The very moment Athos believes he has grasped some semblance of control, Aramis and Porthos gleefully wrest it from him, a power they have that is unsteadying and intoxicating both. When Porthos flips him round, Athos grunts with surprise, immediately tipping back his head under Aramis’ mouth to tuck against Porthos’ collarbone. He pulls against the man’s hold, not truly to break free, but to revel in the strength of it.

“Sounds ominous,” he observes, voice hitching as Aramis’ hand brushes his groin. He should not want this, certainly not so desperately, but now he cannot think of a single reason why.