the living area where he'd been settled reading was adjacent to the front door and the connecting hallways, so of course the scribe had been disturbed when the latch unlocks and not one, but two people stumble through the door. he'd been expecting kaveh would return from work sometime around now considering his current routine, but as piercing emerald eyes take in the scene before him, it was obvious that work hadn't been on the architect's mind for some time today. he had the same half-stumble to his step and loud countenance that gave away where he'd whiled his time away this evening, and as the scribe watches the two from over the top of his book, they manage to slink into kaveh's rooms and slam the door behind them with finality.
and - to his credit - alhaitham tries so, so very hard to restrain himself. to tolerate it.
it made no sense for him to feel so fucked off, really. technically, kaveh was simply a tenant in a house he rented to him, so he should be allowed to come and go as he pleases, whether or not that included the company of whichever sordid soul he managed to scrape off the floor of the bar and drag in with him. technically, kaveh had only suggested a transactional physical relationship between them, which had seemed to last for one encounter before it had dissolved, so there was nothing to get jealous over, no reason for his fingers to be curling so tightly into the fabric-bound cover of his book so hard it was starting to bend under the force.
but, as always, kaveh defied logic. it felt as if they were stuck in a repetitive time loop, the similarities of this encounter very much reminiscent of the vulgar state the blonde had been in when he slinked into their study the previous week, flaunting the scents and marks of someone else in alhaitham's face for whatever reason kaveh was using at that point in time. and now they were here again, the sounds coming from the architect's rooms so loud that even alhaitham's headphones were struggling to cancel them out despite him turning them up as far as they'd go, the noises seeming almost intentionally irritating.
what had he done to deserve this, now? he stays out of kaveh's way - he gets a front row seat to watching, hearing, sensing someone else ruin him. he interacts with kaveh, the other dissolves into anger, or tears, or both. it was immensely frustrating that nothing within his power seemed to ameliorate the situation in any way, and even more frustrating that the intricacies of kaveh's love life seemed to bother him so fucking much he couldn't think.
it's almost too much, even for him, and at the apex of a particularly loud, strangled cry of pleasure in kaveh's beautiful, musical voice, the scribe slams his book shut with one hand and stalks over to the door of his rooms, his heart a swirling tempest of fury, frustration and for some unknown reason, hurt. there's a faint green glow from behind the door for a fraction of a second, the heady tension in the air of a vision's power being used, before alhaitham all but kicks the bottom of it open with his foot, the wood screaming at the force.
for all the sordid scene in front of him when it swings open on its hinge, the scribe completely ignores the 'guest' in kaveh's bed and instead fixes the blonde with a wild, accusing stare, gloved hand grabbing the door frame. ]
no subject
the living area where he'd been settled reading was adjacent to the front door and the connecting hallways, so of course the scribe had been disturbed when the latch unlocks and not one, but two people stumble through the door. he'd been expecting kaveh would return from work sometime around now considering his current routine, but as piercing emerald eyes take in the scene before him, it was obvious that work hadn't been on the architect's mind for some time today. he had the same half-stumble to his step and loud countenance that gave away where he'd whiled his time away this evening, and as the scribe watches the two from over the top of his book, they manage to slink into kaveh's rooms and slam the door behind them with finality.
and - to his credit - alhaitham tries so, so very hard to restrain himself. to tolerate it.
it made no sense for him to feel so fucked off, really. technically, kaveh was simply a tenant in a house he rented to him, so he should be allowed to come and go as he pleases, whether or not that included the company of whichever sordid soul he managed to scrape off the floor of the bar and drag in with him. technically, kaveh had only suggested a transactional physical relationship between them, which had seemed to last for one encounter before it had dissolved, so there was nothing to get jealous over, no reason for his fingers to be curling so tightly into the fabric-bound cover of his book so hard it was starting to bend under the force.
but, as always, kaveh defied logic. it felt as if they were stuck in a repetitive time loop, the similarities of this encounter very much reminiscent of the vulgar state the blonde had been in when he slinked into their study the previous week, flaunting the scents and marks of someone else in alhaitham's face for whatever reason kaveh was using at that point in time. and now they were here again, the sounds coming from the architect's rooms so loud that even alhaitham's headphones were struggling to cancel them out despite him turning them up as far as they'd go, the noises seeming almost intentionally irritating.
what had he done to deserve this, now? he stays out of kaveh's way - he gets a front row seat to watching, hearing, sensing someone else ruin him. he interacts with kaveh, the other dissolves into anger, or tears, or both. it was immensely frustrating that nothing within his power seemed to ameliorate the situation in any way, and even more frustrating that the intricacies of kaveh's love life seemed to bother him so fucking much he couldn't think.
it's almost too much, even for him, and at the apex of a particularly loud, strangled cry of pleasure in kaveh's beautiful, musical voice, the scribe slams his book shut with one hand and stalks over to the door of his rooms, his heart a swirling tempest of fury, frustration and for some unknown reason, hurt. there's a faint green glow from behind the door for a fraction of a second, the heady tension in the air of a vision's power being used, before alhaitham all but kicks the bottom of it open with his foot, the wood screaming at the force.
for all the sordid scene in front of him when it swings open on its hinge, the scribe completely ignores the 'guest' in kaveh's bed and instead fixes the blonde with a wild, accusing stare, gloved hand grabbing the door frame. ]
For the Archon's sake, can you keep it down?
[ he bites out, voice dripping with vitriol. ]