Aramis strokes Athos' hair, for of course they like to imagine him thinking of them. They might have even indulged in a spoken fantasy on the subject or two, before Athos ever came to them for more than friendship. He kisses his agreement into Athos' skin and stretches a leg to graze Porthos' thigh with his toes, eyes fixed on Athos' cock slipping rhythmically through Porthos' large palm. "Porthos," he murmurs, certainly unsure how much longer he can wait to have that inside of him.