Once he's out, Porthos grasps a loose fitting pair of sweatpants and one of the baggier sweaters he's got, wandering out to watch Aramis with the potatoes for a long, quiet moment, not giving away that he's standing there watching him. Not until he wanders behind him to wrap his arms around Aramis and hold onto him possessively, hugging him so tightly it aches, because he's so damn lucky.

"Your turn," he murmurs, tugging the sleeves over his hands.