Aramis shushes him, moving to guide Porthos back against the sheets. Strength returned to him, he settles between Porthos' knees, leaning down to nuzzle his cock through his boxers. "I wonder," he says, dragging his finger through the frosting to paint a line across Porthos' belly. "Is it vanilla, or lemon?"

Lowering his mouth, Aramis laps at Porthos' skin. "Mmm. Vanilla cream."