Porthos' gasping breaths are weak as he thinks about Aramis in this bedroom while Porthos had been puttering around the kitchen not doing much of anything. He wants to touch him so badly, but can do little more than allow himself to be subject to Aramis' perfect mouth and tongue. Exhaling deeply, he stares at him with yearning in his eyes and it's when Aramis swallows him back, deep, that Porthos comes without even meaning to, having thought he could hold off a little more.

He waits for Aramis to withdraw, but only barely, before his shaky knees give out on him and he collapses back on the bed. His fingers ache for the force of grasping the sheets and he's seen stars. "Aramis," he murmurs happily. "Chou, mon petit chou, parfait, votre bouche, sangdieu," he babbles, allowing his shorthand lazy dialect to overtake the proper French he'd been taught after he'd left the Court and uses now.