Some of his come has landed on Jefferson’s fingers, and he feeds those to Burr, dragging fingertips down his tongue as Burr licks him clean. “Do you like that?” Jefferson asks, still breathless, as Burr’s hands tuck away his sensitive length, “being stained with me, and Mulligan just in the next room…” and it occurs to him: “did he feel how you were dressed for me?” The thought evokes a combination of embarrassment and thrill; he hardly knows what to do with himself. He stops Burr from cleaning up the come left at his entrance. “Leave it,” he suggests, thinking that Burr will be able to feel it, the wet of it, while he tries on clothes. Kisses Burr with less hesitation this time related to tasting semen. It seems Burr brings out something filthy in Jefferson too.

He has no concept of how long they’ve taken; he was as quick as possible, but he couldn’t be expected to keep time while Burr’s body took him in, folded around him. He retreats, looking nervously again at the door, which has not budged or emitted noise.

“This set,” and he points out one pair of pants and an accompanying jacket. A dark charcoal. “If you wore it, you would do well with pink or maroon in the shirt — a contrast. See how it fits.” He wonders if Mulligan will notice the way Burr’s lips are damper, redder — if his own flush will betray them.