Aramis' hand contracts against Athos' hip for that touch to his neck, and if Athos means to steady him, Aramis feels his knees grow weak, a reaction not many have managed to provoke. But he keeps his feet, elation making him smile into the kiss even as he deepens it. By Aramis' standards, it remains quite chaste, and still the pleasure derived in it is enough to spin his head. Athos, he thinks. This is Athos. The tiny moan that tries escaping him for the thought is what finally reigns him in.

Aramis breaks away to breathe, though he does not go far, resting his forehead against Athos' own. "Don't be angry," he says, just in case. "Sometimes I am just so glad that you are here."