[ The jab, of course, doesn't go unnoticedโ or without commentary for that matter, the architect making a big show of rolling his eyes in response. And maybe it's a relief for him too, that there's a certain sense of normality to their interaction again despite this new thing between them, this something lacking definition but nonetheless real.
To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]
no subject
To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]