René d'Herblay, alias Aramis (
afineseamstress) wrote2015-10-28 12:09 pm
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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.
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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"You smell of creams, Monsiuer," he can't help but note. "Some injury in the field? Are you well?"
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Most of the time, at least.
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"Do let me know if you experience more discomfort," he says, turning back to Isaac. "I'll have medicines fetched."
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"Here," he says, pouring another tequila on the rocks. "You can have a drink, can't you?"
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"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."
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"If you like," he answers, clinking his glass against Isaac's. "It may shock you to learn that it was with another man."
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He drinks deeply from his glass, and the alcohol helps to settle Aramis' nerves. "Is that uniform standard issue?"
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"Does that bartender still work here?"
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"The video of his cock disappearing into my mouth got him quite sacked."
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"Keep my client alive at all costs, and avoid having sex with him in an elevator."
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"Don't suppose you're trained in massage?" he wonders. "I could use one for my neck. My flight was a terror."
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"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."
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