Aaron, sitting up in bed, the sheet...

Aaron, sitting up in bed, the sheet drawn up to his chest, has his hands in Kevin's jaws fingers tracing the shape of Kevin's tongue down its slippery, bumpy amplification Kevin tries not to fidget; the fingers have a salty tinge--they are unwrought and dry, like crab leg shells and all.
--Try it again, Aaron says.
--God's got great gardens.
Aaron wipes his fingers upon the sheet.
--The back of your tongue is still coming along the soft palate too fast. put to proof the second part. Make it more nasal.
--Green guava waxs gargantuan.
--Almost, almost. Listen to the