It was meant to have been a simple assignment. One which shouldn't have even needed the four of them to go in theory. But Treville had insisted knowing that sending them out as a group would give the mission a grander sense of purpose which in truth had been entirely for the benefit of d'Artagnan. A fact which kept rolling through his head as the blood stained figures of his Musketeers raced into the yard, one of them clutched to the chest of another on the back of one of the horses. His head lolling as his comrade gripped him that much closer in an effort to keep him from falling from the animal.

It had swelled Treville's heart with pride, although he'd never voice the feelings aloud, to see his four best soldiers leaving the garrison on horseback just a few days earlier. d'Artangan sitting loftily in his saddle with a smile tugging at his mouth as he displayed his new pauldron proudly, the leather still stiff and untested. It would mould itself to his shoulder over time and become a scarred and worn testament to his experiences. But for now it shone in the sunlight and there was not a Musketeer in the garrison who didn't catch him surreptitiously glancing at it without a smile crossing their faces as it reminded them of receiving their own commission.

The four were simply to deliver important papers to a disgraced gentlemen just over a day's ride from the outskirts of Paris. The nobleman had fallen from the King's graces during some festivity or other held at the palace many months before. The papers were his official pardon from Louis along with an invitation to the court...and a small note at the bottom with a subtle reminder to perhaps stay a few paces from each and every wine pourer who happened to cross his path at the event. Porthos and Aramis had traded a sneaky grin behind Athos as they were reminded of the Marquis' drunken antics whilst Treville had handed him the papers along with their mission brief. Both Musketeers had been lucky enough to be on duty at the palace as he had staggered from one noble person to another leaving a line of heavily offended aristocracy in his wake.

Indeed it had spiced up what would have been just another boring pageantry at the palace and they had only really seen fit to step in when the Marquis had tugged on Louis' wig with a loud "boop!" and then demanded satisfaction from a rather taken aback older gentleman who had made the entirely grave mistake of taking the last of the chocolate entremets...Apparently the Marquis' favourite. He had cooled his heels in the Chatelet for the rest of the evening before being ordered from the court officially by the King the next morning, holding his aching head and bowing in a less than heartfelt apology as the change in elevation had upset his queasy stomach.

The whims of the King were many, however, and he had been persuaded by his good hearted wife to allow the ageing man back to court after his brief stint in disgraced isolation, resulting in the bundled papers now proffered to Athos from his Captain.

Athos had taken the papers with nought but a raised eyebrow in Treville's direction before turning to leave his office, motioning to his brothers to follow him out and cuffing a still sniggering Aramis on the side of the head without looking at him as he passed. The look of mock distress which had crossed the Musketeer's face had been comical and Treville had had to bow his head in exasperation to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

And so he had stood, watching as the four lead their steeds, pawing on the ground with anticipation of a long ride, towards the garrison exit before he turned and headed back into his office. The yard would definitely be quieter for the next few days in their absence.

d'Artangan leaned back in his saddle, aiming his face at the sun's rays as they shone brightly in the piercing blue of the summer sky between the foliage of the trees. The heat felt so much cleaner outside of the closeness of the walls of Paris. For weeks he felt he had been covered in a fine grime no matter how much he washed. Caused by the bustle of the city combined with the unrelenting heat which seemed twice as hot with the press of bodies and livestock in the streets. He closed his eyes for a moment as he heaved in a lungful of the fresh, country air.

Something bounced off the back of his head and he flinched despite himself, his eyes snapping open as he looked wildly around for the projectile, shuddering as his imagination conjured up some huge flying insect thing with many legs. So when it hit into the top of his head again he flailed his arms wildly instinctively trying to drive it away. The guffaws of laughter coming in stereo behind him froze his arms in mid-air as he turned slowly in his saddle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as they fixed upon the smiling face of his brother in arms who tipped his feathered hat with a wink before throwing another rolled ball of bread at the young man in front of him. The bread flew true to his aim and bounced between d'Artangan's eyes with a dull thunk. The look of surprise crossing his face was enough to renew the laughter of the imposing figure of Porthos who's horse plodded at a casual pace beside that of Aramis.

"You'll find that less comical when we're riding home hungry," the disapproving voice of Athos rang out from the head of the procession although his tone was tinged with humour.

"Oh I don't know Athos," Aramis began, the smile on his face growing if possible, larger, "I reckon it would lighten my mood...although granted I would have to find something else to throw."

"Rocks per'aps?" Porthos offered, still chuckling.

"That would hardly be gentlemanly of you," d'Artangan replied with a pout.

"Good thing then that I have never claimed to be a gentleman," Aramis said flicking another ball of bread at the Gascon.

"Well I am a gentleman, one who carries many sharp objects and a short patience," Athos said in a droll tone, amusement still evident in his voice.

Aramis took this moment to aim a ball at the back of their fearless leader, his keen shooter's eye finding its target easily. Athos froze in his seat pulling his horse to a standstill before turning slowly, an eyebrow raised as he looked towards the grinning Musketeer. The procession naturally came to a stop as their horses took their lead from his.

"Very short." With a kick, Athos turned his mount and aimed it towards Aramis who spurred his own horse forward with a bark of laughter in an attempt to escape from the man barreling towards him.

Their shouted insults faded as their horses cantered ahead around a bend in the trees. d'Artangan traded a mirth filled glance with Porthos whose throaty chuckles filled the now silent woods. He leaned back into the sun once again, a happy glow spreading throughout his entire body. He hadn't realised how big a difference gaining his commission was going to make until it finally happened. He hadn't been certain it even would happen. The thread of tension which he didn't know he'd been feeling before the pauldron had been presented to him that day had finally snapped. He felt more right than he had ever felt before.

The banter he and the men had always traded whilst on the road now felt more inclusive though he knew that the uniform had no bearing on how they saw him. He had already been their brother long before he was officially a Musketeer.

"So this beats guard duty," d'Artangan said with a contented sigh.

"It does, but not all our missions are going to be so cushy," Porthos replied, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Think we should put a request in for something more hardcore next time. Stop you going soft before you start."

"Hey, I've been on more 'hardcore' missions with you guys before now," d'Artangan replied, the pout making a swift comeback.

"Yeah but that was before you got your stamp of approval from the King," Porthos replied, motioning with his head towards the young man's shoulder armour, "now it only counts once that thing looks less fancy."

d'Artangan looked down to his pauldron, unconsciously brushing off invisible lint and smiling at it in spite of himself. Porthos shook his head, laughing at the dazed expression on the Gascon's face. They both snapped to attention at the sound of approaching hoof beats, relaxing visibly when the returning forms of Athos and Aramis appeared some way ahead. Aramis rubbing the side of his head and frowning at Athos who was trotting ahead of him and chewing at the remainder of his comrade's bread with a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

He winked at Porthos and d'Artangan before turning swiftly and throwing the last chunk towards the lagging Musketeer. All three roared with laughter as it bounced off his hat.

"Hey, watch the feather!" Aramis said, brushing crumbs from the rim all the while smiling his easy smile.

"Now, gentlemen, if we may. I believe we have actually got some work to do appointed by the King of France himself," Athos said turning his horse and patting at the saddle bag containing the papers for the Marquis.

"Very important work at that," Porthos added with a smile, kicking slightly at his horse's flank to get him to up his pace a little to match their leader's.

"Probably not a bad idea to put some miles behind us actually," Aramis said glancing up at the sky and the tinge of black clouds in the distance, "looks like we're going to be in for one hell of a summer storm before not too much longer."

"Come on now Aramis," d'Artangan replied, urging his own mount forward, "it's been nothing but blue skies and burning sunshine for weeks. What bad luck we'd have to have to catch a storm on the one day we've been sent out of the garrison."

"We'll see lad," Aramis replied straightening his hat which had been skewed by Athos' wheat based projectile. He had a feeling he'd be glad of it by the evening.

"I bet you're feeling smug right about now!" d'Artangan shouted over to Aramis above the winds whipping about the Musketeers, driving rain into them from every angle. Despite being only a few feet from his friend, the Gascon had to holler to be heard above the raging storm.

"Actually I'm feeling more than a little damp!" Aramis shouted back, pulling his hat down further onto his head so it wouldn't be torn away from him in the winds. "I'd give anything to have been wrong about my earlier predictions."

d'Artagnan grimaced at him in reply before kicking his horse forward to catch up to Athos.

"How are the papers doing?" he asked, motioning towards the saddlebag.

"I dare not check them," Athos replied. He looked up into the tempest and frowned as he saw there was no signs of it abating any time soon. A fact which was cemented when a bolt of lightning tore across the sky. The horses all started. The Musketeers garrison was filled with beasts which were specifically picked to not be skittish when scared but the fury of the storm was testing their training to its limits. Athos turned as he heard a loud "whooa," from behind him in time to see Porthos trying to reign in his mount who was handling the downpour the least well out of all of them.

"Alright, I think it's time to call it an evening," he yelled to his companions above the gale, "we'll stop at the nearest inn tonight."

"Thank god," Aramis muttered under his breath, kissing Anne's cross about his neck before spurring his horse forward to catch up with the others.

Their easy pace during the warm morning and in the heat of the midday sun meant they were not as many miles as they could have been into their journey. They had picked up the pace in the later part of the afternoon but Athos had planned for travelling much later on into the evening, which by rights should have still been lit by the summer sun but was now prematurely black in the darkening storm cloud. But as he shuddered in his rain dampened clothes he resolved they would just have to travel that much longer the following day, the moment the storm broke, to make up for it.

They moved as quickly as they dared, the road through the forest having been turned to a slippery mush over its hours of lashing from the rain.

"There!" Aramis called to his companions. His were the keenest eyes in the whole battalion and they easily picked out the twinkling of candlelight in the darkness of the trees ahead. They urged their horses forwards a little quicker in anticipation of a meal and a fire to dry off in front of.

Thundering to a stop just outside of the stables of the inn, the four men dismounted and handed their collective reigns to a young boy who was drenched almost the moment he stepped out from under the shelter. Athos flicked a silver coin into the air for his troubles and the boy snatched it before it fell. The look of discomfort on his face as he stood in the rain lessening somewhat as he fingered the coin.

Having handed over their mounts, the men hurried for the door leading into an inn which was barely a step up from a shack. But it had a roof and a small fire in the stone fireplace, stained with the smoke of many more before it. Despite the chilly rain it was still very warm outside and inside, even with a small blaze, it was stifling. However they still moved to the seats closest to the fire and bustled to sit around it, shedding as many sodden layers as was decently possible and laying them out to dry.

Athos scanned the room discretely, noting his friends doing the same, as they naturally checked out the various other patrons and assessed any threats. Aside from themselves there was the prerequisite drunk in the corner, nose deep in his ale and clutching his scabby jacket around his skinny frame in spite of the heat. A maid bustled around the room wiping down tables and attempted to keep under the radar of the burly landlady who stood behind the bar, suspicion painted on her face as she eyed the Musketeers. Besides these few and a nondescript couple in the corner, there were no other bodies sheltering from the rain. Athos nodded to himself, forcing a smile at the landlady who took this as her cue to come over to their table.

"Well I can't say we get many Musketeers in these parts," she said in a way which sounded more like a question.

"Mademoiselle," Athos began.

"Madame," she cut across him.

Athos grit his teeth and attempted to smile at the tank of a woman. A smile which came out as a grimace. Seeing his friend's discomfort, and ever the charmer, Aramis stepped in to take control of the situation without batting an eyelid.

"Why of course, Madame," he started turning his puppy eyes on full beam and sending a smile in her direction. Some of the tension visibly melted from her shoulders as she turned to look at him but the suspicious glint did not leave her eyes. "We didn't plan on stopping at your fine establishment this evening but alas, Musketeers do not make good swimmers."

"I trust there will be no trouble?" she asked raising an eyebrow and looking at each of the men in turn.

"Madame, we are upholders of the peace," Aramis began, placing a hand over his heart until a glare from the landlady quelled his mock sincerity. He cleared his throat. "You have our word."

She considered them all once more before nodding her head and turning.

"I suspect you'll want food for the table?" she said snapping her fingers at the cowering maid who visibly jumped before scuttling off to the back room presumably to rustle up their dinner.

"The table would appreciate some wine as well," Athos said, his tone droll once more. With the promise of alcohol he was done upholding his polite facade. "Three bottles to begin. The very best you have if you will."

"To begin?" d'Artangan asked Porthos quietly, leaning close to the still dripping man.

"He could drink them with just 'is first course," Porthos replied just as quietly with a mocking edge to his tone although inwardly he felt the same old twinge of worry for his friend's drinking habits. He'd lost count of the amount of times either he or Aramis, or in some cases both, had carried Athos back to his rooms to sleep off yet another drink induced coma. They had yet to find a method to stop his almost nightly sessions, although they had reduced in frequency with the arrival of their young friend who required both eyes, as sober as you could spare them, to keep him out of trouble.

"Well I don't know about you chaps but I feel this is one liquid I wouldn't mind drowning in this evening," Aramis said, raising his now full glass in a toast to his friends before taking a gulp and grimacing. "Although on second thought maybe just a slight dousing."

Their best wine proved to be about a step up from vinegar, but Athos took a thirsty gulp stony faced as if it were the King's own glass. d'Artangan traded another glance with Porthos before regarding the wine in front of him in distaste, taking a swig and coughing slightly.

"Perhaps dinner will make up for it."

It didn't. The maid scurried from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with old bread and older cheese and some fruit which was wrinkled and sad looking.

"Eat up," Athos said, tearing into a lump of the bread with a slight grimace, "we have an early start tomorrow and you're going to need your energy."

"You were right, I am beginning to regret my hilarious game of 'throw the good bread at the mascot'," Aramis said, scraping some of the more prevalent mould from a piece of cheese with the blade of his dagger before daring to take a small bite.

"Mascot?!" d'Artangan spluttered into his glass, showering Porthos with flecks of wine.

"Well you did take offence to 'tag along' remember," he said, wiping the back of his hand on d'Artangan's sleeve and shooting him a wink.

The laughs continued for the rest of dinner such as it was. Despite their grumbling, a good meal was sometimes hard to come by when on the open road and they all quietly appreciated sitting in front of the fire with a full belly and almost dry clothing.

Athos took to leaning back into his seat, steadily draining his glass and topping it up without contributing much to the conversation. His mood tended to move towards the black in the evenings. However, though he did not join in with his friend's merriment, his soul was fed by the sounds of their laughter even if he did not know it.

As they chatted about past exploits and missions gone awry long into the night, their attentions were taken by the sounds of the door opening. Three darkened figures, stooping in their haste to get out of the still driving rain, poured into the inn before taking a moment to stand and shake the water from their faces. Their leader, a pointy looking man with a desperate gleam to his eye scanned the room, a sneer turning the corner of his lip as they settled on the lounging forms of the Musketeers by the fire.

At least they looked like they were lounging. They had all tensed and fixed their attentions upon the men easily when they had barreled through the door. Aramis' hand now rested unnoticed on his pistol and the others casually grasped their sword hilts. Athos doing so in an obvious gesture all the while keeping eye contact with the trio's leader in a gentle threat.

The man watched Athos' movement, the sneer growing larger as his eyes flashed in anger. Turning to his followers, he motioned with his head to a table across from the Musketeers and they bustled towards the seat, dripping water all over the floor once more.

"Annette, the floor," barked the landlady heading for their table, the look of disgust on her face thinly veiled. Porthos wondered how she managed to get any business at all with the way she treated her patrons. "What can I get you fellas?"

"Bread," snorted the leader, "and ale."

Nodding smartly she turned on her heel, clearly wanting to keep her dealings with them to a minimum. Annette hurried over to the doorway and began soaking up the puddles of water using an ancient looking mop. She kept her head down in an attempt to make herself as small as possible, quite clearly scared out of her wits when she inched closer to the men surrounding the table. The Musketeers continued their easy conversation although they each kept a wary eye on their new bar mates. A soldier should always trust his gut instinct after all.

"Well look at this pretty, little thing we have here boys," the leader said ogling at the maid with a lecherous gleam in his eye. She stiffened slightly as she worked, but continued mopping with her face aimed to the ground. "Why don't you put the mop down sweetheart and come take a seat on my lap?"

Porthos put a restraining hand onto Aramis' arm, instinctively knowing that he wouldn't take kindly to the men making a young woman uncomfortable. He felt his brother tense under his grasp and squeezed his fingers, reassuring him that they were all very much paying attention to what was happening and wouldn't stand for the situation worsening. There was always the chance they would leave her unharassed to continue her work. Unfortunately for them it seemed like they had no such plan.

"I'm talking to you girl," said the man with a growl, nodding at his companion who was sitting closest to where Annette was working. With a guttural laugh he stood from his seat and in one swift motion, grasped the trembling girl and threw her into the waiting arms of his leader and his friend. She squealed in surprise and terror, the noise drawing the attentions of her mistress from the back room.

"Excuse me gentlemen." The four Musketeers had stood the second the man had lain his hands upon the maid and Aramis had taken a step towards them. His expression and tone belying the anger which blossomed in his chest at their treatment of the woman.

"We ain't no gentlemen," the leader replied looking up to the towering figures of the men, seemingly unperturbed.

"I was attempting to be polite," replied Aramis through gritted teeth. "Now if you would be so kind as to release Annette here, I can see her mistress would like a word with her."

The landlady was stood in front of the bar, her hands grasped in front of her and worry on her face at the current turn of events. She may have cast an imposing figure to the Musketeers when they entered but the truth was her husband was away and he was usually the brawn when it came to handling fighting.

"No actually, I think the good lady can spare her gutter rat for a little time. We've been on the road for a while and could do with some entertainment."

"I think we really must insist," said Athos, a dangerous edge to his tone.

With that, the leader looked Athos dead in the eye, squeezing Annette a little tighter eliciting a squeak from her as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. He winked slowly at Athos before licking her on the side of her face.

The room erupted. The three men stood quickly, the leader throwing Annette to the side where she hit the ground and crawled into the corner of the room, drawing up her knees and watching wide eyed. Aramis stepped forward, knocking the drawn pistol of one of the men to the side so the shot he fired embedded itself harmlessly into the wooden timbers above his head. He followed this through with a blow to the man's ribs which had him doubling over trying to catch his breath.

The leader's other companion proved to be slightly more formidable. He leaped forward, holding the muzzle of his pistol in his hand and bringing the grip down hard across d'Artangan's face. The young man was thrown to the side where he crashed into the table sending it flying across the room. Porthos crossed the floor towards him with a yell, gripping the hand he threw in a punch towards his face and using the man's own momentum to launch him into the wall where he hit with a groan before crumpling to the ground.

Athos zoned out of the fighting around him, trusting his comrades to handle their opponents as he whipped out his sword and brought it up to the man who answered by whipping out his own weapon. Athos paused for a moment, a deadly grace evident even when he wasn't moving. The sword was an extension of his arm and he smiled as he felt its weight. The smile threw off the leader and he visibly blanched, flinching when Athos moved towards him, his sword flashing in the candlelight. The fight was brief but brutal. The clashing of metal rang throughout the room which was, in truth, too small for the swords to swing. Athos adapted his style easily, taking to smaller strokes and jabs.

Panic flashed in the eyes of his quarry as he tried to return the blows, losing the upper hand immediately and staggering back as he scrambled to defend himself. Athos landed three good hits successively, the third placing the tip of his sword into the fleshy part of the man's shoulder. He bellowed in pain and staggered back, crashing into a chair and falling to the ground in a heap of arms and legs clutching his bleeding wound.

"All right, all RIGHT!" he shouted at Athos, hate in his eyes as his chest heaved. At his shout, his companions ceased their movements. One wrestling with Porthos and the other slicing at the air in front of Aramis with an evil looking, old dagger. d'Artangan was still seated on the ground, clutching at his face and blinking owlishly.

Aramis and Porthos stood, breathing deeply, matching looks of intensity crossing their faces as they eyed up the men in front of them. Ready to attack once more if needed. Neither of them were unscathed. A bruise was forming around Porthos' eye and Aramis took a moment to assess a bleeding cut on the top of his forearm which was staining the fabric of his shirt. The blow probably would have glanced off of his leather coat but it was currently still steaming in front of the fire. They looked to Athos in unison, nodding once in reply to his questioning gaze. They were both alright.

"Oh look, I believe you were just leaving," Athos said coldly, daring the lead man to argue with him.

"This isn't over Musketeer," the man said, a sneer turning his final word into a hiss of hatred. "Come on," he barked at his men as he dragged himself to his feet, still clutching his shoulder. They grabbed their meagre belongings and headed back out into the storm, slamming the heavy wooden door behind them.

There was a moment of complete silence in the room before the landlady headed over to the door and pulled down a formidable latch, locking it for the night.

"I think we have enough company for this evening," she said in a clipped tone, taking a deep breath before turning to the men. "Thank you. For dealing with those thugs."

"Not at all madam, I'm only sorry we made such a mess," Athos said congenially, sheathing his sword and holding out a hand to d'Artangan, who gripped it with a nod of thanks as he was hauled to his feet. "Now if you don't mind I think we'll call it a night."

"Of course, Monsieur. Thank you once again, the wine is on the house."

"Come on now, it's alright they're gone," Aramis said quietly, holding out his hand to the still trembling form of Annette as she sat huddled on the floor. She looked up to him with wide, watery eyes before taking his proffered hand and allowing him to gently set her on her feet.

"Tha...thank you Monsieur," she said in a tiny voice before running to the open arms of the landlady who clucked over her fondly, leading her from the room.

"Top of the stairs and to your right gentlemen, and I bid you goodnight."

Gathering their things, the men headed for the stairs, Porthos steadying the still wobbly form of d'Artangan as they aimed for their room. It was a small inn and the only remaining room had been a twin. Being soldiers they had been forced to make do with rougher sleeping conditions than this and the thought of the four of them sharing a small room did not deter them.

Porthos led d'Artangan to one of the beds, pushing him down with a firm hand when he made to protest.

"You should rest that head lad," he said, daring him to argue.

"Look at me," Aramis said, walking over to d'Artangan and staring into each of his eyes in turn, his medic instincts taking over. He tutted slightly as he assessed the gash oozing blood on the young man's cheek and which was already turning a beautiful array of colours. "Doesn't look like there's any signs of concussion luckily for you," he began with a smile, dipping a cloth into the bowl of water which had been provided for them before applying it to d'Artangan's face. "You seem to have as hard a head as Porthos."

"Hey," Porthos said, looking up from his seat on the other bed where he was pressing at the bruise forming around his eye gingerly.

"Leave that alone," Aramis said sharply looking up for a moment from his ministrations on d'Artangan. "You might make it worse."

"You can talk, I'm not the one bleeding all over the place," Porthos said with a huff.

"It's nothing," Aramis replied in a clipped tone.

"Aramis," Athos said giving him that look. Aramis was their make shift field medic on the road and his skills were invaluable no matter how modest he tended to be about them. However, he had the most annoying habit of tending to others and 'forgetting' to take care of himself. There had been more than one occasion they had finished up a mission thinking all was well, only to have Aramis face plant from his horse on the way home from some concealed injury or other.

With a sigh Aramis finished tending to d'Artagan before flopping down next to him on the bed and shooting a petulant glare at their leader. Porthos hissed in sympathy as Aramis rolled back his cuff exposing an angry looking wound which still trickled blood.

"It is not too deep. Looks like you were not the only lucky one tonight my friend," he said with a smile at d'Artangan. "I'll be able to get away with just binding it."

Taking the glass of wine Athos had managed to bring with him into the bedroom, and ignoring his noises of protest, he dumped the remaining contents over his cut. Wincing a little as the alcohol stung.

"I was drinking that," Athos droned.

"Yes well it is vitally important that we tend to all our wounds apparently," Aramis said with a grin as he finished cleaning out the cut and began binding it with some linen strips from his field kit.

"Give it 'ere," Porthos said as Aramis struggled to tie off the make shift bandage. He offered his arm to his friend with a nod of thanks.

Shaking the bottle of wine he had seemingly smuggled into the bedroom as well and seeing it was empty, Athos set it onto the table before leaning back into his chair and placing his feet on the end of the bed.

"I think it's probably time to call it a night don't you agree?" he asked before tipping his head back and placing his hat over his face. "Goodnight gentlemen."

"Our fearless leader is probably correct," Aramis said taking off his boots and placing his hat onto the table after fluffing up the feather which had become somewhat bedraggled in the rain, a look of consternation on his face. "So my dear Porthos. Rock, paper, scissors for the other bed?"

Well I started this out with the intention of it being a one shot as I haven't tried my hand at one of those just yet...and I failed miserably. It ended up being a seventeen thousand word plus mammoth so I'm going to post it in three parts.

I loved the series when I watched it the first time round and got the bug for reading Musketeer fics on here recently after a second watch..and I couldn't help but have a go myself. I got the prompt for this story from the bbc kinkmeme which sounds a lot ruder than it is (I saw people quoting it on their stories and checked it out intrigued and aside from the actual kink ((nope)) there are some good plot ideas..one which sparked this fic). The idea of which was one or more of the boys being 'out of their depth'.

It'll become clearer as the story progresses.

Any comments and critiques are gratefully received as ever!