Ouch. It never ceased to amaze Aramis how no matter how willingly – desperately even – he submitted himself to Athos' correction, once it was begun he found himself cursing himself to high heaven and back for ever being foolish enough to desire it. Athos approached discipline with the same precise forethought with which he approached battle. Striking again and again in precisely the places most dreaded by his victim until they had no choice but to relinquish control and give themselves over to him or else dub him a villain and resist him to the point where the only reasonable course of action left open was to just lay down and die from his attentions. In general, Aramis favoured the first option though he did one day intend to test out the second, the problem being that whenever he tried his body betrayed him and he found himself taking the first course whether he wanted to or not.

Athos was not, of course, a villain. He was in fact one of the most patient and understanding men Aramis had ever had the good fortune to meet. His response to seeing the extremes to which Aramis would go in order to demonstrate his penitence had been met not with pity or disgust but rather with sympathetic respect and, as their friendship grew, a fury that Aramis would treat himself so ill. It had been what had driven Athos to take him in hand when he did – not to humiliate or hurt him but to save him the degradation (and injury) of his own flagellation. Still the comparatively mild pain experienced at Athos' hand burned more deeply and sincerely than any whip or fast had ever done. The compassion with which Athos approached the task sat more easily with Aramis than his own methods had, for the God he knew would never demand his children flay themselves before him for the simple crime of being fallible as he had made them. The first time Athos had done this – all but dragged Aramis away from the scene of his wrongdoing and laid into him with word and hand whilst Aramis lay still and unmoved by his efforts – they had not spoken for days afterwards so appalled had they been. But the next, and the time after that had been so tenderly done despite the humiliation he had felt, and inspired by such concern that Aramis had given in and wept from sheer relief that he was to receive the absolution he so craved without having to spill his own blood to earn it. But oh! How he wished had no such need!

"Am I boring you that your thoughts are so clearly occupied elsewhere?"

Aramis raised his head from where he had been resting his forehead against his clenched fists.

"Pardon?"

"Well," Athos began conversationally, his hand still rising and falling with purposeful cadence, "Wherever you've wandered off to in your mind it clearly isn't here. So the question is fairly asked, am I boring you?"

How in the world Athos could even ask was beyond Aramis. Bored? Clearly Athos had been fortunate enough not to have been on the receiving end of this for some time or else the question would not have crossed his mind. Bored? With Athos' hand slowly creating an inferno in his hindquarters.

"Not...not at all."

"Perhaps I should do something to take your mind off it – whatever 'it' may be?" With that, Aramis felt himself tipping forwards, his boots now barely scuffing at the floor as Athos began laying slap after slap against his tender thighs. "Have I your attention now? Or ought I continue like so?"

Aramis could not help but release the first of what would eventually become many harsh gasps as Athos' swats – which had been by no means insincere – became positively scalding and the pace quickened so that he barely had time to draw breath before the next fell.

"No!" Aramis ground out, his face pushed desperately into the crook of one arm. "No! Athos, you have – you had – my attention already – please, I – I – I … not yet!"

It was too soon! Far, far too soon for Athos to be forcing such sounds from him – already Aramis felt his eyes burning! And no! It was too soon for that!

"Hush, mon ami." Aramis felt the pace lessen, the force become somewhat more tolerable, and, insightful as ever: "Peace, Aramis. You will be here a long while yet. Trust me."

"Always."

If Aramis had deigned to look behind and see his friend's face, he would have been surprised perhaps that it did not show the reluctant fondness he had expected to inspire with such an assertion. As it was, he did not look back and therefore had no warning when Athos' voice – which before had been calm, if a little long-suffering – suddenly turned cool.

"But you don't always, do you?" Athos said after a moment's pause, "You didn't trust me this morning when I told you to hold fire, did you?"

"I..." Aramis shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing, "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, I –"

"You thought me wrong," Athos interrupted, with a particularly sincere smack to emphasise his displeasure at each sentence that followed, "You did not trust that I had properly considered the situation. You did not trust that I had the safety of both captives in mind. You did not trust in my leadership. In my forethought. In my ability to direct a simple rescue mission. And you did not trust that had I the slightest reason to suspect they were about to renege on their word I would have seen us end it before it began!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Not yet."

Aramis bore the harsher blows once more raining down upon him without protest this time – how could he not when he so deserved them? And Athos had as good as told him they had barely begun. And yet, as he closed his eyes, Aramis felt something deep within him begin to uncoil – yes, he had done wrong but now here came familiar, blessed pain to cleanse his sin. He felt the change as he knew Athos did. Beneath him, Athos shifted again until Aramis was pulled tight against him, and his feet could finally find purchase once more against the floorboards. The pain eased a little, the smacks still burning but bearable and all the while Aramis could feel Athos' keen eyes upon him waiting for the opportune movement to move on.

"You put d'Artagnan in danger, Aramis," Athos said bluntly after several minutes silence.

"I know."

"You put the girl in danger."

"Yes."

"All because you couldn't follow a simple order."

"...I know."

"Treville thinks you flout my authority because you feel overlooked by our superiors. He thinks you resent my giving you orders."

"That isn't true!" Aramis could not help but force himself upwards and look aghast at the older man. Athos' hand stilled but he studiously kept his gaze lowered until Aramis spoke again. "Athos," he said, his voice breaking a little over the name,"I don't. You cannot think that of me! He's...he's wrong!"

"I know. But I don't know what else to tell him." Athos cast a plaintive look at Aramis and Aramis found himself wondering once again what had passed between his friend and Treville once he had been dismissed. "What happened? For God's sake, Aramis, why did you shoot?"

The breath caught in Aramis' throat and he felt tears pricking at his eyes despite doing his damnedest to stop it. How could he tell Athos? Brave, unflinching Athos who never lost his composure no matter the situation. For god's sake, was he not a grown man and one of the king's own musketeers? Had he not earned his place through sheer determination and fearlessness? Had he not lived through countless more perilous missions and with far greater consequences if he failed? How could he admit even to his friend – his brother who trusted him – that he had panicked?

"I..." he stopped, eyes downcast until finally, unable to face Athos' sincere concern any longer, he turned and laid himself down once more praying that as always Athos would understand the silent invitation.

He was not disappointed. No sooner had Aramis retaken his previous position than Athos hand descended with an almighty great slap to the very seat of Aramis' backside. The smacks that followed fell like thunder claps, each one flashing white light across his vision where he pressed his hands against his eyes. It hurt – oh god! It hurt! - but how could his cowardice, his betrayal of everything he cared for, be cleansed by so tenderly given a punishment. Even as the ordeal continued Aramis could feel the gentle motions of a thumb rubbing gently against his back in such contrast to the relentless punishment being visited upon him. He could sense Athos waiting for the very moment he would give in and admit his shame. It was both a blessing and a curse that over the years Athos seemed to have come to know instinctively when Aramis was holding back out of wilfulness or of fear – not fear of further consequence but fear of appearing less somehow than he would have Athos think of him. It was as well that he seemed to know precisely the best way to break Aramis' defences in either case, or else Aramis feared he would never sit a horse again.