Is there anything better than being pressed so close between these two men? If there is, Athos cannot think of it, especially not with his head already a little hazy with want. He scoffs, gazing with a skeptical look into Porthos’ eyes as he runs his hands under the man’s shirt and pulls it over his head. Lithe seems like a terribly kind word for scrawny, though it does thrill him to think of Porthos wanting him even then.