Aramis chuckles, dropping his head to press a kiss to Athos' shoulder, his throat, whispering when he reaches his ear, "He'll fall asleep in there if we let him." Winding his arms around Athos, Aramis takes a fistful of soap and washes him free of the worst of the battle, pinching his arse when he's finished. The bar of soap is then set to his own skin, and Aramis starts with his neck where those teeth had dared to nip too close. He does love their shower, but he's never been moved more to rush when a tubful of the men he loves lies in wait.