"My fault, I'm afraid," says Aramis, voice calm even as his hips hitch against Porthos' back, arousal pooling low despite his recent release. He cards his own fingers through Athos' hair, gentle in counterpoint to Porthos' tugs, and reaches down to stroke his jaw where he knows the ache is greatest. "I meant to teach him the joy of anticipation, and instead I taught him to want everything, all the time, by giving him just that."