[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]