Comte Olivier d'Athos de la Fere

Oh, but Athos wants to hold off his moment of release, wants to stay in this beautiful, desperate moment of sweat, and skin, flesh, and love. It’s as though their entire acquaintance has been rising to now, and he, too, will remember it forever. “Yes,” he whispers, for they are so much, too much, and then, for all he tries to hold back, he is spilling into Porthos’ hand.