Chapter Text
Aramis was not one that was easily taken with expensive embroidery or the immense vanity that could suit the dear King Louis himself. Athos had always spared time to show Aramis how much he appreciated him, no matter the hour or how drained he felt. Aramis was a being that stood against life itself. His stubborn, free-of-burden mentality was characteristically innate to Aramis' nature, meanwhile giving Athos the incentive to breath again.
It had taken time, but Athos had grown more fond of his omega as the days molded into years. At first, Athos' difficulty in loving Aramis had brought much tribulation between the two, especially when they had first started out as a pair. Despite Aramis contradicting everything that Athos ever warned him about, he had come to accept it as a part of Aramis’ fiery spirit. Aceepting that he'll always have to keep a keener eye and to hold his tongue once in a while. Basically, they both played a tireless game of gatekeeper, Aramis as the lion that couldn’t be tamed despite how much life could lash out back at him.
Porthos and he were patrolling the streets of Paris, and he had passed by the florist cart many times before this day; he had even befriended the old woman who travelled frequently to different street corners during the day looking for business. But something had stopped him on this specific afternoon and his eye catches a particular flower, and his feet blindly carry him to the cart to give himself a closer look.
“Since when do you look at flowers?” Porthos sounds amused, the all higher-than-thou Athos taking time out of his day to check out weeds. Porthos didn’t think he would live to see the day.
Athos grumbled in response and before he turns to walk away, the old woman, Élise, had appeared from behind the cart, gracing both men with a smile and a curtsies. “Monsieur Athos and Monsieur Porthos, how nice of you to pay me a visit. I had forgotten to thank you for saving my day’s earning from thievery last week.” She goes to give both men a peck on the cheek, ever the lady.
A beta woman was taught from birth that Alphas were above their station, and that they were to be treated with the utmost respect. At least, that was the manner of how few families raised their young to be respectful to such a “savage” kind. The absence of hatred in this woman is what made Athos so fond of her, yet he didn’t particularly like to be passively treated more than he actually was.
“Madame Élise, pleasure it is to see you again, but rest assured that stopping thieves in their midst is only part of our duty.” Athos tips his hat and Porthos nods in agreement.
“But please, let me repay you for your kindness to both me and those poor children, with a flower for both your mates, free of charge. It was also most generous of you Musketeers to give the boys a few coins so that they wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry.” She smiled, her hands tending to the fragile plants before them.
“Please, Madam, we do not-“
“I insist.” Her look of demand made Athos and Porthos straighten up in their uniform.
“Well then, I’ll have the red rose.” Porthos said, pointing to the bright flower in all its magnificence, “It means Love, correct?”
“Deep love and affection, a very traditional choice.” She cuts the stem and hands it to the bulky Musketeer. “And you Monsieur Athos?”
Athos’ eyes shot back to the flower that had attracted his attention from the beginning, its soft hues of pink and purple were exotic and gentle and it had sharp thorns on its stem, more so than the rose...and for some reason, it all reminded him of Aramis. Gentle and kind, yet not an omega who was meant to be crossed. It may have been the most dangerous flower out of the bunch.
“Perhaps the rose will do.” Athos looked back to Elise with a slight frown that seemed to embedded itself into his face.
“Ah, but I saw your eye glancing at the gladiolus.” She squinted at Athos, but her fingers went to touch the pretty, wet petals. “It symbolizes strength of character, infatuation, remembrance, faithfulness, and honor. The romans used to cherish this particular flower, they believed it represented the swords of the gladiators.”
Athos looked away, glancing at his sword, but really, he was feeling the delightful hum of his mating mark on his shoulder, letting the happy, familiar emotions fill him, the memory of his mate’s scent caused goosebumps to rise on his skin. Aramis was all of those things and more, and to describe him as anything else would be a grave insult, and the day Athos would see him as something different would be the day that he impales himself with his own sword.
“I believe the very omega that holds your heart pierces it every day with love, do tell me if I am wrong in this assumption.” She cuts the pretty flower from its stem and hands it Athos.
Athos reveals a small smirk underneath his hat and he wraps his fingers around the delicate but fierce flower. “He is everything I could ever imagine.”
“That wonderful look of fresh, young love, embrace it fully, for however long it lasts.”
“Merci, Madame.”
“De rien, Musketeer.”
~*~*~
When their patrol is over, Porthos and Athos reach the garrison before sundown and Porthos pulls the rose from where it was resting inside his coat when he sees d’Artagnan. He had been helping Aramis set the mess hall but his youthful face broke into a brilliant, radiant look of joy at the sight of Porthos and accepted the rose with a long kiss. They were mumbling to themselves and so Athos had decided to leave them instead of wishing them goodnight.
“Mi amor.” Aramis greeted, dressed in his down attire, running his hand along Athos’ cheek. He regarded d’Artagnan and Porthos with a mere glance, “They seem happier than usual.”
Athos could almost feel the flower burning in his bag to be released, he wanted to see that same look of happiness grace Aramis’ elegant features, but for some reason, Athos chose to wait it out for a better moment.
The moon was high in the sky when both Athos and Aramis calmed down from the throes of passion, breathing into each other’s mouths for balance, Aramis’ hands were scratching down the length of Athos’ back, basking in the feeling of being filled by his alpha. Athos nipped at the one, true sign that Aramis was his and his alone, the mating gland between his shoulder and neck.
Eventually, the mated couple were surrounded by each other, Athos had his arms around Aramis’ neck and waist, and they were laying in the silence. Athos felt like this was the right and only time.
He was naturally attuned to Aramis’ heartbeat and from the sound, he knew that his mate was not yet asleep and so he slipped from his side on the bed and ignoring Aramis’ muffled complaints, Athos untied the knot on his bag and took out the gladiolus, watching it in all its beauty in the moonlight.
They were sitting up in their bed, naked but comfortable as Aramis rotated the flower in his hand, weighing it in his palm as he was coming up with a reply to Athos’ sudden affection.
He almost wanted to laugh, Athos, the Alpha that everyone believed could rival death in competition and still win. Even Aramis couldn’t fathom Athos going this soft, and not that he had minded, it was just part of his personality, and though yes, he may never be as doting or kind as Porthos, but neither was Aramid as innocent or motivated as d’Artagnan. They’ve learned to deal with the other’s faults, and the interactions that most mated couples went through, Aramis had accepted that, it would never be them. No grand gestures, no indulging, no domesticity.
But Aramis was so touched at the initiative, and his love for Athos grew considerably larger, not that Aramis could have thought that even possible.
“What do you think?” Athos mumbled, as if almost afraid of how Aramis would react and Aramis almost couldn’t stop himself from smacking his Alpha silly for thinking he would act any other way other than grateful.
“Perhaps you’ve actually outdone the romantic...this is so…old fashioned.” Aramis chuckled, kissing Athos’ neck in gratitude. “It’s wonderful.”
“Uh, Élise called it a gladiolus.”
“Ou, what does it mean?” Aramis’ brown eyes gazing up into Athos’ made his heart most certainly skip a beat and Athos had to blink away his clouded thoughts, clearing his throat. “You should do this more often.”
Athos bit the inside of his cheek, for some reason, that comment hurt more than his sweet mate would ever realize. “She claimed that it meant strength and honor, faithfulness and that I am hopelessly infatuated with everything about you. It’s difficult to explain how in love I am with you, but this weed would not even begin to scratch the surface. No flower Élise could ever find, or any piece of flora in this whole damned world could be sufficient enough to show how much my heart yearns to be by your side.”
Aramis didn’t notice his finger had cut into one of the sharp thorns until his finger started to burn, yet he paid it no attention, besides, love was painful as it is good.
“I remember the terrifying, rambling Musketeer who had ask to court me two years ago, now I have a poet in my bed.” Aramis dropped the flower to floor when the scent of his blood entered Athos’ nose, his Alpha’s rough, permanently stained thumb ran over his wound. But Aramis tilted his head up with his palm, wanting to stare his mate in his vibrant blue eyes. “Thank you Athos. It’s the best thing I’ve received in a long time, even more so that it came from you. I love this, and you.”
Athos put Aramis’ index finger to his lips, sucking the small amount of blood from the wound.
After a while, sleep refused to find them as they cuddled in the middle of their small bed, Athos was meaning to get them a larger one, but the opportunity never came about. Aramis had the flower in-between his fingertips, twisting the gorgeous flower in the moonlight and Athos discovered that he was a bit annoyed, that Aramis was almost becoming obsessed with the useless thing. He was happy yes that Aramis was delighted at his gesture, but he was also hoping for his mate’s attention to be diverted towards him in some sort of gratitude. It was selfish and greedy of him of course, but Athos was pathetic, he’ll admit it.
“It’s so strange how this plant could have so much meaning, or any plant for that matter.” Athos just grumbled, disappointed but he just continued to watch Aramis twirl the flower. “A simple rose wouldn’t have been too bad either, you know.”
“Love, you’re everything but simple.”