[ 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
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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. ]