bbcmusketeerskink

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round 2

Round 2

Welcome to the BBC The Musketeers kink meme

The lowdown: You post your prompt, anon or not. Someone else will hopefully fill it (also anon or not). Not for profit, just for fun. And in this case, for king and country.

Anon is on, IP logging is off.

Rules:
No wank
No kink-shaming
Be respectful to everyone
The mod is not your babysitter
Use the warnings
No prompts with characters under the age of 16 in sexual situations, please.
Please keep the discussions in the prompt post to a minimum. We have a discussion post

Mandatory trigger warnings/warnings for both prompts and fills:
non-con/dub-con
abuse (physical and mental)
issues such as racism, sexism, homo-/trans-/-bi-/ace-phobia etc
character death
suicide
self-harm
eating disorders
extreme physical or mental illness
substance abuse (alcohol, drugs, medication)
bullying
gore and horror

If this list misses anything, do let me know, though please understand that if absolutely everything is added this list will never end.

You are encouraged and advised to add additional warnings at your own discretion.

Please make use of the subject line.

If your prompt alludes to the book or any of the other adaptations, please let us know which one.

Lastly, prompt freezes (which I have to say I’m really not fond of) etc will be at the mod’s discretion. I will decide on a prompt cut-off point for prompt posts once I know how fast the meme moves.

Archive:
https://delicious.com/bbcmusketeers

Discussion post:
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/557.html

Official fill post (I strongly suggest you use it for better visibility of your fills):
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/418.html

Mod contact post
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1356.html

New updates:
- Extras fill post for the free for all rounds (as much as I hate dividing the meme even more.)
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1823.html

- To answer a question going around in the discussion post, here's a small guideline: If you're unsure about something, either decide by yourself how you want to fill it and see if OP likes it or not or communicate with OP via aksing questions.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'd like Porthos to finally lose it over Aramis' risk taking - throwing himself on bombs, not flinching when people are shooting at them (maybe sleeping with the Queen if you also wish to include that).

He hauls Aramis off to his room and ends up giving him a sound thrashing (a spanking, not a beating). Only it has an unanticipated side-effect in that it causes all those years of unresolved sexual tension to spill over, finally.

I'd love it if this leads them into the early stages of sub/dom negotiation. Maybe this is an aspect of themselves that neither of them has really explored before.

I miss my keyboard

Warning: non-con spanking. Worse still, not beta-read.

1.

The first time it goes like this.

A musket ball drills a hole in Aramis' hat. It's a close call of course, but Aramis can't quite make himself believe that this is what actually pushes Porthos over the edge.They're soldiers, after all. Close calls are their profession. Now, he can admit, that perhaps it had been in poor taste to poke his fingers through the hole to wave at his friends. But even that didn't really merit more than, say, a scowl or a slap to the shoulder.

Ignorant as Aramis might be about what exactly has sparked the anger, he's far from unaware of its existance. How could he be when it's there in Porthos' tight shoulders and closed-off face for any fool to see. Nor does he miss how it grows and deepens as the hours pass until Porthos' voice turns into nothing short of a growl and his eyes take on the color of late summer thunderclouds.

So, it comes as no surprise when he's grabbed by the neck and pulled away from his dinner. Athos doesn't even react and d'Artagnan just reaches out to snag Aramis' plate for his own. Some friends, Aramis thinks sourly, preparing himself for one of Porthos' particular brand of scoldings. Instead Porthos just frog-marches him out of the tavern and down the street. The cool evening air does nothing to slow his step or lessen the force behind his bruising grip. Aramis bites his tongue and refrains from struggling. He could break free, but not without a lot of embarrassing wiggling and flailing.

Porthos takes him to his own rooms, and locks the door behind them. Something in Aramis' belly stirs then, something small and hopeful and eager. But no, there's no tenderness in the way Porthos pushes him towards the bed. And it's not lust, but anger which dulls his friend's eyes as he sits down on the edge of the mattress, tugs Aramis' breeches down to his knees and pulls Aramis down over his lap.

Later, Aramis will wonder why he didn't put up more of a fight. Why he didn't kick or hit or yell instead of just twisting and squirming. Part of the truth is perhaps that he's never been scared of Porthos -- how could he be when he knows what a good and kind heart beats in thát broad chest - but the other part doesn't bear being examined too closely.

The first scorching swat takes him by surprise. So does the second and third, landing on the same spot mere seconds after each other.

He doesn't yell. He has too much pride for that. Besides, it doesn't hurt too much. Not yet anyway.

"Have you gone mad?" he asks instead, pushing at Porthos' thick thigh with one hand while pulling at the heavy arm resting across his back with the other. Porthos doesn't reply, just adjusts his grip on Aramis so that both his hands end up pinned against the small of his back. It's perhaps the most undignified position Aramis has ever found himself in. Even his mother, bless her, had never just turned him upside down like this. Of course, they had all said that she'd spoiled him rotten but Aramis had always held fast that the smallest sign of disappointment on her face had hurt him more than a dozen blows with a belt ever could have done.

Now though, being held in place like this, with the flat of Porthos' palm slapping against his behind... he's no longer so sure.

He loses count of the blows. At some point, he kicks out with his feet, only for Porthos to switch his assault from Aramis' buttocks to his upper thighs. Aramis yelps then, just the once, before biting down on his lip. After that he just hangs there limply, absorbing the swats. His entire body rocks with the force of the blows. Aramis has never spent much time out on the open waters beyond the coast, but he imagines this must be what it's like to give in to the ocean. The pain -- a warm and steady throb, a far cry from the burn of a cut or the flames of a musket wound -- crashes over him like waves.

Eventually, he realizes that Porthos has begun talking.

"- not going to happen, you understand, I'm not going to let it happen, I won't let you waste away the best thing that ever happened to me, you stubborn, selfish..."

He punctuates the words with blows, the rhythm changing into something unpredictable. Aramis blinks and drags himself out of his strange haze.

"Porthos," he says, slurring on the familiar name. "Enough, already. Be a good man and let me up now."

For reasons only known to himself, Porthos seems to listen. He pushes Aramis down from his knees, onto the floor. The sudden loss -- of what, Aramis isn't sure, but his body suddenly vibrates with heartbreak -- has him blinking away tears.

"What the hell was that?" he asks, his voice coming out thick and hurt. This is not who he wants to be -- not ever, but especially not here and now with Porthos as a witness -- but his famous cool is nowhere to be found. He feels naked and exposed, in ways with have norhng to do with his state of undress. Still, he struggles to get dressed, still kneeling on the floor by Porthos' feet, hissng as the leather drags across his bruised flesh.

"What on Earth possessed you," he says, the words just spilling out of his mouth. "What were you thinking?"

Porthos stares down at him, his eyes angry and dark and just as wet as Aramis'.

"What were you thinking?" Aramis demands again, forcing himself to stand up rather than crawl back into Porthos' lap.

Porthos' mouth opens and closes. Aramis steels himself for the answer, but nothing could have prepared him for the desperation in Porthos' voice.

"That I'm going to lose you."

And with that, he leaves.

OMG! You're filling my prompt :D This is perfect.

I loved all this: from the part where d'Artagnan swipes his plate (I can envision him doing that) to the description of what's going on in Aramis' head during the spanking.

I look forward to reading more. Thank you, anon.

Glad you liked it! ;-) Anything in particular you want for the next chapter?

I honestly hadn't thought of anything specific. I just like the idea of them being overwhelmed by their inclinations at first, before they both realize that they match one another, and they won't judge each other for it.

I guess, as the dom, I'd like Porthos to come to terms with how he feels first. I'd love something from his pov too, if that would be ok?

I have a bit of a thing for people being tied down and told what to do. Also, if Porthos wants to to bring out the 17th century sex toys that's fine ;)

I really want more of this!

Working on it :-)

Waiting patiently *bites fingers nails*

Why no chapter two? *sob*

Real life demands ALL my time just now. But it's coming!

*hugs you* Also, yay!

Not Op, but I will wait patiently too!

Is this still ongoing? I was going to prompt a spanking fic, but this is excellent!

This is great! All the conflicted feelings, Aramis letting Porthos push him around and not putting up much of a fight... This is pretty much exactly what I was hoping for. I do hope you'll continue?

Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, OP. It's short and a bit heavy on the Porthos angst, but the next part should be more balanced I hope. Thanks for being so patient and not giving up on the story!

(First part here: http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1213.html?thread=1312445#cmt1312445)

2.

Porthos doesn't make it home that night.

He staggers down the road, like a drunkard or a mad man. His breath comes in uneven gulps and he's aware that he's trembling. He feels as if he's suffering from an illness, a fever that's wrecking his body and clouding his mind. He rubs his hands across his face only to wrench his right hand away as he feels how hot and swollen the palm has turned. Remembering all too clearly the cause of it, Porthos' stomach rolls and he stumbles forward, hunching over as he throws up against the side of a building.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he then stumbles towards the stables. His rooms seem too far away and, besides, he doesn't feel as if he deserves the comforts of his warm bed. Not when he's gone and ruined everything.

The memory of Aramis' face flashes before him; those familiar eyes so dark and wide, his cheeks flushed with exertion and his lower lip swollen and raw, as if Aramis had bitten into it to keep from moaning. It's as if Porthos has been given a taste from the sweetest of dreams, only for it to turn sour on his tongue. A gift stolen could, after all, hardly be called a gift at all. Porthos' fingers curl into a fist and he slams his hand hard against the stone wall, leaving skin and blood behind on the rough surface.

He curses Aramis for his damned infuriating disregard for his own safety. And for following Porthos, so easily, from the tavern with that ridiculous, maddening smirk on his face. And for going along with Porthos' madness, without putting up even a token of a fight. They'd grappled before, more times than Porthos cared to count, and he was intimately familiar with just how dirty his friend could fight if cornered. But now, with their friendship on the line, Aramis had just... yielded.

And rather than letting this unexpected and uncharacteristic meekness cool his temper, Porthos had allowed it to inflame him. As Aramis had stilled, warm and boneless in his sprawl over Porthos' lap, anger had given way to... something else. Something Porthos wouldn't, couldn't name. Not even in the privacy of his own mind.

He curses himself, twice over. Anger and guilt tears at him, ripping him up inside. He curses himself for a fool. A villain. A beast. Oh, he thinks, bitterness filling his thoughts as he paces back and forth, just look at Porthos. Clawing his way from the gutter, clothing himself in fine leather and the King's royal blue and playing at being a good man. Pretending to be something he's not. The voice in his head, filled with loathing, sounds nothing like his own. It's the voice of the judge who'd sentenced him to die without a fair hearing, and of all other men like him.

Porthos eventually finds a spot to rest, near a scrawny young bitch with a littler of pups. She growls at him as he sinks down in the hay, a clear warning to keep away from her charges. Taking the warning to heart, he keeps his distance as he leans back against the wall and stretches out his legs in front of him.

As the sun begins to rise, the darkness giving way to dawn, he falls asleep, haunted not by the sound of blows against naked flesh but rather by the look in Aramis' eyes as Porthos had pushed him away.

(tbc)

Oh..My..God..AMAZING! I'm so glad you are continuing this! Well done. I love how well you express what Porthos is feeling, very eloquent, yet raw. Wonderful combination, so very much like Porthos himself. I hope the next part will be up soon?

Thank you! Really glad someone liked it! Have the next part mapped out in my head. Just need to find the time to write it.

I'm sorry to be so late reading this, but I told myself to be patient and stop checking the thread all the time! ;)

Poor Porthos, I really feel for him here. You've captured his conflicting thoughts and emotions really well.

I'm excited for the next part :D

Yes! More please.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Round 2

Aramis/Porthos discipline (spanking) leads to sub/dom negotation

Negotiation - sorry, trying to type on tiny touch screen

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