Smut
Right. This is me, writing smut. It doesn't happen often. Probably a good thing.
Title: A New Trick
Summary: Alexandros has a new trick.
Rating: Well, I did say it was smut, so no kiddies, huh?
Feedback: Yep, sure.
It was warm in the king’s tent. A brazier had been lit near the bed, and the heavy curtain that screened the inner room from the rest of the tent let down. It shut the world out, and the warmth in. Hephaistion, sprawling naked on his belly on the bed, stretched luxuriously across the hide of some exotic spotted cat and supposed that as comfort went, this would do.
He groaned at the feeling of warm hands on his shoulders, the sound turning into a deep rumble in his chest, like a big cat purring. A soft laugh came from behind him and the hands continued to stroke their easy way down his back, finding in his muscles the knots and tension of a long campaign, and setting them free.
“You like that?” the owner of the hands said. Hephaistion rumbled again, and flexed all over, arching into his touch.
“Idiot,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Alexandros said, “you feel as good as you look. And I’m wondering,” he went on, with a heat in his voice that Hephaistion could not have missed if he had been stone deaf, “if you’d taste as good as you feel.”
As if, Hephaistion considered, Alexandros did not know to the inch what he tasted like. He was up to it though; sometimes Alexandros liked to play games. He flexed again, a long slow stretch over the furs, and said; “Why don’t you go ahead find out?”
“I think I will,” the king told him, still in that voice that was half laugh and all heat. “There’s something I want to show you.”
So. Like that, was it? Hephaistion smiled into the pillows, chuckling softly as his lover’s hands ran over his skin. Then Alexandros’ lips touched him between his shoulders, kissing a slow line of fire down his spine. Under him, Hephaistion let his eyes shut and his body relax into the sensations. The warmth, the soft caress of the fur beneath him, the harder caress of Alexandros’ mouth … the slow familiar rise of his sex, thickening against his belly … oh yes, this would do.
He could feel Alexandros’ breath on his skin, his lips and tongue, hot in the places where they touched and cool when they passed by. He had one leg drawn up and to the side in an ungainly sprawl - his legs had always been longer than they needed to be in his opinion, and inclined to tangle in the bedcovers - he felt Alexandros’ arm against it, propping himself up as his mouth moved lower over his lover’s back. Hephaistion felt his lips settle briefly in the small of his back, and then move to the slope of his buttocks and across to the fall of his hip, then Alexandros drew away. He moved between his friend’s legs, and Hephaistion sighed and shifted a little against the furs, letting his cock spring free. Alexandros did this sometimes, this slow hot climb into passion. He waited to feel his lips again, warm on his thigh in that place that made him shiver, high up near his balls. Alexandros liked to take his time, sometimes.
The kiss came, and the soft flick of a tongue, but not on his thigh. Hephaistion, feeling his lover’s mouth there, of all places, froze for half a heartbeat - and then gave a startled kick and a half strangled yelp and flung himself head-first from the bed. There were cushions and rugs enough to break his fall, but even so he landed breathless, halfway between laughter and sheer wide-eyed shock. From up on the bed, Alexandros peered down at him. He was blushing like a girl.
“Hephaistion? Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
Hurt him? No, it hadn’t hurt ... but that was not … that was … Hephaistion took a breath. The laughter was closer than he had thought; it bubbled at the edges of his voice, making it less sharp than it could have been.
“Alexandros,” he said. “What in Hades was that?”
There was a pause, and Alexandros’ face disappeared back over the edge of the bed. His voice sounded muffled, as if he was talking into a pillow. “Oh, fuck.” It sounded as if he was trying to smother laughter too. Hephaistion threw a cushion up at him.
“Alexandros?”
“It was my tongue Phai, what did you think it was?”
His tongue. Well, obviously. But … but, there? Hephaistion blinked, then laughed out loud, amusement warring with disbelief. “But … there? Herakles’ balls Xandros, where did you learn that?”
“Where do you think?” Alexandros sounded a little put out now; he had always hated to be laughed at. The cushion that Hephaistion had thrown at him came flying back down. Hephaistion caught it without thinking and tossed it back, grinning in satisfaction at the thump of it hitting Alexandros’ shoulder. He supposed he did know where Alexandros had learned that; there was only one place where he was likely to learn new tricks like that one, after all. For some reason, it only made him want to laugh more. That, or hit him. Hera’s tits … Alexandros, King of Macedon, Lord of Asia, Pharaoh of Egypt, Great King of Persia, learning bed games from some common pleasure slave. Aristotle would be in fits. He stifled both the laugh and the blow, and said, “The boy?”
“Yes, the boy.” Now Alexandros sounded irritated and embarrassed and amused all at once. He rolled back to look over the edge of the bed at his friend again, blushing and bemused. “Gods. Sorry, Phai. It’s just, he did that to me and … well, I thought … it felt … I thought you’d like it.”
Hephaistion couldn’t help himself. He threw his head back and laughed, rolling on his back on the rugs. The cushion hit him on the chest, hurled hard from the bed; he only wrapped his arms around and laughed harder, until he was gasping for breath. Alexandros stared at him, then snarled and flung himself into the fray.
It was a glorious tussle, that fetched up in a tangle of rugs and furs and bodies, the two of them sprawled together all breathless and tousled and laughing like fiends. It was Alexandros who found his composure first, or something like it; he braced, and shoved, and set Hephaistion on his back with himself firmly astride him, and leaned in to claim his prize. If Hephaistion had any breath to spare, Alexandros’ kiss took care of that, swift and sudden and sweet. He blinked up at his friend, feeling that warmth rush through him again, a flutter in his belly and groin. His sex, that had been as startled as the rest of him, remembered what it was about and brought itself back to attention. Hardly a wonder that, with Alexandros straddling him that way, and Alexandros’ manhood hard against him. How would a man not respond to that?
He could not help himself, though. Once he had his breath back enough to speak, he said, “Well. If that boy of yours shows you any other new tricks you want to try, warn me next time.”
“I did warn you,” Alexandros pointed out. “I said I wanted to show you something.” He rocked his hips a little, setting their cocks to grind together softly. Hephaistion groaned and arched a little. Alexandros smiled, warm and wicked. He was seldom taken aback for long; he had himself back now, fully. And, with that, fully his own persistence. He said, “Was it so bad?”
Hephaistion considered that. Bad? He supposed it had not been, really. In fact, he had not had time to feel much of anything at all, other than that it was happening. The shock of it had been the thing, and the expression on Alexandros’ face after … he stopped himself from thinking of that too much, in case he started laughing again. He answered his friend honestly. “I don’t know.”
Alexandros chuckled. He reached down, stroked what lay so hard between them. “Don’t you?”
“That,” Hephaistion said, trying to sound stern “is not fair. That doesn’t know anything.”
“It knows what it wants,” Alexandros said. “And so do I.”
He set about proving that, in the most convincing way he knew how. Alexandros had a way of getting what he wanted; cities had fallen to him, and nations - Hephaistion could hardly hope to do better. He made an effort though, he did not fling open his gates and surrender. He made Alexandros work for it, a little. His friend, with lips and hands and pure male desire, set to with a will. Hephaistion wondered, in the midst of it, what else Alexandros’ boy did, when the king called him of a night. Any number of things, no doubt, if he would use his tongue on a man there. He tried to think of it, the little Persian dancer with his artfully painted eyes, making Alexandros groan and fist his hands in the covers and shudder his release. There was a sudden flash of heat in his centre at that, an arousal that had nothing to do with the boy and everything to do with Alexandros. And of course the boy would know a trick or three; it was what he was trained for after all. But that Alexandros might learn those tricks, and use them on him … Hephaistion was not sure what he thought of that.
The steady press and slide of Alexandros’ sex against his own had turned into a high sweet ache. Hephaistion could feel his whole body pulling toward that centre, wanting more. His skin tingled and sparked where Alexandros touched, mourned where he did not. His mind ran on on its own, as best it could with his body doing its best to cloud every thought he had. What of it if Alexandros’ boy taught him something new and he wanted to share it? Alexandros had always been generous, in bed as much as anywhere else. If the boy - Bagoas, that was his name - gave him pleasure, Alexandros would want to pass that on. He thought of the boy again, and his quick, nervous grace like a deer about to bolt. He supposed he was different in the inner room, with the lamps lit and Alexandros’ body’s needs to tend to. Less quick, probably - certainly less nervous. They made it an art, the Persians … the little dancer, Hephaistion supposed, would make an art of it indeed. He had never wondered about it before - save for the oddity of it, that Alexandros would want a Persian eunuch in his bed - but he found himself wondering now. What else did the boy do to Alexandros that he himself would not ever have thought of, and Alexandros had never even known that he might want?
Through the fog and heat of his body’s hunger, he did not realise he had asked that out loud until Alexandros answered him. His friend’s voice was rough and sweet at once, a little muffled for being spoken into Hephaistion’s neck. It made him shiver all over, and his cock, already aching, surged and throbbed.
“It’s only tricks, Phai. That’s all. He’s not you.”
“But what …” he paused a moment as another surge hit him, caught his breath and steadied himself. “What does he do?”
Alexandros hesitated, lifted himself up on one arm, looked into his friend’s face. He asked, very clearly, “You want that?”
Hephaistion felt a sudden flutter in his midriff, like a ripple that began in the centre of him and worked out to his fingertips. What was most male in him twitched and jolted, feeling Alexandros respond. He was no better off, down there; Hephaistion could feel it, hard and pounding against his thigh. He said, because he couldn’t help himself, “Show me.”
He felt Alexandros slide down and away from him, and then the strength of his hands against his hip, rolling him onto his belly. A kiss dropped onto his back, making him twitch and laugh softly - hadn’t that been what had started this in the first place? Then Alexandros was pushing his leg up, opening him down there, and he didn’t laugh at that. He said, suddenly, “Alexandros. You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
“It’s not …” Gods, what was he going to say here? It’s not fitting for a king of Macedon? “It’s not proper.”
That won him a laugh, and a cuff across one shoulder that came to nothing much. “Since when,” Alexandros wanted to know, “have we cared for what is proper?”
Well. Hephaistion supposed that was true. He shrugged a little. Proper was for daylight, and public, and playing the games of kings and conquest. What they had in private was no one’s concern but their own. Proper did not come into it. Alexandros didn’t give him much time to think about it, in any case. He leaned forward, gave his friend a slight nip on the shoulder that made him jump. “Shut up,” he said. “Stop thinking. Let me.”
Hephaistion was not sure what he was bracing himself for, but he could feel his muscles bunching all the same. Trying not to leap away this time, he supposed. His cock did not seem to share his reservations; it was hard and eager. Somehow, in their wrestling, he had contrived to drag the spotted cat skin off the bed; he lay on it now, all silk against his skin. He thought of that, and dug in his fingers and held on.
Alexandros’ tongue was silk too, if silk could be liquid fire and set every nerve he had ablaze. It pressed against him there, at his opening, making him catch his breath in a gasp and twitch and shudder. Gods. He had not expected that. He had not expected the pleasure of it. Maybe Persian eunuchs did know a thing or two, after all. Another flicker of his tongue down there, another twitch and surge. Hephaistion found that he wanted to lift his hips to it. His cock was nosing hard into the fur beneath him, looking for what it wanted. Alexandros’ mouth on him was turning into a soft steady suction, a flicker of tongue and lips that sent bolts of pure heat through him. He had not thought, had not imagined … ah. Yes. His cock was rampant, aching for release, thrusting against the furs. Unthinking, he reached for it, took it in hand, thrusting into his own fist with an almost mindless urgency. He needed this, he was so close, he needed … “Ah, gods, Xandros … more.”
Alexandros knew what he was doing; he was doing it himself, stroking hard as he gave his friend the pleasure he wanted. He paused to murmur to him, encouragement, reassurance. “Do it Phai. Come on.”
It was all Hephaistion needed. He felt his balls draw up, and his body pause and stutter on the very peak of its pleasure, and then the wave of it broke and sent him shuddering over the edge. There was a brief movement behind him, then Alexandros’ body was pressed hard to his and he felt it kick and buck, and the spill of his friend’s seed over his thighs, and then only panting and quiet and stillness.
They came back to themselves slowly, letting the last shocks of it tremble over them both like soft cool rain on a warm day. Alexandros rolled off his lover and onto his back; Hephaistion groaned and raised his head to look at him, then put it back down and flung an arm over his friend’s chest, dragging him closer. Sleep seemed like a good idea to him, right now. He considered the bed, but it seemed impossibly high up and very far away. In any case, he did not think he could convince his body to move, just yet. They would have to, eventually; they could hardly let the squires find them like this, after all. That would not be proper at all. Hephaistion’s lips twitched at that; he laughed softly to himself. Proper. Well. It was a little late for that. He spoke into the spotted cat fur in a voice that was half a growl.
“That boy of yours,” he said. “Does he know any other tricks?”
“A few,” Alexandros answered faintly. He was already halfway asleep, and never mind the squires. “I’ll show you, sometime.”
“Please,” Hephaistion said. “Do.”
Title: A New Trick
Summary: Alexandros has a new trick.
Rating: Well, I did say it was smut, so no kiddies, huh?
Feedback: Yep, sure.
It was warm in the king’s tent. A brazier had been lit near the bed, and the heavy curtain that screened the inner room from the rest of the tent let down. It shut the world out, and the warmth in. Hephaistion, sprawling naked on his belly on the bed, stretched luxuriously across the hide of some exotic spotted cat and supposed that as comfort went, this would do.
He groaned at the feeling of warm hands on his shoulders, the sound turning into a deep rumble in his chest, like a big cat purring. A soft laugh came from behind him and the hands continued to stroke their easy way down his back, finding in his muscles the knots and tension of a long campaign, and setting them free.
“You like that?” the owner of the hands said. Hephaistion rumbled again, and flexed all over, arching into his touch.
“Idiot,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Alexandros said, “you feel as good as you look. And I’m wondering,” he went on, with a heat in his voice that Hephaistion could not have missed if he had been stone deaf, “if you’d taste as good as you feel.”
As if, Hephaistion considered, Alexandros did not know to the inch what he tasted like. He was up to it though; sometimes Alexandros liked to play games. He flexed again, a long slow stretch over the furs, and said; “Why don’t you go ahead find out?”
“I think I will,” the king told him, still in that voice that was half laugh and all heat. “There’s something I want to show you.”
So. Like that, was it? Hephaistion smiled into the pillows, chuckling softly as his lover’s hands ran over his skin. Then Alexandros’ lips touched him between his shoulders, kissing a slow line of fire down his spine. Under him, Hephaistion let his eyes shut and his body relax into the sensations. The warmth, the soft caress of the fur beneath him, the harder caress of Alexandros’ mouth … the slow familiar rise of his sex, thickening against his belly … oh yes, this would do.
He could feel Alexandros’ breath on his skin, his lips and tongue, hot in the places where they touched and cool when they passed by. He had one leg drawn up and to the side in an ungainly sprawl - his legs had always been longer than they needed to be in his opinion, and inclined to tangle in the bedcovers - he felt Alexandros’ arm against it, propping himself up as his mouth moved lower over his lover’s back. Hephaistion felt his lips settle briefly in the small of his back, and then move to the slope of his buttocks and across to the fall of his hip, then Alexandros drew away. He moved between his friend’s legs, and Hephaistion sighed and shifted a little against the furs, letting his cock spring free. Alexandros did this sometimes, this slow hot climb into passion. He waited to feel his lips again, warm on his thigh in that place that made him shiver, high up near his balls. Alexandros liked to take his time, sometimes.
The kiss came, and the soft flick of a tongue, but not on his thigh. Hephaistion, feeling his lover’s mouth there, of all places, froze for half a heartbeat - and then gave a startled kick and a half strangled yelp and flung himself head-first from the bed. There were cushions and rugs enough to break his fall, but even so he landed breathless, halfway between laughter and sheer wide-eyed shock. From up on the bed, Alexandros peered down at him. He was blushing like a girl.
“Hephaistion? Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
Hurt him? No, it hadn’t hurt ... but that was not … that was … Hephaistion took a breath. The laughter was closer than he had thought; it bubbled at the edges of his voice, making it less sharp than it could have been.
“Alexandros,” he said. “What in Hades was that?”
There was a pause, and Alexandros’ face disappeared back over the edge of the bed. His voice sounded muffled, as if he was talking into a pillow. “Oh, fuck.” It sounded as if he was trying to smother laughter too. Hephaistion threw a cushion up at him.
“Alexandros?”
“It was my tongue Phai, what did you think it was?”
His tongue. Well, obviously. But … but, there? Hephaistion blinked, then laughed out loud, amusement warring with disbelief. “But … there? Herakles’ balls Xandros, where did you learn that?”
“Where do you think?” Alexandros sounded a little put out now; he had always hated to be laughed at. The cushion that Hephaistion had thrown at him came flying back down. Hephaistion caught it without thinking and tossed it back, grinning in satisfaction at the thump of it hitting Alexandros’ shoulder. He supposed he did know where Alexandros had learned that; there was only one place where he was likely to learn new tricks like that one, after all. For some reason, it only made him want to laugh more. That, or hit him. Hera’s tits … Alexandros, King of Macedon, Lord of Asia, Pharaoh of Egypt, Great King of Persia, learning bed games from some common pleasure slave. Aristotle would be in fits. He stifled both the laugh and the blow, and said, “The boy?”
“Yes, the boy.” Now Alexandros sounded irritated and embarrassed and amused all at once. He rolled back to look over the edge of the bed at his friend again, blushing and bemused. “Gods. Sorry, Phai. It’s just, he did that to me and … well, I thought … it felt … I thought you’d like it.”
Hephaistion couldn’t help himself. He threw his head back and laughed, rolling on his back on the rugs. The cushion hit him on the chest, hurled hard from the bed; he only wrapped his arms around and laughed harder, until he was gasping for breath. Alexandros stared at him, then snarled and flung himself into the fray.
It was a glorious tussle, that fetched up in a tangle of rugs and furs and bodies, the two of them sprawled together all breathless and tousled and laughing like fiends. It was Alexandros who found his composure first, or something like it; he braced, and shoved, and set Hephaistion on his back with himself firmly astride him, and leaned in to claim his prize. If Hephaistion had any breath to spare, Alexandros’ kiss took care of that, swift and sudden and sweet. He blinked up at his friend, feeling that warmth rush through him again, a flutter in his belly and groin. His sex, that had been as startled as the rest of him, remembered what it was about and brought itself back to attention. Hardly a wonder that, with Alexandros straddling him that way, and Alexandros’ manhood hard against him. How would a man not respond to that?
He could not help himself, though. Once he had his breath back enough to speak, he said, “Well. If that boy of yours shows you any other new tricks you want to try, warn me next time.”
“I did warn you,” Alexandros pointed out. “I said I wanted to show you something.” He rocked his hips a little, setting their cocks to grind together softly. Hephaistion groaned and arched a little. Alexandros smiled, warm and wicked. He was seldom taken aback for long; he had himself back now, fully. And, with that, fully his own persistence. He said, “Was it so bad?”
Hephaistion considered that. Bad? He supposed it had not been, really. In fact, he had not had time to feel much of anything at all, other than that it was happening. The shock of it had been the thing, and the expression on Alexandros’ face after … he stopped himself from thinking of that too much, in case he started laughing again. He answered his friend honestly. “I don’t know.”
Alexandros chuckled. He reached down, stroked what lay so hard between them. “Don’t you?”
“That,” Hephaistion said, trying to sound stern “is not fair. That doesn’t know anything.”
“It knows what it wants,” Alexandros said. “And so do I.”
He set about proving that, in the most convincing way he knew how. Alexandros had a way of getting what he wanted; cities had fallen to him, and nations - Hephaistion could hardly hope to do better. He made an effort though, he did not fling open his gates and surrender. He made Alexandros work for it, a little. His friend, with lips and hands and pure male desire, set to with a will. Hephaistion wondered, in the midst of it, what else Alexandros’ boy did, when the king called him of a night. Any number of things, no doubt, if he would use his tongue on a man there. He tried to think of it, the little Persian dancer with his artfully painted eyes, making Alexandros groan and fist his hands in the covers and shudder his release. There was a sudden flash of heat in his centre at that, an arousal that had nothing to do with the boy and everything to do with Alexandros. And of course the boy would know a trick or three; it was what he was trained for after all. But that Alexandros might learn those tricks, and use them on him … Hephaistion was not sure what he thought of that.
The steady press and slide of Alexandros’ sex against his own had turned into a high sweet ache. Hephaistion could feel his whole body pulling toward that centre, wanting more. His skin tingled and sparked where Alexandros touched, mourned where he did not. His mind ran on on its own, as best it could with his body doing its best to cloud every thought he had. What of it if Alexandros’ boy taught him something new and he wanted to share it? Alexandros had always been generous, in bed as much as anywhere else. If the boy - Bagoas, that was his name - gave him pleasure, Alexandros would want to pass that on. He thought of the boy again, and his quick, nervous grace like a deer about to bolt. He supposed he was different in the inner room, with the lamps lit and Alexandros’ body’s needs to tend to. Less quick, probably - certainly less nervous. They made it an art, the Persians … the little dancer, Hephaistion supposed, would make an art of it indeed. He had never wondered about it before - save for the oddity of it, that Alexandros would want a Persian eunuch in his bed - but he found himself wondering now. What else did the boy do to Alexandros that he himself would not ever have thought of, and Alexandros had never even known that he might want?
Through the fog and heat of his body’s hunger, he did not realise he had asked that out loud until Alexandros answered him. His friend’s voice was rough and sweet at once, a little muffled for being spoken into Hephaistion’s neck. It made him shiver all over, and his cock, already aching, surged and throbbed.
“It’s only tricks, Phai. That’s all. He’s not you.”
“But what …” he paused a moment as another surge hit him, caught his breath and steadied himself. “What does he do?”
Alexandros hesitated, lifted himself up on one arm, looked into his friend’s face. He asked, very clearly, “You want that?”
Hephaistion felt a sudden flutter in his midriff, like a ripple that began in the centre of him and worked out to his fingertips. What was most male in him twitched and jolted, feeling Alexandros respond. He was no better off, down there; Hephaistion could feel it, hard and pounding against his thigh. He said, because he couldn’t help himself, “Show me.”
He felt Alexandros slide down and away from him, and then the strength of his hands against his hip, rolling him onto his belly. A kiss dropped onto his back, making him twitch and laugh softly - hadn’t that been what had started this in the first place? Then Alexandros was pushing his leg up, opening him down there, and he didn’t laugh at that. He said, suddenly, “Alexandros. You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
“It’s not …” Gods, what was he going to say here? It’s not fitting for a king of Macedon? “It’s not proper.”
That won him a laugh, and a cuff across one shoulder that came to nothing much. “Since when,” Alexandros wanted to know, “have we cared for what is proper?”
Well. Hephaistion supposed that was true. He shrugged a little. Proper was for daylight, and public, and playing the games of kings and conquest. What they had in private was no one’s concern but their own. Proper did not come into it. Alexandros didn’t give him much time to think about it, in any case. He leaned forward, gave his friend a slight nip on the shoulder that made him jump. “Shut up,” he said. “Stop thinking. Let me.”
Hephaistion was not sure what he was bracing himself for, but he could feel his muscles bunching all the same. Trying not to leap away this time, he supposed. His cock did not seem to share his reservations; it was hard and eager. Somehow, in their wrestling, he had contrived to drag the spotted cat skin off the bed; he lay on it now, all silk against his skin. He thought of that, and dug in his fingers and held on.
Alexandros’ tongue was silk too, if silk could be liquid fire and set every nerve he had ablaze. It pressed against him there, at his opening, making him catch his breath in a gasp and twitch and shudder. Gods. He had not expected that. He had not expected the pleasure of it. Maybe Persian eunuchs did know a thing or two, after all. Another flicker of his tongue down there, another twitch and surge. Hephaistion found that he wanted to lift his hips to it. His cock was nosing hard into the fur beneath him, looking for what it wanted. Alexandros’ mouth on him was turning into a soft steady suction, a flicker of tongue and lips that sent bolts of pure heat through him. He had not thought, had not imagined … ah. Yes. His cock was rampant, aching for release, thrusting against the furs. Unthinking, he reached for it, took it in hand, thrusting into his own fist with an almost mindless urgency. He needed this, he was so close, he needed … “Ah, gods, Xandros … more.”
Alexandros knew what he was doing; he was doing it himself, stroking hard as he gave his friend the pleasure he wanted. He paused to murmur to him, encouragement, reassurance. “Do it Phai. Come on.”
It was all Hephaistion needed. He felt his balls draw up, and his body pause and stutter on the very peak of its pleasure, and then the wave of it broke and sent him shuddering over the edge. There was a brief movement behind him, then Alexandros’ body was pressed hard to his and he felt it kick and buck, and the spill of his friend’s seed over his thighs, and then only panting and quiet and stillness.
They came back to themselves slowly, letting the last shocks of it tremble over them both like soft cool rain on a warm day. Alexandros rolled off his lover and onto his back; Hephaistion groaned and raised his head to look at him, then put it back down and flung an arm over his friend’s chest, dragging him closer. Sleep seemed like a good idea to him, right now. He considered the bed, but it seemed impossibly high up and very far away. In any case, he did not think he could convince his body to move, just yet. They would have to, eventually; they could hardly let the squires find them like this, after all. That would not be proper at all. Hephaistion’s lips twitched at that; he laughed softly to himself. Proper. Well. It was a little late for that. He spoke into the spotted cat fur in a voice that was half a growl.
“That boy of yours,” he said. “Does he know any other tricks?”
“A few,” Alexandros answered faintly. He was already halfway asleep, and never mind the squires. “I’ll show you, sometime.”
“Please,” Hephaistion said. “Do.”