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Summary
He wishes Hephaestion to take the taste of waking from his mouth, or to share it with him. Hephaestion’s tongue is superbly moist, slightly salty, and the sensation of it is slaking, listening to the slight rasp of their locked mouths lose its rattle, and convert to the gentle, sibilant suctioning of wetness to wetness, softness to softness. He tastes Hephaestion’s sleep, and smells himself on the man’s face, on his cheeks and in the raw scraping of Hephaestion’s close-shorn beard against his chin and jaw.