Athos groans softly at the feel of Aramis’ lips feather-light against his skin, a sort of after-image of pleasure trembling through him. Chest still rising and falling with unsteady breaths, he opens his eyes and offers Aramis a soft smile. “Don’t call me that,” he admonishes, though with enough fondness in his voice that it serves as an answer. Tipping his head to the side with a sly look, he adds, “Patience, Porthos."