"I have," Aramis began after some time, now laying his head against the side of Athos' knee and frowning slightly towards the door, "the most terrible draught down here."
"Do you indeed?"
Aramis "mm-ed" absently, making a small noise of protest as Athos' hand momentarily stilled its ministrations.
"I can't say I've ever noticed."
"You don't spend as much time on your knees as I do."
Athos did not respond for a moment, the duplicitous meanings of the statement – both of them perfectly true – giving him pause. He looked around, suddenly conscious of the fact that were it not for the narrow strips of moonlight fighting their way into the room, they would be in complete darkness. "I wonder what time it is," he said eventually, for want of anything better to say.
Aramis raised his head a little, seemingly stunned to see the light had faded so much without his noticing.
"Porthos and d'Artagnan will probably be out celebrating until morning."
Athos smiled slightly; it had not gone unnoticed by him that there was neither a request nor an offer to join them. Though the pull of inebriated oblivion was as present as always, its allure was not so strong as it might have been – the contented calm that seemed to have descended upon Aramis was contagious it seemed.
"Am I to understand you want to join them?"
Aramis did not answer at once, sniffing several times before sighing and turning back to rest his chin atop Athos' knee, looking up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "There'll be other times I suppose. But you go... if you want to?"
"I'll only have to drag them both home later." Athos made no move to leave.
"Stay then?"
"I can never get rid of you afterwards," Aramis had once grumbled – uncharacteristically bashful under Porthos' knowing scrutiny – as Athos and he entered the garrison together at dawn the day after one of his more worrisome schemes had gone predictably awry. "You hang about me like a bad smell!"
"You would have it no other way," Athos had replied mildly, having heard many such protests before, "And you made no such protests last night."
Aramis huffed. "Last night I was clearly too overcome to think sense, let alone speak it – as you well know. You took advantage of my hospitable nature."
"You're absolutely right. Perhaps next time I ought to confine you to your rooms in solitude."
"You could give him lines," suggested Porthos, slinging one arm around Aramis' neck and using the other to mime writing in mid-air, "How about: 'I will not piss off Athos – he willlet the bandits keep me next time'."
"Get off!" Aramis snapped, shoving Porthos away with a scowl that did little to conceal the beginnings of his smile.
"There's that hospitable nature of yours again."
"Well, I would hate to insult your hospitable nature," Athos said now, fighting a grin as Aramis scrunched his face up in good-humoured embarrassment.
There had been little point in the exchange, both men having known they would while away the night in each other's company the moment they stepped through the door. Such was their way. Aramis, for all his protestations to the contrary, craved Athos' company after he had been disciplined and Athos could hardly say he felt otherwise. There was satisfaction – peace – to be had in punishing Aramis for his misdeeds but there was greater still to be found in staying with him afterwards and offering him the solace he so needed.
Athos did not like to use the word 'clingy' in reference to his brother – or indeed any grown man – but truly was there any word that better described it? The most that could be said without it was that Aramis became more … affectionate when he had been punished, even more so than usual. It had taken Athos by surprise the first few times – the way he seemed to acquire a second shadow, or feel eyes upon his every move – now though he was resigned to the watchfulness, the near-tripping at every turn. D'Artagnan was so far proving to be just as bad, if not worse.
Often times when he was with either of his youngest friends, Athos would spare a thought for Porthos and wonder if he ever felt himself less-favoured not to be granted the same affection sought by their two more troublesome brothers. Porthos did not require Athos attentions as the others did. He erred certainly, but where Aramis dwelt on his wrongdoings and d'Artagnan rarely spared his a second thought but for when Athos demanded it of him, Porthos seemed to accept his own mistakes more readily than any of them. For that was all they were to him – mistakes – an error in judgement to be learned from and not made again but certainly not to be anguished over as the youngest two did. Porthos seemed to require little more than a sharp word or look and later a squeeze of the shoulder and a badly told joke to set his world to rights. They could all of them be spared so much pain – physical or otherwise – if only they were all a little more like Porthos, Athos reflected.
"Why didn't you just say it?" Athos found himself asking quietly, his earlier disquiet at Aramis' secrecy resurfacing as the younger man gave a particularly pained hiss. "Why did you not admit it and allow me to deal with it as I saw it?"
"Because you wouldn't have 'dealt with it'," Aramis said simply, refusing to look at him. "You'd have had me up and reciting all the reasons why I had done nothing wrong in an instant. You forget I know you too well, my friend."
Athos found he could not argue – though he would dearly have liked to – and instead only sighed. After a few moments' pause, he said irritably, "But why must you do it to me? You allow me to think you will come along willingly and then once I begin you hold out until it's all I can do to keep patting you, let alone anything else."
Aramis said nothing but Athos felt the younger man smile against his knee. He shifted Aramis away from him, crawling higher up the bed until he could sit against the wall with space beside him for Aramis to follow if he were so inclined.
"I just feel that if you know we're going to be about it for days, I think you might warn me."
"Days?" Aramis repeated, standing slowly and peeling his stockings off before easing himself onto the bed beside Athos. "You do exaggerate."
"I'm sure it flies by in a mere moment to you," Athos said, determined to remain aloof and irritable though he raised his right arm as Aramis began to paw at it. "But it certainly feels like days to me sometimes."
"And people think me dramatic," Aramis tutted, though he shuffled down until he rested upon his side with his head cushioned above Athos' hip.
Despite Aramis' apparent annoyance, he still hummed contentedly when Athos lowered his arm again to wrap about the other man's shoulder and pull him in snug.
"I don't mean to," Aramis murmured after a few moments, his voice suddenly hesitant. "I think I want it over and done, but then I start to think of the things I've done – some things you will never agree to punish – and I just...can't help myself. Does it make you angry?"
Athos sighed. "Would you feel compelled to seek punishment elsewhere if I refused you?"
There was a pause as Aramis considered that. Athos wondered if he really needed to think about it, or whether he simply wanted Athos to think he needed to. Wordlessly, Aramis nodded.
"Then no, it does not make me angry." Almost without meaning to, Athos tightened his grip a little. "But I wish you wouldn't."
"It's necessary."
"So you say."
"I hardly know I'm doing it – it's mostly unintentional."
"It's manipulative."
"I'm sorry," Aramis said finally, so quietly that Athos almost missed it. He sounded so heartbroken, Athos thought with a sigh. As though Athos had thrown him aside and raged at him for his selfishness.
"If there is one thing that you and I – all of us, in fact – must never apologise to one another for, it is that we are what our upbringings have made us," Athos said, fingers unconsciously straying to ghost over the thin, silvered weals that licked at the base of Aramis' back. Even now, the better part of a decade after he had first seen them Athos had to consciously force himself not to shudder at the recollection of how they had been – ugly, vicious wounds that had seeped crimson stains into Aramis' uniform and left now nigh-imperceptible flecks of rust-coloured liquid upon Aramis' bedroom floor. Even the memory of it made his heart beat faster in protective rage that anybody could ever have thought his brother not only deserved such pain to be inflicted but had actually taken the time to ensure that he believed it too – enough to inflict it himself for pity's sake!
Aramis did not speak for a long while, but turned his face to stare up at Athos, his dark eyes warm with soft understanding. Wordlessly, he reached behind himself and removed Athos' hand from his back, instead bringing it between them both with his own hand clasping it. Then, finally, his eyes still holding Athos' gaze, raised that hand to his mouth, a reverent brushing of his lips against the back of Athos' hand.
"Thank you..." he said hesitantly, colour rising in his cheeks once more, "for...putting up with me."
They shared a smile at that, both knowing they would not be able to bear it any other way. It gave Athos hope in a way that he saw so much good in Aramis – could find such endless forgiveness for his misdeeds – even when the younger man could not find it in himself. If Aramis, a man of God and The Word, could see goodness in Athos then perhaps his soul was not all as black as he thought.
Final authors note :
If, having got this far, you do not actually like fics of this nature and intend to read it solely to tell me how disgusting and/or OOC it is (which frankly, I did my best with) then I kindly ask that you just don't. Telling me you dislike my style, my pacing, anything really is fine particularly if it's constructive but please don't read it specifically to tell me 'this would never happen in canon' because that's very much irrelevant to fanfiction in general. So please, take into account that there is in fact a person behind this anon who has spent many hours writing it - but please do comment if you've anything constructive. Thank you for reading!