It is absolutely not an exaggeration— [ and there's a hint of the usual fire in his voice, because how like Alhaitham to deny it even when the evidence is literally hanging from its hinges in his room right now ] —or do you think I was too drunk to see that you used your Vision? [ Despite the heightened tone, that curve is still playing at the corners of his lips; he's not angry, far from it. How could he be when the scribe's reaction is... actually sort of cute?
(He'll never say that out loud, of course. Alhaitham would kick him out, no doubt, no hesitation.)
Instead, he raises himself on his toes just enough to ghost a soft, slow kiss over the other man's mouth, his free hand lifting now until he's cupping his jaw on both sides with slim fingers. He will, he thinks, probably have to track down the man in question (whatever his name was) and apologize to him at some point— not for Alhaitham's behavior but for his own, for getting him twisted up in that situation in the first place—
But that's for later, when he can't smell the bread starting to brown at his back, feel the cool length of Alhaitham's muscled body along his own suppler form, taste the bitter richness of black coffee on the scribe's lips. And he could tease, could ask Alhaitham if he counts himself as "better", but he can't help but take mercy at that sourness in the other's voice. There's something deep there among that protective energy, a dark possessiveness that makes him tremble, something he wants to dig at and dig at until he uncovers it completely for himself— but there's plenty of time for that. ]
Mm. Could've— [ he murmurs instead, then, not breaking away just yet (there's at least a little more time before he needs to go back to the stove) ] —or already have?
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(He'll never say that out loud, of course. Alhaitham would kick him out, no doubt, no hesitation.)
Instead, he raises himself on his toes just enough to ghost a soft, slow kiss over the other man's mouth, his free hand lifting now until he's cupping his jaw on both sides with slim fingers. He will, he thinks, probably have to track down the man in question (whatever his name was) and apologize to him at some point— not for Alhaitham's behavior but for his own, for getting him twisted up in that situation in the first place—
But that's for later, when he can't smell the bread starting to brown at his back, feel the cool length of Alhaitham's muscled body along his own suppler form, taste the bitter richness of black coffee on the scribe's lips. And he could tease, could ask Alhaitham if he counts himself as "better", but he can't help but take mercy at that sourness in the other's voice. There's something deep there among that protective energy, a dark possessiveness that makes him tremble, something he wants to dig at and dig at until he uncovers it completely for himself— but there's plenty of time for that. ]
Mm. Could've— [ he murmurs instead, then, not breaking away just yet (there's at least a little more time before he needs to go back to the stove) ] —or already have?