"How could I ever be patient when you're as handsome as you are?" Porthos demands, because it's like putting meat in front of a wolf and expecting it not to pounce. "I'm making up for years and years of lost time," is his innocent protest as he slowly, carefully steps out of the tub. "All those times you paraded shirtless before me. Your too-tight trousers. Catching you in my arms when you were half-drunk or hanging from the eaves of homes."