Work Text:
Face rubbed his belly lightly as he looked around the bedroom at what he'd created. The faint aroma of honey wafted off the beeswax candles he'd carefully placed to provide the best, and most romantic, light. He'd excused himself from all the meetings that afternoon so he could set up the small flat that he had booked for him and Aram for the Valentine's Day weekend. It was their first one. Although he knew that Aram would be happy no matter what they did, Face wanted something special.
Face had set up romantic trysts in honour of Valentine's Day every year since he was sixteen years old. Sometimes he had even managed two in the same year if it happened to fall on a weekend. This year was different. This year it mattered. This year it was with Aram who was quickly becoming the most important person in his heart. His team was still as important to him as ever, but this love was like nothing he had ever felt before. And he wanted to show it.
He had been toying with ideas for some time, but the true inspiration had come while staying with Aram's family in their Paris home. Face had come across a very battered book of The Three Musketeers on a shelf housing other treasures and memorabilia. As he was staring at it and wondering why it was there and not with the other books, Treville had come into the room and spotted the focus of his attention. Coming up alongside Face, the older man had gently stroked the battered spine. Then, softly, he told Face the significance of the book to Aram and consequently the rest of his family. The ideas had come rolling in after that.
Now that he had everything ready in the bedroom, he went out into the tiny but exquisitely furnished living room. He had already pushed back the two armchairs to make more room for the gate leg table and matching chairs. Everything was in place and anything that did not meet the standards of his staging was either put away or hidden under careful draping. He just needed to finish setting the table with the appropriate dinner ware and add a few more touches to achieve his goal. He glanced at his watch. Hopefully, Aram would be arriving in the next hour. This should give Face enough time to get himself ready. He finally let himself enjoy the sense of anticipation.
************
Aram waved off his brothers' concerned looks and comments. The afternoon's meeting had unexpectedly turned into an intense interrogation regarding his past and present relationships and his loyalty to his current employer. He felt mentally and physically exhausted, but he was still intending to spend the weekend with Face. Knowing the man as well as he did, he assumed that his love had probably spent hours of effort preparing something fantastic. Face was as much of a romantic as Aram, but his sense of theatre was much, much stronger. When Face wanted to create an effect, he went all out on it.
This had left Aram in somewhat of a quandary. He, too, had wanted to do something to celebrate their love, but he also didn't want to inadvertently spoil whatever impact Face had planned by introducing something random. In the end, he wrote a poem - a sonnet in French and English. He decided that it was something that he could deliver at time any during the course of the evening without spoiling anything else. He had even practised reciting it to Porthos a few times just to make sure he got the delivery right. Porthos, of course, had teased him mercilessly, but also provided some good feedback. Athos, who, had been in the room during his last recitation, had merely rolled his eyes for the most part. But afterwards, as they were heading off to bed, Athos had given him a pat on the back and murmured an alternate word in English that solved the final awkward phrasing of one line.
So, determined to end an annoying and exhausting day on a high note, he had bid his family a good weekend and made his way to the address Face had left for him. Standing outside the door of the rented apartment, Aram took a deep breath, straightened his tie, twirled the ends of his moustache to a jaunty point, and put on his brightest smile. He knocked on the door. Face called out for him to let himself in.
Aram opened the door to a vision from the past. Candles flickered in the small but elaborate candelabra on the table - a table festooned with gilt-edged tableware and covered. Rich brocade was draped along the walls and over some of the furniture, creating a cocoon of warmth and peace. The only nod to modernity was the soft sound of Baroque music playing in the background. The scent of beeswax candles and cooked dinner drifted towards Aram as he stood in the doorway, blinking in delighted surprise.
Shaking himself slightly, he stepped into the tiny vestibule and shut the door behind him. He dropped his overnight bag on the floor and took off his jacket, hanging it on the pegs on the vestibule wall. Then, he decided to remove his shoes, too. The setting was perfect and he didn't want to take a chance of spoiling it with foot prints. Besides, it would save time taking them off later if the evening ended the way he hoped it would.
"Face?" he called out as he stepped into a space that could have been taken from the set of a movie of story by Alexandre Dumas.
Even the cubicle-sized kitchen had been hidden behind a lacy curtain. Only the bedroom door was not disguised, mostly because it was already a panelled wood. At least it wouldn't be difficult to find. Aram smiled at that thought and turned towards the door, intending to open it to find his lover. Instead, the door opened and Face stepped across the threshold.
Or, at least, Aram assumed it was Face because the vision in front s him was not the immaculately dressed business man who had left him that morning. Instead, Face was dressed in a dark blue fitted leather doublet that went down past his hips. The front was adorned with a dozen brass buttons. The majority of them were open revealing a billowing white shirt underneath. The ties of the shirt were untied to reveal a tantalizing hint of skin. And if that wasn't enough, Aram could feel his mouth going dry is he took in the rest of the outfit which consisted of tight, black leather pants tucked into beautiful black bucket-top boots. His fingers itched to feel the warm leather moulded over the firm muscles he knew lay beneath.
"I, uh, looked for something more historically accurate Musketeer outfit," began Face a little hesitantly, "but it all looked a little cartoonish. So when the lady at the shop suggested this, I couldn't resist."
He shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating smile. Aram looked at him in disbelief. Why was this devastatingly beautiful man in this equally devastatingly hot out fit apologizing?
At last, he found his voice. Or rather, his inner poet found his voice, and out came his poem. And with every line, he stepped closer to Face. Face was clearly startled at the sudden out pouring of verse, and his month started to form an "oh" of amazement.
But Aram had reached touching distance by then and failed to resist the temptation of stroking the blue leather and then continuing downwards to the black. Gently, he pushed Face back into the honey-scented bedroom. As he spoke the last line, he leaned in and kissed Face deeply and thoroughly, gripping the leather clad hips.
"I take it that you approve," Face gasped as he finally came up for air.
Aram, his fingers now busily unbuttoning the doublet, said, "I love the packaging, cheri, but I prefer what's inside."
Face laughed and submitted to Aram's attentions.
***
Sometime later, Aram lay on his back gently stroking the head that rested on his chest.
"Cheri," he said, "I hope that I didn't spoil your plans."
Face huffed a chuckle into Aram's chest. He then pushed himself up on one elbow so that he could stroke Aram's beard with his other hand.
"Dear heart, this was exactly my plan," he responded and then grinned, "Just not in this particular order. Then again, I did make sure that all the food could be eaten cold, just in case!"
With that, he swooped in for another kiss.