Athos smirks breathlessly, each trust of Aramis’ fingers more satisfying than the last. He brushes Aramis’ hair out of his face, fingers trailing on his cheek, and then reaches back to squeeze Porthos’ hip. They are entangled in body as they are in soul, and for now, Athos lets himself believe that they will remain as such.

“It is,” he agrees with Porthos, quite pleased with his own vantage.