Athos gives a tremble of pure desire this time, watching Porthos as he works his fingers within Aramis, and as he feels Aramis sigh into his arms. Perhaps his nerves should be less alight, for women have ridden him before. But it has been so very long, and everything is different with Aramis and Porthos, and not merely because of the obvious; they leave his every sense dizzily heightened, and the thought of disappointing them still terrifies him to excess. Thank God for Aramis and his ability to say just the right thing, to reassure without the slightest hint of condescension. Athos tips the man’s chin up so that he can gaze into those reassuring eyes, and then he murmurs, “Do that again, Porthos,” before he kisses Aramis with a hunger that is both slow and devouring.