I have almost gotten hit by kids with balance bikes so many times it's not even funny. Somehow, that spawned this bit of fluff. There's a tiny implication of sex at the end, but nothing graphic.

And yes, the title is a horrible bicycle pun.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Musketeers.

When Aramis entered the apartment and seemed to be limping slightly, Athos dismissed it as his imagination. When he knelt down to put away some groceries, winced, and shifted his weight off one leg, Athos assumed it was nothing.

When Porthos playfully sat on Aramis' legs, as he often did, and Aramis let out a pained hiss, Athos knew something was actually wrong.

"Aramis?" Porthos demanded, jumping off the couch as if it were on fire. Aramis pulled his legs back so they were no longer stretched out across the entire couch and smiled apologetically.

"It's nothing, mes coeurs. Sorry for taking up the whole couch, Porthos."

Porthos looked over at Athos, who knew they were both thinking the same thing. Aramis recognized the look in their eyes as well and drew his legs up to his chest, but he was too slow; Porthos grabbed Aramis' legs and Athos pushed up his pants, revealing a huge, mottled bruise all up one shin.

"Aramis!" Athos cried, staring at the bruise, which looked very painful. "What happened?"

"I got hit by a bike," Aramis admitted with a sigh.

"What?!" Porthos and Athos both cried in unison. Athos was about to begin searching Aramis for other injuries when he sighed again.

"Okay, when I say 'bike,' I mean 'two year old on a balance bike,' but it still hurt!"

There was silence for a moment while both Athos and Porthos digested the information. Then Porthos burst out laughing as Athos cuffed Aramis in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Aramis cried, shying away. "That hurt! What did you do that for?"

"You scared us, you idiot!" Athos retorted.

"Yeah, next time lead with the fact that it was a two year old who hit you," Porthos sniggered. Aramis shot him a dirty look.

"You try getting hit by one and see how you feel," he muttered. Athos rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen, fetching a bag of ice out of the freezer and handing it to Aramis.

"I assume the bone is intact?" he asked. Aramis nodded.

"Really, it's just a bruise. A huge, painful bruise, but nothing worse." Athos accepted the diagnosis; as an EMT, Aramis would know the extent of the injury better than any of the others.

The ice seemed to help, given the unfairly erotic moan Aramis let out when he placed it on his leg. "I'm gonna take you right now, right here on the couch, if you don't knock it off," Porthos threatened. Judging by the grin that spread across Aramis' face, the words hadn't exactly had the intended effect.

"Might be a bit cramped for three," he remarked, making a show of looking up and down the couch. "Would we be kicking Athos out?"

"You wouldn't dare," Athos retorted, to Aramis' amusement.

"I'm sure we could make something work," he comforted, reaching over to tap Athos on the knee gently.

"Maybe he could go on his knees," Porthos suggested. Athos swallowed audibly. Aramis, however, looked distressed.

"I think I've just figured out the biggest negative to my injury," he groaned. Athos raised an eyebrow. "I won't be able to get down on my knees for either of you until it stops hurting so much."

Porthos' grin was positively feral. "It's okay," he told Aramis, sliding a possessive hand up his uninjured leg. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

(They did.)