Athos sighs into the kiss, a soft chuckle on his lips when they part. He watches Porthos with gentle wonder as Aramis enters him, and though Athos only lies there, he swears he feels the shudder of lightning travel up his own spine. "Porthos," he whispers, voice a little shaky. Only days ago he had been a lonely, unsure version of himself, struggling so hard to be something he thought he had to be, something dictated by blood and paternal edict. He is a different man now, precisely where he chooses to be. And in this moment, it is perfect.