Characters: Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: Don't own
By: Vanessa Sgroi
"You're late," Athos solemnly intoned from where he sat at the table, an empty bowl and cup sitting in front of him.
"I know. Sorry," d'Artagnan apologized breathlessly. "I was polishing my sword."
Aramis snickered, drawing d'Artagnan's attention. He frowned in puzzlement. "What?"
Aramis' met his gaze. "Hmm? Oh, nothing." A wicked twinkle filled his dark eyes. "What happens in your room is entirely your business."
Comprehension dawned. D'Artagnan's cheeks flushed pink. He rolled his eyes. "Not that sort of polishing and not that kind of sword."
"If you insist." Aramis grinned cheekily before taking a bite of bread.
Porthos chose that moment to join them at the table. "What we talkin' 'bout this fine mornin'?"
Aramis' grin widened. "We're discussing the polishing of d'Artagnan's sword."
"Oi, so that's what's got his cheeks so pink. Don't worry, lad, it's perfectly natural. We all do it."
D'Artagnan sputtered. "What? No! I wasn't...I mean, I was...but I meant my real sword...". D'Artagnan's cheeks pinkened again. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon. "This sword!"
Porthos' brow wrinkled but there was a wicked gleam in his eye. "But of course that sword, what other sword would you be polishin'? All men must take care of their weapons."
Aramis began to laugh outright. Even Athos couldn't contain a chuckle.
D'Artagnan huffed, hands flying to his hips. "It's...it's like working with children around here!"
Athos cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, I suggest we get to work. Let's see if we can dirty up d'Artagnan's sword a bit."
Laughter echoed throughout the garrison as the Inseparables walked away, leaving d'Artagnan gawping like a fish out of water.