[ The promise in Alhaitham's voice liquifies him all over again, hips arching once again into the other's— urging, demanding— and stuttering in time with his breath when the scribe starts to move in earnest. His pace and force might be too much, should be too much when Kaveh's only just adjusted to him, when he's more than the blonde has ever taken before, but the architect welcomes him with a chorus of strangled, lyrical moans, sharper than ever before in response to the new angle, the repetition of movement against that one spot—

And see stars Kaveh does, the whole of his back arching high now as one hand drops between them once again, hovering at his own hip, torn between the urge to take himself in hand once again, to make it last longer, or to keep touching, to let them crest the wave as quickly as it wants to fall.

Because oh, if it's like this he's going to make quite a pathetic showing. ]

Yes— yes, always—

[ And so much for not rambling, because Kaveh finds himself continuing, words snatched into the spaces between his moans, voice breathless and broken in answer to those firm, fast thrusts, his own falling to meet the younger's effort as the sharp sound of skin on skin fills the room. (Never mind that the words barely make any sense.) ]

Didn't realize it back then, but of course— I saw you, later we talked, saw you working too, worked and then there was more time and... and even through the fight, I— fuck, Alhaitham—

[ A particularly sharp movement on his lover's behalf make's Kaveh's decision for him, fingers forming a tight circle around his length yet again, a desperate, breathy whine on his lips. They've only just started, it's too soon for it to end, and yet he's embarrassingly close to the edge. ]