Having a Bath

"Mind my wound."

"Mind my needlework," Aramis said, laying his hand on Porthos' shoulder to steer him down the road. He was going to keep Porthos with him in his rooms near the Musketeer compound until that wound had healed enough for the stitches to come out. Porthos couldn't be trusted to look after himself.

"Are you planning to nanny goat me?" Porthos asked, though he sounded pleased about it and allowed Aramis to direct him without complaint.

"Nanny goat? Porthos, I am a ram among rams and don't you forget it!" He moved his hand up to the back of Porthos' neck and gave it a gentle squeeze, comforted to feel the pulse of life there.

He would not say so aloud, but keeping Porthos with him was to reassure himself as much as it was to look after his friend. Porthos likely knew it, too.

"And here I thought you were the one putting the horns on other men[i]," Porthos sniggered.

Aramis laughed. "None of your cheek, now! Else I have second thoughts about allowing a lout like you into my bed."

Porthos didn't have a reply for that, and they walked in companionable silence all the way to the boarding house, Aramis never removing his hand from Porthos' neck.

"Why is it that when one of us is hurt, we always stay at your place?" Porthos asked once they'd let themselves in and made their way into Aramis' suite of three rooms by the light of a single candle. He threw himself down on the bed, wincing when the careless movement no doubt pulled at his stitches.

"Because my bed is bigger and I have my own washtub," Aramis answered. He removed his hat and set it on the low table in the center of the room, then set about unbuckling his weapons. He wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the blankets, but rest would have to wait a bit longer.

Porthos gave him a look and gamely started unfastening his coat, anticipating what Aramis wanted. "You only have this big bed and that washtub because you make the landlady think you're in love with her."

Aramis, shirtless now, put a hand over his heart and made a show of reeling back from the insult. "I'll have you know that the madame is well into her twilight years, and simply enjoys the attentions of a well groomed man in uniform. There is nothing underhanded about it. And speaking of grooming, get those boots off. We're having a bath."

Porthos groaned. "Must we, Aramis? I just want to sleep. We can bathe in the morning."

Aramis went to the bed and knelt on the floor, forcibly yanking off one and then the other of Porthos' boots and wrinkling his nose at the smell of sweaty feet. "We really must. That wound needs cleansing, and I'll not have the pair of us wallowing in my sheets smelling of days on horseback."

"But we can wallow in them smelling of rosewater?" Porthos sniped, rising to his feet.

Aramis blinked at the odd tone in Porthos' voice. "Yes. Now go sit in the tub, I'll carry the water[ii]."

It took several trips and a stop to reassure the madame that he wasn't a footpad[iii], but Aramis eventually had the tub filled and was able to join Porthos with a cloth and his little dish of soap, grumpily negotiating who had to put their feet where in the cramped tub.

"The water is cold. And it stings," Porthos complained.

"Yes, so you always say." Aramis wet the cloth and worked it into a lather, then passed it to Porthos. "Now cleanse that wound lest you want it to rot. It's not in a place I can amputate, you know."

Porthos grumbled, but did as he was told. Aramis took the opportunity to wash his hair, bending over to dunk his head in the water. Porthos froze next to him, and Aramis belatedly realized that in the act of dunking his head, his face had ended up nearly betwixt Porthos' thighs.

Aramis sat up, water trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his beard, and offered Porthos a saucy wink. "Never fear, Porthos. I've no designs on your virtue."

Porthos scowled and hurled the soapy cloth at Aramis, striking him in the chest. Aramis laughed and started to wash himself, laughing harder when Porthos levered himself up out of the tub.

"I'm going to bed," Porthos growled, his half hard cock bouncing as he left the small room where Aramis had his tub and chamber pot.

Aramis simply reclined in the bath water, reflecting that if bathing with him was enough to make Porthos rise to the occasion, it must have been some time since he had a woman.

[i] Around the time period this takes place in, sleeping with another man's woman was known as 'cuckholding' him. In literature and plays etc., cuckholds were signified by having ram or bull horns on their heads. So when Aramis says he's a ram among rams, it's not what he means, but he's inadvertently called himself a cuckhold. Porthos picks up on that like the snarky princess that he is, and points out that Aramis can't be a ram because he's the one who 'puts horns on other men,' meaning he's the one who makes them cuckholds by sleeping with their women. AND THAT'S THE JOKE.

[ii] In this time period, communal bathing was still a thing amongst people of the same sex in the lower classes because water had to be heated and carried and taking a bath was just really inconvenient okay. So this is not as weird/couple-y as it seems.

[iii] burgler