This is the first of 31 one shots based on the Whumptober prompt list as part of Inktober over on tumblr. Anyway, these will all be around 1000 words give or take a few hundred. I have some catching up to do so expect to see a couple of these a day through the end of the month. They're unbeta'd and just for fun so forgive any mistakes and just enjoy the whump :) I'm doing this for two different fandoms so be patient :)

PS - I don't own the Musketeers...do I still even need to say that?

Oh and the prompt for this one was "On their knees"

"On your knees!"

Porthos instead held his back even straighter, lifting his chin and rolling his shoulders back defiantly. Hands pushed against his back, attempting to force him down, but he held firm, letting loose a low growl in response.

A cane cracked against his thigh and he grimaced, but didn't falter.

"I said on your knees, slave!"

"I'm no slave," Porthos shot back sharply. "And I kneel for no man."

"Then you're the worst kind of slave," the man taunted, glaring across the small space between them. "One that doesn't know its place." He jerked his chin at the men holding Porthos.

A blow landed solidly against the small of his back and another against his ribs. While he was still reeling from the sudden onslaught, a boot slammed into the back of his knee, forcing the joint to fold. His knee hit the dirt.

Porthos gritted his teeth and pushed back up.

More blows landed and the next time he fell, both knees slammed into the ground and he had to throw a hand out to catch himself. He spit blood into the dirt and drew in a steadying breath.

Then he slowly pushed himself up again, not stopping until his feet were under him once again.

He stared defiantly at the slave trader and wondered if he was taking this all a bit too far.

His job had been to infiltrate the group of slave traders that was abducting men from various port cities. He was to allow himself to be taken and his brothers would track them to the leader. Hopefully they were watching even now. He could imagine Athos was likely having to physically restrain Aramis at this point. Had perhaps even had to prevent him opening fire at least twice by now. He could imagine the colorfully worded rant Aramis would be muttering under his breath, likely in Spanish just to annoy Athos since he didn't know the language.

The thought made Porthos smile.

He just had to get them to reveal their leader, and then his over-protective, lethally dangerous brother could be unleashed on these vile men.

Perhaps he should be a bit more submissive. In fact, he knew he should be. But a deeply rooted piece of his soul rebelled against the very thought of kneeling before these men. He had only knelt to one man in his life, the king of France. He had done that by choice, as a Musketeer and a loyal soldier. No man should ever be made to kneel. Just as no man should ever be made to serve. These men lived to steal that right from men, to force them inter servitude and demand submission.

No.

He could not bring himself to kneel, not to men like this. Not even for the sake of the mission.

Instead, he lifted his chin and glared.

"Get the boss," one of the men snapped. "He'll enjoy breaking this one himself."

Finally.

The minutes it took them to summon their leader felt like hours to Porthos as body ached and fiercely protested the rigid posture he had demanded of it. But then, mercifully, a new figure approached, flanked by several men.

"I hear we've got a stubborn one," the man commented as he came to stand in front of Porthos. He didn't even look him in the eye. It was as if Porthos didn't even exist. The man lifted his chin, appearing both superior and confident. "Pride cometh before the fall," he chastised imperiously.

Porthos was ready for the blow, but even so it sent him to the ground. He tasted blood and over the ringing of his ears he heard an explosion of sound. He smiled around bloody teeth and wearily rolled onto his back, watching as bodies fell around him. The man who had hit him in the back dropped with a musket ball placed neatly into the back of his head. The man who had first ordered he abuse fell with a ball through the eye.

Then there was a shadow swooping over him like some sort of avenging angel, sword dancing through the air and deadly intent clearly shining in dark brown eyes. Some people believed that God watched over them. Porthos wasn't so certain about that, but he knew without doubt that his brothers always would.

Aramis glided around him, somehow guarding him from every angle without seeming like he was even trying that hard.

Athos was focused more intently on getting to the leader.

Before long, it was all over. Athos had the leader at sword point and Aramis had dispatched anyone that hadn't had the sense to flee.

Porthos hadn't bothered to move from his sprawled position on the surprisingly comfortable ground. He offered a bloody smile in greeting when Aramis leaned over him and was not surprised in the least by the blatant worry and anxiousness in his brother's eyes.

For someone who hated to be fussed over, Aramis was the worst about worrying over the rest of them.

"No permanent damage," Porthos assured, taking the hand Aramis offered him and allowing the marksman to slowly pull him to sitting.

"What, may I ask, were you thinking?" Aramis demanded even as his hands started gently checking over Porthos' various visible injuries.

"Was just stalling for time… Trying to draw out the leader."

Aramis paused his ministrations and glared at him. Porthos hadn't quite expected that lie to work.

"No man should ever me made to kneel," Porthos explained simply, but firmly.

Understanding softened the hard lines of anxious worry on Aramis' face and he reached out to lightly grip the side of Porthos' neck.

"And no man will ever be made to by his hand again," Aramis tilted his head towards the slave trader whom Athos was securing with a set of metal manacles. "Thanks to you."

"You mean thanks to Athos," Porthos shot back with a grin as Aramis went back to tending his wounds. "How many times did he have to hold you back from destroying the whole plan?"

Aramis huffed in offense.

"I was perfectly composed!"

"I had to physically hold you behind our cover and threaten to steal your pistols while you slept, and all the while you were cursing under your breath in Spanish, Latin and Italian," Athos interjected as he dragged the slave trader over to them.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," Porthos commented in surprise.

Aramis met his eyes with a wolfish grin.

"I only know the fun words."

Porthos dropped his head back and laughed.

I'm usually one to beat up on Aramis so this was an interesting change for me. More soon!