AN: This is just a little oneshot that I cooked up. It is Hephaistion/Bagoas/Alexander. My first time writing in the fandom. I love reviews.
Bagoas is a gorgeous creature.
Hephaistion is tired of all the questions, tired of the quiet mockery. Most of them are intelligent enough not to say anything to his face, and they certainly know better than to say anything to Alexander, but Hephaistion sees the significant looks, hears the whispered insults.
Bagoas moans and arches his back against Alexander. Bagoas cannot see it, but Alexander smiles at this response. Alexander has always been a giving lover – Hephaistion has known this since their first awkward fumblings as boys. Alexander loves nothing more than drawing a reaction; a moan of pleasure or a cry of ecstasy from those he takes to his bed. It was the reason that Hephaistion was so surprised in Alexander's continued interest in Bagoas.
Alexander's initial notice of Bagoas had not shocked Hephaistion so very much. Bagoas was a very lovely boy, after all; it was easy to see why any man would want him. Hephaistion had felt sure, however, that after a try or two, Alexander would lose interest in the Persian beauty. Bagoas was a eunuch. Dead to pleasure; at least according to Greeks who curled their lips in disdain at Persian perversions. Hephaistion now realized that he had woefully underestimated the capabilities of eunuchs. They could still be brought to pleasure, though it was more difficult for them. But Alexander had always relished a challenge.
Hephaistion feels a bit apart. He caresses Bagoas' chest halfheartedly. Alexander notices and frowns. "Why not kiss him?" he suggests. Hephaistion leans in to the beautiful face that is currently lolled against Alexander's chest and he kisses the eunuch. Bagoas' kiss is a languid, decadent, skilled thing. Like sinking into a scented bath or biting into a sweet Persian treat.
There was once a man who was stupid enough or drunk enough to say what everyone whispered to Hephaistion's face. "Congratulations, Hephaistion," he had said. "I sometimes wish that I could earn a position by service in the bedroom rather than all these endless battles, eh? Tell me, does our 'great king' spread you like a maiden or do you put your face in the pillow like a thirteen-year-old boy?"
On second thought, perhaps the man just had a death wish. At any rate, Hephaistion pummeled him nearly to death. Some men would have run the fool through with a sword. This is the only way that Hephaistion knows to fight them; he cannot do so with words. He will not deny their love outright and to deny the more licentious accusations would be to imply that Alexander was 'the boy' and this could not be.
Hephaistion draws his lips slowly away from Bagoas' soft mouth. "Now kiss me," Alexander whispers. Alexander's kiss is entirely different from Bagoas'. It is a fire to consume the world, a fire that licks swiftly down Hephaistion's body, making him come alive.
Hephaistion cannot see why either of them must be 'the boy', but the Greeks simply cannot understand a relationship between two grown men of similar age without putting it into the traditional roles. No amount of whispering would be enough to keep Hephaistion away from Alexander, but he is tired of the questioning glances, the stifled laughter all the same. He has proven himself on the battlefield countless times. What more can people ask of him?
No one questions why two men would want to share a beautiful boy.
Alexander is straining against Bagoas and Hephaistion wraps his arms around them both, pressing against Bagoas' body, kissing Alexander fiercely.
It's happened several times before and though word hasn't got around to everyone, Hephaistion knows that there are a few men who know that he and Alexander sometimes "share" Bagoas. Once, not so long ago, when Bagoas was doing one of the beguiling dances that Hephaistion had once so despised, he heard a voice near him. "Do you get some of that when Alexander is done with him, sir?" a young man asked.
Hephaistion had turned, ready for a fight, but had found no hint of mockery in the young man's eyes; only envy. Hephaistion had reproved the squire half-heartedly, but after turning away, had smiled to himself.
Bagoas presses his lips against Hephaistion's neck and Hephaistion suppresses a shudder. Bagoas is skilled, there is no denying it – Hephaistion thinks that he must have been taught at some point. How strange it would be – to be taught lovemaking in the way that a man is taught to use a sword or to read his letters. He shows all his skill as he pleasures Hephaistion.
Sometimes, Hephaistion is jealous of Bagoas. There is a special look that Alexander gets sometimes when he looks at the boy – a look only for Bagoas. It is a gentleness; the sort of look a man gets when he is approaching an animal that is timid, but not dangerous. Hephaistion knows that there are a score of looks that Alexander reserves for Hephaistion alone. He knows that he is most important – anyone who is acquainted Alexander even slightly can tell that; Hephaistion is Patrokles. But Hephaistion is selfish. He wants all of Alexander for himself. Hephaistion knows he is first but he doesn't want there to be a second.
They lie in a tangle of limbs. Alexander whispers softly in Bagoas ear, stroking the boy's head. He looks up and smiles at Hephaistion and Hephaistion takes his hand in the damp silk of Bagoas' hair.
Still, Hephaistion has come to like Bagoas, because he knows what will happen next. Bagoas will lie with them for a few more moments, but soon, he will rise. He will kiss Alexander, sweetly, on the forehead. He will give Hephaistion a smile. A sly smile? A shy smile? Perhaps there will be a flash of resentment, quickly banished, in his eyes. Bagoas will put on his robe and go into the adjoining room where he will busy himself adjusting his hair and face paints or by doing work usually left to lesser servants.
Alexander will reach out and take Hephaistion in his arms and Hephaistion will have perhaps an hour alone with the fire he craves.