[ They're close enough together that Kaveh doesn't see the change reflected in Alhaitham's eyes or the shift in his demeanor, but he hears that growl, the sound answered by a sharp southward turn of that pooling heat; and when the other swoops in, he respond to that firm kiss with one of his own, his hands sliding up a little further to splay over the broad expanse of the scribe's back.
Agreed, Alhaitham says, and his voice sends shivers of want down Kaveh's spine. He's waited for this for so long.
He's not expecting to be lifted,
(and while the effortlessness of it doesn't exactly surprise him, his partner's show of strength does have him utter out some small, throaty sound of pleasure)
nor is he expecting to be sat on the console table, the sudden smashing of ceramic on the floor making him startle, the thump of books following eliciting a breathless laugh into that chasing, pressing mouth. ] Alhaitham, your booksβ [ he says, or tries to say, the words captured by those kisses and stolen away. And then it stops mattering, Kaveh's attention almost entirely on the feel of that body crowding him into the table, on the feel of lips assaulting his own in the best of ways, the faint taste of wine on the scribe's breath and the heady scent of his cologne making him feel drunk with desire.
His hands untangle, finding their way to Alhaitham's front, red-painted nails catching on the lower hem of his shirt to push it upward, baring inch after inch of muscled skin with a hurried drag of his fingertips. He breaks the flurry of kisses for as long (too long) as it takes to pull the stained lined up and over that silver head of hair, tossing it carelessly aside to join the ceramics and books and whatever else may have previously been on this table before he replaced it.
And then he joins his mouth to the scribe's again, pausing only for a molten-eyed look at the other's bare torso. His fingers will do most of the work mapping it for him anyway. ]
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Agreed, Alhaitham says, and his voice sends shivers of want down Kaveh's spine. He's waited for this for so long.
He's not expecting to be lifted,
(and while the effortlessness of it doesn't exactly surprise him, his partner's show of strength does have him utter out some small, throaty sound of pleasure)
nor is he expecting to be sat on the console table, the sudden smashing of ceramic on the floor making him startle, the thump of books following eliciting a breathless laugh into that chasing, pressing mouth. ] Alhaitham, your booksβ [ he says, or tries to say, the words captured by those kisses and stolen away. And then it stops mattering, Kaveh's attention almost entirely on the feel of that body crowding him into the table, on the feel of lips assaulting his own in the best of ways, the faint taste of wine on the scribe's breath and the heady scent of his cologne making him feel drunk with desire.
His hands untangle, finding their way to Alhaitham's front, red-painted nails catching on the lower hem of his shirt to push it upward, baring inch after inch of muscled skin with a hurried drag of his fingertips. He breaks the flurry of kisses for as long (too long) as it takes to pull the stained lined up and over that silver head of hair, tossing it carelessly aside to join the ceramics and books and whatever else may have previously been on this table before he replaced it.
And then he joins his mouth to the scribe's again, pausing only for a molten-eyed look at the other's bare torso. His fingers will do most of the work mapping it for him anyway. ]