Lion Head Mesa Voice of man

Rashepses smiled, unruly, as if in memory of some divine mischief. His arm, slick with bathing waters slid behind Senmut’s head and caressed the slender nape of his neck. There he watched his deep green eyes, seeing the space where thirst and reluctance intertwined– as so often they did.

He could smell him; the oils in his coat, and also the fine, powdered sand which had yet to be extracted– the same musky scent which the king’s skin also bore. Slowly, he lowered his damp chin to graze the man’s own.

“You’re a good priest, Senmut,” he breathed against his cheek, “the gods bless you.

"Now kiss me.” A command, summoned from the tongue of one.

Because he could.