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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"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."

Isaac listens thoughtfully, humming for the description. "I must be very boring after having such a rich man," he jokes, his eyes closed as he lets the touch warm him, overwhelming him with gratitude to still be here to enjoy this. "You're beginning to make me think that you're very easy to turn on," he teases. "Or is it just bartenders and blue eyes."

Rene chuckles, sighing in contentment as Isaac's broad body relaxes into his. "I do have a habit of falling in love rather easily," he admits. "With minds, with bodies. But don't worry - you run no risk of boring me at all, Monsieur du Vallon."

Isaac snorts as he leans back a little more, pitching an amused look over his shoulder. "Well, I should hope I'm not boring, given my job, though I have to say, I'm under some very strict instructions that didn't make sense until I met you. My superior has given me a firm mandate that I'm beginning to feel I might not be able to meet."

Rene groans a little. "I cannot have that strong a reputation, can I?" he asks, for he can guess where Isaac is going with this. "I was too busy protecting my last client to get into mischief, I have the scars to prove it," he insists. "I can show you them."

"Oh, it's not you," Isaac promises with a fond smile. "Only, my Commander knows how my eye tends to stray," he admits wryly, shrugging sheepishly like he's a bit of a troublemaker himself. "I don't know if I should say yes. I'm trying to behave, after all."

"I do hate to be a temptation," says Rene, sounding utterly insincere as he digs his thumbs deep into the knots in Isaac's shoulders. "I'll be certain to keep my scars underwraps," he promises, leaning in to speak just behind Isaac's ear, "How is your neck feeling, Monsieur?"

"Much better," he promises, feeling his actual tension having bled away, but the proximity of Rene's mouth to his ear makes him shiver in a way that starts to test his resolve. "Maybe I'll woo you away from your high-paying job and suggest you become a low-paid masseuse for me."

Rene chuckles. "Are my services so inadequate, Monsieur?" he asks. "I thought that was a moderate-pay massage at least." He drags his thumb down the tendon in Isaac's neck. "If I had my oils, it might even have been a high-paid massage."

He drifts right into that well-placed touch, moaning desperately for it. He only wants more of it, even though he knows he shouldn't and that Treville would be furious with him if he gave in. That's what comes of having an uncle as your commander. "And if you had your oils, I would be tempted to so much more," he sighs.

"I should be good," he laments.

"Would you?" asks Rene, letting his hand drift up to rub at Isaac's scalp now, fingers sifting through his curls. "That is very intriguing statement, Monsieur. But you are good, are you not?" he asks. "A decorated trooper of such renown that you must have security to look after you. They don't hire me for just anyone, you know."

"Am I special, then?" Isaac wonders, shifting as he tries to get away, but finds himself lured right back to that blissful touch that he can't ignore. "Do you do this for all your clients?" he asks, as another shiver overwhelms him.

"No," Rene answers. "Only the ones I want to. And the ones that want me too, of course," he adds. "You seemed like you wanted it very much, Monsieur Isaac."

Leaning in again, Rene lets his nose graze Isaac's shoulder, enjoying his scent. "May I call you Isaac, Monsieur?"

"I do want it," he exhales, barely more than a tiny whisper as he moans and leans forward, trying to get himself away from the danger. "Rene," he pleads. "I'm going to get in trouble. You're going to get in trouble," he says. "I should go to my room and go to bed. And then whatever happens in the dark...well, I'll just say I was sleepwalking then."

"I can't be faulted for sleepwalking, can I?"

"I suppose not," Aramis tells him, "But sleep feels like such a long time away." His arm drifts around Isaac now, following the lines of his uniform in their arc from his torso, dipping down towards his groin.

"This is marvelous stitching," he murmurs. "Do all paratroopers' uniforms have it?"

Isaac lets out a soft breath, but manages to stop himself from moaning -- only just barely. "They've got something like it," he agrees, his voice strung and a touch higher than usual, even as he pulls himself away from the touch. "And I'm very, very tired, Monsieur." He gives Rene a pointed look as he begins to wander backwards.

"You should put some tea on, if you plan to stay awake."

Rene watches him from the couch, his face open in its disapproval for Isaac walking away from him, but he rises with a professional air. "As you wish," he says, hoping to expedite said sleep walking as he stretches, t-shirt riding up over his hips in his low slung leathers.

"I believe I'll enjoy a little more tequila before turning in."

God, he's married the most insanely beautiful man. Porthos can't help but take a moment to observe that fact as he drifts to the bedroom, leaning in the door. "Just so you know," he says, hoping to be helpful. "It usually only takes me a few minutes to fall asleep. Enjoy your tequila, Rene," he murmurs, licking his lips.