For all Athos believes himself prepared, he still splutters and gasps, trying not to choke, trying to remember to breathe through his nose. He can feel the come running down his chin, and it’s humiliating, yes, but for Porthos’ pleasure, he does not care very much. His aching jaw serves as a heady memory of what he has done, and he sags back into Aramis’ embrace, still looking up at Porthos with wide eyes.