"We have still yet to hear the latter," Aramis murmurs, watching Porthos' face with a brief ache when he can do no more than squeeze his hip. He nips at Athos' skin again, hoping to treat Porthos to another sigh, and shifts until he can insinuate his other hand against Athos' ribs. "I discovered a very interesting laugh of Porthos'," he says, pushing experimentally, "Whenever he's touched just here."