I'm not calling you a genius. [ alhaitham replies with impudence at both the correction and the pinch, eyes flicking between the blonde's fingers and his gaze. ] It'll go straight to your head.
[ even if kaveh is objectively correct.
true compliments still don't come as easy to alhaitham as they would to a normal person - he simply doesn't see the majority of the purpose in giving or receiving them. if it's not objective fact, then it's simply pandering to an ego, something which was incredibly popular among the ranks of the akademiya's insecure. he'd operated most of his life not requiring the validation of others; not particularly caring about what people might think of him, or the whispers they wove behind his back.
but, strangely? hearing words of praise from kaveh rang differently to those who used them only to get something from him, or his position.
it was an odd feeling. ]
As usual, you choose to interpret meaning in the most abstract way possible. [ alhaitham admonishes, his hand moving slowly across kaveh's skin to cup his cheek instead. a thumb traces his cheekbone as the scribe gazes down at him, as impassive as ever. ] I could, of course, start referring to you only by your popular title, 'the Light of the Kshahrewar' -
[ though before he's allowed to continue what could be the start of a very impressive sarcastic tirade, he's silenced by a pull downwards, his lips meeting kaveh's in a sound kiss. sometimes it's so easy to forget how strong the man underneath him actually is - for all his dancer's grace and light weight, he's almost entirely smooth, lean muscle.
kaveh. so full of contradictions and impossibilities, such a dichotomy of frustration and joy: a puzzle, all for him to figure out, and alhaitham was going to spend his time meticulously doing so.
so when the blonde tugs him down, the scribe stops thinking, thinking and overthinking for once - instead, simply gives in and returns the kiss with a dizzying passion, tongue snaking over teeth and hand threading into golden hair to deepen it. all his pillars of wisdom give way to instinct instead, his free hand snaking down the edge of kaveh's jaw, across his collarbone and coming to rest on the angle of his shoulder in a comforting grip.
when they break apart for a heated moment, his graveled voice murmurs against raw lips; ]
Offensive that the Kshahrewar gets to claim you as their light anyway, [ alhaitham whispers with a hint of annoyance, nose brushing against nose. ] when really, you're mine.
no subject
[ even if kaveh is objectively correct.
true compliments still don't come as easy to alhaitham as they would to a normal person - he simply doesn't see the majority of the purpose in giving or receiving them. if it's not objective fact, then it's simply pandering to an ego, something which was incredibly popular among the ranks of the akademiya's insecure. he'd operated most of his life not requiring the validation of others; not particularly caring about what people might think of him, or the whispers they wove behind his back.
but, strangely? hearing words of praise from kaveh rang differently to those who used them only to get something from him, or his position.
it was an odd feeling. ]
As usual, you choose to interpret meaning in the most abstract way possible. [ alhaitham admonishes, his hand moving slowly across kaveh's skin to cup his cheek instead. a thumb traces his cheekbone as the scribe gazes down at him, as impassive as ever. ] I could, of course, start referring to you only by your popular title, 'the Light of the Kshahrewar' -
[ though before he's allowed to continue what could be the start of a very impressive sarcastic tirade, he's silenced by a pull downwards, his lips meeting kaveh's in a sound kiss. sometimes it's so easy to forget how strong the man underneath him actually is - for all his dancer's grace and light weight, he's almost entirely smooth, lean muscle.
kaveh. so full of contradictions and impossibilities, such a dichotomy of frustration and joy: a puzzle, all for him to figure out, and alhaitham was going to spend his time meticulously doing so.
so when the blonde tugs him down, the scribe stops thinking, thinking and overthinking for once - instead, simply gives in and returns the kiss with a dizzying passion, tongue snaking over teeth and hand threading into golden hair to deepen it. all his pillars of wisdom give way to instinct instead, his free hand snaking down the edge of kaveh's jaw, across his collarbone and coming to rest on the angle of his shoulder in a comforting grip.
when they break apart for a heated moment, his graveled voice murmurs against raw lips; ]
Offensive that the Kshahrewar gets to claim you as their light anyway, [ alhaitham whispers with a hint of annoyance, nose brushing against nose. ] when really, you're mine.