[ It is, perhaps, the most delicate Alhaitham has ever been with his words. Not that he doesn't always choose them carefully, of course, but that in Kaveh's view he doesn't usually consider the emotional impact of what he's saying in the midst of his search for veracity. He'd be lying though if he said he wasn't, in some small way, disappointed— despite the honesty of his own words, that hopeful part of Kaveh's heart allowed itself to wonder how it might feel for Alhaitham to hear his explanation, then return his words—
(and what a fairytale it would have been, for their first time together to end as such)
but he manages a small smile nonetheless, his fingers tightening on the hold around his own, pressing a soft kiss to the long line of that handsome jaw. A fairytale sounds nice in theory, but he would never ask for anything other than Alhaitham's honesty; it takes only a moment therefore for his expression to strengthen.
Truthfully, the fact that the scribe is even thinking about it is more than he could have genuinely hoped for. ]
Always, huh? [ It's an echo, in some small way, of the words spoken between them minutes ago, a question in the throes of their passion that had Kaveh spilling fragmented admissions in response, confessing to things that he barely even knew for himself until just recently. And isn't it funny, that somehow he's become an expert on love when it took him so many years to piece the parts together well enough to even begin to understand? Perhaps what he should have said was something far simpler:
I didn't, until you.
Kaveh takes a breath, closes his eyes, presses his face into the crook of Alhaitham's shoulder to drink in the scent of him, the usual sandalwood of his cologne mixed with the sweat and the headiness of their sex in the air. The act of cleaning is forgotten completely, a long arm snaking around the younger's side to draw them closer together again, choosing to be ignorant of how such an action could potentially be an error in judgement for his still-quickened pulse.
Perhaps, is the vague realization, his apparent weakness for the other comes from the depth of his feeling.
(And in hindsight, it is something almost embarrassing in how obvious it seems.) ]
The only thing I need to know right now, [ he murmurs, voice drowsy with content, yet laced at the edges with active consideration, ] is that it doesn't make you uncomfortable. When I say it. If you feel pressured by it, or it's something you don't want me to say right now, you have to tell me, Alhaitham, okay?
no subject
(and what a fairytale it would have been, for their first time together to end as such)
but he manages a small smile nonetheless, his fingers tightening on the hold around his own, pressing a soft kiss to the long line of that handsome jaw. A fairytale sounds nice in theory, but he would never ask for anything other than Alhaitham's honesty; it takes only a moment therefore for his expression to strengthen.
Truthfully, the fact that the scribe is even thinking about it is more than he could have genuinely hoped for. ]
Always, huh? [ It's an echo, in some small way, of the words spoken between them minutes ago, a question in the throes of their passion that had Kaveh spilling fragmented admissions in response, confessing to things that he barely even knew for himself until just recently. And isn't it funny, that somehow he's become an expert on love when it took him so many years to piece the parts together well enough to even begin to understand? Perhaps what he should have said was something far simpler:
I didn't, until you.
Kaveh takes a breath, closes his eyes, presses his face into the crook of Alhaitham's shoulder to drink in the scent of him, the usual sandalwood of his cologne mixed with the sweat and the headiness of their sex in the air. The act of cleaning is forgotten completely, a long arm snaking around the younger's side to draw them closer together again, choosing to be ignorant of how such an action could potentially be an error in judgement for his still-quickened pulse.
Perhaps, is the vague realization, his apparent weakness for the other comes from the depth of his feeling.
(And in hindsight, it is something almost embarrassing in how obvious it seems.) ]
The only thing I need to know right now, [ he murmurs, voice drowsy with content, yet laced at the edges with active consideration, ] is that it doesn't make you uncomfortable. When I say it. If you feel pressured by it, or it's something you don't want me to say right now, you have to tell me, Alhaitham, okay?