"I will work on my punches next," Porthos warns him with raised eyebrows, pointing at him with the hand around the neck of the bottle, but he is remarkably unbothered by the implied confession. He's looked at his breasts, too, and he surely can't be blamed for it either. Honestly, if he was going to be bothered about it, he wouldn't still be wearing his shirt, although he keeps his breasts bandaged under it. He has no idea how women do it, and they're not even all that big.