[ pulling his shirt back on over his head and tugging at the bottom to straight it out over his torso once more, the scribe gets the distinct feeling that something is wrong that he can't quite put his finger on. what kaveh is saying is what he'd expect and all very reasonable considering, but there's a stiltedness to his voice that gives away something hidden; something clipped and haughty about his movements as he sets about getting ready as well.
it was a headache, trying to figure this all out. technically, alhaitham had achieved what he'd come here for, and had gotten to self-indulge at the same time - is kaveh simply upset with him because he didn't try to take something from the other? didn't try to impose?
the lithe blonde shoots him a combative look as he wraps one of the sheets around his waist and then stalks past him, the scribe unable to look away as he maps the marks he left scattered down kaveh's torso. a reply forms on his lips - something like, 'an hour isn't timely' - but he doesn't get a chance to shoot it back, the architect already having left the room. a distant semi-slam of the bathroom door confirms he'd left the conversation with finality, at least.
with a mild frown on his face, alhaitham looks over the mess they'd made of kaveh's bed - the crumpled sheets and covers, the tell-tale wet patches of release - and it's hard not to replay the images from before with perfect clarity. heaving a sigh of he-doesn't-know-what (frustration, confusion, guilt), the scribe turns on his heel and retires to his own rooms to make sure he looked presentable enough to return to the akademiya, the time already well past when he'd said he'd return.
no doubt this would come up later, somehow, like it always did. ]
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[ pulling his shirt back on over his head and tugging at the bottom to straight it out over his torso once more, the scribe gets the distinct feeling that something is wrong that he can't quite put his finger on. what kaveh is saying is what he'd expect and all very reasonable considering, but there's a stiltedness to his voice that gives away something hidden; something clipped and haughty about his movements as he sets about getting ready as well.
it was a headache, trying to figure this all out. technically, alhaitham had achieved what he'd come here for, and had gotten to self-indulge at the same time - is kaveh simply upset with him because he didn't try to take something from the other? didn't try to impose?
the lithe blonde shoots him a combative look as he wraps one of the sheets around his waist and then stalks past him, the scribe unable to look away as he maps the marks he left scattered down kaveh's torso. a reply forms on his lips - something like, 'an hour isn't timely' - but he doesn't get a chance to shoot it back, the architect already having left the room. a distant semi-slam of the bathroom door confirms he'd left the conversation with finality, at least.
with a mild frown on his face, alhaitham looks over the mess they'd made of kaveh's bed - the crumpled sheets and covers, the tell-tale wet patches of release - and it's hard not to replay the images from before with perfect clarity. heaving a sigh of he-doesn't-know-what (frustration, confusion, guilt), the scribe turns on his heel and retires to his own rooms to make sure he looked presentable enough to return to the akademiya, the time already well past when he'd said he'd return.
no doubt this would come up later, somehow, like it always did. ]