[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]