[ The reply on his lips— something about how he only almost shattered windows where Alhaitham has actually broken his door— dies unspoken as the taller man stalks across the room to yank the architect's temporary partner off the floor. Whatever he says, Kaveh can't hear from where he's standing at the doorway, but he hears the command in Alhaitham's voice, hears the string of curses that follow as the man starts to hurriedly gather himself together, and there's another sizzling jolt of heat to that new thread of warming pleasure even as his brows narrow in what he hopes is a reasonable simulation of anger, because quite frankly Alhaitham has no right to toss any lover of his out—
But by an equal measure it serves that sick, twisted part of him that wants so much more than the scribe has been willing to give him. He'll apologize later, he thinks, to... to whatever-his-name-was, because right now there are more important things than trying to worry about him as he slinks out of the room, like squaring his shoulders and glaring up at the fury bearing down on him. Like reaching up to grab a handful of the other's shirt— only straining it further against those muscles— and tensing as if not sure whether to pull or push. Like answering that anger in Alhaitham's eyes with one of his own, the scribe's usually-low voice echoing in his ears as he almost shouts.
And really, Kaveh should just tell him to fuck off, that he has no right to ask any of these questions, that the architect told him to stay the fuck out of his business and that that includes one night stands—
But he's drunk, the alcohol clouding his judgement and smothering his usual pride with the honesty of emotion, something the anger and frustration and the horny doesn't fucking help, and so when Alhaitham asks him what he wants, there's only one answer on his kiss-swollen lips. ]
I want you, you asshole! [ To his consternation, tears spring unbidden to the corners of his eyes, the saltwater roughly swiped away in the moment after it appears. ] I want you so fucking much I dream about it. So how can you help me, huh? What can you possibly do to stop me from fucking feeling this way when you won't let me touch you, or you won't even look at me... [ A laugh, bitter, as his fingers unwind, a slight push against the other man's chest. ] And this is what it took to get you to look at me at all— making enough noise to disturb your precious night in. If you won't let me have you then why do you have to get in the way of me having someone else?!
[ Perhaps, later, he'll be mortified at the way he's handled this. He's not exactly at his most mature when drunk, with the emotions having crowded his logic and reason and pride all out. But he's honest, and now he's laying all that honesty out on the table for the other to see. ]
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But by an equal measure it serves that sick, twisted part of him that wants so much more than the scribe has been willing to give him. He'll apologize later, he thinks, to... to whatever-his-name-was, because right now there are more important things than trying to worry about him as he slinks out of the room, like squaring his shoulders and glaring up at the fury bearing down on him. Like reaching up to grab a handful of the other's shirt— only straining it further against those muscles— and tensing as if not sure whether to pull or push. Like answering that anger in Alhaitham's eyes with one of his own, the scribe's usually-low voice echoing in his ears as he almost shouts.
And really, Kaveh should just tell him to fuck off, that he has no right to ask any of these questions, that the architect told him to stay the fuck out of his business and that that includes one night stands—
But he's drunk, the alcohol clouding his judgement and smothering his usual pride with the honesty of emotion, something the anger and frustration and the horny doesn't fucking help, and so when Alhaitham asks him what he wants, there's only one answer on his kiss-swollen lips. ]
I want you, you asshole! [ To his consternation, tears spring unbidden to the corners of his eyes, the saltwater roughly swiped away in the moment after it appears. ] I want you so fucking much I dream about it. So how can you help me, huh? What can you possibly do to stop me from fucking feeling this way when you won't let me touch you, or you won't even look at me... [ A laugh, bitter, as his fingers unwind, a slight push against the other man's chest. ] And this is what it took to get you to look at me at all— making enough noise to disturb your precious night in. If you won't let me have you then why do you have to get in the way of me having someone else?!
[ Perhaps, later, he'll be mortified at the way he's handled this. He's not exactly at his most mature when drunk, with the emotions having crowded his logic and reason and pride all out. But he's honest, and now he's laying all that honesty out on the table for the other to see. ]