Aramis sat at the table and watched d'Artagnan simmer. The boy had been cooking up a simply fascinating foul temper for the past few days that awoke no small amount of admiration within the Spaniard.
A concoction of circumstances had led to this state. First, take the tensions of the past weeks under the rule of d'Melliuor and its unsatisfactorily bloodless conclusion, secondly; add the week's holiday granted to them by Treville – in d'Artagnan's case, an enforced rest that grated on his impatient young nerves. The boy had been bouncing around Paris for the better part of five days, being belligerent to the Red Guards at every opportunity in hopes of stirring up some cathartic violence. Thirdly, and no small part of the young man's current temper, was the looming threat of unfinished business between Aramis and himself.
Aramis remembered his own trepidation when awaiting similar impending doom during his youth, and envied the boy not one bit.
Currently d'Artagnan was attempting to goad Porthos into a fistfight with a Red Guard whom he insisted had given his friend insult.
Aware of the true cause, and not yet deep enough into his cups that he could be so easily persuaded to make trouble, Porthos simply grinned and made a joke at the Guard's expense.
It was by happy chance that Athos had been called away that night; his presence always served to subdue d'Artagnan's more reckless nature at a time when the lad truly needed an excuse to be a wilful brat.
Seeing that the boy was about to continue his urging, or worse; make an attack of his own, Aramis kicked his heels from the table and rose.
"Time to take our leave, I think."
D'Artagnan, his train of thought interrupted, squinted up at the Spaniard. "What? It's barely midnight. Surely you're not already so far soused?"
Porthos snorted at the inelegant mode of attack, sinking his nose into his mug to avoid the boy's glare.
"I find the wine sour tonight," Aramis said by way of explanation. "Or perhaps it is the company."
D'Artagnan's expression turned sullen at that. "My apologies," he said completely without sincerity. "Perhaps you can find one of your many bedmates to provide you with better entertainment."
It was a silly barb, the teeth blunted, but the intention was there. Aramis, smile still in place, leant over the boy, hands resting upon his chair arms as his lips came close to d'Artagnan's ear.
"I said to you once before that I was not your whipping boy, petit Gascon," he said, his voice a velvet steel whisper. "I was hoping to allow you further time to heal before we revisited that conversation but it seems it is long overdue. Now, will you walk with me, or must I carry you out?"
D'Artagnan's ear was flushed bright red. When Aramis drew back he saw that the rest of his face was a similar shade, but the eyes were hard and confrontational. He sighed and before the boy had time to think, dropped his shoulder, grasping d'Artagnan's legs and swinging him up into an over-the-shoulder carry as one would a sack of meal.
After an initial gasp of shock and horror, d'Artagnan began to bellow.
Aramis gave the inn's startled clientele a wide toothed smile as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on, and nodded to Porthos briefly before heading to the door.
As much as the boy shouted and struggled he was powerless to stop Aramis as he carried him down the streets. Thankfully a chill rain was keeping most of the inhabitants from the streets, though a heavy dose of humiliation would not have currently gone amiss.
"By all means continue your struggles," Aramis said cheerfully, "I am certainly not troubled by a crowd, but if it is attention you seek I can give you your thrashing here and now, if you like."
D'Artagnan paused mid shout, his body tensing as his sentence was laid out.
"You wouldn't dare," he said in hushed mortification.
"Young sir, you will find me far more open to temptation than Porthos this night."
That quietened him. D'Artagnan lay still for several long moments allowing Aramis to carry him the not-short distance to his residence. Now that he lay unresisting those that passed gave them very little mind, thinking Aramis was simply escorting an over-indulged friend home to his bed.
"You… you can let me down now," d'Artagnan said quietly, "please? I promise I won't struggle."
"Do you think you deserve to be let down?"
"…No."
Aramis grinned at that admission, jostling the boy into a better position onto his aching shoulder. He was no weakling, but months of hard work and encouragement from his friends to eat well had filled out d'Artagnan's previously painfully lithe form into a soldier's heavier muscle.
Aramis waited long enough to humble the boy and then stopped.
"Can I trust you to behave yourself if I let you down?"
"Yes, Aramis," d'Artagnan said meekly.
"You will not take the opportunity to run away?"
"Of course not!"
"You will not renew your vitriol and vile, blasphemous cursing?"
"…I'm… going to regret that, aren't I?"
Aramis laughed at the lad's humble self-reproach, swinging him down to his feet and steadying him by the shoulders until his blood had settled from its pool at his head. "You have much to repent for, petit Gascon, and are due a long and thorough thrashing. I would not concern yourself overmuch with the specific causes as yet."
D'Artagnan cracked a wry smile at that, his head hung in shame but much closer to the cheery brat of his usual nature. Aramis chuckled once more and ruffled the lad's hair.
"Come, we are not far now from my lodgings."
It was far enough however to allow a good deal of agitation to build within the young penitent. By the time Aramis unlocked his front door, d'Artagnan was near to vibrating with concern. He paused on the step, however, clearly unable to bring himself to cross the threshold. A mixture of dread and confusion wracked his young face.
"I am not such a fearsome beast as all that, am I?" Aramis said from the doorway, only half in jest.
Shocked from his self-contemplation, d'Artagnan replied in the firm negative, hopping quickly past his brother into the cool room beyond. He waited, hands clenching nervously as Aramis began a fire, then mimicked the man's actions as he stripped himself of his sword and pistol.
The room was humble: a simple kitchen with a bed in the curtained alcove to one side. Aramis needed little else, preferring always to entertain any female companions in the luxury and comfort of their own homes. His lodgings were in fact barely used, but the bed was soft and it would suffice for the night's work.
"I don't believe a lecture is required," Aramis said calmly. He shucked off his gloves and laid them carefully on the table, his jerkin following. He began to roll up his shirtsleeves, each move a deliberate ploy to bring his young friend to the edge of his nerves.
"You know why it is we are here and you have certainly done your hardest to encourage a swifter response than that I had intended."
"I did not mean—" d'Artagnan began but was silenced by a raised hand.
"Let us not add lying to your list of sins, petit," Aramis shook his head. He crossed to the bed, sitting down and then fixing d'Artagnan with a stern eye. "Come, and receive what you have asked for."
D'Artagnan's face filled with colour, those words cutting the final threads that held together his temper.
"No," he snarled. "No, I shall not obey your ridiculous demands."
Aramis raised a brow. "You do not have to push me further," he said coolly, "You have earned a thorough and most memorable spanking, Charles, further excesses of temper will not worsen your fate."
"Enough! Stop speaking to me as if I were a fool child," d'Artagnan raged, beginning to pace the small kitchen like a trapped bear. "Why must I answer to you? You are not my superior: not my mentor, nor my captain. This is an abuse of your authority."
Aramis quirked a smile at the contradiction. "Which is it? Have I authority over you or have I not?"
"I—"
"I shall enlighten you, my brother, for you seem confused upon the issue. Though we hold the same rank and take our orders as equals there is one area in which I shall always be the superior, and that is in the matter of your heart."
D'Artagnan paused, jaw clenched and working furiously, unable to deny this truth.
Aramis stayed where he was, denying the boy his chance to fight his fate.
"You have your pride, aye, and I'm sure this shall grate upon it," he said, "but again, and for the last time, I am not d'Melliuor. I shall not force you to take this punishment, not if you truly believe yourself to be without fault. If you accept the place in your heart that I hold, however, then this is the natural consequence of your submission."
D'Artagnan's eyes brimmed suddenly with tears and his shoulders slumped, chin dropping to his chest.
"I... do not wish to be spanked," he whispered wretchedly.
"Do you not?" asked Aramis. His back was straight and his eyes burning with confidence, but beneath the facade his heart hammered with fear. Had he pushed the boy so far that he could not accept this without losing too much face? What would they three do, if his bluff was called and d'Artagnan left their lives, perhaps forever?
"Do you truly not wish to face the consequences of your actions, or is it the pain which you find hard to bear?"
"Neither!" d'Artagnan blurted, his head shooting up to gaze at his brother in open mortification. "I fear neither, Aramis but...!"
"But your pride holds you back?"
D'Artagnan nodded, dropping his head so that his hair covered the first trickle of tears down his sweet, young face.
Aramis stood, taking swift strides over to the boy and once more lifting him, this time hooked under his arm. He returned to the bed, hauling d'Artagnan over his lap and simply holding him there in his gentle, steel grip.
D'Artagnan gave a token effort, kicking and writhing for a long minute before falling still.
"Better?" Aramis asked softly, one hand lifting to card through the boy's hair.
D'Artagnan stiffened briefly and then shuddered, his whole body relaxing into the man's hold.
"Yes, Aramis," he whispered hoarsely.
"You do wish for me to stop?"
The boy shook his head so vehemently that tears scattered upon the wooden floor.
"Very well, mon frère, then I shall begin."