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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
indigently) wrote in sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
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[ the yelling, punctuated with coarse language, doesn't even make alhaitham flinch. he's used to kaveh's outbursts, yes, but he's also just too tired to get sucked into an impassioned argument again. so, the scribe simply keeps his eyes on kaveh's with that level gaze - though he does straighten up slightly, his hands leaving the wall and coming to rest at his sides instead.
it's impossible to tell what alhaitham's thinking, but what he's being told seems to make enough sense to him. kaveh, always the impulsive one, did this because 'he wanted to' - a whimsy, or an action of convenience. unlike the architect, alhaitham hadn't dallied much with anyone over his college and subsequent akademiya years, and even then? any relationships he'd had were purely transactional, functional in nature. sure, he'd had his own share of admirers, but they were always admirers from afar, no-one quite brave enough to approach the haravatat scholar and suggest a casual hookup.
so, as always, it's simple logic and a process of elimination. earlier in this - whatever this would be classified as - kaveh had indeed mentioned that maybe he'd just needed a physical outlet, someone to engage with to vent his frustration. the reasoning is sound, the correlated actions and reactions add up, and so when kaveh asks, 'isn't that enough?', alhaitham looks somewhat thoughtful. he shrugs gently. ]
Not a particularly eloquent reason, but I suppose it is one.
[ a distant, hollow feeling is starting to gnaw at his mind, but the scribe is objectively going to chalk that down to having two hours of sleep and experiencing an uncomfortable amount of emotional energy.
calmly he asks, voice low; ]
Is it enough for you?
it's impossible to tell what alhaitham's thinking, but what he's being told seems to make enough sense to him. kaveh, always the impulsive one, did this because 'he wanted to' - a whimsy, or an action of convenience. unlike the architect, alhaitham hadn't dallied much with anyone over his college and subsequent akademiya years, and even then? any relationships he'd had were purely transactional, functional in nature. sure, he'd had his own share of admirers, but they were always admirers from afar, no-one quite brave enough to approach the haravatat scholar and suggest a casual hookup.
so, as always, it's simple logic and a process of elimination. earlier in this - whatever this would be classified as - kaveh had indeed mentioned that maybe he'd just needed a physical outlet, someone to engage with to vent his frustration. the reasoning is sound, the correlated actions and reactions add up, and so when kaveh asks, 'isn't that enough?', alhaitham looks somewhat thoughtful. he shrugs gently. ]
Not a particularly eloquent reason, but I suppose it is one.
[ a distant, hollow feeling is starting to gnaw at his mind, but the scribe is objectively going to chalk that down to having two hours of sleep and experiencing an uncomfortable amount of emotional energy.
calmly he asks, voice low; ]
Is it enough for you?
[ It should be a relief when Alhaitham's arms lower and he's no longer caged. He should be able to take solace in the fact that the scribe seems to take his words at face value, acknowledging them as a valid reason— despite their inelegance. There should be comfort in the fact that the frustration and even hurt is gone from the other's face, replaced by something calmer, more thoughtful.
Instead, he feels empty, a dull ache in his chest that says he's made a mistake; and perhaps for the first time in memory he's regretting the alcohol of the night before, the things he said and did and thought that have somehow landed him here.
But the upside perhaps is that Alhaitham seems somehow mollified by the conclusion he's reached, even if it's the wrong one— even if Kaveh's not exactly sure what that conclusion is— And all he has to do is agree and surely the whole mess will be over and forgotten and he can go back to pining in silence...
In better silence, though, since he failed so miserably at it this time. ]
Yeah, [ he says, and he's lying even though he told Alhaitham that he didn't want to do that. There's no way that the man in front of him can be something convenient, something transactional. But he shrugs anyway, averts his eyes because he can't look at him while the lies are on his tongue. ] Yeah, it's enough.
[ Maybe he'll take a nap, and then go get wasted again and try to pretend this whole thing never happened. ]
Instead, he feels empty, a dull ache in his chest that says he's made a mistake; and perhaps for the first time in memory he's regretting the alcohol of the night before, the things he said and did and thought that have somehow landed him here.
But the upside perhaps is that Alhaitham seems somehow mollified by the conclusion he's reached, even if it's the wrong one— even if Kaveh's not exactly sure what that conclusion is— And all he has to do is agree and surely the whole mess will be over and forgotten and he can go back to pining in silence...
In better silence, though, since he failed so miserably at it this time. ]
Yeah, [ he says, and he's lying even though he told Alhaitham that he didn't want to do that. There's no way that the man in front of him can be something convenient, something transactional. But he shrugs anyway, averts his eyes because he can't look at him while the lies are on his tongue. ] Yeah, it's enough.
[ Maybe he'll take a nap, and then go get wasted again and try to pretend this whole thing never happened. ]
[ The last few days have been difficult to say the least. Since the punch that nearly got him kicked out and the kiss that (also) nearly got him kicked out, Kaveh has been trying to keep his nose to the grindstone, to generally stay out of Alhaitham's way. Between the guilt and the discomfort— and the unstoppable, unshakeable feeling of rejection— it's been hard to look at the scribe for too long without getting upset or embarrassed over what happened.
The one and only upside, perhaps, is that he hasn't gotten cripplingly drunk since that night, but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't had the funds to do so, nor does he dare right now to steal any of his roommate's booze when things are so tense between them. And despite it technically being an upside, it doesn't feel like one when it means he has to deal with all the awkwardness and unhappiness while sober.
Because at least as far as he's concerned, things have been incredibly awkward between them.
He's not exactly sure, then, how they got here, tangled together on top of Alhaitham's bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin and not a lick of clothing between them. The scribe's muscled figure is dotted with the same dark bruises that highlight his own skin, an arm thrown haphazardly across his face as he voices sharp, unvoiced gasps to the air, the fingers of his other hand tangled in Kaveh's blonde hair and pulling him closer to the buck of his hips until the architect nearly chokes on him. The blonde himself is aching, heavy and hard with his own arousal, but every attempt to reach between his own legs is thwarted— he doesn't know how exactly, only that it is— as the scribe's voice breaks from its gasping to offer a sound of disapproval, voice edged with a teasing amusement unlike anything he's ever heard.
Maybe, if he stopped to think about it for even a second, he would realize that there's no way it can be real... but there's no room for thinking between the sensations of touch and feeling and pleasure. And so it's not until he wakes with a start that he realizes that it was just a dream, that he's alone in his bed, the dull grey light of morning peeking through the window and illuminating the mess he's made: the sheets tangled up around him and stained with the same translucent color that beads across his abdomen, his skin flushed and his lips half-open in a panting rhythm that matches the pounding beat of his heart.
To make matters worse, he's still half-hard, as if the untouched release inspired by the dream wasn't enough, and the images are printed on his brain like photographs that he can not only see but feel, leaving his hips arching against empty air.
With a low groan, Kaveh takes himself in hand— a hiss as his fingers touch feather-light against his own skin— and starts to stroke along his own length, head canting back with closed eyes as he sinks into his bed, chasing his release. ]
The one and only upside, perhaps, is that he hasn't gotten cripplingly drunk since that night, but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't had the funds to do so, nor does he dare right now to steal any of his roommate's booze when things are so tense between them. And despite it technically being an upside, it doesn't feel like one when it means he has to deal with all the awkwardness and unhappiness while sober.
Because at least as far as he's concerned, things have been incredibly awkward between them.
He's not exactly sure, then, how they got here, tangled together on top of Alhaitham's bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin and not a lick of clothing between them. The scribe's muscled figure is dotted with the same dark bruises that highlight his own skin, an arm thrown haphazardly across his face as he voices sharp, unvoiced gasps to the air, the fingers of his other hand tangled in Kaveh's blonde hair and pulling him closer to the buck of his hips until the architect nearly chokes on him. The blonde himself is aching, heavy and hard with his own arousal, but every attempt to reach between his own legs is thwarted— he doesn't know how exactly, only that it is— as the scribe's voice breaks from its gasping to offer a sound of disapproval, voice edged with a teasing amusement unlike anything he's ever heard.
Maybe, if he stopped to think about it for even a second, he would realize that there's no way it can be real... but there's no room for thinking between the sensations of touch and feeling and pleasure. And so it's not until he wakes with a start that he realizes that it was just a dream, that he's alone in his bed, the dull grey light of morning peeking through the window and illuminating the mess he's made: the sheets tangled up around him and stained with the same translucent color that beads across his abdomen, his skin flushed and his lips half-open in a panting rhythm that matches the pounding beat of his heart.
To make matters worse, he's still half-hard, as if the untouched release inspired by the dream wasn't enough, and the images are printed on his brain like photographs that he can not only see but feel, leaving his hips arching against empty air.
With a low groan, Kaveh takes himself in hand— a hiss as his fingers touch feather-light against his own skin— and starts to stroke along his own length, head canting back with closed eyes as he sinks into his bed, chasing his release. ]
Edited 2023-02-22 10:41 (UTC)
Then I see no issue.
[ - which is meant to be a reassuring statement, even though in this miscommunicated context it doesn't quite hit the mark. it's baffling, really, why kaveh looks so downcast when alhaitham thought he was being rather agreeable considering - had he said something off-base again? likely, although usually the other would be more than happy to make him eat his words if that was the case.
even though they were such perfect foils for one another academically, the past day had only reinforced alhaitham's theory that on personal levels, they'd never see eye to eye. whatever half step they took forward was a full step back, whether it was kaveh's stubbornness or the scribe's bluntness that triggered the next cascade - and suddenly, the finality of his fatigue collapsed on him like a tonne of bricks.
he fixes the blonde with a momentary, scrutinising look - even though kaveh had decided to avert his gaze - and lets out a quiet huff, crossing his arms over his chest. ]
You should get some rest.
[ is the final, helpful observation he offers, though even when alhaitham is being genuine it's in the same tone as the rest of his speech and kaveh will probably still take it the wrong way.
he's too exhausted to continue this train of thought with the hope of any productive outcome. if he were to be an outlet for kaveh on an impulsive basis, so be it. it was a benefit to him as well, because it was inarguably pleasant, pleasurable to have the other the way he had just before. and if that was all it would be? that's all it would be.
the silence hangs for a further second before alhaitham looks away and withdraws, the sound of bare feet against the wooden floor echoing down the hall towards his rooms, in which he then quietly disappears. ]
[ - which is meant to be a reassuring statement, even though in this miscommunicated context it doesn't quite hit the mark. it's baffling, really, why kaveh looks so downcast when alhaitham thought he was being rather agreeable considering - had he said something off-base again? likely, although usually the other would be more than happy to make him eat his words if that was the case.
even though they were such perfect foils for one another academically, the past day had only reinforced alhaitham's theory that on personal levels, they'd never see eye to eye. whatever half step they took forward was a full step back, whether it was kaveh's stubbornness or the scribe's bluntness that triggered the next cascade - and suddenly, the finality of his fatigue collapsed on him like a tonne of bricks.
he fixes the blonde with a momentary, scrutinising look - even though kaveh had decided to avert his gaze - and lets out a quiet huff, crossing his arms over his chest. ]
You should get some rest.
[ is the final, helpful observation he offers, though even when alhaitham is being genuine it's in the same tone as the rest of his speech and kaveh will probably still take it the wrong way.
he's too exhausted to continue this train of thought with the hope of any productive outcome. if he were to be an outlet for kaveh on an impulsive basis, so be it. it was a benefit to him as well, because it was inarguably pleasant, pleasurable to have the other the way he had just before. and if that was all it would be? that's all it would be.
the silence hangs for a further second before alhaitham looks away and withdraws, the sound of bare feet against the wooden floor echoing down the hall towards his rooms, in which he then quietly disappears. ]
[ despite being a scribe, alhaitham loathed relaying messages.
even in the best of circumstances he'd be averse to it - his time is worth more than being an errand boy, and in general, people should be able to sort their own affairs without the interference of others. now, in far less than ideal circumstances, he'd had a message for kaveh thrust on to him in a way that had been impossible to refuse (and he'd tried - he really had). but at the end of the day, alhaitham was still a tool of the akademiya, was still beholden to their whims and wishes, and still had to do what he was told.
things in the house had been quieter over the past few days since 'that' chain of events had come to pass, though alhaitham's unsure that it's actually an improvement on the constant bickering. the topic hadn't come up again after they'd parted ways in the hallway, nor had he even really seen kaveh since. it was obvious that the other had decided to try and avoid him, coming and going outside of his normal hours so that they didn't overlap with alhaitham's; retiring immediately to his room when he did return.
he would mention it, if they ever crossed paths, but given his previous success with questioning kaveh's movements? alhaitham's extremely unlikely to get bitten by that bad choice again. being emotionally savvy wasn't exactly his strong point, but even he wasn't a big enough idiot not to get the message:
kaveh wanted to be left well enough alone.
so, he'd respected that. until now.
it turns out, it's extremely hard to pass on a message to someone you never see, so an unwanted errand has become a gross vexation as he tries and fails, tries and fails to track kaveh down to pass it on. perhaps he would've given up already and passed it off to some unfortunate, lower-ranking scholar to tail after the light of kshahrewar, but for once it was actually for his own good - an incredibly wealthy benefactor had inquired specifically about kaveh to his darshan with a project just detailed enough to be interesting, and just lavish enough to be a large relief to the architect financially (alhaitham assumes).
so here he is, trying to do right by the akademiya and by kaveh, managing to corner the other at a time where it should be harder to escape alhaitham's presence. he'd noted the other's altered routine - the earlier times he left, the hours he swanned back in (if alhaitham was still awake) - and if his judgement was correct, it was around now that kaveh would be getting ready to get up and leave for the library.
it would be quick. in, and out. a knuckle raps resoundingly on the door as a warning, though the scribe only gives it a second before entering kaveh's rooms, looking forward to getting this ridiculous errand off his plate and onto someone else's -
ah.
the scene before him... was not something he'd expected in this plan, and for an agonising second time simply stands still as alhaitham is rendered momentarily speechless by the devastatingly beautiful, magnificent sight of kaveh thoroughly undone in front of him. his expression doesn't register any sort of surprise and remains as neutral and measured as it always does, but his mind is busy codifying the image to memory, because the blonde like this looks as decadently picturesque as a fine art painting.
he clears his throat, though doesn't avert his gaze. ]
Your darshan wants to speak with you.
even in the best of circumstances he'd be averse to it - his time is worth more than being an errand boy, and in general, people should be able to sort their own affairs without the interference of others. now, in far less than ideal circumstances, he'd had a message for kaveh thrust on to him in a way that had been impossible to refuse (and he'd tried - he really had). but at the end of the day, alhaitham was still a tool of the akademiya, was still beholden to their whims and wishes, and still had to do what he was told.
things in the house had been quieter over the past few days since 'that' chain of events had come to pass, though alhaitham's unsure that it's actually an improvement on the constant bickering. the topic hadn't come up again after they'd parted ways in the hallway, nor had he even really seen kaveh since. it was obvious that the other had decided to try and avoid him, coming and going outside of his normal hours so that they didn't overlap with alhaitham's; retiring immediately to his room when he did return.
he would mention it, if they ever crossed paths, but given his previous success with questioning kaveh's movements? alhaitham's extremely unlikely to get bitten by that bad choice again. being emotionally savvy wasn't exactly his strong point, but even he wasn't a big enough idiot not to get the message:
kaveh wanted to be left well enough alone.
so, he'd respected that. until now.
it turns out, it's extremely hard to pass on a message to someone you never see, so an unwanted errand has become a gross vexation as he tries and fails, tries and fails to track kaveh down to pass it on. perhaps he would've given up already and passed it off to some unfortunate, lower-ranking scholar to tail after the light of kshahrewar, but for once it was actually for his own good - an incredibly wealthy benefactor had inquired specifically about kaveh to his darshan with a project just detailed enough to be interesting, and just lavish enough to be a large relief to the architect financially (alhaitham assumes).
so here he is, trying to do right by the akademiya and by kaveh, managing to corner the other at a time where it should be harder to escape alhaitham's presence. he'd noted the other's altered routine - the earlier times he left, the hours he swanned back in (if alhaitham was still awake) - and if his judgement was correct, it was around now that kaveh would be getting ready to get up and leave for the library.
it would be quick. in, and out. a knuckle raps resoundingly on the door as a warning, though the scribe only gives it a second before entering kaveh's rooms, looking forward to getting this ridiculous errand off his plate and onto someone else's -
ah.
the scene before him... was not something he'd expected in this plan, and for an agonising second time simply stands still as alhaitham is rendered momentarily speechless by the devastatingly beautiful, magnificent sight of kaveh thoroughly undone in front of him. his expression doesn't register any sort of surprise and remains as neutral and measured as it always does, but his mind is busy codifying the image to memory, because the blonde like this looks as decadently picturesque as a fine art painting.
he clears his throat, though doesn't avert his gaze. ]
Your darshan wants to speak with you.
[ It's easy to lose track of time like this, and so when disaster strikes like a bolt of lightning to a lone tree in the desert, he has no idea how long it's been since he awoke to messy sheets and sweaty skin. All he knows is that he's sensitive, still close enough to his previous orgasm that there's almost an ache to the movement, a touch of discomfort despite the quickly-building pressure. It leaves him writhing, chasing a high that eludes him for a little too long, leaving him to replay the memories of the dream in his mind, answering the phantom kisses and touches with gasps and moans that he bites into his hand.
And maybe later, he'll have the decency to feel ashamed over the knowledge that he's jerking off to the imaginary ministrations of his roommate, but right now such a thought doesn't even begin to enter into his mind. He's too busy chasing, hips arching and bucking against his hand, strokes moving in a steadier, faster rhythm—
When Alhaitham knocks, the sound is momentarily lost in the fog of pleasure that shrouds his mind, the response slower than it should be due to the quickening climb toward his peak. And then realization settles in his mind in the very next moment, his eyes fly open wide, and three things happen simultaneously:
the door snicks open, revealing the object of Kaveh's fantasies standing right there, face as impassive as ever;
he lets go of his cock, making a desperate, scrambling reach for the sheets as if he can somehow cover himself up;
and he orgasms untouched (again), the sensation an almost painful one as his body experiences release without the pleasure of touch, the panicked words of banishment lost on his tongue as he twitches unbidden and moans.
No no no no no no no— This can't be happening—
And yet it is, another helpless shudder passing through him with a final pulse of pearly white, leaving Kaveh to clutch weakly at the covers, a stuttered wail of frustrated agony on his breath.
He needs to cover himself up, he thinks: the singular, desperate thought at the corners of his mind even as his body trembles bonelessly from his second release in too short a time. ]
And maybe later, he'll have the decency to feel ashamed over the knowledge that he's jerking off to the imaginary ministrations of his roommate, but right now such a thought doesn't even begin to enter into his mind. He's too busy chasing, hips arching and bucking against his hand, strokes moving in a steadier, faster rhythm—
When Alhaitham knocks, the sound is momentarily lost in the fog of pleasure that shrouds his mind, the response slower than it should be due to the quickening climb toward his peak. And then realization settles in his mind in the very next moment, his eyes fly open wide, and three things happen simultaneously:
the door snicks open, revealing the object of Kaveh's fantasies standing right there, face as impassive as ever;
he lets go of his cock, making a desperate, scrambling reach for the sheets as if he can somehow cover himself up;
and he orgasms untouched (again), the sensation an almost painful one as his body experiences release without the pleasure of touch, the panicked words of banishment lost on his tongue as he twitches unbidden and moans.
No no no no no no no— This can't be happening—
And yet it is, another helpless shudder passing through him with a final pulse of pearly white, leaving Kaveh to clutch weakly at the covers, a stuttered wail of frustrated agony on his breath.
He needs to cover himself up, he thinks: the singular, desperate thought at the corners of his mind even as his body trembles bonelessly from his second release in too short a time. ]
[ what had been a simple errand had turned into a spectacle.
it would've been too late to avert his gaze as the situation unfolded in slow motion even if alhaitham had wanted to, really. in such circumstances, it probably would've been the polite thing to do to quickly exit the room and pretend like this never happened - but the scribe isn't one to bother much about concepts like shame or embarrassment, including around topics like sexuality. it's perfectly reasonable to perform such functions as needed, so why care much about it past adhering to general societal norms?
but logic aside, he finds he can't actually look away and preserve kaveh's sense of dignity. the state the blonde is in takes him back to those few days ago, the musings he'd pored over in his mind for longer than he'd ever care to admit of just what he'd gotten up to the evening he disappeared to someone else; what that person had seen of him, the flush of skin and breathless sounds they'd enjoyed teasing out of the architect. how they'd likely been given the privilege of undoing him completely and piecing him back together again -
hm. he probably shouldn't be staring, but it feels so self-indulgent, green irises dragging themselves over kaveh's form, comparing the moan from that lyrical voice to the ones he'd elicited as he'd pressed the other into the wall of the hallway. how intriguing an experience it'd be to see what lengths he could take kaveh to - how he could make him writhe once more under his grip, how -
yes, again, shouldn't be staring.
crossing his arms, alhaitham finally gives kaveh a moment of reprieve and angles himself just slightly away from him, looking at the wall instead with a decidedly neutral gaze considering the erotica he'd just walked in on.
starting again to try and finish what he'd started (considering kaveh was already beating him there); ]
A wealthy client was asking after you via your darshan, and they insisted it couldn't wait so I was given the message. [ a beat. the churlish side of him desperately wants to add, 'be thankful they didn't send cyno', but alhaitham is learning. ] How much longer do you intend to be engaged like this so I can let them know when you'll be arriving?
it would've been too late to avert his gaze as the situation unfolded in slow motion even if alhaitham had wanted to, really. in such circumstances, it probably would've been the polite thing to do to quickly exit the room and pretend like this never happened - but the scribe isn't one to bother much about concepts like shame or embarrassment, including around topics like sexuality. it's perfectly reasonable to perform such functions as needed, so why care much about it past adhering to general societal norms?
but logic aside, he finds he can't actually look away and preserve kaveh's sense of dignity. the state the blonde is in takes him back to those few days ago, the musings he'd pored over in his mind for longer than he'd ever care to admit of just what he'd gotten up to the evening he disappeared to someone else; what that person had seen of him, the flush of skin and breathless sounds they'd enjoyed teasing out of the architect. how they'd likely been given the privilege of undoing him completely and piecing him back together again -
hm. he probably shouldn't be staring, but it feels so self-indulgent, green irises dragging themselves over kaveh's form, comparing the moan from that lyrical voice to the ones he'd elicited as he'd pressed the other into the wall of the hallway. how intriguing an experience it'd be to see what lengths he could take kaveh to - how he could make him writhe once more under his grip, how -
yes, again, shouldn't be staring.
crossing his arms, alhaitham finally gives kaveh a moment of reprieve and angles himself just slightly away from him, looking at the wall instead with a decidedly neutral gaze considering the erotica he'd just walked in on.
starting again to try and finish what he'd started (considering kaveh was already beating him there); ]
A wealthy client was asking after you via your darshan, and they insisted it couldn't wait so I was given the message. [ a beat. the churlish side of him desperately wants to add, 'be thankful they didn't send cyno', but alhaitham is learning. ] How much longer do you intend to be engaged like this so I can let them know when you'll be arriving?
Edited 2023-02-22 12:16 (UTC)
[ "Where were you when Sumeru needed you the most?" Sometimes the words echo in his head, a reminder of the fact that, busy with work, he had been deep in the desert when Lesser Lord Kusanali had needed their help. Most of the time, he doesn't worry about it too profoundly; after all, the situation had been resolved by those who were there and able, including the scribe now deemed as hero by the populace of the city. But at times like this, with his brain very much disconnected from reality by the stress of the events happening around him— to him— he wonders if perhaps he's offended their Archon somehow, if he's not being punished for his inability to help the way Alhaitham and his new friends did.
It would explain the current situation, at the very least, wouldn't it?
He probably looks ridiculous, sitting there and staring into space for too many seconds, body trembling and quaking by itself in the aftermath of his release, before he finally gathers his senses again, clicking back into reality and grabbing up his sheets, pulling them up around him as covering himself it will somehow erase everything that's just happened. There's a tell-tale sheen to his eyes, and the panic in his eyes gradually gives way to anger at the indignity of it all as he glares up at Alhaitham, standing in the bedroom doorway and decidedly not looking—
(in his haze, he never once noticed the staring)
—and when he finally speaks, his voice is laced with venom, strengthened by anger and embarrassment yet softened by the waves of stilted pleasure. ]
Don't you know that when you knock, you wait for an answer before just letting yourself in?
[ He should be excited. A wealthy client means money— lots of it— but between the lingering mental images from the dream, the frustration and the pleasure, the fury, the embarrassment... well, there's a lot getting in the way. ]
Anyway, I'm clearly never leaving the house again, so you'll just have to tell the client I'm sick. [ The exaggeration, dramatic in nature, is proven for what it really is by the sentence that follows: ] I'll meet with them tomorrow. I'm in no shape to talk to anyone right now.
[ There's no way Alhaitham will understand the emotional complexity Kaveh is going through in this moment, but at the very least, from what the architect knows he saw, he can surely understand the physical discomfort the blonde is feeling, right? ]
It would explain the current situation, at the very least, wouldn't it?
He probably looks ridiculous, sitting there and staring into space for too many seconds, body trembling and quaking by itself in the aftermath of his release, before he finally gathers his senses again, clicking back into reality and grabbing up his sheets, pulling them up around him as covering himself it will somehow erase everything that's just happened. There's a tell-tale sheen to his eyes, and the panic in his eyes gradually gives way to anger at the indignity of it all as he glares up at Alhaitham, standing in the bedroom doorway and decidedly not looking—
(in his haze, he never once noticed the staring)
—and when he finally speaks, his voice is laced with venom, strengthened by anger and embarrassment yet softened by the waves of stilted pleasure. ]
Don't you know that when you knock, you wait for an answer before just letting yourself in?
[ He should be excited. A wealthy client means money— lots of it— but between the lingering mental images from the dream, the frustration and the pleasure, the fury, the embarrassment... well, there's a lot getting in the way. ]
Anyway, I'm clearly never leaving the house again, so you'll just have to tell the client I'm sick. [ The exaggeration, dramatic in nature, is proven for what it really is by the sentence that follows: ] I'll meet with them tomorrow. I'm in no shape to talk to anyone right now.
[ There's no way Alhaitham will understand the emotional complexity Kaveh is going through in this moment, but at the very least, from what the architect knows he saw, he can surely understand the physical discomfort the blonde is feeling, right? ]
Edited 2023-02-22 16:46 (UTC)
I did wait.
[ for a second. but technically, he's correct, and to alhaitham that was the best way to be correct.
to his side, he can hear blankets rustling and the scribe takes that as his cue to be able to look around without further offending the other. yes, perhaps he'd intruded on a personal moment by kaveh's definition, but why should he be so mad? it's hardly as if it painted him in a bad light; actually, quite the opposite. the architect was devastatingly attractive, and the scribe would be a liar if he said his mind wasn't threatening to wander to more... illicit places after witnessing that.
unfortunately, to alhaitham's disappointment, the blonde was burrowing himself back into the sheets and spouting off excuses as usual; he was 'ill', he'd never leave the house, everything was the absolute worst it could possibly be. that tone was all too familiar, and with a quiet huff, the scribe frowns. this response was unacceptable, unfortunately, and to refuse to meet today was only going to make his own life more difficult. ]
They need to see you today. Why do you think I've gone to such an effort to track you down?
[ and interrupt your session of self-pleasure? really.
thinking rationally through the situation, a slender hand raises to his chin as he considers just how to get kaveh out of bed and into the house of daena as efficiently as possible. yes, he didn't want to be further bothered by people who thought he was the only person able to talk the architect into anything, for some reason, but kaveh would be an idiot not to grab this opportunity with both hands regardless of the circumstances of alhaitham having delivered the message.
the tone of his voice, his expression - it denoted embarrassment, shame, neither of which alhaitham remotely feels in the situation. maybe he'd feel less emotional if his perception of the playing field was evened out? it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.
in a thoughtful tone, the scribe offers; ]
Do you need assistance? I recall you mentioning last week that sometimes what you need to calm down is more physical than practical in nature. [ alhaitham says simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world. hadn't they already established that he was agreeable to kaveh's suggestion of a mutually beneficial, detached arrangement? ] Or perhaps you'd feel less ashamed if you saw me in the same position?
[ for a second. but technically, he's correct, and to alhaitham that was the best way to be correct.
to his side, he can hear blankets rustling and the scribe takes that as his cue to be able to look around without further offending the other. yes, perhaps he'd intruded on a personal moment by kaveh's definition, but why should he be so mad? it's hardly as if it painted him in a bad light; actually, quite the opposite. the architect was devastatingly attractive, and the scribe would be a liar if he said his mind wasn't threatening to wander to more... illicit places after witnessing that.
unfortunately, to alhaitham's disappointment, the blonde was burrowing himself back into the sheets and spouting off excuses as usual; he was 'ill', he'd never leave the house, everything was the absolute worst it could possibly be. that tone was all too familiar, and with a quiet huff, the scribe frowns. this response was unacceptable, unfortunately, and to refuse to meet today was only going to make his own life more difficult. ]
They need to see you today. Why do you think I've gone to such an effort to track you down?
[ and interrupt your session of self-pleasure? really.
thinking rationally through the situation, a slender hand raises to his chin as he considers just how to get kaveh out of bed and into the house of daena as efficiently as possible. yes, he didn't want to be further bothered by people who thought he was the only person able to talk the architect into anything, for some reason, but kaveh would be an idiot not to grab this opportunity with both hands regardless of the circumstances of alhaitham having delivered the message.
the tone of his voice, his expression - it denoted embarrassment, shame, neither of which alhaitham remotely feels in the situation. maybe he'd feel less emotional if his perception of the playing field was evened out? it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.
in a thoughtful tone, the scribe offers; ]
Do you need assistance? I recall you mentioning last week that sometimes what you need to calm down is more physical than practical in nature. [ alhaitham says simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world. hadn't they already established that he was agreeable to kaveh's suggestion of a mutually beneficial, detached arrangement? ] Or perhaps you'd feel less ashamed if you saw me in the same position?
[ He knows what Alhaitham is doing, saying things that are technically correct while not being in the spirit of what he's asked for. It's something he might usually fight the scribe on, make noise about him being an asshole or acting difficult deliberately or something like that— But Alhaitham is already continuing on in that cool, calm voice of his (a voice that makes Kaveh want to scream in frustration despite it simultaneously haunting his dreams), and his gaze turns back to the other, disbelief shining bright in crimson behind the frustrated sheen of tears, a slight drop of his jaw as an indignant protest rises to the surface of his lips.
But even that protest is unvoiced, because then the scribe says something that threatens to take Kaveh's brain right back out of reality.
Do you need assistance?
Somewhere, vaguely, he realizes that the conversation the other day has ended with Alhaitham thinking they're in some sort of friends-with-benefits arrangement— only they're not actually friends, and there's little benefit in Kaveh's mind to a physical release without the emotional when he has fucking feelings for the man— but that's neither here nor there, that's something for processing later because right now his jaw is starting to ache the way it was in his fantasies, and for a much less pleasant reason.
With a shake of his head, a mutter under his breath— "You're fucking unbelievable"— he proceeds to wrap the sheets around him a little more firmly and starts to shuffle toward the edge of his bed, intent on getting out of the bed and cleaning himself up if only so he can get out of the other man's sight—
Only he barely gets anywhere at all because all the series of movements does is remind him that he's still frustrated as hell, wound tight enough to burst at a moment's notice despite the painful ache between his legs, enough altogether to stop him dead as his eyes fall shut with a stuttered exhale on his lips. ]
...Yes. [ Kaveh's voice is soft, almost defeated, and when his eyes open again he looks at the doorframe over Alhaitham's head and not the man himself. It's true that he wants an emotional connection more than just a physical one, but when it comes down to it, in this moment in particular, he would prefer the physical release over nothing at all.
(Besides, even if it's just something like this, he should take any chance he can possibly get with the other man, right?) ]
Yes, I need help.
But even that protest is unvoiced, because then the scribe says something that threatens to take Kaveh's brain right back out of reality.
Do you need assistance?
Somewhere, vaguely, he realizes that the conversation the other day has ended with Alhaitham thinking they're in some sort of friends-with-benefits arrangement— only they're not actually friends, and there's little benefit in Kaveh's mind to a physical release without the emotional when he has fucking feelings for the man— but that's neither here nor there, that's something for processing later because right now his jaw is starting to ache the way it was in his fantasies, and for a much less pleasant reason.
With a shake of his head, a mutter under his breath— "You're fucking unbelievable"— he proceeds to wrap the sheets around him a little more firmly and starts to shuffle toward the edge of his bed, intent on getting out of the bed and cleaning himself up if only so he can get out of the other man's sight—
Only he barely gets anywhere at all because all the series of movements does is remind him that he's still frustrated as hell, wound tight enough to burst at a moment's notice despite the painful ache between his legs, enough altogether to stop him dead as his eyes fall shut with a stuttered exhale on his lips. ]
...Yes. [ Kaveh's voice is soft, almost defeated, and when his eyes open again he looks at the doorframe over Alhaitham's head and not the man himself. It's true that he wants an emotional connection more than just a physical one, but when it comes down to it, in this moment in particular, he would prefer the physical release over nothing at all.
(Besides, even if it's just something like this, he should take any chance he can possibly get with the other man, right?) ]
Yes, I need help.
Edited 2023-02-23 03:21 (UTC)
[ at the insult shot at him from under kaveh's breath, alhaitham had assumed that his offer was going to be rejected despite it being the most obvious solution to the problem. mind turning over different ways to extract the architect from the sheets, dump him in the bath and haul him over the akademiya, he kept a watchful eye on the other as he moved towards the edge of the bed. how much more furious was he going to get if he simply picked him up? would the client withdraw the offer when they see the akademiya's scribe drag their tradesman in by the scruff of his neck, or thrown over his back?
but, surprisingly, he's interrupted from devising a secondary plan by a quiet acquiescence. arching a silver eyebrow, alhaitham seeks out his gaze only to find it locked on something else not quite there - seeing through him, rather than looking at him.
honestly? considering kaveh's behaviour and extreme avoidance the past few days, the taller man was almost certain making such a logical (but in the eyes of the other, perhaps emotionally charged) offer would see him getting another loud dressing down and being ordered out of the room. but - perhaps kaveh had seen reason.
or, perhaps he was just remembering the arrangement that he'd suggested in the first place. ]
You don't sound certain.
[ the scribe replies, tone level. perhaps a purely transactional relationship wasn't what he'd expected kaveh to be interested in, but alhaitham would never assume what he wants. the idea of affecting the blonde's wellbeing, taking advantage - it would make him feel sick.
but, he moves over to kaveh's side and sits down next to him on the bed in the meantime, the slats groaning slightly at the weight of two grown adults. if he's remotely bothered by the lewd state the blonde's in, it doesn't show - because quite the opposite.
there was something about seeing someone so beautiful as such a mess that was indescribably attractive. ]
The cornerstone of our last encounter was 'because you wanted to'. Do you want it?
[ there's something wolfish that crosses alhaitham's face at the punctuation at the end of his sentence, his voice low, soft. ]
but, surprisingly, he's interrupted from devising a secondary plan by a quiet acquiescence. arching a silver eyebrow, alhaitham seeks out his gaze only to find it locked on something else not quite there - seeing through him, rather than looking at him.
honestly? considering kaveh's behaviour and extreme avoidance the past few days, the taller man was almost certain making such a logical (but in the eyes of the other, perhaps emotionally charged) offer would see him getting another loud dressing down and being ordered out of the room. but - perhaps kaveh had seen reason.
or, perhaps he was just remembering the arrangement that he'd suggested in the first place. ]
You don't sound certain.
[ the scribe replies, tone level. perhaps a purely transactional relationship wasn't what he'd expected kaveh to be interested in, but alhaitham would never assume what he wants. the idea of affecting the blonde's wellbeing, taking advantage - it would make him feel sick.
but, he moves over to kaveh's side and sits down next to him on the bed in the meantime, the slats groaning slightly at the weight of two grown adults. if he's remotely bothered by the lewd state the blonde's in, it doesn't show - because quite the opposite.
there was something about seeing someone so beautiful as such a mess that was indescribably attractive. ]
The cornerstone of our last encounter was 'because you wanted to'. Do you want it?
[ there's something wolfish that crosses alhaitham's face at the punctuation at the end of his sentence, his voice low, soft. ]
[ Of course he doesn't sound certain, is the thought that runs through his mind, bitter and unhappy. He's not. Despite the sexual nature of his dreams, he wants something genuine, something based on emotion and not transactional as the scribe's encounters are wont to be. And from the scribe's manner, his words, this won't be anything like that. The likely purpose of this, in Alhaitham's mind, is to work Kaveh's stress out of his body so that he will go in and see the client waiting at his darshan. Let nothing stand in the way of getting his job done, after all.
And yet, despite knowing all that, there's something about that wolfish expression when Alhaitham sits next to him that lets him imagine it might be something more, something about the musky scents of parchment and sandalwood on his skin that draws the architect in like he's been hypnotized, something about the hard lines of his body against which he knows he has no chance.
When the other man asks him if he wants it, Kaveh knows that the only true answer he can possibly give is "yes". ]
I do. [ he says, his eyes finally settling on Alhaitham's face, because he can feel his pulse quickening under his skin, demanding some sort of pleasure out of the mess that has been this morning. And in the heat of the moment, the soft honesty of an admission goes unnoticed, at least by its speaker, as he continues on, as if to confirm: ] I want you.
[ And Kaveh reaches, fingers curling into the too-tight fabric of Alhaitham's muscle shirt, pulling the other man close with as good a grip as he can get, and it's with a kind of desperation that his mouth all but collides with the scribe's, a hot pant of breath against his lips and a pivot of his body toward him, some of the frantically-gathered sheets and covers falling aside in favor of seeking closeness to the other.
Take what he can get, and try not to fall even deeper. ]
And yet, despite knowing all that, there's something about that wolfish expression when Alhaitham sits next to him that lets him imagine it might be something more, something about the musky scents of parchment and sandalwood on his skin that draws the architect in like he's been hypnotized, something about the hard lines of his body against which he knows he has no chance.
When the other man asks him if he wants it, Kaveh knows that the only true answer he can possibly give is "yes". ]
I do. [ he says, his eyes finally settling on Alhaitham's face, because he can feel his pulse quickening under his skin, demanding some sort of pleasure out of the mess that has been this morning. And in the heat of the moment, the soft honesty of an admission goes unnoticed, at least by its speaker, as he continues on, as if to confirm: ] I want you.
[ And Kaveh reaches, fingers curling into the too-tight fabric of Alhaitham's muscle shirt, pulling the other man close with as good a grip as he can get, and it's with a kind of desperation that his mouth all but collides with the scribe's, a hot pant of breath against his lips and a pivot of his body toward him, some of the frantically-gathered sheets and covers falling aside in favor of seeking closeness to the other.
Take what he can get, and try not to fall even deeper. ]
[ 'i want you' feels like a strange delineation from 'i want this', at least to the scribe - semantics is extremely important when communicating, and the two concepts are so far remote from one another that it'd be laughable to interpret as the same intention. his haravatat training demands clarification, wants kaveh to explain exactly what he meant by choosing those words in particular, but the searching question dies on his lips as the blonde all but dives forward into him.
the architect finds purchase in his shirt, deft fingers sinking into the fabric and managing to get some decent leverage on him. alhaitham often forgets just how strong kaveh could be, and although the almost-faded bruise on his face was a decent reminder, the sense of desire in the strength with which he yanks him forward makes the scribe's breath catch in his throat.
a satisfied hiss escapes into the kiss instead, that look back in alhaitham's eyes which was reminiscent of what kaveh had triggered in the hallway those few days ago - like he was letting go of some of his tethers of reason and handing his heart over to something much more unpredictable; more carnal. it takes no encouragement for him to respond enthusiastically, soundly kissing the blonde back as his hands seek out kaveh's slim waist.
distantly, so distantly, there's a weak, quiet voice that's trying to remind him he's doing this to expedite a task, doing this to speed things along; definitely not because kaveh drives him to both ruin and distraction at the same time, definitely not because the other takes up an impregnable corner of his mind and refuses to leave.
strong hands travel over porcelain skin to the small of his back and back to his waist like the scribe needed to map every inch of it for greed's sake - and then, he's not quite sure what triggers it, whether it was a delicious noise he managed to drag out of kaveh or the taste of him as he swipes his tongue across his teeth, but something breaks inside the scholar. a lesser man would've crumbled much sooner, having had to watch someone so beautiful stroke themselves to ruin right in front of them; really, it's quite admirable alhaitham had lasted this long.
leveraging his strength over the other, fingers sink tighter into the muscle of kaveh's waist and the scribe pins him heavily to the mattress in one fluid movement, the wood of the bed complaining again at such a strain. a thigh swings over the other side of the architect's hip, trapping him in place underneath the taller man, covers fallen away and forgotten.
for a wonderful, agonising moment, emerald eyes rake themselves over kaveh's body, simply appreciating - and although alhaitham looked almost as unruffled as usual, there was the most miniscule upwards curl to his lips as he drinks the other in, humming lowly in appreciation to himself.
he then cants at the waist, coming down to kaveh's level again - though he doesn't immediately satisfy his desire to kiss the other soundly again. instead, his mouth travels up the sensitive skin of kaveh's neck, coming to stop at the shell of the architect's ear, breath hot against it. in a graveled whisper that comes out more demanding than he intends; ]
Who gave you the right to be so beautiful?
the architect finds purchase in his shirt, deft fingers sinking into the fabric and managing to get some decent leverage on him. alhaitham often forgets just how strong kaveh could be, and although the almost-faded bruise on his face was a decent reminder, the sense of desire in the strength with which he yanks him forward makes the scribe's breath catch in his throat.
a satisfied hiss escapes into the kiss instead, that look back in alhaitham's eyes which was reminiscent of what kaveh had triggered in the hallway those few days ago - like he was letting go of some of his tethers of reason and handing his heart over to something much more unpredictable; more carnal. it takes no encouragement for him to respond enthusiastically, soundly kissing the blonde back as his hands seek out kaveh's slim waist.
distantly, so distantly, there's a weak, quiet voice that's trying to remind him he's doing this to expedite a task, doing this to speed things along; definitely not because kaveh drives him to both ruin and distraction at the same time, definitely not because the other takes up an impregnable corner of his mind and refuses to leave.
strong hands travel over porcelain skin to the small of his back and back to his waist like the scribe needed to map every inch of it for greed's sake - and then, he's not quite sure what triggers it, whether it was a delicious noise he managed to drag out of kaveh or the taste of him as he swipes his tongue across his teeth, but something breaks inside the scholar. a lesser man would've crumbled much sooner, having had to watch someone so beautiful stroke themselves to ruin right in front of them; really, it's quite admirable alhaitham had lasted this long.
leveraging his strength over the other, fingers sink tighter into the muscle of kaveh's waist and the scribe pins him heavily to the mattress in one fluid movement, the wood of the bed complaining again at such a strain. a thigh swings over the other side of the architect's hip, trapping him in place underneath the taller man, covers fallen away and forgotten.
for a wonderful, agonising moment, emerald eyes rake themselves over kaveh's body, simply appreciating - and although alhaitham looked almost as unruffled as usual, there was the most miniscule upwards curl to his lips as he drinks the other in, humming lowly in appreciation to himself.
he then cants at the waist, coming down to kaveh's level again - though he doesn't immediately satisfy his desire to kiss the other soundly again. instead, his mouth travels up the sensitive skin of kaveh's neck, coming to stop at the shell of the architect's ear, breath hot against it. in a graveled whisper that comes out more demanding than he intends; ]
Who gave you the right to be so beautiful?
[ If Kaveh's sense hadn't already been stretched thin by the dream and the ruin that immediately followed it, he might have something to say about the concept of fairness. Not only is the scribe immaculately presented in comparison to his own shattered, debauched appearance, but Alhaitham, fully clothed, maps hands over skin entirely bared to him, replete as it is with scattered patches of flushed red and the slow-fading bruises left days ago by an exploring mouth.
And then Alhaitham's passion takes him by surprise yet again, landing him on his back under the other and locked under the press of his legs (and Archons it sounds like the bed is going to give out under them if they're not careful), and the slow rake of emerald over his nakedness has Kaveh almost forgetting to breathe, let alone think of abstract concepts like equity.
Is it just his imagination, or is he smiling?
There might just be a whine on the architect's voice when those lips bypass his, although it's a sound that becomes a low moan at the exploration of that sensitive skin, a sharp exhale at the feel of the scribe's breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Fuck, he wonders wildly, maybe those stupid rumors around the campus back then were true, and Alhaitham's not human but homunculus, one programmed with all the right things to do to make someone fall apart under him—
what
Color floods to Kaveh's cheeks in response to the words at his ear, lips parting in a surprised stutter, trying for a moment to find an answer for a question that doesn't require answering, and the dull ache in his abdomen throbs and tightens even as a cold hand grips around his heart. There's no possible way that Alhaitham means it the way he wants him to; it's just his way, the architect is sure, of giving him the whole experience or something, of solidifying the "benefits" part of "friends with benefits" into something more than just sex.
It doesn't stop him from immediately breaking the promise he made not to fall further for him, though, nor from shuddering in response to the deep gravel of the other's voice. ]
Alhaitham—
[ He doesn't know what to say other than a lyrical murmur of his name; reaches instead to bury a hand in the scribe's immaculate silver hair, his own head canting back against the pillows as if to offer more skin for the other to explore, like he isn't an entire platter laid out under him already. His other hand goes back to the front of the other's shirt, tugging at the fabric in a pitiful, half-hearted attempt— he's still very much distracted by Alhaitham's lips and words, after all— to get it off him and level the playing field even slightly. ]
And then Alhaitham's passion takes him by surprise yet again, landing him on his back under the other and locked under the press of his legs (and Archons it sounds like the bed is going to give out under them if they're not careful), and the slow rake of emerald over his nakedness has Kaveh almost forgetting to breathe, let alone think of abstract concepts like equity.
Is it just his imagination, or is he smiling?
There might just be a whine on the architect's voice when those lips bypass his, although it's a sound that becomes a low moan at the exploration of that sensitive skin, a sharp exhale at the feel of the scribe's breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Fuck, he wonders wildly, maybe those stupid rumors around the campus back then were true, and Alhaitham's not human but homunculus, one programmed with all the right things to do to make someone fall apart under him—
what
Color floods to Kaveh's cheeks in response to the words at his ear, lips parting in a surprised stutter, trying for a moment to find an answer for a question that doesn't require answering, and the dull ache in his abdomen throbs and tightens even as a cold hand grips around his heart. There's no possible way that Alhaitham means it the way he wants him to; it's just his way, the architect is sure, of giving him the whole experience or something, of solidifying the "benefits" part of "friends with benefits" into something more than just sex.
It doesn't stop him from immediately breaking the promise he made not to fall further for him, though, nor from shuddering in response to the deep gravel of the other's voice. ]
Alhaitham—
[ He doesn't know what to say other than a lyrical murmur of his name; reaches instead to bury a hand in the scribe's immaculate silver hair, his own head canting back against the pillows as if to offer more skin for the other to explore, like he isn't an entire platter laid out under him already. His other hand goes back to the front of the other's shirt, tugging at the fabric in a pitiful, half-hearted attempt— he's still very much distracted by Alhaitham's lips and words, after all— to get it off him and level the playing field even slightly. ]
Edited 2023-02-23 15:59 (UTC)
[ it was a reasonable enough question that alhaitham wasn't expecting an answer to, but his name breathlessly on kaveh's voice, those deft fingers in his hair was a better reply than he could've imagined. he's still lost in the soft crook of the blonde's neck, making his own marks this time with the faintest graze of teeth because alhaitham is yet to get the light marks that remain peppering kaveh's skin out of his head - not since that morning.
jealousy is a foreign concept to him, a whole new experience that's not entirely pleasant. the scribe has never been envious of others, because why would he be? he was confident in his own intelligence, his life was comfortable, and he wasn't wanting for anything - at least, he'd thought he hadn't been wanting for anything until it had been summarily taken away from him by someone else. whoever kaveh had fallen into the arms of simply wouldn't get it. they couldn't. couldn't know what he needed, how best to treat him, how to protect him -
- and alhaitham's distantly surprised that he's the authority on all of those things, because he'd made it his business to be.
fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt and the scribe breaks away momentarily to grab the bottom hems, pulling it over his head and discarding it in a fluid movement without needing much encouragement. his musculature was completely incongruent with how he spends most of his days, hard muscle flexing as he ducks back down to capture kaveh's mouth with an almost bruising kiss.
funny, that alhaitham is almost as blunt and demanding physically as he is to deal with socially, pushing the boundaries of what he could take while somehow perfectly balanced with what the blonde needed. like his speech, his actions are just as to the point, confident, bold and decisive - and to that end, he manages to break away from the heated kiss, immediately moving his ministrations back down kaveh's skin again.
gentle but strangely possessive, his lips make his way south down the blonde's slender neck, over his chest, down past his stomach. each time alhaitham's mouth meets that beautifully soft skin, it's like a message that's reflected in the wolfishness that's returned to his eyes - 'these are reminders, you're mine' - and those turquoise irises shoot up to seek out kaveh's in confrontation as he languidly takes the other's length in his mouth at the same time. ]
jealousy is a foreign concept to him, a whole new experience that's not entirely pleasant. the scribe has never been envious of others, because why would he be? he was confident in his own intelligence, his life was comfortable, and he wasn't wanting for anything - at least, he'd thought he hadn't been wanting for anything until it had been summarily taken away from him by someone else. whoever kaveh had fallen into the arms of simply wouldn't get it. they couldn't. couldn't know what he needed, how best to treat him, how to protect him -
- and alhaitham's distantly surprised that he's the authority on all of those things, because he'd made it his business to be.
fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt and the scribe breaks away momentarily to grab the bottom hems, pulling it over his head and discarding it in a fluid movement without needing much encouragement. his musculature was completely incongruent with how he spends most of his days, hard muscle flexing as he ducks back down to capture kaveh's mouth with an almost bruising kiss.
funny, that alhaitham is almost as blunt and demanding physically as he is to deal with socially, pushing the boundaries of what he could take while somehow perfectly balanced with what the blonde needed. like his speech, his actions are just as to the point, confident, bold and decisive - and to that end, he manages to break away from the heated kiss, immediately moving his ministrations back down kaveh's skin again.
gentle but strangely possessive, his lips make his way south down the blonde's slender neck, over his chest, down past his stomach. each time alhaitham's mouth meets that beautifully soft skin, it's like a message that's reflected in the wolfishness that's returned to his eyes - 'these are reminders, you're mine' - and those turquoise irises shoot up to seek out kaveh's in confrontation as he languidly takes the other's length in his mouth at the same time. ]
[ Between the sensation of suction and the scraping of teeth against the sensitive skin along the crook of his neck, Kaveh knows exactly what Alhaitham is doing, and there's a moment where he wonders if he knows why— although admittedly it seems unlikely to him that the scribe's annoyance over the existing marks came hand in hand with jealousy, even if he otherwise might like to think so.
He doesn't have room to think about it for long, though, because shortly after the thoughts surface, the scribe breaks away and peels off that too-tight shirt, revealing in full the twin lines of hard muscle that make up his torso, and Kaveh stops moving under him entirely to stare, unabashed and open; when the other man's body shifts down to kiss him once more, his hands both lift to touch and explore, charting the other's body with slender fingers as he returns the kiss with an eager kind of hunger.
Fuck, he feels so unfairly good that Kaveh's not sure dreams will ever be enough again— Especially when dreams have thus far failed to capture that look Alhaitham's eyes wear when he breaks their kiss, the architect's petulant whine quickly stuttering into soft moans and gasps of pleasure as the other's traveling mouth leaves more bites in its wake— and there's another wandering, wondering thought quickly shot down— before lowering further still—
Crimson eyes widen, lips parting in silent shock as he clues in to what's about to happen, as the scribe's eyes meet his, the look in his eyes so fiery compared to the relaxed way he takes Kaveh into his mouth, and there's a lot of things the architect has dared think about but never this. His fingers scrabble, searching out the sheet that lines his mattress and grabbing handfuls hard enough to tear, fighting the desperate urge to buck against those lips, a litany of soft curses falling as gasps from his lips.
And he hates, hates how sensitive he is, because it feels like he's already frighteningly close to tipping over the edge and he doesn't want that (even if he knows that the scribe is doing this largely to hasten his exit from the house); he finds himself clutching the sheets harder and trying to channel his mind toward something unsexy but all he knows is Alhaitham and his body and his scent and his mouth and fuck but none of this is fair.
(Also unfair is the fact that like this he can't touch the other man unless he wants to grab handfuls of his hair the way he's grabbing at the sheets, and he'd rather not rip the silver strands right from the other's scalp.) ]
He doesn't have room to think about it for long, though, because shortly after the thoughts surface, the scribe breaks away and peels off that too-tight shirt, revealing in full the twin lines of hard muscle that make up his torso, and Kaveh stops moving under him entirely to stare, unabashed and open; when the other man's body shifts down to kiss him once more, his hands both lift to touch and explore, charting the other's body with slender fingers as he returns the kiss with an eager kind of hunger.
Fuck, he feels so unfairly good that Kaveh's not sure dreams will ever be enough again— Especially when dreams have thus far failed to capture that look Alhaitham's eyes wear when he breaks their kiss, the architect's petulant whine quickly stuttering into soft moans and gasps of pleasure as the other's traveling mouth leaves more bites in its wake— and there's another wandering, wondering thought quickly shot down— before lowering further still—
Crimson eyes widen, lips parting in silent shock as he clues in to what's about to happen, as the scribe's eyes meet his, the look in his eyes so fiery compared to the relaxed way he takes Kaveh into his mouth, and there's a lot of things the architect has dared think about but never this. His fingers scrabble, searching out the sheet that lines his mattress and grabbing handfuls hard enough to tear, fighting the desperate urge to buck against those lips, a litany of soft curses falling as gasps from his lips.
And he hates, hates how sensitive he is, because it feels like he's already frighteningly close to tipping over the edge and he doesn't want that (even if he knows that the scribe is doing this largely to hasten his exit from the house); he finds himself clutching the sheets harder and trying to channel his mind toward something unsexy but all he knows is Alhaitham and his body and his scent and his mouth and fuck but none of this is fair.
(Also unfair is the fact that like this he can't touch the other man unless he wants to grab handfuls of his hair the way he's grabbing at the sheets, and he'd rather not rip the silver strands right from the other's scalp.) ]
[ kaveh could do his very best to think of the most unattractive thoughts possible - chores that needed doing around the house, the old sages that shuffled around the akademiya, being polite - but alhaitham is nothing if not focused, and therefore his ministrations are absolutely relentless.
it almost doesn't make sense that he's so good at what he's currently doing, considering the details of his previous dalliances rarely came up in conversation. not that he was shy or reluctant to elaborate, but alhaitham simply guesses it seems an unapproachable topic for an unapproachable person, the only details he'd shared stemming from questions kaveh had mustered up the courage to ask him while several drinks deep.
it had, perhaps, been some time since he'd been in this kind of position, but this was different to his previous encounters anyway. none had been as satisfying to watch unravel or tease the kinds of sounds out of that kaveh was making, the scribe's gaze darting briefly to white knuckles clutching at the sheets with a somewhat smug look in his eyes (if one could look smug while blowing someone, but if anyone could manage it, alhaitham would be the one).
he pauses his rhythm for a moment to make a show of dragging his tongue slowly, agonisingly slowly up kaveh's length from base to tip, still refusing to break eye contact with the other. it's uncharacteristically, intimately lewd and alhaitham absolutely knows that it'll undo him, but there's something so rewarding about seeing the blonde in the throes of pleasure like this and unable to do anything about it, not even bothering to grab a fistful of his hair.
the voice that had been quietly screaming that this was simply means to an end was now completely silent, the scribe thoroughly mesmerised by the breathtaking performance kaveh was putting on. ]
it almost doesn't make sense that he's so good at what he's currently doing, considering the details of his previous dalliances rarely came up in conversation. not that he was shy or reluctant to elaborate, but alhaitham simply guesses it seems an unapproachable topic for an unapproachable person, the only details he'd shared stemming from questions kaveh had mustered up the courage to ask him while several drinks deep.
it had, perhaps, been some time since he'd been in this kind of position, but this was different to his previous encounters anyway. none had been as satisfying to watch unravel or tease the kinds of sounds out of that kaveh was making, the scribe's gaze darting briefly to white knuckles clutching at the sheets with a somewhat smug look in his eyes (if one could look smug while blowing someone, but if anyone could manage it, alhaitham would be the one).
he pauses his rhythm for a moment to make a show of dragging his tongue slowly, agonisingly slowly up kaveh's length from base to tip, still refusing to break eye contact with the other. it's uncharacteristically, intimately lewd and alhaitham absolutely knows that it'll undo him, but there's something so rewarding about seeing the blonde in the throes of pleasure like this and unable to do anything about it, not even bothering to grab a fistful of his hair.
the voice that had been quietly screaming that this was simply means to an end was now completely silent, the scribe thoroughly mesmerised by the breathtaking performance kaveh was putting on. ]
[ He's trying, he really is. The unsexiest thoughts he can possibly manage, and somehow they all keep coming right back to the man bent over him, showing off skills that the architect never dreamed of him having. The worst (best?) part is how he can feel Alhaitham's eyes watching him even as his own shut against the onslaught of pleasure, even as he feels the threads of the sheet give under the clutching fingers of his left hand, the tearing sound audible in a room otherwise quiet save his gasps and moans and the salacious sound of the scribe's mouth moving over his length. All in all, it's too much, and despite his best attempts he feels himself reaching dangerously close to that peak.
But in a morning full of frustrations, it's perhaps no surprise that Alhaitham's rhythm is paused just at a time when he might otherwise find himself too far gone to stop. Kaveh's eyes snap open in time with the low whine on his lips, hips starting to lift unbidden in desperation only for the other man's tongue to start to drag, too too slow, along his swollen arousal, leaving Kaveh gasping out in helpless pleasure, his gaze transfixed on that smug look reflected back at him in emerald. ]
Fuck, Alhaitham, fucking— Archons, just...
[ He still doesn't want to rip any hair out, but that feeling is secondary now to the need coursing through him, leaving him to reach and this time thread fingers into the other man's silver hair, locking in tight as his lips tremble over a soft, begging syllable: ]
Please.
[ Kaveh thinks he might be ruined, not just for his own dreams now but for other people too; no one has ever taken him apart quite this expertly, left him pleading for an end even as he wants the moment to stretch out beyond what's humanly possible— (and there's another wandering thought about a samsara, about being trapped in a moment like this for every waking moment for the rest of his life) —And right now he's sure there's no one else who can. ]
But in a morning full of frustrations, it's perhaps no surprise that Alhaitham's rhythm is paused just at a time when he might otherwise find himself too far gone to stop. Kaveh's eyes snap open in time with the low whine on his lips, hips starting to lift unbidden in desperation only for the other man's tongue to start to drag, too too slow, along his swollen arousal, leaving Kaveh gasping out in helpless pleasure, his gaze transfixed on that smug look reflected back at him in emerald. ]
Fuck, Alhaitham, fucking— Archons, just...
[ He still doesn't want to rip any hair out, but that feeling is secondary now to the need coursing through him, leaving him to reach and this time thread fingers into the other man's silver hair, locking in tight as his lips tremble over a soft, begging syllable: ]
Please.
[ Kaveh thinks he might be ruined, not just for his own dreams now but for other people too; no one has ever taken him apart quite this expertly, left him pleading for an end even as he wants the moment to stretch out beyond what's humanly possible— (and there's another wandering thought about a samsara, about being trapped in a moment like this for every waking moment for the rest of his life) —And right now he's sure there's no one else who can. ]
[ with the state that kaveh had been in when he'd started, there's no doubt that alhaitham could've approached this far more practically without the teasing, without testing to see how much he could make the blonde writhe in the sheets and wantonly moan his name in a way that shoots a keen arousal straight down to his core. of course, he's not intending to involve himself past pleasuring the other - after all, his offer had been one of help, not of self-satisfaction - but the scribe is surprised to find out just how far he'd actually ended up deviating from his course, giving in to far more selfishness and self-indulgence than he'd intended when he'd suggested this.
those deft, artistic fingers weave into his hair and tighten in a way that only ends up making him painfully hard; inconvenient, considering he had to return to the akademiya almost straight after this, and that it would be nigh impossible to erase these erotic images from an eidetic memory with any speed either.
needless to say, he needs very little encouragement to finish what he'd initiated, though the scribe pauses for a moment in his vantage point between kaveh's legs, his own still-gloved hands running up the muscle of the architect's thighs and coming to rest at the jut of his hips.
in a commanding, low voice that's slightly hoarse in a way that could only belie the lewd things he'd been doing to kaveh, he murmurs; ]
Come for me, then.
[ - and then takes the blonde entirely in his mouth once more, resuming the relentless rhythm. he wanted to see kaveh absolutely fall apart, and for once, he wanted to be the reason for it - not some nameless person from a tavern, not some gorgeous man or woman that'd be rightfully smitten with him the moment they saw him, not anyone else.
all he wanted kaveh to think about was him. ]
those deft, artistic fingers weave into his hair and tighten in a way that only ends up making him painfully hard; inconvenient, considering he had to return to the akademiya almost straight after this, and that it would be nigh impossible to erase these erotic images from an eidetic memory with any speed either.
needless to say, he needs very little encouragement to finish what he'd initiated, though the scribe pauses for a moment in his vantage point between kaveh's legs, his own still-gloved hands running up the muscle of the architect's thighs and coming to rest at the jut of his hips.
in a commanding, low voice that's slightly hoarse in a way that could only belie the lewd things he'd been doing to kaveh, he murmurs; ]
Come for me, then.
[ - and then takes the blonde entirely in his mouth once more, resuming the relentless rhythm. he wanted to see kaveh absolutely fall apart, and for once, he wanted to be the reason for it - not some nameless person from a tavern, not some gorgeous man or woman that'd be rightfully smitten with him the moment they saw him, not anyone else.
all he wanted kaveh to think about was him. ]
[ The irony, perhaps, of Alhaitham's dark thoughts is that this will hardly be the first time the blonde has fallen apart because of him, nor even the second. But it's different this time of course, because this isn't imagined or dreamed but real, happening. The feel of scribe's talented mouth and tongue. The challenging glare in his emerald eyes. The obscene sounds of his movements over Kaveh's length. The still-lingering scent sandalwood, mixed now with the architect's own sweat and the musky, heady flavor of sex. That voice, low and rough, commanding Kaveh to come— ]
Alhaitham—!
[ And he does, a strangled cry of Alhaitham's name half-smothered in his own left wrist as his hips jerk and stutter against that sinful mouth, fingers too tight and pulling at silver strands of hair in an instinctive attempt to tug him in closer, and tears of mingled pleasure and relief spring to the corners of Kaveh's tightly-shut eyes as the painful, unbearable pressure of the morning finally lessens. ]
Fuck, oh fuck... oh fuck...
[ The curse word is repeated over and over like a mantra, puffed out between desperate gasps for breath, body trembling and chest heavy and fingers unwinding themselves— and he should probably apologize for tugging on Alhaitham's hair so hard, but his brain has summarily quit working— eyes opening as he stares unseeing at the ceiling of his room.
Kaveh has been with his fair share of people over the years, but he's never experienced anything quite like this, and he's almost afraid to look back down the length of his body at the scribe once more, but he does, tongue darting out over too-dry lips as he reaches for him. In the pleasant haze of the afterglow, he's forgotten momentarily his worries about what this is, and what they are, and the fact that Alhaitham seems to think he wants something transactional; in fact, as he slowly recovers and his brain pieces itself back together, all he can think about is the fact that he wants to please the scribe in return. ]
Alhaitham—!
[ And he does, a strangled cry of Alhaitham's name half-smothered in his own left wrist as his hips jerk and stutter against that sinful mouth, fingers too tight and pulling at silver strands of hair in an instinctive attempt to tug him in closer, and tears of mingled pleasure and relief spring to the corners of Kaveh's tightly-shut eyes as the painful, unbearable pressure of the morning finally lessens. ]
Fuck, oh fuck... oh fuck...
[ The curse word is repeated over and over like a mantra, puffed out between desperate gasps for breath, body trembling and chest heavy and fingers unwinding themselves— and he should probably apologize for tugging on Alhaitham's hair so hard, but his brain has summarily quit working— eyes opening as he stares unseeing at the ceiling of his room.
Kaveh has been with his fair share of people over the years, but he's never experienced anything quite like this, and he's almost afraid to look back down the length of his body at the scribe once more, but he does, tongue darting out over too-dry lips as he reaches for him. In the pleasant haze of the afterglow, he's forgotten momentarily his worries about what this is, and what they are, and the fact that Alhaitham seems to think he wants something transactional; in fact, as he slowly recovers and his brain pieces itself back together, all he can think about is the fact that he wants to please the scribe in return. ]
[ it's immensely gratifying tipping kaveh over the precipice with his name on his lips loud enough to be heard outside the confines of the architect's rooms. alhaitham normally comes out of the other with annoyance or frustration; used as a weapon to chastise rather than this, this desperate form of his name from kaveh's lips, laced with desire and longing. it triggers a dull ache in his soul that the scribe wants to chalk down to base arousal as he easily swallows the architect's completion, because it's easier to explain away the complex dichotomy he feels in terms of natural actions and reactions than delve into anything more ephemeral.
had he enjoyed himself? resoundingly, yes. had he simply offered himself to serve a purpose? also, yes.
which makes it difficult to parse when hands shakily detangle themselves from his hair and instead reach for him, when alhaitham had already intended not to get any more involved, not to further complicate their agreement any further. there's a moment of hesitation as he pulls back slightly, mouth glistening salaciously as he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off some excess from the encounter.
but - in the interests of diplomacy, the scribe allows kaveh to guide him bonelessly back upwards, aware that the other was more emotionally fragile than he was - aware that it would be even easier for him to say or do the wrong thing in this moment than it usually was. the boundaries between them are so undefined though, and the scribe hates grey areas; so much room for misinterpretation, such a minefield.
he settles for laying on his side next to kaveh's wrung out form, elbow propping him up on the bed as he all but surveys his handiwork. the upwards curl of his lips had gone, but there's still something summarily smug about his expression. ]
Did that help?
had he enjoyed himself? resoundingly, yes. had he simply offered himself to serve a purpose? also, yes.
which makes it difficult to parse when hands shakily detangle themselves from his hair and instead reach for him, when alhaitham had already intended not to get any more involved, not to further complicate their agreement any further. there's a moment of hesitation as he pulls back slightly, mouth glistening salaciously as he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off some excess from the encounter.
but - in the interests of diplomacy, the scribe allows kaveh to guide him bonelessly back upwards, aware that the other was more emotionally fragile than he was - aware that it would be even easier for him to say or do the wrong thing in this moment than it usually was. the boundaries between them are so undefined though, and the scribe hates grey areas; so much room for misinterpretation, such a minefield.
he settles for laying on his side next to kaveh's wrung out form, elbow propping him up on the bed as he all but surveys his handiwork. the upwards curl of his lips had gone, but there's still something summarily smug about his expression. ]
Did that help?
[ It's unfair how, right as his eyes settle on Alhaitham's face, he catches the way the other man's throat works, the bob of his larynx as he swallows— not to mention the swipe of his thumb over his burnished lip in the next moment. It sends another jolt of pleasure right to his spent length, and if he wasn't cooling down from his third release in a too-short time, he might have found that simple act to be the spark of something all over again. But as it is, it's an image he's forced to file away in his mind for later, a hitch in his breath that leaves it short and quick as the other man moves to join him higher up on the bed.
He wants to kiss him, but Alhaitham is settling on his side and looking over him, something smug in his expression that stops Kaveh in his tracks, brings him just that little closer to reality, a reminder of the fact that the other's goal was to get him out of the bed as quickly as possible. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah, it helped a lot.
[ And that should be all there is to it. Right? But even then, with that knowledge in his mind, he can't quite stop his eyes from skimming down over the scribe's body in answer, taking in the firm lines of his muscled abs, and then lower still to the arousal straining obvious against the soft, loose fabric of his pants. Kaveh's mouth runs dry at the sight, and if the other man is watching closely enough he may see the slight dilation of his pupils, eyes flicking back up to his face as his tongue wets his lips.
(Alhaitham is hard— For him? Or just in a natural response to what was happening in the moment between the two of them?) ]
Do you... [ and the words come out as a stutter, tasting unsure on Kaveh's lips even as ruby eyes seek emerald, a question alive in his gaze. ] Can I— May I... Will you let me help you?
[ The question is finally asked, and lithe, delicate fingers are flexing at his side, more desperate than he'll ever admit to reach out, to touch, to do something in return, wanting to see Alhaitham fall apart for him just as he fell apart for the scribe—
Maybe he's still a little disconnected from reality. ]
He wants to kiss him, but Alhaitham is settling on his side and looking over him, something smug in his expression that stops Kaveh in his tracks, brings him just that little closer to reality, a reminder of the fact that the other's goal was to get him out of the bed as quickly as possible. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah, it helped a lot.
[ And that should be all there is to it. Right? But even then, with that knowledge in his mind, he can't quite stop his eyes from skimming down over the scribe's body in answer, taking in the firm lines of his muscled abs, and then lower still to the arousal straining obvious against the soft, loose fabric of his pants. Kaveh's mouth runs dry at the sight, and if the other man is watching closely enough he may see the slight dilation of his pupils, eyes flicking back up to his face as his tongue wets his lips.
(Alhaitham is hard— For him? Or just in a natural response to what was happening in the moment between the two of them?) ]
Do you... [ and the words come out as a stutter, tasting unsure on Kaveh's lips even as ruby eyes seek emerald, a question alive in his gaze. ] Can I— May I... Will you let me help you?
[ The question is finally asked, and lithe, delicate fingers are flexing at his side, more desperate than he'll ever admit to reach out, to touch, to do something in return, wanting to see Alhaitham fall apart for him just as he fell apart for the scribe—
Maybe he's still a little disconnected from reality. ]
Edited (SORRY) 2023-02-25 15:00 (UTC)
[ turquoise eyes maintain an even gaze on the blonde, that familiar, neutral guard firmly back up as kaveh floats the question to him he'd hoped he wouldn't ask. if the unspoken rules of their agreement were different, perhaps he'd agree - if he wasn't due back at the akademiya as soon as possible, if he could trust that further investment in this relationship without definition wouldn't result in disaster. but alhaitham is decidedly hesitant to dive into situations he's lacking context for, where he's unable to see all the moving parts and boundaries.
the more unrestrained part of his soul which repeatedly writhed its way out when he saw kaveh like this would love nothing more than to curse the sages' schedule to hell; to climb on top of the architect and take him in a way that he'd never be able to forget, that none of his nameless lovers would ever be able to live up to; to take him up on the offer to relieve the, frankly, quite distracting arousal he'd essentially cursed himself with.
but: alhaitham couldn't. for many reasons, he couldn't.
with a short sigh, the scribe shakes his head. ]
I was never included as part of this suggestion; only that I was interested in assisting you as per the needs you mentioned last time we discussed this.
[ and he thinks this is a very reasonable reply, because after all, this should demonstrate his willingness to give, correct? especially when it was something obviously causing kaveh some distress. ]
You don't need to be concerned for me. I'm due back at the Akademiya presently, anyway.
[ even though it is a very reasonable reply, he's surprised it's so hard to say. ]
the more unrestrained part of his soul which repeatedly writhed its way out when he saw kaveh like this would love nothing more than to curse the sages' schedule to hell; to climb on top of the architect and take him in a way that he'd never be able to forget, that none of his nameless lovers would ever be able to live up to; to take him up on the offer to relieve the, frankly, quite distracting arousal he'd essentially cursed himself with.
but: alhaitham couldn't. for many reasons, he couldn't.
with a short sigh, the scribe shakes his head. ]
I was never included as part of this suggestion; only that I was interested in assisting you as per the needs you mentioned last time we discussed this.
[ and he thinks this is a very reasonable reply, because after all, this should demonstrate his willingness to give, correct? especially when it was something obviously causing kaveh some distress. ]
You don't need to be concerned for me. I'm due back at the Akademiya presently, anyway.
[ even though it is a very reasonable reply, he's surprised it's so hard to say. ]
[ Somehow, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, Kaveh's not expecting his offer to be turned down. Maybe it's the fact that he's still partially wrapped up in the sweet-scented fog of his afterglow. Maybe it's the fact that he can literally see for himself that Alhaitham is aroused. Or maybe it's the memory of those passionate, possessive kisses that spoke to something deeper than transaction— and he dares not look at his own body right now, but he knows without needing to it's littered with dark bruises to prove it happened.
But the scribe shakes his head, and Kaveh's mouth floods with the bitter taste of disappointment even as his brows crease, expression shifting quickly into something puzzled. ]
...Are you joking? [ There's a certain height to his tone, an indication that if it weren't for the floaty sensation of the pleasure he might have shouted the words instead, although there's less anger and more hurt in the way he speaks, something that slips through despite a weak attempt to conceal it. ] Part of what's so good about sex is reciprocation!
[ And he recalls, distantly, that part of Alhaitham's offer had been for Kaveh to see him in the same undone state... although he's starting to realize that for the scribe, it was an either-or offer, not both, and despite how good he feels— was feeling, for the sensation is quickly starting to fade in favor of that wash of bitterness and disappointment— the architect can't help but wonder if he's made the wrong choice.
He swallows the thought back, makes an irritated gesture towards the scribe's crotch. ]
Besides, how exactly do you plan to go back to the Akademiya like that?
[ Anger is the wrong emotion for this, he knows it even as the words spill over his lips. But the hurt twisting in his chest won't allow for anything else. All he can think about is how much he wants to take the other man apart, give him the same pleasure distantly (ever distantly) humming in his own veins, prove to him somehow that Alhaitham needs him in the same way he knows he needs Alhaitham. To watch those muscles tense up and flex as he winds up to the apex of his pleasure. To taste him, coax him through fulfillment, show him how good it feels to accept—
He chases the thoughts away with an exasperated internal sigh, and his crimson eyes fix challengingly on those across from him. ]
But the scribe shakes his head, and Kaveh's mouth floods with the bitter taste of disappointment even as his brows crease, expression shifting quickly into something puzzled. ]
...Are you joking? [ There's a certain height to his tone, an indication that if it weren't for the floaty sensation of the pleasure he might have shouted the words instead, although there's less anger and more hurt in the way he speaks, something that slips through despite a weak attempt to conceal it. ] Part of what's so good about sex is reciprocation!
[ And he recalls, distantly, that part of Alhaitham's offer had been for Kaveh to see him in the same undone state... although he's starting to realize that for the scribe, it was an either-or offer, not both, and despite how good he feels— was feeling, for the sensation is quickly starting to fade in favor of that wash of bitterness and disappointment— the architect can't help but wonder if he's made the wrong choice.
He swallows the thought back, makes an irritated gesture towards the scribe's crotch. ]
Besides, how exactly do you plan to go back to the Akademiya like that?
[ Anger is the wrong emotion for this, he knows it even as the words spill over his lips. But the hurt twisting in his chest won't allow for anything else. All he can think about is how much he wants to take the other man apart, give him the same pleasure distantly (ever distantly) humming in his own veins, prove to him somehow that Alhaitham needs him in the same way he knows he needs Alhaitham. To watch those muscles tense up and flex as he winds up to the apex of his pleasure. To taste him, coax him through fulfillment, show him how good it feels to accept—
He chases the thoughts away with an exasperated internal sigh, and his crimson eyes fix challengingly on those across from him. ]
I was being perfectly serious. [ alhaitham replies coolly, unafraid to meet those ruby eyes straight back. ] There was and is no expectation of reciprocation, nor is there time.
[ briefly, the scribe wonders why the only time they could be remotely agreeable was when they were doing something physical. every instance words were involved, the two of them immediately careened towards disaster and despite being one of the foremost scholars in sumeru, for the life of him, alhaitham couldn't fucking figure out why this was always a guaranteed outcome.
knowing that, from the evidence, the longer he stays here the more upset he'll make the architect, alhaitham slowly withdraws and gets up from the bed. bending is - mmm - bending at any severe angle right now is not happening, but luckily the shirt that had been discarded had ended up at the foot of the bed rather than on the floor.
it's as he retrieves it that kaveh speaks again, alhaitham glancing back up at that indignant, confronting crimson stare - and then down at the obvious erection straining against the fabric of his pants. his expression remains perfectly neutral though, and in response, muscular shoulders shrug as he goes about turning his shirt the right way out again to put it back on. maybe, maybe if the stars and the circumstances were aligned in such a way that he wasn't on a schedule; that he could trust sleeping with kaveh wouldn't make him further hurt, or upset, or angry, he would say yes.
could say yes. but right now, it was off the table, considering it sounded as if he'd already caused the other pain. something aches dully deep inside his being, and this time he couldn't mark it down to being painfully aroused. ]
I'll be fine. [ he replies evenly, that deep voice such a contradiction to kaveh's upset. ] Meditation usually helps, and the walk back to the House is long enough.
[ briefly, the scribe wonders why the only time they could be remotely agreeable was when they were doing something physical. every instance words were involved, the two of them immediately careened towards disaster and despite being one of the foremost scholars in sumeru, for the life of him, alhaitham couldn't fucking figure out why this was always a guaranteed outcome.
knowing that, from the evidence, the longer he stays here the more upset he'll make the architect, alhaitham slowly withdraws and gets up from the bed. bending is - mmm - bending at any severe angle right now is not happening, but luckily the shirt that had been discarded had ended up at the foot of the bed rather than on the floor.
it's as he retrieves it that kaveh speaks again, alhaitham glancing back up at that indignant, confronting crimson stare - and then down at the obvious erection straining against the fabric of his pants. his expression remains perfectly neutral though, and in response, muscular shoulders shrug as he goes about turning his shirt the right way out again to put it back on. maybe, maybe if the stars and the circumstances were aligned in such a way that he wasn't on a schedule; that he could trust sleeping with kaveh wouldn't make him further hurt, or upset, or angry, he would say yes.
could say yes. but right now, it was off the table, considering it sounded as if he'd already caused the other pain. something aches dully deep inside his being, and this time he couldn't mark it down to being painfully aroused. ]
I'll be fine. [ he replies evenly, that deep voice such a contradiction to kaveh's upset. ] Meditation usually helps, and the walk back to the House is long enough.
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