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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"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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"I should be good," he laments.
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Leaning in again, Rene lets his nose graze Isaac's shoulder, enjoying his scent. "May I call you Isaac, Monsieur?"
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"I can't be faulted for sleepwalking, can I?"
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"This is marvelous stitching," he murmurs. "Do all paratroopers' uniforms have it?"
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"You should put some tea on, if you plan to stay awake."
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"I believe I'll enjoy a little more tequila before turning in."
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The sun is setting, and the lights of Darrow are just beginning to twinkle on. If he makes for a lovely silhouette against it, Aramis will hardly complain.
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Porthos sneaks out in the middle, just to watch Aramis' shadow in the sunset, thinking again how lucky he is, but he's quiet as he sneaks back to the bed and turns out all the lights save the candle he burns on the nearby desk.
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Pulling Rene back on, he strides into Isaac's bedroom, tapping on one of the smaller lights. "Forgive me, Monsieur," he says, "I thought I heard a noise."
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He presses the heel of his hand against his groin, shifting slightly. Certain tasks will surely need to be taken into hand, soon, but not until Isaac drifts off again.
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He waits until Isaac's eyes are half mast again and pops the button of his trousers, easing his hand inside. "You'd best sleep," he says, wrapping his hand around himself with the barest of sighs. "Perhaps a nice dream will be waiting for you."
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