Aramis cannot help a needy whine as Porthos approaches him, pulling his trousers down so roughly it is a wonder they do not tear. And then, it is a wonder that Aramis does not fly apart from that first touch of Porthos' mouth, no tease at all but a long and punishing slide of his tongue deep into soft, wet heat.

"Am I - " he tries, sinking fingers into Porthos' hair. "Am I to stay silent here as I was there?" Aramis gasps, knowing it will be quite impossible.