[ 'i want you' feels like a strange delineation from 'i want this', at least to the scribe - semantics is extremely important when communicating, and the two concepts are so far remote from one another that it'd be laughable to interpret as the same intention. his haravatat training demands clarification, wants kaveh to explain exactly what he meant by choosing those words in particular, but the searching question dies on his lips as the blonde all but dives forward into him.
the architect finds purchase in his shirt, deft fingers sinking into the fabric and managing to get some decent leverage on him. alhaitham often forgets just how strong kaveh could be, and although the almost-faded bruise on his face was a decent reminder, the sense of desire in the strength with which he yanks him forward makes the scribe's breath catch in his throat.
a satisfied hiss escapes into the kiss instead, that look back in alhaitham's eyes which was reminiscent of what kaveh had triggered in the hallway those few days ago - like he was letting go of some of his tethers of reason and handing his heart over to something much more unpredictable; more carnal. it takes no encouragement for him to respond enthusiastically, soundly kissing the blonde back as his hands seek out kaveh's slim waist.
distantly, so distantly, there's a weak, quiet voice that's trying to remind him he's doing this to expedite a task, doing this to speed things along; definitely not because kaveh drives him to both ruin and distraction at the same time, definitely not because the other takes up an impregnable corner of his mind and refuses to leave.
strong hands travel over porcelain skin to the small of his back and back to his waist like the scribe needed to map every inch of it for greed's sake - and then, he's not quite sure what triggers it, whether it was a delicious noise he managed to drag out of kaveh or the taste of him as he swipes his tongue across his teeth, but something breaks inside the scholar. a lesser man would've crumbled much sooner, having had to watch someone so beautiful stroke themselves to ruin right in front of them; really, it's quite admirable alhaitham had lasted this long.
leveraging his strength over the other, fingers sink tighter into the muscle of kaveh's waist and the scribe pins him heavily to the mattress in one fluid movement, the wood of the bed complaining again at such a strain. a thigh swings over the other side of the architect's hip, trapping him in place underneath the taller man, covers fallen away and forgotten.
for a wonderful, agonising moment, emerald eyes rake themselves over kaveh's body, simply appreciating - and although alhaitham looked almost as unruffled as usual, there was the most miniscule upwards curl to his lips as he drinks the other in, humming lowly in appreciation to himself.
he then cants at the waist, coming down to kaveh's level again - though he doesn't immediately satisfy his desire to kiss the other soundly again. instead, his mouth travels up the sensitive skin of kaveh's neck, coming to stop at the shell of the architect's ear, breath hot against it. in a graveled whisper that comes out more demanding than he intends; ]
[ If Kaveh's sense hadn't already been stretched thin by the dream and the ruin that immediately followed it, he might have something to say about the concept of fairness. Not only is the scribe immaculately presented in comparison to his own shattered, debauched appearance, but Alhaitham, fully clothed, maps hands over skin entirely bared to him, replete as it is with scattered patches of flushed red and the slow-fading bruises left days ago by an exploring mouth.
And then Alhaitham's passion takes him by surprise yet again, landing him on his back under the other and locked under the press of his legs (and Archons it sounds like the bed is going to give out under them if they're not careful), and the slow rake of emerald over his nakedness has Kaveh almost forgetting to breathe, let alone think of abstract concepts like equity.
Is it just his imagination, or is he smiling?
There might just be a whine on the architect's voice when those lips bypass his, although it's a sound that becomes a low moan at the exploration of that sensitive skin, a sharp exhale at the feel of the scribe's breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Fuck, he wonders wildly, maybe those stupid rumors around the campus back then were true, and Alhaitham's not human but homunculus, one programmed with all the right things to do to make someone fall apart under him—
what
Color floods to Kaveh's cheeks in response to the words at his ear, lips parting in a surprised stutter, trying for a moment to find an answer for a question that doesn't require answering, and the dull ache in his abdomen throbs and tightens even as a cold hand grips around his heart. There's no possible way that Alhaitham means it the way he wants him to; it's just his way, the architect is sure, of giving him the whole experience or something, of solidifying the "benefits" part of "friends with benefits" into something more than just sex.
It doesn't stop him from immediately breaking the promise he made not to fall further for him, though, nor from shuddering in response to the deep gravel of the other's voice. ]
Alhaitham—
[ He doesn't know what to say other than a lyrical murmur of his name; reaches instead to bury a hand in the scribe's immaculate silver hair, his own head canting back against the pillows as if to offer more skin for the other to explore, like he isn't an entire platter laid out under him already. His other hand goes back to the front of the other's shirt, tugging at the fabric in a pitiful, half-hearted attempt— he's still very much distracted by Alhaitham's lips and words, after all— to get it off him and level the playing field even slightly. ]
[ it was a reasonable enough question that alhaitham wasn't expecting an answer to, but his name breathlessly on kaveh's voice, those deft fingers in his hair was a better reply than he could've imagined. he's still lost in the soft crook of the blonde's neck, making his own marks this time with the faintest graze of teeth because alhaitham is yet to get the light marks that remain peppering kaveh's skin out of his head - not since that morning.
jealousy is a foreign concept to him, a whole new experience that's not entirely pleasant. the scribe has never been envious of others, because why would he be? he was confident in his own intelligence, his life was comfortable, and he wasn't wanting for anything - at least, he'd thought he hadn't been wanting for anything until it had been summarily taken away from him by someone else. whoever kaveh had fallen into the arms of simply wouldn't get it. they couldn't. couldn't know what he needed, how best to treat him, how to protect him -
- and alhaitham's distantly surprised that he's the authority on all of those things, because he'd made it his business to be.
fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt and the scribe breaks away momentarily to grab the bottom hems, pulling it over his head and discarding it in a fluid movement without needing much encouragement. his musculature was completely incongruent with how he spends most of his days, hard muscle flexing as he ducks back down to capture kaveh's mouth with an almost bruising kiss.
funny, that alhaitham is almost as blunt and demanding physically as he is to deal with socially, pushing the boundaries of what he could take while somehow perfectly balanced with what the blonde needed. like his speech, his actions are just as to the point, confident, bold and decisive - and to that end, he manages to break away from the heated kiss, immediately moving his ministrations back down kaveh's skin again.
gentle but strangely possessive, his lips make his way south down the blonde's slender neck, over his chest, down past his stomach. each time alhaitham's mouth meets that beautifully soft skin, it's like a message that's reflected in the wolfishness that's returned to his eyes - 'these are reminders, you're mine' - and those turquoise irises shoot up to seek out kaveh's in confrontation as he languidly takes the other's length in his mouth at the same time. ]
[ Between the sensation of suction and the scraping of teeth against the sensitive skin along the crook of his neck, Kaveh knows exactly what Alhaitham is doing, and there's a moment where he wonders if he knows why— although admittedly it seems unlikely to him that the scribe's annoyance over the existing marks came hand in hand with jealousy, even if he otherwise might like to think so.
He doesn't have room to think about it for long, though, because shortly after the thoughts surface, the scribe breaks away and peels off that too-tight shirt, revealing in full the twin lines of hard muscle that make up his torso, and Kaveh stops moving under him entirely to stare, unabashed and open; when the other man's body shifts down to kiss him once more, his hands both lift to touch and explore, charting the other's body with slender fingers as he returns the kiss with an eager kind of hunger.
Fuck, he feels so unfairly good that Kaveh's not sure dreams will ever be enough again— Especially when dreams have thus far failed to capture that look Alhaitham's eyes wear when he breaks their kiss, the architect's petulant whine quickly stuttering into soft moans and gasps of pleasure as the other's traveling mouth leaves more bites in its wake— and there's another wandering, wondering thought quickly shot down— before lowering further still—
Crimson eyes widen, lips parting in silent shock as he clues in to what's about to happen, as the scribe's eyes meet his, the look in his eyes so fiery compared to the relaxed way he takes Kaveh into his mouth, and there's a lot of things the architect has dared think about but never this. His fingers scrabble, searching out the sheet that lines his mattress and grabbing handfuls hard enough to tear, fighting the desperate urge to buck against those lips, a litany of soft curses falling as gasps from his lips.
And he hates, hates how sensitive he is, because it feels like he's already frighteningly close to tipping over the edge and he doesn't want that (even if he knows that the scribe is doing this largely to hasten his exit from the house); he finds himself clutching the sheets harder and trying to channel his mind toward something unsexy but all he knows is Alhaitham and his body and his scent and his mouth and fuck but none of this is fair.
(Also unfair is the fact that like this he can't touch the other man unless he wants to grab handfuls of his hair the way he's grabbing at the sheets, and he'd rather not rip the silver strands right from the other's scalp.) ]
[ kaveh could do his very best to think of the most unattractive thoughts possible - chores that needed doing around the house, the old sages that shuffled around the akademiya, being polite - but alhaitham is nothing if not focused, and therefore his ministrations are absolutely relentless.
it almost doesn't make sense that he's so good at what he's currently doing, considering the details of his previous dalliances rarely came up in conversation. not that he was shy or reluctant to elaborate, but alhaitham simply guesses it seems an unapproachable topic for an unapproachable person, the only details he'd shared stemming from questions kaveh had mustered up the courage to ask him while several drinks deep.
it had, perhaps, been some time since he'd been in this kind of position, but this was different to his previous encounters anyway. none had been as satisfying to watch unravel or tease the kinds of sounds out of that kaveh was making, the scribe's gaze darting briefly to white knuckles clutching at the sheets with a somewhat smug look in his eyes (if one could look smug while blowing someone, but if anyone could manage it, alhaitham would be the one).
he pauses his rhythm for a moment to make a show of dragging his tongue slowly, agonisingly slowly up kaveh's length from base to tip, still refusing to break eye contact with the other. it's uncharacteristically, intimately lewd and alhaitham absolutely knows that it'll undo him, but there's something so rewarding about seeing the blonde in the throes of pleasure like this and unable to do anything about it, not even bothering to grab a fistful of his hair.
the voice that had been quietly screaming that this was simply means to an end was now completely silent, the scribe thoroughly mesmerised by the breathtaking performance kaveh was putting on. ]
[ He's trying, he really is. The unsexiest thoughts he can possibly manage, and somehow they all keep coming right back to the man bent over him, showing off skills that the architect never dreamed of him having. The worst (best?) part is how he can feel Alhaitham's eyes watching him even as his own shut against the onslaught of pleasure, even as he feels the threads of the sheet give under the clutching fingers of his left hand, the tearing sound audible in a room otherwise quiet save his gasps and moans and the salacious sound of the scribe's mouth moving over his length. All in all, it's too much, and despite his best attempts he feels himself reaching dangerously close to that peak.
But in a morning full of frustrations, it's perhaps no surprise that Alhaitham's rhythm is paused just at a time when he might otherwise find himself too far gone to stop. Kaveh's eyes snap open in time with the low whine on his lips, hips starting to lift unbidden in desperation only for the other man's tongue to start to drag, too too slow, along his swollen arousal, leaving Kaveh gasping out in helpless pleasure, his gaze transfixed on that smug look reflected back at him in emerald. ]
Fuck, Alhaitham, fucking— Archons, just...
[ He still doesn't want to rip any hair out, but that feeling is secondary now to the need coursing through him, leaving him to reach and this time thread fingers into the other man's silver hair, locking in tight as his lips tremble over a soft, begging syllable: ]
Please.
[ Kaveh thinks he might be ruined, not just for his own dreams now but for other people too; no one has ever taken him apart quite this expertly, left him pleading for an end even as he wants the moment to stretch out beyond what's humanly possible— (and there's another wandering thought about a samsara, about being trapped in a moment like this for every waking moment for the rest of his life) —And right now he's sure there's no one else who can. ]
[ with the state that kaveh had been in when he'd started, there's no doubt that alhaitham could've approached this far more practically without the teasing, without testing to see how much he could make the blonde writhe in the sheets and wantonly moan his name in a way that shoots a keen arousal straight down to his core. of course, he's not intending to involve himself past pleasuring the other - after all, his offer had been one of help, not of self-satisfaction - but the scribe is surprised to find out just how far he'd actually ended up deviating from his course, giving in to far more selfishness and self-indulgence than he'd intended when he'd suggested this.
those deft, artistic fingers weave into his hair and tighten in a way that only ends up making him painfully hard; inconvenient, considering he had to return to the akademiya almost straight after this, and that it would be nigh impossible to erase these erotic images from an eidetic memory with any speed either.
needless to say, he needs very little encouragement to finish what he'd initiated, though the scribe pauses for a moment in his vantage point between kaveh's legs, his own still-gloved hands running up the muscle of the architect's thighs and coming to rest at the jut of his hips.
in a commanding, low voice that's slightly hoarse in a way that could only belie the lewd things he'd been doing to kaveh, he murmurs; ]
Come for me, then.
[ - and then takes the blonde entirely in his mouth once more, resuming the relentless rhythm. he wanted to see kaveh absolutely fall apart, and for once, he wanted to be the reason for it - not some nameless person from a tavern, not some gorgeous man or woman that'd be rightfully smitten with him the moment they saw him, not anyone else.
[ The irony, perhaps, of Alhaitham's dark thoughts is that this will hardly be the first time the blonde has fallen apart because of him, nor even the second. But it's different this time of course, because this isn't imagined or dreamed but real, happening. The feel of scribe's talented mouth and tongue. The challenging glare in his emerald eyes. The obscene sounds of his movements over Kaveh's length. The still-lingering scent sandalwood, mixed now with the architect's own sweat and the musky, heady flavor of sex. That voice, low and rough, commanding Kaveh to come— ]
Alhaitham—!
[ And he does, a strangled cry of Alhaitham's name half-smothered in his own left wrist as his hips jerk and stutter against that sinful mouth, fingers too tight and pulling at silver strands of hair in an instinctive attempt to tug him in closer, and tears of mingled pleasure and relief spring to the corners of Kaveh's tightly-shut eyes as the painful, unbearable pressure of the morning finally lessens. ]
Fuck, oh fuck... oh fuck...
[ The curse word is repeated over and over like a mantra, puffed out between desperate gasps for breath, body trembling and chest heavy and fingers unwinding themselves— and he should probably apologize for tugging on Alhaitham's hair so hard, but his brain has summarily quit working— eyes opening as he stares unseeing at the ceiling of his room.
Kaveh has been with his fair share of people over the years, but he's never experienced anything quite like this, and he's almost afraid to look back down the length of his body at the scribe once more, but he does, tongue darting out over too-dry lips as he reaches for him. In the pleasant haze of the afterglow, he's forgotten momentarily his worries about what this is, and what they are, and the fact that Alhaitham seems to think he wants something transactional; in fact, as he slowly recovers and his brain pieces itself back together, all he can think about is the fact that he wants to please the scribe in return. ]
[ it's immensely gratifying tipping kaveh over the precipice with his name on his lips loud enough to be heard outside the confines of the architect's rooms. alhaitham normally comes out of the other with annoyance or frustration; used as a weapon to chastise rather than this, this desperate form of his name from kaveh's lips, laced with desire and longing. it triggers a dull ache in his soul that the scribe wants to chalk down to base arousal as he easily swallows the architect's completion, because it's easier to explain away the complex dichotomy he feels in terms of natural actions and reactions than delve into anything more ephemeral.
had he enjoyed himself? resoundingly, yes. had he simply offered himself to serve a purpose? also, yes.
which makes it difficult to parse when hands shakily detangle themselves from his hair and instead reach for him, when alhaitham had already intended not to get any more involved, not to further complicate their agreement any further. there's a moment of hesitation as he pulls back slightly, mouth glistening salaciously as he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off some excess from the encounter.
but - in the interests of diplomacy, the scribe allows kaveh to guide him bonelessly back upwards, aware that the other was more emotionally fragile than he was - aware that it would be even easier for him to say or do the wrong thing in this moment than it usually was. the boundaries between them are so undefined though, and the scribe hates grey areas; so much room for misinterpretation, such a minefield.
he settles for laying on his side next to kaveh's wrung out form, elbow propping him up on the bed as he all but surveys his handiwork. the upwards curl of his lips had gone, but there's still something summarily smug about his expression. ]
[ It's unfair how, right as his eyes settle on Alhaitham's face, he catches the way the other man's throat works, the bob of his larynx as he swallows— not to mention the swipe of his thumb over his burnished lip in the next moment. It sends another jolt of pleasure right to his spent length, and if he wasn't cooling down from his third release in a too-short time, he might have found that simple act to be the spark of something all over again. But as it is, it's an image he's forced to file away in his mind for later, a hitch in his breath that leaves it short and quick as the other man moves to join him higher up on the bed.
He wants to kiss him, but Alhaitham is settling on his side and looking over him, something smug in his expression that stops Kaveh in his tracks, brings him just that little closer to reality, a reminder of the fact that the other's goal was to get him out of the bed as quickly as possible. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah, it helped a lot.
[ And that should be all there is to it. Right? But even then, with that knowledge in his mind, he can't quite stop his eyes from skimming down over the scribe's body in answer, taking in the firm lines of his muscled abs, and then lower still to the arousal straining obvious against the soft, loose fabric of his pants. Kaveh's mouth runs dry at the sight, and if the other man is watching closely enough he may see the slight dilation of his pupils, eyes flicking back up to his face as his tongue wets his lips.
(Alhaitham is hard— For him? Or just in a natural response to what was happening in the moment between the two of them?) ]
Do you... [ and the words come out as a stutter, tasting unsure on Kaveh's lips even as ruby eyes seek emerald, a question alive in his gaze. ] Can I— May I... Will you let me help you?
[ The question is finally asked, and lithe, delicate fingers are flexing at his side, more desperate than he'll ever admit to reach out, to touch, to do something in return, wanting to see Alhaitham fall apart for him just as he fell apart for the scribe—
Maybe he's still a little disconnected from reality. ]
[ turquoise eyes maintain an even gaze on the blonde, that familiar, neutral guard firmly back up as kaveh floats the question to him he'd hoped he wouldn't ask. if the unspoken rules of their agreement were different, perhaps he'd agree - if he wasn't due back at the akademiya as soon as possible, if he could trust that further investment in this relationship without definition wouldn't result in disaster. but alhaitham is decidedly hesitant to dive into situations he's lacking context for, where he's unable to see all the moving parts and boundaries.
the more unrestrained part of his soul which repeatedly writhed its way out when he saw kaveh like this would love nothing more than to curse the sages' schedule to hell; to climb on top of the architect and take him in a way that he'd never be able to forget, that none of his nameless lovers would ever be able to live up to; to take him up on the offer to relieve the, frankly, quite distracting arousal he'd essentially cursed himself with.
but: alhaitham couldn't. for many reasons, he couldn't.
with a short sigh, the scribe shakes his head. ]
I was never included as part of this suggestion; only that I was interested in assisting you as per the needs you mentioned last time we discussed this.
[ and he thinks this is a very reasonable reply, because after all, this should demonstrate his willingness to give, correct? especially when it was something obviously causing kaveh some distress. ]
You don't need to be concerned for me. I'm due back at the Akademiya presently, anyway.
[ even though it is a very reasonable reply, he's surprised it's so hard to say. ]
[ Somehow, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, Kaveh's not expecting his offer to be turned down. Maybe it's the fact that he's still partially wrapped up in the sweet-scented fog of his afterglow. Maybe it's the fact that he can literally see for himself that Alhaitham is aroused. Or maybe it's the memory of those passionate, possessive kisses that spoke to something deeper than transaction— and he dares not look at his own body right now, but he knows without needing to it's littered with dark bruises to prove it happened.
But the scribe shakes his head, and Kaveh's mouth floods with the bitter taste of disappointment even as his brows crease, expression shifting quickly into something puzzled. ]
...Are you joking? [ There's a certain height to his tone, an indication that if it weren't for the floaty sensation of the pleasure he might have shouted the words instead, although there's less anger and more hurt in the way he speaks, something that slips through despite a weak attempt to conceal it. ] Part of what's so good about sex is reciprocation!
[ And he recalls, distantly, that part of Alhaitham's offer had been for Kaveh to see him in the same undone state... although he's starting to realize that for the scribe, it was an either-or offer, not both, and despite how good he feels— was feeling, for the sensation is quickly starting to fade in favor of that wash of bitterness and disappointment— the architect can't help but wonder if he's made the wrong choice.
He swallows the thought back, makes an irritated gesture towards the scribe's crotch. ]
Besides, how exactly do you plan to go back to the Akademiya like that?
[ Anger is the wrong emotion for this, he knows it even as the words spill over his lips. But the hurt twisting in his chest won't allow for anything else. All he can think about is how much he wants to take the other man apart, give him the same pleasure distantly (ever distantly) humming in his own veins, prove to him somehow that Alhaitham needs him in the same way he knows he needs Alhaitham. To watch those muscles tense up and flex as he winds up to the apex of his pleasure. To taste him, coax him through fulfillment, show him how good it feels to accept—
He chases the thoughts away with an exasperated internal sigh, and his crimson eyes fix challengingly on those across from him. ]
I was being perfectly serious. [ alhaitham replies coolly, unafraid to meet those ruby eyes straight back. ] There was and is no expectation of reciprocation, nor is there time.
[ briefly, the scribe wonders why the only time they could be remotely agreeable was when they were doing something physical. every instance words were involved, the two of them immediately careened towards disaster and despite being one of the foremost scholars in sumeru, for the life of him, alhaitham couldn't fucking figure out why this was always a guaranteed outcome.
knowing that, from the evidence, the longer he stays here the more upset he'll make the architect, alhaitham slowly withdraws and gets up from the bed. bending is - mmm - bending at any severe angle right now is not happening, but luckily the shirt that had been discarded had ended up at the foot of the bed rather than on the floor.
it's as he retrieves it that kaveh speaks again, alhaitham glancing back up at that indignant, confronting crimson stare - and then down at the obvious erection straining against the fabric of his pants. his expression remains perfectly neutral though, and in response, muscular shoulders shrug as he goes about turning his shirt the right way out again to put it back on. maybe, maybe if the stars and the circumstances were aligned in such a way that he wasn't on a schedule; that he could trust sleeping with kaveh wouldn't make him further hurt, or upset, or angry, he would say yes.
could say yes. but right now, it was off the table, considering it sounded as if he'd already caused the other pain. something aches dully deep inside his being, and this time he couldn't mark it down to being painfully aroused. ]
I'll be fine. [ he replies evenly, that deep voice such a contradiction to kaveh's upset. ] Meditation usually helps, and the walk back to the House is long enough.
[ There's certainly logic behind Alhaitham's words. The scribe's offer was made in the first place, after all, to help Kaveh get to the Akademiya sooner rather than later. And so it makes sense, how the other man stands from the bed and reaches for his shirt despite the arousal straining against his pants and making the architect's mouth practically water, how he plans as stated to simply meditate and walk it off, how his doing so not only allows him to get back in a timely fashion, but Kaveh as well, so that his darshan and this client don't have to wait for too much longer.
What makes no logical sense at all is the way Kaveh feels oddly used, the way he feels sick and empty when just minutes ago every part of him was comfortable and content. The way every single part of him is aching to reach out and stop the other man, pull him back to the bed and kiss and touch and feel until he's not thinking anymore; a need strong enough that his fingers are twitching, body tense with a desire to reach.
The only thing that stops him is the fact that Alhaitham has already turned him down. Kaveh isn't that kind of man.
...Nor does he want to get rejected again. ]
Then enjoy your walk. [ It's hard to keep his head high after what's just happened, but the architect somehow manages it, a certain haughtiness to his demeanor as he stands from the bed too, sets about tossing a few of the covers around to hide the worst of the evidence of his dreams and the torn threads of the coverlet. ] You can tell the darshan I'll be there shortly. I just need to clean up first.
[ The look he offers is once again challenging, as if daring the scribe to disagree with him, to try and hurry him up yet further. ]
We'll say an hour.
[ And then he turns and walks from the room without waiting for a reply. ]
[ pulling his shirt back on over his head and tugging at the bottom to straight it out over his torso once more, the scribe gets the distinct feeling that something is wrong that he can't quite put his finger on. what kaveh is saying is what he'd expect and all very reasonable considering, but there's a stiltedness to his voice that gives away something hidden; something clipped and haughty about his movements as he sets about getting ready as well.
it was a headache, trying to figure this all out. technically, alhaitham had achieved what he'd come here for, and had gotten to self-indulge at the same time - is kaveh simply upset with him because he didn't try to take something from the other? didn't try to impose?
the lithe blonde shoots him a combative look as he wraps one of the sheets around his waist and then stalks past him, the scribe unable to look away as he maps the marks he left scattered down kaveh's torso. a reply forms on his lips - something like, 'an hour isn't timely' - but he doesn't get a chance to shoot it back, the architect already having left the room. a distant semi-slam of the bathroom door confirms he'd left the conversation with finality, at least.
with a mild frown on his face, alhaitham looks over the mess they'd made of kaveh's bed - the crumpled sheets and covers, the tell-tale wet patches of release - and it's hard not to replay the images from before with perfect clarity. heaving a sigh of he-doesn't-know-what (frustration, confusion, guilt), the scribe turns on his heel and retires to his own rooms to make sure he looked presentable enough to return to the akademiya, the time already well past when he'd said he'd return.
no doubt this would come up later, somehow, like it always did. ]
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
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the architect finds purchase in his shirt, deft fingers sinking into the fabric and managing to get some decent leverage on him. alhaitham often forgets just how strong kaveh could be, and although the almost-faded bruise on his face was a decent reminder, the sense of desire in the strength with which he yanks him forward makes the scribe's breath catch in his throat.
a satisfied hiss escapes into the kiss instead, that look back in alhaitham's eyes which was reminiscent of what kaveh had triggered in the hallway those few days ago - like he was letting go of some of his tethers of reason and handing his heart over to something much more unpredictable; more carnal. it takes no encouragement for him to respond enthusiastically, soundly kissing the blonde back as his hands seek out kaveh's slim waist.
distantly, so distantly, there's a weak, quiet voice that's trying to remind him he's doing this to expedite a task, doing this to speed things along; definitely not because kaveh drives him to both ruin and distraction at the same time, definitely not because the other takes up an impregnable corner of his mind and refuses to leave.
strong hands travel over porcelain skin to the small of his back and back to his waist like the scribe needed to map every inch of it for greed's sake - and then, he's not quite sure what triggers it, whether it was a delicious noise he managed to drag out of kaveh or the taste of him as he swipes his tongue across his teeth, but something breaks inside the scholar. a lesser man would've crumbled much sooner, having had to watch someone so beautiful stroke themselves to ruin right in front of them; really, it's quite admirable alhaitham had lasted this long.
leveraging his strength over the other, fingers sink tighter into the muscle of kaveh's waist and the scribe pins him heavily to the mattress in one fluid movement, the wood of the bed complaining again at such a strain. a thigh swings over the other side of the architect's hip, trapping him in place underneath the taller man, covers fallen away and forgotten.
for a wonderful, agonising moment, emerald eyes rake themselves over kaveh's body, simply appreciating - and although alhaitham looked almost as unruffled as usual, there was the most miniscule upwards curl to his lips as he drinks the other in, humming lowly in appreciation to himself.
he then cants at the waist, coming down to kaveh's level again - though he doesn't immediately satisfy his desire to kiss the other soundly again. instead, his mouth travels up the sensitive skin of kaveh's neck, coming to stop at the shell of the architect's ear, breath hot against it. in a graveled whisper that comes out more demanding than he intends; ]
Who gave you the right to be so beautiful?
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And then Alhaitham's passion takes him by surprise yet again, landing him on his back under the other and locked under the press of his legs (and Archons it sounds like the bed is going to give out under them if they're not careful), and the slow rake of emerald over his nakedness has Kaveh almost forgetting to breathe, let alone think of abstract concepts like equity.
Is it just his imagination, or is he smiling?
There might just be a whine on the architect's voice when those lips bypass his, although it's a sound that becomes a low moan at the exploration of that sensitive skin, a sharp exhale at the feel of the scribe's breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Fuck, he wonders wildly, maybe those stupid rumors around the campus back then were true, and Alhaitham's not human but homunculus, one programmed with all the right things to do to make someone fall apart under him—
what
Color floods to Kaveh's cheeks in response to the words at his ear, lips parting in a surprised stutter, trying for a moment to find an answer for a question that doesn't require answering, and the dull ache in his abdomen throbs and tightens even as a cold hand grips around his heart. There's no possible way that Alhaitham means it the way he wants him to; it's just his way, the architect is sure, of giving him the whole experience or something, of solidifying the "benefits" part of "friends with benefits" into something more than just sex.
It doesn't stop him from immediately breaking the promise he made not to fall further for him, though, nor from shuddering in response to the deep gravel of the other's voice. ]
Alhaitham—
[ He doesn't know what to say other than a lyrical murmur of his name; reaches instead to bury a hand in the scribe's immaculate silver hair, his own head canting back against the pillows as if to offer more skin for the other to explore, like he isn't an entire platter laid out under him already. His other hand goes back to the front of the other's shirt, tugging at the fabric in a pitiful, half-hearted attempt— he's still very much distracted by Alhaitham's lips and words, after all— to get it off him and level the playing field even slightly. ]
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jealousy is a foreign concept to him, a whole new experience that's not entirely pleasant. the scribe has never been envious of others, because why would he be? he was confident in his own intelligence, his life was comfortable, and he wasn't wanting for anything - at least, he'd thought he hadn't been wanting for anything until it had been summarily taken away from him by someone else. whoever kaveh had fallen into the arms of simply wouldn't get it. they couldn't. couldn't know what he needed, how best to treat him, how to protect him -
- and alhaitham's distantly surprised that he's the authority on all of those things, because he'd made it his business to be.
fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt and the scribe breaks away momentarily to grab the bottom hems, pulling it over his head and discarding it in a fluid movement without needing much encouragement. his musculature was completely incongruent with how he spends most of his days, hard muscle flexing as he ducks back down to capture kaveh's mouth with an almost bruising kiss.
funny, that alhaitham is almost as blunt and demanding physically as he is to deal with socially, pushing the boundaries of what he could take while somehow perfectly balanced with what the blonde needed. like his speech, his actions are just as to the point, confident, bold and decisive - and to that end, he manages to break away from the heated kiss, immediately moving his ministrations back down kaveh's skin again.
gentle but strangely possessive, his lips make his way south down the blonde's slender neck, over his chest, down past his stomach. each time alhaitham's mouth meets that beautifully soft skin, it's like a message that's reflected in the wolfishness that's returned to his eyes - 'these are reminders, you're mine' - and those turquoise irises shoot up to seek out kaveh's in confrontation as he languidly takes the other's length in his mouth at the same time. ]
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He doesn't have room to think about it for long, though, because shortly after the thoughts surface, the scribe breaks away and peels off that too-tight shirt, revealing in full the twin lines of hard muscle that make up his torso, and Kaveh stops moving under him entirely to stare, unabashed and open; when the other man's body shifts down to kiss him once more, his hands both lift to touch and explore, charting the other's body with slender fingers as he returns the kiss with an eager kind of hunger.
Fuck, he feels so unfairly good that Kaveh's not sure dreams will ever be enough again— Especially when dreams have thus far failed to capture that look Alhaitham's eyes wear when he breaks their kiss, the architect's petulant whine quickly stuttering into soft moans and gasps of pleasure as the other's traveling mouth leaves more bites in its wake— and there's another wandering, wondering thought quickly shot down— before lowering further still—
Crimson eyes widen, lips parting in silent shock as he clues in to what's about to happen, as the scribe's eyes meet his, the look in his eyes so fiery compared to the relaxed way he takes Kaveh into his mouth, and there's a lot of things the architect has dared think about but never this. His fingers scrabble, searching out the sheet that lines his mattress and grabbing handfuls hard enough to tear, fighting the desperate urge to buck against those lips, a litany of soft curses falling as gasps from his lips.
And he hates, hates how sensitive he is, because it feels like he's already frighteningly close to tipping over the edge and he doesn't want that (even if he knows that the scribe is doing this largely to hasten his exit from the house); he finds himself clutching the sheets harder and trying to channel his mind toward something unsexy but all he knows is Alhaitham and his body and his scent and his mouth and fuck but none of this is fair.
(Also unfair is the fact that like this he can't touch the other man unless he wants to grab handfuls of his hair the way he's grabbing at the sheets, and he'd rather not rip the silver strands right from the other's scalp.) ]
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it almost doesn't make sense that he's so good at what he's currently doing, considering the details of his previous dalliances rarely came up in conversation. not that he was shy or reluctant to elaborate, but alhaitham simply guesses it seems an unapproachable topic for an unapproachable person, the only details he'd shared stemming from questions kaveh had mustered up the courage to ask him while several drinks deep.
it had, perhaps, been some time since he'd been in this kind of position, but this was different to his previous encounters anyway. none had been as satisfying to watch unravel or tease the kinds of sounds out of that kaveh was making, the scribe's gaze darting briefly to white knuckles clutching at the sheets with a somewhat smug look in his eyes (if one could look smug while blowing someone, but if anyone could manage it, alhaitham would be the one).
he pauses his rhythm for a moment to make a show of dragging his tongue slowly, agonisingly slowly up kaveh's length from base to tip, still refusing to break eye contact with the other. it's uncharacteristically, intimately lewd and alhaitham absolutely knows that it'll undo him, but there's something so rewarding about seeing the blonde in the throes of pleasure like this and unable to do anything about it, not even bothering to grab a fistful of his hair.
the voice that had been quietly screaming that this was simply means to an end was now completely silent, the scribe thoroughly mesmerised by the breathtaking performance kaveh was putting on. ]
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But in a morning full of frustrations, it's perhaps no surprise that Alhaitham's rhythm is paused just at a time when he might otherwise find himself too far gone to stop. Kaveh's eyes snap open in time with the low whine on his lips, hips starting to lift unbidden in desperation only for the other man's tongue to start to drag, too too slow, along his swollen arousal, leaving Kaveh gasping out in helpless pleasure, his gaze transfixed on that smug look reflected back at him in emerald. ]
Fuck, Alhaitham, fucking— Archons, just...
[ He still doesn't want to rip any hair out, but that feeling is secondary now to the need coursing through him, leaving him to reach and this time thread fingers into the other man's silver hair, locking in tight as his lips tremble over a soft, begging syllable: ]
Please.
[ Kaveh thinks he might be ruined, not just for his own dreams now but for other people too; no one has ever taken him apart quite this expertly, left him pleading for an end even as he wants the moment to stretch out beyond what's humanly possible— (and there's another wandering thought about a samsara, about being trapped in a moment like this for every waking moment for the rest of his life) —And right now he's sure there's no one else who can. ]
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those deft, artistic fingers weave into his hair and tighten in a way that only ends up making him painfully hard; inconvenient, considering he had to return to the akademiya almost straight after this, and that it would be nigh impossible to erase these erotic images from an eidetic memory with any speed either.
needless to say, he needs very little encouragement to finish what he'd initiated, though the scribe pauses for a moment in his vantage point between kaveh's legs, his own still-gloved hands running up the muscle of the architect's thighs and coming to rest at the jut of his hips.
in a commanding, low voice that's slightly hoarse in a way that could only belie the lewd things he'd been doing to kaveh, he murmurs; ]
Come for me, then.
[ - and then takes the blonde entirely in his mouth once more, resuming the relentless rhythm. he wanted to see kaveh absolutely fall apart, and for once, he wanted to be the reason for it - not some nameless person from a tavern, not some gorgeous man or woman that'd be rightfully smitten with him the moment they saw him, not anyone else.
all he wanted kaveh to think about was him. ]
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Alhaitham—!
[ And he does, a strangled cry of Alhaitham's name half-smothered in his own left wrist as his hips jerk and stutter against that sinful mouth, fingers too tight and pulling at silver strands of hair in an instinctive attempt to tug him in closer, and tears of mingled pleasure and relief spring to the corners of Kaveh's tightly-shut eyes as the painful, unbearable pressure of the morning finally lessens. ]
Fuck, oh fuck... oh fuck...
[ The curse word is repeated over and over like a mantra, puffed out between desperate gasps for breath, body trembling and chest heavy and fingers unwinding themselves— and he should probably apologize for tugging on Alhaitham's hair so hard, but his brain has summarily quit working— eyes opening as he stares unseeing at the ceiling of his room.
Kaveh has been with his fair share of people over the years, but he's never experienced anything quite like this, and he's almost afraid to look back down the length of his body at the scribe once more, but he does, tongue darting out over too-dry lips as he reaches for him. In the pleasant haze of the afterglow, he's forgotten momentarily his worries about what this is, and what they are, and the fact that Alhaitham seems to think he wants something transactional; in fact, as he slowly recovers and his brain pieces itself back together, all he can think about is the fact that he wants to please the scribe in return. ]
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had he enjoyed himself? resoundingly, yes. had he simply offered himself to serve a purpose? also, yes.
which makes it difficult to parse when hands shakily detangle themselves from his hair and instead reach for him, when alhaitham had already intended not to get any more involved, not to further complicate their agreement any further. there's a moment of hesitation as he pulls back slightly, mouth glistening salaciously as he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off some excess from the encounter.
but - in the interests of diplomacy, the scribe allows kaveh to guide him bonelessly back upwards, aware that the other was more emotionally fragile than he was - aware that it would be even easier for him to say or do the wrong thing in this moment than it usually was. the boundaries between them are so undefined though, and the scribe hates grey areas; so much room for misinterpretation, such a minefield.
he settles for laying on his side next to kaveh's wrung out form, elbow propping him up on the bed as he all but surveys his handiwork. the upwards curl of his lips had gone, but there's still something summarily smug about his expression. ]
Did that help?
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He wants to kiss him, but Alhaitham is settling on his side and looking over him, something smug in his expression that stops Kaveh in his tracks, brings him just that little closer to reality, a reminder of the fact that the other's goal was to get him out of the bed as quickly as possible. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah, it helped a lot.
[ And that should be all there is to it. Right? But even then, with that knowledge in his mind, he can't quite stop his eyes from skimming down over the scribe's body in answer, taking in the firm lines of his muscled abs, and then lower still to the arousal straining obvious against the soft, loose fabric of his pants. Kaveh's mouth runs dry at the sight, and if the other man is watching closely enough he may see the slight dilation of his pupils, eyes flicking back up to his face as his tongue wets his lips.
(Alhaitham is hard— For him? Or just in a natural response to what was happening in the moment between the two of them?) ]
Do you... [ and the words come out as a stutter, tasting unsure on Kaveh's lips even as ruby eyes seek emerald, a question alive in his gaze. ] Can I— May I... Will you let me help you?
[ The question is finally asked, and lithe, delicate fingers are flexing at his side, more desperate than he'll ever admit to reach out, to touch, to do something in return, wanting to see Alhaitham fall apart for him just as he fell apart for the scribe—
Maybe he's still a little disconnected from reality. ]
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the more unrestrained part of his soul which repeatedly writhed its way out when he saw kaveh like this would love nothing more than to curse the sages' schedule to hell; to climb on top of the architect and take him in a way that he'd never be able to forget, that none of his nameless lovers would ever be able to live up to; to take him up on the offer to relieve the, frankly, quite distracting arousal he'd essentially cursed himself with.
but: alhaitham couldn't. for many reasons, he couldn't.
with a short sigh, the scribe shakes his head. ]
I was never included as part of this suggestion; only that I was interested in assisting you as per the needs you mentioned last time we discussed this.
[ and he thinks this is a very reasonable reply, because after all, this should demonstrate his willingness to give, correct? especially when it was something obviously causing kaveh some distress. ]
You don't need to be concerned for me. I'm due back at the Akademiya presently, anyway.
[ even though it is a very reasonable reply, he's surprised it's so hard to say. ]
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But the scribe shakes his head, and Kaveh's mouth floods with the bitter taste of disappointment even as his brows crease, expression shifting quickly into something puzzled. ]
...Are you joking? [ There's a certain height to his tone, an indication that if it weren't for the floaty sensation of the pleasure he might have shouted the words instead, although there's less anger and more hurt in the way he speaks, something that slips through despite a weak attempt to conceal it. ] Part of what's so good about sex is reciprocation!
[ And he recalls, distantly, that part of Alhaitham's offer had been for Kaveh to see him in the same undone state... although he's starting to realize that for the scribe, it was an either-or offer, not both, and despite how good he feels— was feeling, for the sensation is quickly starting to fade in favor of that wash of bitterness and disappointment— the architect can't help but wonder if he's made the wrong choice.
He swallows the thought back, makes an irritated gesture towards the scribe's crotch. ]
Besides, how exactly do you plan to go back to the Akademiya like that?
[ Anger is the wrong emotion for this, he knows it even as the words spill over his lips. But the hurt twisting in his chest won't allow for anything else. All he can think about is how much he wants to take the other man apart, give him the same pleasure distantly (ever distantly) humming in his own veins, prove to him somehow that Alhaitham needs him in the same way he knows he needs Alhaitham. To watch those muscles tense up and flex as he winds up to the apex of his pleasure. To taste him, coax him through fulfillment, show him how good it feels to accept—
He chases the thoughts away with an exasperated internal sigh, and his crimson eyes fix challengingly on those across from him. ]
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[ briefly, the scribe wonders why the only time they could be remotely agreeable was when they were doing something physical. every instance words were involved, the two of them immediately careened towards disaster and despite being one of the foremost scholars in sumeru, for the life of him, alhaitham couldn't fucking figure out why this was always a guaranteed outcome.
knowing that, from the evidence, the longer he stays here the more upset he'll make the architect, alhaitham slowly withdraws and gets up from the bed. bending is - mmm - bending at any severe angle right now is not happening, but luckily the shirt that had been discarded had ended up at the foot of the bed rather than on the floor.
it's as he retrieves it that kaveh speaks again, alhaitham glancing back up at that indignant, confronting crimson stare - and then down at the obvious erection straining against the fabric of his pants. his expression remains perfectly neutral though, and in response, muscular shoulders shrug as he goes about turning his shirt the right way out again to put it back on. maybe, maybe if the stars and the circumstances were aligned in such a way that he wasn't on a schedule; that he could trust sleeping with kaveh wouldn't make him further hurt, or upset, or angry, he would say yes.
could say yes. but right now, it was off the table, considering it sounded as if he'd already caused the other pain. something aches dully deep inside his being, and this time he couldn't mark it down to being painfully aroused. ]
I'll be fine. [ he replies evenly, that deep voice such a contradiction to kaveh's upset. ] Meditation usually helps, and the walk back to the House is long enough.
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What makes no logical sense at all is the way Kaveh feels oddly used, the way he feels sick and empty when just minutes ago every part of him was comfortable and content. The way every single part of him is aching to reach out and stop the other man, pull him back to the bed and kiss and touch and feel until he's not thinking anymore; a need strong enough that his fingers are twitching, body tense with a desire to reach.
The only thing that stops him is the fact that Alhaitham has already turned him down. Kaveh isn't that kind of man.
...Nor does he want to get rejected again. ]
Then enjoy your walk. [ It's hard to keep his head high after what's just happened, but the architect somehow manages it, a certain haughtiness to his demeanor as he stands from the bed too, sets about tossing a few of the covers around to hide the worst of the evidence of his dreams and the torn threads of the coverlet. ] You can tell the darshan I'll be there shortly. I just need to clean up first.
[ The look he offers is once again challenging, as if daring the scribe to disagree with him, to try and hurry him up yet further. ]
We'll say an hour.
[ And then he turns and walks from the room without waiting for a reply. ]
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[ pulling his shirt back on over his head and tugging at the bottom to straight it out over his torso once more, the scribe gets the distinct feeling that something is wrong that he can't quite put his finger on. what kaveh is saying is what he'd expect and all very reasonable considering, but there's a stiltedness to his voice that gives away something hidden; something clipped and haughty about his movements as he sets about getting ready as well.
it was a headache, trying to figure this all out. technically, alhaitham had achieved what he'd come here for, and had gotten to self-indulge at the same time - is kaveh simply upset with him because he didn't try to take something from the other? didn't try to impose?
the lithe blonde shoots him a combative look as he wraps one of the sheets around his waist and then stalks past him, the scribe unable to look away as he maps the marks he left scattered down kaveh's torso. a reply forms on his lips - something like, 'an hour isn't timely' - but he doesn't get a chance to shoot it back, the architect already having left the room. a distant semi-slam of the bathroom door confirms he'd left the conversation with finality, at least.
with a mild frown on his face, alhaitham looks over the mess they'd made of kaveh's bed - the crumpled sheets and covers, the tell-tale wet patches of release - and it's hard not to replay the images from before with perfect clarity. heaving a sigh of he-doesn't-know-what (frustration, confusion, guilt), the scribe turns on his heel and retires to his own rooms to make sure he looked presentable enough to return to the akademiya, the time already well past when he'd said he'd return.
no doubt this would come up later, somehow, like it always did. ]