Aramis follows with both disappointment and relief, a little weak kneed when he sinks into his seat at the table. "Oh, you will be the death of me," he says, chuckling faintly. He reaches for the cake as it if might bite him, for it takes very little from Porthos to push Aramis into reckless acts, be they prurient or dangerous, and he lifts a bite with trembling fingers.