So I wrote a lot of this plot line a few months back between the hours of 12-3am. I was aiming to sleep but funny ideas kept piling in my head! I tried to mentally list/store them all in my head overnight but eventually there was just too many...so, I started writing -and I couldn't stop! XD

Anyways, enough of my rambling, I hope you like this looong first chapter! -This is just the tip of the ice berg!

Enjoy!

The rain was pelting down heavily on the rooftops of Paris, the thick spread landing of raindrops creating a din that left much to be desired for the townspeople below.

Other than the noise, the shared animosity was mostly towards the deep swirling piles of mud that the storm was producing -and mud meant intolerable difficulties with travel and the ensuing frustration.

Such difficulties also lead to moodiness -a particular trait of which seemed to be strongly attached to that of a certain musketeer, one by the name of Athos.

But as luck would have it, Athos' current mood was in fact far from sour on this 'un-fine' evening -for although the man was just beginning to meet the bottom half of his cups, it was the cheery mood of his brothers, the warmth of a fireplace and many free beverages that kept his mind off the gloomy atmosphere of the storm outside.

His family was present, the drinks were on the house -why, he couldn't quite remember- but he wasn't going to argue. Athos simply couldn't ask for more. Why would he be moody?

Just then a sodden trio arrived, bursting through the tavern door noisily to trail muddy boot prints across the wooden beams and over to the warmth of the crackling fire -throwing off their caked, grubby garments and shaking their hear about like wet dogs.

Athos rolled his eyes lazily and smirked, taking his boots off the nearby chair as he patiently waited for them to realize their brother was present in the room.

To Athos' count it took D'artagnan all of two seconds before he slapped Aramis arm and gestured over to his table. Three, white toothy grins pierced through the warm glow of the firelight as they chuckled at the state of the eldest and trundled over -content to leave their garments drying out elsewhere as they took to their new task of getting drunk with their friend.

"Pleasant weather we're having" Athos mused in a level tone, D'artagnan plopping down heavily at his right and snatching at one of the bottles as Aramis took his left and Porthos sat across.

"Oh, just lovely" Porthos replied, voice dripping with good natured sarcasm, "You should go check it out for yourself! Wouldn't want to miss the beauty of Pairs in the rain" he added, swiping up a cup offered from the 'whelp' and downing it in one.

Athos promptly shook his head, "Sorry, brother, but I must politely decline…I doubt I'd be able to 'appreciate its beauty' at present as I can hardly see past these three blurred fools -let alone walk" he finished, wittily, his smart mouth coming out to play.

"I believe he just insulted us" Aramis pointed out, elbowing Porthos and eyeing D'artagnan before frowning back at Athos in mock offence.

"An accurate observation" Athos teased, taking another long swig of his wine and smiling over his cup.

D'artagnan raised a curious eyebrow, "Uh, exactly how many of those have you had, Athos?" he asked honestly, doing a rough count of the two empty bottles on the table and the third which was now half drained.

His brother sure could hold his liquor -though D'artagnan wasn't sure he should be impressed by that.

"Not enough" Athos retorted as he protectively shifted the bottle away from the youngest, "I can barely taste the stuff"

D'artagnan rolled his eyes and gave in, choosing to down his second cup before Athos could think to take that back too.

Chuckling at his brothers antics, Aramis allowed a slight lull of silence to smooth over the atmosphere before a grin spread across his features and he began to slowly but surely steer the addled conversation towards one of his favourite drinking games.

Of course, Athos had seen it coming from a mile off, for Aramis' habits were to be expected by now.

Porthos had melons, he had wine, D'artagnan had his love of horses and lust for adventure and, well, Aramis had his games…and women.

And so the 'What if' game began.

Athos made sure to lean back into his cups as his brothers' teasing heightened and threats were alluded to once every few sentences.

Wisely, D'artagnan chose to taper off with his insults too when Porthos threatened his 'perfect, shiny hair' with melon juice and manure.

Athos smiled and offered the lad a cup who received it hastily. From here it was just a matter of watching the spectacle before them unfold. Athos could tell this was going to end nowhere good, but he was much too relaxed and nonchalant at this point to do much about it.

Aramis had asked for it -and frankly, Porthos should know better.

"What if I shaved your beard off while you were sleeping?" Aramis teased; the idea striking his fancy as he saw Porthos rubbing his beard affectionately -searching for a good comeback.

For a brief moment, Porthos looked terrified by the possible threat, but it wasn't long before his wide eyes turned to slits and he was grinning back at his brother evilly.

"Wha' if I held you down a shaved your head -while you're awake? Porthos threatened.

Aramis leaned back instinctively and clapped his hat over his head protectively, "Touché" he added with a gulp. No one was touching a single hair on his head, not if he could help it.

"What if I made you breakfast tomorrow?" Aramis offered in peace, leaning forward in a friendly manner and giving an honest smile.

But Porthos shook his head and wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Wha' if I told you, you couldn't cook a decent meal to save your life" Porthos retorted.

Aramis mocked an expression of hurt and settled back in his chair -taking a sip of wine as he laid off his brother for a moment and rested his mind on pleasanter things -like a full head of hair.

He dearly hoped these trading barbs wouldn't become his reality come morning.

Three glasses of wine later, however, Aramis' bravery had returned and his tongue became as sharp as ever.

"What if I decided to poison you for being rude?" Aramis dared, toothy grin back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Nothing too strong of course" he added with a wink.

"What if I find a frying pan to fit your face?" Porthos grunted seriously, eyes unwavering on that of his friend.

Undeterred by the promising threat, Aramis boldly surged forwards with a random confession that he knew would rile his brother up.

"What if I told you I borrowed you shirt?" Aramis questioned vaguely, smirk becoming the corner of his lips.

"What if I told you, you better not have" Porthos growled, expression turning darker every second. He only had a few shirts, and he loved them all equally.

"What if I gave you a new one for compensation?" Aramis gestured to his purse, smile wilting slightly at the murderous looks he was now receiving and coming to the conclusion that perhaps it hadn't been the brightest idea to provoke Porthos.

Aramis caught Athos smirking and shot him a glare. The man appeared to be totally un-phased but when it landed on a giggling D'artagnan the boy was quick to seal his lips and avert his eyes.

"What if I told you I don't care, I want my own shirt back" Porthos complained.

"What if I told you …I may have accidentally forgot it at Madame LaRues?" Aramis admitted rather than questioned -backing up as Porthos tried to swat at him angrily.

D'artagnan smiled at the duo, happy for the entertainment but quick to think up a way to defuse the escalating situation.

Placing another free bottle in front of Porthos, D'artagnan stepped into the fray and offered up a distraction, "This is getting mighty old fellas -but I've got a new game we can play!" he added optimistically.

Three sets of eyes turned to his, one pair grateful, while the others seemed slightly miffed at the daunting proposition.

"Do tell" Athos replied sarcastically as he put his boots up onto an idle chair and lounged further back.

If the others weren't going to volunteer, then the only way to save his own skin would be to volunteer them in his place -and introduce them first.

Not one to waste an opportunity, D'artagnan continued on ahead, "-It's a game of 'Rathers'" D'artagnan began.

"What? Like 'I'd rather I got my shirt back?" Porthos suggested with a scowl to Aramis.

"Oh would you get over it already! Its just one shirt! I'll get you another!" Aramis cut in exhaustedly, "Besides, it was smelling rather unpleasant…you wouldn't want it back."

Determined to stay focused, D'artagnan quickly redirected their attention as he began to ramble loudly over their argument, "You simply ask another person if they would rather do one thing over the other…it can get pretty -dark" he added provocatively, with a knowing glance.

Aramis sighed and relented to the boys' pleas. He would at least be happier to do something else besides trading stupid comments with his brother over flannelled garments.

"Okay, you start" Aramis dictated -more than willing to start now that Porthos was trying to burn holes into the side of his head with his thundering gaze. He always liked to hold a grudge that one. It was frustrating.

"Um, okay, let me see…..ah!" D'artagnan broke out enthusiastically, "Would you rather: eat a dead rat or eat a plate of horse muck?" came the sunny proposition.

Three pairs of alarmed eyes suddenly darted back over to the youngest brother -their disgusted and somewhat accusatory expressions falling flat against the stubbornly innocent looks he was radiating.

"How could you even suggest such a vile act of insanity!?" Aramis replied in horror; shaking his head and biting a knuckle as he tried his best not to visualize the invasive sentence.

"That's just nasty" Porthos added; his face twisting up as if the very thing was wreaking a foul odour right beneath his nose.

Athos' wide eyes slowly returned to their naturally half lidded state and he relaxed back into his chair; smiling at his brothers' discomfort. He had to admit, he had not seen that coming. The boy sure was getting creative these days. Athos supposed that was a good thing on the battlefield.

"Well?" D'artagnan asked, expectantly.

"You cant expect me to answer that!" Aramis choked in disbelief.

"-The rat" Porthos interrupted; an unpleasant -but sure- look on his face.

Aramis whipped his head over, mouth agape at the sudden confession and scrutinized his brothers face for lies or traces that he was joking in some way. He was not.

"What!? You'd rather eat horse muck?" Porthos questioned -trying his best to defend his point with 'valid reasoning.'

If anything, Aramis only seemed to look all the more insulted and he violently shook his head once more in protest.

"Of course not! But you wouldn't find me eating rats either!" he accused, eyeing his three comrades now, hoping at least one of them had sense.

"Desperate times-" Athos murmured over his glass. D'artagnan smiled.

Aramis merely rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of defeat. They were all idiots. Disgusting idiots.

"Can the rat be cooked and seasoned first?" Aramis ventured tentatively -but D'artagnan shook his head.

"No. You don't get to 'twist it up'" D'artagnan instructed, seriously, arms now crossing firmly over his chest in the perfect image of Athos.

After an indignant huff -and mentally suppressing certain feelings of disgrace with himself- Aramis muttered his resolve. "Fine… the rat" he admitted.

D'artagnan beamed as Porthos clapped him on the back cheerily; Athos resigning himself with a sigh as he poured himself yet another 'new' drink. This was supposed to be entertaining for him -not them.

"I like this game already" Porthos chortled -his confession causing D'artagnan to smile proudly.

"Okay, your turn!" the youngest instructed, nodding over to the brother across from him.

Aramis smiled, suddenly finding new pleasure in the game and took to hard deliberation for a moment.

"Ah! Here we are -would you rather kiss the feet of Rochefort or be stripped nude in the centre of Paris?" he quipped evilly.

All around the table, Aramis received disapproving scowls.

"That's not fair!" D'artagnan cried, throwing his arms up in annoyance as Porthos grumbled about the rules.

"You never said I couldn't!" Aramis argued, wagging a finger -the mischievous smile plastered to his face, ruining the stern demeanour entirely.

D'artagnan deflated at this and decided to think of his answer while the others Athos sat back and pretended to think it over.

"Can I kiss these boots after I've stolen them from his sleeping quarters?" Porthos twisted, creatively.

An look of shocked disbelief took to Aramis' features as the levity of his brothers words found meaning in his addled brain and lead him to scowl at his brother disapprovingly.

"What!? You never said they had to be on his feet!" Porthos combated, arms raised in defence -a slight smile to his lips.

Aramis shook his head adamantly, "No! That's not fair!" he screeched, his futile protests becoming drowned out by Porthos' booming laugh.

D'artagnan grinned as he witnessed Aramis getting a taste of his own medicine, he loved playing these kinds of mind games.

"I must say, the image of Rochefort walking barefoot all day, down these filthy streets in search of stolen boots, is a fairly attractive notion" Athos slurred in amusement, nodding his head in approval -and furthering the annoyed look on Aramis face.

Aramis sighed, "I give up!" he muttered, hands falling into his lap, "I guess I'm just too good at this" he bragged cheekily.

Porthos was about to argue the mans' arrogance when D'artagnan interrupted once again, "Well, I guess if Aramis is forfeiting, it's your turn, Porthos!"

The two shared a mischievous smile over Aramis' expression of mild offence and decided to continue on ahead.

The night was getting darker and the rain was hardly letting up. Might as well enjoy themselves here while it lasted.

Porthos thought for a moment, before his eyes lit up "It can be anything, right?"

"Right" D'artagnan nodded. Porthos' smile eerily transformed into a wide grin.

"Would you rather: join me in a fist fight, in the mud of the courtyard -the victor receiving a shirt"Porthos teased; looking pointedly at Aramis, "-or would you rather down three egg yokes, right here, right now?" he dared.

"Um, Porthos? I don't think it works quite like that" Aramis stated -light voice betraying his rising nervousness as Porthos continued to grin at him sadistically.

"Yeah… that sounded more like a 'one way' challenge, Porthos -not a question" D'artagnan butt in, thoughtfully.

"Shut it, whelp" Porthos cut off -eyes still locked onto Aramis expectantly.

"An egg yoke?" Aramis questioned, eyes roaming the place for any such eggs.

There was always to possibility that Serge had some back at the garrison…Porthos had never stated 'whose' eggs. Aramis gulped.

"Three" Porthos corrected, grin becoming an evil beam of white teeth as he cricked his neck 'encouragingly.'

Briefly thinking about how bad eggs could possibly be for a moment -and imagining their cold sticky slime trailing down the back of his throat, was enough to make Aramis gag.

Smiling, knowingly, at where Aramis mind was at, Porthos crossed his arms and waited patiently for his answer.

"I guess I'd rather kick your butt in the courtyard" Aramis confessed with a sigh -though a slight grin now tugged at the corner of his lips.

Porthos let loose one of his perfectly ruthless smiles and dead eyed stares as he rose alongside his brother and made to follow him out into the rain.

He was going to enjoy his revenge.

Hope you liked the humorous banter! I know I enjoyed writing it immensely! As a side note, I do have 2 stories going at the same time now, (couldn't refuse this one any longer) so I hope you can understand what this might mean if I do not update for a few days! But I promise I wont ever leave the waiting gaps too long in between!

Aaaanyways, Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!

Until next time! :D