Warnings: Crude humor and innuendo.


Cross Eyed

It was happening again.

Aramis sighed, taking off his hat and discreetly placing it over his lap. Ever since Her Most Serene Majesty had placed a cross about his neck with her lily white hands, looking upon the shape of one called to mind the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her nearness. The way light played across her hair, and her bosom... oh he could rhapsodize about her bosom.

And to think of a queen's love. What must it be like? It was the stuff of poems and legend, what made men do foolish and noble things. Helen of Troy had launched a thousand ships, Cleopatra had seen armies rise and fall, and Queen Anne... What would Aramis not do for sweet, regal Queen Anne with her voice like the coo of a dove and eyes that looked at him with yearning?

But these thoughts were not helping him maintain his dignity. His cock was as hard as a blacksmith's hammer from the mere sight of a cross outside a churchyard, and while he had always been robust in that respect, sooner or later someone was bound to notice that his trousers bulged whenever he passed a cathedral. With his luck it would be Porthos who cottoned on and had a go at him for trying to defile the nuns.

Not that Aramis hadn't ever defiled a nun or two, but that was beside the point.

Why did there have to be so many churches in France? It seemed that there was one every time he turned around. At the rate this was happening soon he would either have to pluck out his eyes or else become a eunuch.

He wasn't quite sure if he'd rather be blind or unmanned.

No. No, he was sure.

Definitely blind.