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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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?"

"No," says Rene as ruefully as he is able. He tracks the path of Isaac's hand, broad fingers outlining the shape of him in that tight black t-shirt. Shifting, Rene adjusts himself in his leather pants.

"The video of his cock disappearing into my mouth got him quite sacked."

"Well, at least you were generous," he deadpans, drumming his fingertips very lightly against his chest as he smiles warmly at Rene, tipping his head to the side as he slumps a little lower, the glass of tequila sitting vertical on his chest with no help. "So, if I'm only in town for the next two days, what would you recommend I do while I'm here?"

"I'm always generous," Rene says, returning that smile. He cocks his head in thought. "There is the pier, the boardwalk, the riverboats, I suppose," he says. "I admit, Darrow can be quite quiet. It is a town where one must make his own fun. Hence my motorcycle."

"You look excellent on that motorcycle, especially with those trousers," Isaac is eager to praise and compliment, humming as he thinks of the boardwalk and the riverboats and the pier. "I suppose it would all be nice, but I have this sneaking suspicion that you won't let me see any of it without being escorted?" he surmises, given his protection detail is staying in the same room as him.

Rene's grin widens for the compliment, and he lets his legs fall open a little wider around his next swallow. "Of course I will be there," he tells Isaac. "I'd be remiss in my duty not to be, particularly if you wear that jumpsuit. They'll set upon you like wolves."

"I do have other clothes," he protests, his gaze sliding down to where Rene's legs fall open, his foot twitching to move in between there, but he's still stuck on that comment, too. "I'm sure you're not being paid enough to protect me so valiantly," he teases, intentionally missing the point. He finishes his glass and leans forward to set it on the table, putting him right beside Rene. "And does your duty come with any rules or caveats?"

"Naturally," Rene tells him, holding his position even as Isaac drifts quite near. This close, he can smell those creams again, but soap and aftershave, too, and beneath that still, the scent of a man well used to combat.

"Keep my client alive at all costs, and avoid having sex with him in an elevator."

Isaac clucks his tongue, just the once. "More's the pity. I look excellent in elevator mirrors," he can't help but tease, still remaining close, even if his gaze flickers up and tentatively catches hold of Rene's as he smiles adoringly at him. He enjoys the teasing and he eases back to stretch out, ashamed to say he rather feels disappointed that he's gone and hired the most attractive man he's ever met.

"Don't suppose you're trained in massage?" he wonders. "I could use one for my neck. My flight was a terror."

Rene smiles for what is plainly an offer to touch, and he nods. "Not officially, but I am quite skilled." Putting his glass down, Rene rises and approaches the couch. "If you will permit me to sit behind you, Monsieur. I can better get at the tightness from that angle."

His neck is perfectly unbruised and untouched. It's one of the things he's grateful for. In the fight with Oliver's worst self, Porthos had come out with his neck mainly untouched. He shifts and lists to the side a little to allow Rene access to his neck, the collar still obscuring his arms and torso as he glances over his shoulder. "Who was your client before me, then? Are you allowed to say?"

Rene crawls in between Isaac and the arm of the couch, letting Isacc's weight fall back against him. It is a mirror of their positions on the bike, and Rene smiles, lifting his hands to begin kneading at the tender knots in Isaac's neck.

"I can describe him," he says, "If I cannot tell you his name. He was not quite so tall as you, but only just, and pale. He had wonderful, piercing blue eyes. Just a glance from him made me want to do anything he said, but he was sparse with his words. I believe he held control of quite a bit of land in France."