't help but note. "Some injury in the field? Are you well?"

Porthos is a little surprised they're talking about this. "My last assignment," is all he says, because he doesn't want to get into detail when the bruises speak for themselves. "The target hadn't been very eager to give up their goods." He bends over to start unlacing his paratrooper boots, easing upright with a wince to pour tequila into a proper glass, because Isaac is cultured and refined, and not a slave to his lust.

Most of the time, at least.

"I'm sure the target looks the worst of the two of you," says Rene, turning to let Aramis collect himself. He hadn't wanted to bring it up either, but if Porthos is using so much cream, he must be hurting, and he's not going to do any of this if it hurts Porthos. They'll lie still in bed and watch films all night, if it comes to it.

"Do let me know if you experience more discomfort," he says, turning back to Isaac. "I'll have medicines fetched."

"You're my protection, not my errand boy," Isaac replies as he tugs off one of his tight black leather gloves, then the other, his eyes roaming over Rene's body as he wonders what else he might offer to do, if Porthos were to ask. "I promise, they're healing. That's why they ache so much. They're healing," he says, firm and emphatic.

"Here," he says, pouring another tequila on the rocks. "You can have a drink, can't you?"

Aramis' expression tightens, and for a moment his throat grows thick and hot, the panic of that ashen world rising unbidden within him, but he swallows it down. Rene offers Isaac a smile.

"I suppose it would be rude to refuse when you have already poured," he muses. "And Mathieu will be guarding the door by now." He sidles forward, taking up the glass Isaac has offered. "To your health."

"I promise I'm hardly this important to merit so much protection. One little threat..." he jokes, moving in to stand right beside Rene as he holds out the other glass, his eyes falling to the cut of his jaw and that lovely beard. "Well?" he prompts. "Aren't you going to tell me more about your adventures in the elevator?"

Rene takes in a breath for Isaac's closeness. He really is a lovely man, his dark lashes swept against his cheeks as he gazes down at what Rene is certain is his own mouth. He licks his lips in anticipation of the drink.

"If you like," he answers, clinking his glass against Isaac's. "It may shock you to learn that it was with another man."

"Why would that shock me?" Isaac laughs as he settles on the nearby couch, sprawling out and regarding Rene as he sets his bare foot on the table, his jumpsuit still tight and hugging everything, the lines on the costume drawing the eye to his groin. "Isn't it a modern world? Even the military is beyond those silly rules."

"The wiser portions of it, at least," Rene allows. He takes the seat at the table next to Isaac's foot, watching him over the rim of his glass. "It was after the policeman's ball. The bartender had been flirting with me all night, and I had a room upstairs. I suppose we had trouble waiting to reach it."

He drinks deeply from his glass, and the alcohol helps to settle Aramis' nerves. "Is that uniform standard issue?"

He rocks his foot a little, bare toes wiggling as he keeps his eyes on Rene, refusing to look away from this handsome man who appeared out of thin air to protect Isaac. "It's not our dress uniform, but it's the one I feel most comfortable in," he promises, sliding his hand down into the jumpsuit to wiggle it open with his palm sliding side to side, revealing the tight black t-shirt under.

"Does that bartender still work here?"