“Only a fool would complain.” Athos smirks, and his breath catches as the touch and the nearness of them both fills him with pleasure. Even when he cocks a skeptical brow at Aramis’ last comment, he cannot bring himself to voice any disapproval when they are like this. His fingers ghost over Aramis’ hair, settling and tightening at the nape of his neck as they kiss, but Porthos is the whispered name on Athos’ lips, thinking not only of his hand on him now, but the taste of him minutes before.