Male Bonding
by Arithanas
Part of their duties as musketeers was to accompany the King if he was on his way to somewhere. That was no cause for complaint. The three inseparable could live it up to with excessive ease, the problem was to occupy the time while His Royal Highness was entertained at the place which he had decided to go: Fontainebleau, in this case. Of course they had to comply with their guard duty, but the captain had calculated, perhaps too well, to keep them busy during night watches as a way to maintain order in the corps. Last night was their last night off. The hours between dusk and dawn were well spent, at least by two of the three. Athos was moody, it was his custom every summer, Porthos informed Aramis about it before retiring to a room with one of the tavern wenches. Aramis got tired soon of trying to hold a conversation with his taciturn fellow before deciding to follow Porthos' example. A terrible night, if Picard's example seemed to be reasonable.
Nex morning, as they came down for breakfast, Aramis and Porthos were surprised by a sober Athos, entertained in giving orders to a silent Grimaud to fill a couple of baskets with food and wine; the absence of signs of hangover made them suspect he was more drunk than he seemed at first glance.
"Hola!, you seem to have an ongoing project, Athos!" Porthos' booming voice greeted while clapping his hand on the shoulder of the Musketeer.
"And I include you therein."
"Lets see the project," Aramis agreed, breaking the bread that the innkeeper had put on the table.
"It's simple: a outdoor meal in a lonely spot I know by the river bend," Athos said giving his approval to Grimaud's work of with a distracted wave. "We could eat, rest and bath, and we'll be back in time."
The proposal was accepted immediately and after a quick breakfast, the three, followed by the servant, took the road towards the outskirts of Fontainebleau. What might have been a nice horse ride immediately became Porthos particular session to give his friends the details of his exploits from the night before.
Aramis felt seized with an unchristian desire to slap the man, although he lived in close partnership with this pair, there were things he did not intend to discuss and he had not interest in knowing details of intimate nature, especially since experience had taught him that Porthos was not only generous in sharing but he was also a sassy busybody. Athos listened the torrent of words that left the mouth of his friend with imperturbable indifference and his only reaction was to adjust his hat to shade his eyes, but as they rode through the riparian forest , for the first time since they were inseparable, Porthos grew tired of being heard.
"So, how was your night, Aramis?"
"Hush..." was the prompt reply. "Praying!"
"I'm sure you do not pray, Athos. Was the bottle as satisfying as my girl?" Porthos wanted to know and issued a roar of laugh at the monosyllabic response he received. "I can swear, Athos, your attitude is more than adequate for a bugger. Are you one of those, mon ami?"
"I fail to see how that could be of your concern, Porthos..."
"He who lays with dogs has fleas," sentenced and laughed again. "I need to know if I have to get a flea remedy!"
"I am the one who need it, for I am your friend and you can get them from your wenches."
"My fleas were not real!"
"Mine are, besides, persons who requests such information are suspected to attempt to use it."
Porthos muttered something under his breath and he let the conversation trail away for about a minute, until a new idea came to his brain.
"Oh, I see... Don't worry, Athos, I do not tell anyone, but I can teach you how that is done."
"Talis est mundi," said Athos crossing one leg over the pommel and leaned back to ensure that Aramis could hear him. "Qui scit facere facet atque qui non scit facere docet."*
Aramis, against his will, let out a bray of laughter that, in addition of breaking the illusion of his prayers, had the admirable effect of silencing Porthos, who sat back in his saddle, chewing his mustache of pure annoyance. Soon they reached the secluded clear from where they could reach the water and they alighted. After tying his horse, Porthos went straight to Athos and took him by the doublet. Aramis wondered how he was not lifted up from the floor.
"What did you say?"
"I was talking to Aramis, not to you!" Athos placed his hands on Porthos' fists, and made him release the clothes. "Since you are frisky, my friend, we'll fix this as we usually do, but, I pray, let us keep it classic."
Aramis seemed confused for a moment, especially by Porthos' expression and the nascent smile sported by Athos. Both began to untie their doublets and Grimaud came, laden with baskets, tablecloth and towels, extending his arms to take the clothes. The scene almost seemed rehearsed.
Aramis suspected that it was not the first time they 'settled their differences' that way and pressed his lips trying not to make any comments, those had not served with the drinking games, nor with the arm wrestling sessions, nor with the overly aggressive fencing spars. The ex-seminarian shrugged, attempted to suppress an expression of utter disdain, took a book from the saddlebags and went to select a comfortable place to read while they finished their case.
"No punching, no kicking, and no biting," Aramis managed to hear as he walked away. Athos was putting his sober gray doublet into the hands of Grimaud.
"I don't bite!" protested Porthos as he threw his burgundy doublet to the face of the valet. It was impossible not to hear him.
Aramis snorted and placed himself under a sweet chestnut, followed by a fully loaded down Grimaud. Before he could put his butt on the tender grass, Athos and Porthos engaged themselves in trying to topple each other as the best rules of pankration; Athos had taken Porthos by the waist, trying to trip him while Porthos was groping his ass, trying to find a place to grip his friend and throw him over his shoulder, and Aramis rolled his eyes, knowing they both were hopeless. The lean servant was busy arranging the clothes over some bushes, but that did not deter Aramis to call him and to request a glass of wine while watching Porthos materially lift Athos off the floor.
"There, you Latin quoter!" He exclaimed as Athos rolled over the grass.
Athos made no reply, he only returned to the fight with that tenacity — or folly, one could never be sure — that characterized him; he attempted and succeded in grabbing his friend's legs; Porthos fell with such force that the wine served by Grimaud was shaken in the cup.
This could take a while...
Aramis sighed and lifted the book, trying to concentrate on those verses until the voice of Porthos tore him out of poetry and made him drop to the book with a puzzled look.
"You are poking me!"
Athos was mounted over his opponent's back, his arms were around his neck, holding a choke, that should not be very effective if Porthos could still scream. When Aramis understood how the complaint might be true, he was quick to pick up the book to hide his blush. These sort of things did not happen in the seminar!
"Oh, I noticed how much that bothers you..." Athos taunted, almost in Porthos' ear.
That was like spur on an unbroken horse. Porthos stopped worrying about the poke and the choke and rose to full height, his two hands raked over his head until they could hold onto Athos' shirt and used it as a point to tear off his friend from his back. There was a ripping noise, Athos became airborne and crashed shirtless between a shocked Aramis and a shaken Grimaud who was trying to take a nap.
"Athos!"
"Unscathed!" The musketeer proclaimed bouncing back on his feet, his step was a little shaky. It had been a terrible blow. "Shirt?"
Aramis looked so lost, without comprehending what his friend meant and trying not to think that Athos was practically naked in front of him. The question, of course, was not for him but for Grimaud, who nodded emphatically with a half smile. Seeing the servant so enthused about his master's state confirmed Aramis that wrestling was an entertainment for the riffraff.
"Surrender, you stupid Berrichon!" exclaimed Porthos bursting with frustration.
"Make me, you Picard brute!"
Athos lunged at Porthos and for a moment both of them clinched, panting, covered in sweat, swinging their weight, as both were trying to trip up the other. Aramis noticed that Porthos' hands were busy on Athos' thighs, but his purpose was not too clear; the coarse and lewd story he had tried not to listen before was making him hallucinate caresses where there were none, and the irrefutable proof was that Athos was suddenly thrown to the grass, the groan that came from his throat spoke of anything but of carnal concupiscence; Porthos was quick to try to pin him against the ground with the full weight of his body.
"Porthos, you are about to rub me the wrong way," warned Athos, laying his hands on the shoulders of his opponent.
Porthos jerked away, Athos took advantage of the movement to make him roll to the side, and get over his frame. Athos struggled to keep him flat on his back, and Porthos made every effort to turn him over. The obvious result was that both were rolling on the grass without neither of them having a clear dominance over the other.
Aramis had no idea how long they would last until the dispute ended, but he was sure of one thing: He needed to take that bath now.
"When you two stop behaving like children" He told them passing beside them as he took off his doublet. "You can find me swimming in the river."
Athos and Porthos stopped short, arms and legs intertwined, looking stunned as the figure of Aramis moved towards the river while he stripped off his clothes. The announcement was like a bucket of cold water and, for a moment, they both remained hugging, not knowing whether to continue struggling or leave it alone. Athos was the first to separate from Porthos and he sat on the grass, enjoying the breeze against his sweaty, bare skin.
"He will never be normal, won't he?" Porthos asked lying completely on the ground, he needed a little break.
"He will never like the fight for the sake of the fight, if that's what you mean, " Athos replied, starting to untie his breeches, and calling Grimaud with a sign.
"Yes, that was what I mean..."
* Such is world, he who knows, does it; and he who does not know, teach it.
Thanks to lilgenious for correcting my mistakes