Author'snote : Just a warning guys. From here on in there will be disciplinary spanking of an adult male by a friend/leader/older brother type person (Athos & Aramis). If you don't approve then please save yourself the mental scarring and don't read it.

There was, Athos reflected, something oddly calming about punishing Aramis. He took no pleasure from willingly inflicting pain on any of his brothers though they had often jestingly accused otherwise. But something about knowing the man currently gracing his knees felt the lesson was deserved as much – if not more – as Athos did always served to soothe any lingering doubt in his mind.

There was also great pride to be taken in the fact that, if only for a short time, in Athos Aramis could seek solace and forgiveness from someone other than his silent and unmoved deity. How perfect and yet unconscionably self-serving that Athos was given such opportunity – and, it had to be said, so frequently too – to offer absolution to the one man in his acquaintance from whom he may one day eventually feel worthy enough to seek his own absolution. Unseen by Aramis, Athos shook his head to derail that particular train of thought. Such examinations of motive were entirely unhelpful at such times. Besides which, Athos had only to close his eyes and recall the days events and what gruesome end had almost befallen his brothers to convince himself that his attentions were for the right reasons.

Athos smoothed one hand across the other man's shoulders, unwilling to break the anticipatory silence just yet. He took his time with Aramis – more so than he did d'Artagnan. His contemplative brother felt his guilt so deeply and needed time to come to terms and feel he had suffered in order to take any relief from the punishment. To rush him only served to increase his distress in the long term – how could the slate be wiped clean if the consequence had been over so quickly? And the pain was not what mattered so much as the act of his submitting and enduring it. He had rarely had to use force with Aramis, and when he had done it had usually been so minimal as to make him wonder whether the resistance had been but a show all along meant to coerce him into severity where he had not intended it. In such instances he would indulge his penitent young brother – far better he endure more pain now than be left feeling that his wrongdoing had not been dealt with. As for Athos, any discomfort he may have felt at inflicting more pain than was warranted was still infinitely preferable to that which Aramis would seek to inflict upon himself if he did not.

So, timing was important when it came to Aramis. Not only of the punishment itself but of how long could be allowed to pass between his misbehaviour and Athos' taking him in hand. Too short a time and Aramis was left resentful – confused – to have been reprimanded so soundly when he had not yet had time to reflect upon the severity of his actions, but too long and his manner turned sullen and irritable as his self-reproach grew until it was as much for everyone else's sake as Aramis' that Athos saw to him. All too often there was a compromise to be made between how long Athos could comfortably allow his brother to indulge in his self-reproach, and how long their duties could afford while Athos rid him of it.

Happily, this was not so today. Although the 'incident' had occurred very early that morning and now the light was rapidly fading outside Aramis' shuttered windows, the day had been eventful, the mission (eventually) successful but had left little time for Aramis to languish in his thoughts over-much. Now, with the rest of the evening stretching out before them and neither of them being needed to commence duties until the following afternoon, Athos was perfectly content to allow Aramis a good, long time to enjoy the stern retribution he had earned himself.

"Do you intend to start, or do you wish to daydream a while longer? I only ask because I had hoped to be abed before dawn."

Athos smiled slightly, pulled from his thoughts by the ill-veiled rebuke. Anxious now to have it over with and be at peace once more, Aramis' poor attempt to goad the older man into starting would only cause him to tarry longer over his preparations – six years and Aramis still had yet to learn that. But Aramis was a man of words, and extended silences seemed to unsettle him; that was one of the things that had caused Treville to match them together in the first place – Aramis' incessant need for conversation had filled the long journeys when Athos' withdrawn nature would otherwise have made them unbearable even for himself. And so Athos would not be so cruel as to deny his brother the dialogue he had just invited.

"Where would you like me to start?" Athos asked mildly, moving with languid purpose as he set about lowering Aramis' loosened clothing and pulling him more snugly into position.

Aramis fidgeted, his lips thin but did not reply.

"At the part where you disobeyed my express order not to shoot, thereby giving away our position and jeopardising not only our mission but the lives of both hostages?" Athos had not raised his voice but Aramis flinched and hung his head all the same. "Or when you charged into a fray with a man near twice your size and heavily armed for close combat? Or perhaps the part where you openly accused me of caring more for orders than for the lives of my brothers in front of the boy?"

"Athos...please."

And there it was: the same two words always spoken by each of them when in such a position, their meanings somehow the same and yet worlds apart. Mercy. Have pity, Brother.

Don't do this, Athos. I'll do better next time – my heart (and my pride) cannot bear to feel deserving of this.

Hurt me, Athos. Stop delaying this with words and hurt me. Let me atone for my sins against you and know that I am forgiven.

Athos flexed his gloved hand as he drew back, fisting Aramis' shirt at the small of his back with his other hand.

"I almost got him killed," Aramis murmured miserably, his dark eyes haunted and suddenly seeking his friend's over his shoulder. "Oh God above! What if I had gotten him killed?"

Athos paused, hand still poised to strike. If d'Artagnan had died that day then Aramis too would have been lost – lost to his guilt and self-loathing – and Porthos would have faded into nothingness too until finally, his friends and brothers gone, Athos would have gladly followed. Such was the risk of forming such close bonds as they had when in their sort of employment. But there was a world of difference between losing a brother to ill-luck and more capable foes, and losing one to your own pride and poor judgement – Athos should know.

He had clearly been silent for too long. Left alone with his anguish whilst Athos wallowed in his own, Aramis' body fair trembled from the weight of it. Athos lowered his arm slowly, his hand coming to rest against the small of the younger man's back whilst the other moved to grasp his shoulder firmly.

"What use is it to think of that now?" he said, answering Aramis' distress with frustrated sympathy. "You did not get him killed. d'Artagnan and the girl are alive and unharmed – mostly. Besides which, the way the boy is going on, I'm certain he will repay you the mistake a dozen times or more before his commission is even confirmed."

"How can you sit there and make light of this?" Aramis huffed, turning away in disgust at Athos' attempt at humour. He lowered his head to rest his chin upon folded arms.

"Believe me, Aramis," Athos said, stern once more, "I do not take any of your actions today 'lightly'."

And with that, the first blow fell.