Comte Olivier d'Athos de la Fere

Aramis’ response sends a shudder through Athos that he cannot contain. He pulls back enough to gaze down at Aramis again, running his thumb along his hairline, then the edge of his ear, and then jaw, fingers finally curling tightly at the nape of his neck to tug, again, at his hair. Athos glances up at Porthos again - for assurance, steadiness, the warmth that always lingers in his brown eyes - and slides his other hand down to stroke Aramis’ cock, refusing to hesitate, however uncharted these waters might be.