AN: The original chapter! This is the one I wrote first after receiving a prompt from LancelotTheBrave on my Tumblr: "I need a smutty oneshot where Athos bares his throat to Porthos for whatever reason, could be anything, just smutty."

So, fair warning, this chapter is about Athos learning to bend and maybe liking it a little. Contains swearing, angry!Porthos, power dynamics, Athos/Porthos smut, switch!Athos.

Bull in a China Shop

"Just a little change,
Small, to say the least.
Both a little scared,
Neither one prepared."
- 'Beauty and the Beast'

"I'll fuckin' kill 'im."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Aramis needs us here," Athos remarked neutrally, but threaded a command in with it, unnerved by Porthos' rapidly escalating rage, by the reckless edge to his fury.

How many weeks had passed since they had settled into a tenuous agreement, Porthos just barely following his commands during the day and then bruising his skin with kisses in the evenings?

He should have known that it wouldn't last.

Porthos stabbed a finger in the closed door's direction. "He's out cold 'cause some Guard bastard jumped 'im!"

Athos raised an eyebrow, deliberately maintaining an air of calm to try and soften Porthos' wrath. "Do you think revenge will heal his bruises, soothe his dignity?"

"It'll soothe my fuckin' anger," Porthos muttered, but it was without the bite of before and Athos nearly sighed in relief. Porthos was protective at the best of times, but when one of them was badly injured, he threw sense out of the window and hungered for revenge in the fiercest possible fashion.

It was endearing in a blood-thirsty sort of way, but they couldn't risk a reprisal from Richelieu right now, certainly not when Aramis needed them. "This isn't about you," he reminded quietly, hoping to nip this in the bud.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Porthos' rage returned, its slumber short-lived and all the worse for it. "We weren't there to protect 'im!"

And there was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Aramis had insisted that he go alone to meet the courier – it's in broad daylight, Porthos, calm down – and Athos had agreed to it, unable to deny Aramis and a little pleased to deny Porthos.

In all honesty, the only reason that Athos wasn't out for blood himself was because Aramis was fine. It had started with a nasty concussion and then he had nearly gored himself on his attacker's shoddily held knife, but it was nothing a few days of rest wouldn't fix.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Porthos.

Porthos' anger was like a roaring fire, it crackled at the edges and threatened to consume everything in its path, but Athos would not let it pass him to have Porthos burn them all.

A part of him wanted to growl in Porthos' face, to shove Porthos' intimidating rage in his own face for once. Athos felt tormented, attacked by Porthos' subtle jab for not protecting Aramis. He thought that they had gotten past this, that Porthos knew where the land lay and that Athos needed to do this, to protect them all.

Porthos had simply brought that wall back up to its full height again, the one that separated lovers and Musketeers; Athos would defend his side of the wall with his teeth if it kept Porthos from doing something senseless.

He just hoped that Porthos listened to him.

"He doesn't need you to protect him, Porthos," he said icily, and threw his figurative cards onto the cable, playing the ace he always kept hidden in his sleeve – a trick that Porthos had taught him. "You are not the leader here."

Porthos stilled, and when Athos met his gaze, it was to look into the eyes of a berserker from the tales of old. Unexpected fear ran a tingling trail up his spine, as if he was staring down a tiger intent on tearing its mate's attacker to shreds. "What'd you just say?"

Athos gritted his teeth against the sound of that deadly threat wrapped in his lover's voice. "I do not give you permission to hunt down Aramis' attacker, not now."

Porthos' lip raised into a snarl, something disbelieving and furious in his dark eyes. "Y'know we don't bring that leader shit up 'ere. I let you lead when we're on the road but-"

"Do you?" he interrupted, dark interest laden in his tone. "Do you let me lead?" There was a faint flicker of regret across Porthos' face before the snarl returned.

"Who we are out there ain't nothin' to do with us, with the three of us."

Athos stood his ground even though he half-wanted to relent. "It is when you force me to lead. I might have insisted on you going with Aramis if you hadn't been so bloody minded about him going alone."

"So you're deliberately bein' an ass?"

"I'm deliberately leading," he gritted out, forcing his voice to neutrality, "because I'm not the one who thinks it's a good idea to hunt down Guards." His lip curled almost enough to bare his teeth. "The right to lead is mine, as are you, Musketeer."

Porthos' scarred eyelid twitched and menace was a rumble in his words. "Don't turn this into Musketeer business, Athos."

"We are always Musketeers," he snapped, tired of the discussion, of Porthos thinking with his heart and not his head, of being forced to command when he wanted only to comfort. "Everything we do is Musketeer business."

"This is about Aramis!"

Athos took a measured breath and deliberately stepped between Porthos and the door, acutely aware that it was like standing in front of a rampaging beast. "Is it?" he asked lowly, "Or is it simply you looking for a fight?"

Porthos jerked as if Athos had shot him, and when Porthos' fingers curled in on themselves and something cold glinted in his dark eyes, Athos knew – somewhere deep inside where terror still reigned over the civilised parts of him – that he had crossed a line.

"Porthos-" He cut himself off when Porthos' chin rose in a jerk, mindless rage looming at him until Athos felt an almost overpowering urge to flee from the power of it.

But that wasn't what he did; he was the one who stood up to Porthos' rage and fought him down from it, that was how he always did it.

This time felt different.

The control was truly slipping from his fingers.

"Move," Porthos whispered, and the words were barely discernible through the growl of uncontrolled anger.

"No."

Porthos took a step towards him and Athos' mind nearly blanked from shock. This had never happened before, Porthos always backed down from him, always.

"I'm gonna get past you, Athos, an' then I'm gonna tear a hole in every Guard I see for what that fucker did to Aramis." Porthos' voice was disturbingly flat, as if his murderous spree was already decided and Athos could do nothing to stop him.

He tried again stubbornly, not allowing the power dynamic to shift so drastically, not alter his place in their relationship, in their world. "Porthos, no-"

"Tell me 'no' one more time, Athos, an' I won't stop 'til I've gutted the Cardinal, too."

Athos reeled backwards, instinctively reacting to the pure intimidation that Porthos was exuding. Distress simmered under Athos' skin, his mind playing out exactly what would happen if he let Porthos go, if he didn't stop him.

He would not let them go to the gallows, but his commands weren't working, his orders weren't heeded. In fact, his usual responses were making everything worse, and Porthos was worrying him, that cold rage in his eyes was so unlike the Porthos that he and Aramis loved.

Porthos was lost to his anger. Athos knew that he had to do something, anything to calm him down, to keep them all safe; he had to show this feral animal that Porthos had become that he was no threat-

Realisation hit like a wave, reluctance pouring through him until he thought that he might be sick.

There was only one other time Porthos had been like this, and he only knew about it because he had been away when it happened, and Aramis had told him about it upon his return, hushed tones over a bottle of wine as Porthos slept in the next room.

But Aramis had grinned with the telling, a flash of fire in his smile and suck marks on his neck that had made Athos pull him into his lap and demand he arch in just the same way that he had for Porthos.

There was only one way to bring Porthos down from that terrifyingly high peak, only one way to show the protective tiger that everything would be okay, and it was something that Athos had refused to do ever since he had sent his wife to that tree.

Porthos' already worn patience snapped; he approached, footsteps loud and threatening, lip raised in a silent snarl, violence written in every line of his body.

Athos lowered his eyes to the floor, forcing them to stay there even though his instincts were roaring at him to stand tall and fight.

Porthos stilled, his gaze roaming over Athos' body until he felt it like weight, hot and heavy and infuriatingly dominant.

Athos closed his eyes, forced the tension from his shoulders and, overcoming every survival trait that he had cultivated after Anne's hanging, he tilted his head and bared his neck. Vulnerability was a scream in his thoughts, but Porthos' safety overrode it all.

Athos would bend, it felt so close to breaking, and he hated it – but he would do it for Porthos, for the three of them.

When nothing happened, the air deathly still, his natural authority would not let him simply stand there for the slaughter. He met Porthos' gobsmacked gaze with a challenging one, and murmured, "Well?"

The tension cracked like a whip.

Porthos lunged for him. The wall met his back as Porthos' palms slammed against the stone beside his head, one dropping to drag across his hip and clench. Pain sparked deliciously in his neck as teeth caught his jugular and held him in place, Porthos crowding him until he couldn't move an inch even if he wanted to.

The submission burned, but it was unexpectedly intoxicating. Athos obeyed a long-repressed – but still very small – urge, and arched to expose his neck further. Porthos' growl of approval was like kindling to the fire, a smile sparking at Athos' lips when Porthos' attention was wholly diverted from his path of destruction.

He finally understood why Aramis played the part that he did, it was power in the most sensual of ways.

Porthos' anger had morphed into intense lust and he tugged at Athos' waist, trying to propel him towards the bedroom, an invitation that he had no trouble denying even when he wasn't trying to distract Porthos.

It was that eagerness, of course, that confused Porthos when they were on the road, because Athos could compose himself then, keep his mind on the task at hand.

Right now, the task at hand was unquestionably: Porthos.

"Aramis is sleeping," he panted, surprised by the huskiness of his voice. "Here, I want you here."

Porthos paused to lick the marks his teeth had made with an amused huff. "You an' your fuckin' orders, Athos."

Porthos pushed closer, pinning him against the wall again until all Athos could feel was hard, heated muscle against every inch of his body. It was startlingly reassuring to feel shielded from the world. Aramis and Porthos knew that he was the one who kept watch whilst on the road, and it felt ever so comforting to let someone else do the watching for a while.

Even if he did still have his ear cocked for movement, he knew that Porthos would be his buffer for anyone that might walk through the door.

Athos might even be able to relax, just a small amount, mind; just enough to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime bending for the protective man at his throat.

Porthos' mouth laved heat over the blooming bruise, sending desire spiralling through Athos until he tipped his head back against the wall and hissed, "The orders are for your own good."

To his own annoyance, he cried out when Porthos bit him in reprimand, teeth finding the exact same spot as before to make him shudder. "Not in here they ain't."

"Is that so?" he asked, wondering exactly when he had handed the reins over, and whether it was actually Aramis who had held them all of this time with his charming and affectionate manipulation.

They both did whatever he wanted, didn't they? And orders had never crossed Aramis' lips.

"Yeah," Porthos murmured against his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe until he shivered, "In here? You're mine." Athos bucked involuntarily as lust shot through him, and he opened his mouth hungrily when Porthos dipped to press their lips together.

The taste of Porthos' tongue was like the sweetest of oils, but when Porthos pulled back to grin lazily at him, Athos forced a disinterested sigh, "No, you're mine, Musketeer."

Porthos' eyes flashed predatorily, and then he spun Athos around until his forearms crashed onto the dresser and he had to grab for the three conkers that almost rolled off. One of Porthos' hands reached around Athos' waist and the other tugged at his own breeches, and Athos couldn't stop the needy noise that came from his throat.

This wasn't him, he was the leader, he should be the one giving the orders, not submitting to the delicious roughness of Porthos' hands.

A clink of a bottle, a kiss against his spine, fingers on his hip that tried to pet but bruised in the most wonderful of ways instead.

He realised with a strangely thrilled lurch of his stomach that, for once, he was definitely not in control.

There was a heady moment where Athos realised that he had distracted Porthos with sex, but then Porthos thrust into him with slippery ease and everything fractured into blinding light, his cry mingling with Porthos' groan.

Athos tried to stand, to reassert some authority, but then Porthos' fingers tangled in his hair and tugged until he fell forwards onto his palms. "It's for your own good, Athos," Porthos panted, grin outrageously evident in his voice. "Say it."

Athos grimaced, his nails digging into his palms as he resolutely refused. Porthos pulled all the way out and pushed back in with torturous slowness, sliding his hand along Athos' cock at the same time. "Say it."

"It's for my own good!" he snapped desperately when Porthos stilled completely.

A satisfied chuckled filled the sweaty air, "Atta boy."

Athos would have muttered something insulting, some challenge about the practice courts and payment in full, but then Porthos' grip tightened and his pace quickened and Athos was utterly lost to the rhythm.

He must have made a startled noise at the unusual swiftness to Porthos' usual lazy movements, because Porthos pressed fully along his back to murmur against his skin, "I'm rewardin' you, tha's what you always say to us when we're sparrin', right?"

His nod was more of a jerk of his head, but Porthos' hand smoothed through his hair in acknowledgement. "Yeah, 'xactly," a purr across his neck, "so do as your told an' come for me." The order was coupled with a pull at his scalp, the one he firmly maintained that he didn't enjoy. "Now."

Athos felt astonishment like the lash of a whip against every inch of flesh, and to his own abject surprise, arousal overcame him like a wave cresting a ship and he toppled into euphoria.

He came in a storm of curse words and reached back to find Porthos' hand questing for his. Their fingers linked and Athos had just enough sanity left to circle his hips and smirk when Porthos swore viciously.

Aftershocks rolled through him like ripples on a still pond, and when Porthos shuddered against him and more sparks flared behind his eyelids, he mumbled something incoherent about authority being a tricky beast.

Porthos pulled gently on his hair to make him rise, and simply chuckled when Athos glared at him for it. "Do not push your luck, Porthos."

He did not fall onto Porthos' chest, Porthos simply held him there, grinning all the while. "But pushin' my luck with you is the funnest thing I've ever done."

Athos sniffed, aiming for haughty but knowing it sounded pleased. It was ridiculously difficult to be aloof when pleasure was still glowing in every vein. Instead, he pushed against Porthos' shoulders to make him fall into a chair, and focused on retying his breeches.

Porthos obeyed the push without hesitation and, pausing only to press a kiss against Athos' upturned lips that felt almost relieved. Athos realised a little belatedly – his brain was working at about half-capacity right now – that something intrinsic had changed again.

The wall had gone.

Oh, the line was still there, the one that Athos would step over when they stepped outside, but it was permeable now, manageable.

Bizarrely, by bending to Porthos in here, he had solidified the hierarchy out there. As he had trusted Porthos to shield him from the world, Porthos could trust him to do the same.

Athos fingered the warm bruise on his neck a little wonderingly, and mused that love, although not always easy, simply had to be fought for.

As, evidently, did dominance.

"I can't believe you said it," Porthos said in surprise, but there was a distinct amount of smugness there, too, victory a gleam in his tiger's eyes as he laid a protective hand over the three conkers that were still, miraculously, on the dresser.

Athos simply raised an eyebrow, took careful note of the exhausted rise and fall of Porthos' chest, and nonchalantly collected Porthos' breeches and boots so that he couldn't get to them.

"I can't believe you fell for it," he called over his shoulder, and when there were a few seconds of stunned silence followed by a burst of laughter, Athos smirked, feeling lightness take a firm hold of his heart once again, contentment a blooming in his chest.

He smirked until he walked into the bedroom and stopped short on the threshold.

Aramis' eyes were open, clear, and very interested, as a full-blown smile of invitation played about his lips. "Did you arch for him, mon cher?"

Athos paused, ensnared by the gleeful glimmer in Aramis' eyes. "Yes."

Aramis' smile turned deliciously dark. "Show me."

AN: I have almost never written Athos/Porthos smut before, certainly not with Athos being like "HEY, HOLD MY WHIP, BRO", so please let me know what you thought.

Another chapter, perhaps? Porthos obeying Athos' command on the road, Aramis convincing Athos that no one's around for miles...? Let me know! Or, come prompt me at my Tumblr, ComeHitherAshes!