Hm. It's flattering your own ego to think you could force something on me, but you are always one for the absurd.
[ is his flippant reply, though the jab lacked any heat. rather, it felt familiar, like they'd fallen back into their old dynamic which was imperfect, perhaps, but comfortable.
as the shorter man closes the distance between them, alhaitham's hands fall instead to hold his shoulders as fingers curl into the black material of his shirt - reminiscent of how kaveh had done exactly that last time the scribe had ventured into his rooms. the architect's lithe body against his is warm in a way only he could manage, both in form and spirit, and it does something to settle alhaitham's soul from the mess the last two weeks had brought.
if the scribe notices the sheet pooling at their feet on the floor, he doesn't say anything. instead, alhaitham simply looks back down at the other as kaveh's hand travels up his chest; traces the length of his collarbone; ghosts up the side of his throat, the expression one of faint appreciation. appreciation, not just for the obviously very attractive sight to take in that was kaveh naked, but for words that were finally born of honesty instead of fear.
words, words existed for a reason and were meant to be used, especially for things like this.
soft lips graze the angle of his jaw as kaveh speaks, the architect's graveled voice shooting straight to his core as he feels it on his skin. in turn, his gloved hands tighten into those broad but angular shoulders as alhaitham does everything within his power to resist the vision in front of him, resist simply grabbing him and finishing what that other man had started - only with far more finesse. more meaning. but - kaveh was drunk. he shouldn't. he really shouldn't.
but he's perfectly allowed to assert himself; so the scribe takes the architect's chin in his hand once more, the pad of his thumb resting just against his bottom lip, and tilts kaveh's head so those ruby eyes have to meet his own. he can't help himself, and those embers of arrogant possessiveness are there in his gaze still burning just as brightly as before.
in a deep but quiet voice, probably more commanding than it should be; ]
I don't want you to be with anyone else.
[ a pause, his thumb running the length of his lip in a slow, purposeful motion. ]
[ The jab, of course, doesn't go unnoticed— or without commentary for that matter, the architect making a big show of rolling his eyes in response. And maybe it's a relief for him too, that there's a certain sense of normality to their interaction again despite this new thing between them, this something lacking definition but nonetheless real.
To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]
[ there's a perceptible flinch as kaveh's tongue swipes over his thumb, not because it was unpleasant - oh, so far from it - but because the way he maintains eye contact, the languid, erotic way that he licks him? it's making it very, very hard for alhaitham in several definitions of the word, but most of which: testing his resolve. kaveh absolutely knew exactly what he was doing and it was almost terrifying being privy to the full bore of his flirtatious charm, the scribe having to grit his teeth to keep himself in check.
until now, he'd only enjoyed an outsider's perspective on the matter, but alhaitham had to concede: kaveh was far too powerful (in this respect) for his own good.
the affirmation of his statement and that fire being stoked in those emotive ruby eyes - it's enough to make the scribe look a little smug. what they had between them was still beyond definition, but for someone who finds comfort in dealing in concrete statements and finds his housemate infuriatingly attractive? it seemed like an excellent step in a mutually beneficial direction, really. ]
Good.
[ he murmurs approvingly, letting kaveh rearrange them and tilting his head slightly for better access for the kiss he was being urged towards.
oh, he tries so hard to remain chaste, an almost impossible task when the blonde's mouth is so inviting, tastes like the sweet liquor that he loves and imbibes far too much of. there's a moment where the the kiss deepens slightly, teeth meet lips and heated breath quickens - but, with the iron will of all seven archons, alhaitham manages to break away. just an inch, granted, but he fixes kaveh with a matter-of-fact look. ]
A reminder that you're drunk. [ the scribe points out, his own voice rough like he was clinging on by a thread that only existed because he was, perhaps, the most stubborn person in all of teyvat. ] Keeping in mind how easy it seems to be for you - [ ugh. that's not fair, but he hates admitting error; ] - us - to misconstrue intention, we should probably continue this after you sleep it off.
[ whether he meant the general discussion or the physical aspect of the situation remains ambiguous, but alhaitham is a proper scholar. given observation of cause and effect, he wasn't about to stumble headfirst into another week of stress by trying to navigate an objectively sensitive topic with a very drunk, very emotional architect. ]
[ Consenting to acts of pleasure whilst drunk has never really been an issue for Kaveh before, and for a moment he thinks that this shouldn't be any different— but at the same time, he knows Alhaitham is right, even if it pains him to pull away when the scribe breaks their kiss. It isn't just an act of pleasure at stake here, after all, but something more serious than that, something he really doesn't want to risk screwing up any further than he already almost did.
And so even though Kaveh is so tempted by the way the scribe flinches, by the rough hunger in his kiss and his voice, he's compliant— perhaps somewhat pouty, but compliant— when Alhaitham suggests that they continue this in the morning. His fingers loosen their grip in the other's shirt, and he takes a step back, wobbling as he does, needing to put distance between them lest his desire leads him to try and close the space once more.
(He notices, too, the way the other man corrects himself, admitting his own share of the fault when Kaveh knows how much he hates to do so. Perhaps later, he thinks, he'll make it worth Alhaitham's while— a thought very much not assisting him in his decision to step away.) ]
I almost wish I hadn't gone drinking. [ Almost, because if he hadn't, they likely wouldn't be in this situation right now. ] But you're right.
[ The ambiguity of Alhaitham's statement doesn't go unnoticed, but perhaps for the first time in weeks— maybe even longer— Kaveh feels like he's not particularly worried about which of the possible outcomes might end up taking place. There's no denying that they need to talk more, and he can tell the scribe wants the physical connection at least almost as much as he does; both will happen at some point, and he's content to wait. ...Which in and of itself is weird, actually— Kaveh's not really the patient type in anything other than his working life, nor is he great at dealing with uncertainties when it comes to emotion— something he might need to think about later when he's less drunk.
For now, at least, he takes the last shaky steps back to the bed and sits down, looking up at Alhaitham as he moves to pull what's left of the covers (read: not much) over him, a thoughtful look on his face. ]
You promise we'll continue in the morning, though?
[ alhaitham responds contrarily, his expression bemused as the architect sulkily but agreeably withdraws, stumbling back towards his bed like a fawn taking its first steps. the lack of motor control kaveh seemed to have in this moment only further confirms that this was the right course of action considering he could barely walk, let alone navigate what had become a veritable minefield of miscommunication.
in a tone that's more glib than anything else; ]
I think a better question is: are you going to remember this in the morning?
[ at least, if the hangover didn't kill him, perhaps the embarrassment might.
with a short sigh at the sheer state of the blonde as he attempts to pull the covers left on his bed over his body, the scribe languidly turns on his heel and leaves the room for a moment (through the broken door - yes, he'd said he wouldn't pay to fix it, but really he'd take a look at it tomorrow). some distant clattering noises filter in from the rough direction of their kitchen area, and the taller man returns presently with a tall glass of water, putting it down soundly on kaveh's bedside table. ]
Drink this or you'll die. Probably.
[ he directs, tone neutral as he realises he's stepped on the other cover that had been dragged off as collateral damage earlier - and so he picks that up, dropping it unceremoniously back on the bed right over kaveh's blonde head. ]
[ It's an indignant parting shot, made as the other exits the room without another word, and for a moment Kaveh's pout only deepens, the architect strongly considering getting up from the tangle of the singular cover around him to try and follow Alhaitham out of the room— he knows the other said he should rest, but is he really going to just walk out without saying goodnight?
The intent really is there, to follow him out, but the body isn't willing; Kaveh ends up flopping face-first into the pillow with a groan, exhausted and drunk and now a little sulky on top of that.
And to be completely honest, despite his protest, there's certainly a more-than-probable chance of his memory failing him— it has before, after all. But at least right now he stubbornly believes— has convinced himself even— that it's impossible on account of the sheer magnitude of what has happened here, tonight, between them.
He rolls onto his side when Alhaitham returns to the room, and the smile on his lips is decidedly soft, at least until it's replaced with a scowl when the cover is dropped onto his face right as he's in the middle of reaching out for it, causing him instead to flail, nearly knock the thing off the nightstand, and curse the scribe under his breath— in actuality incredibly noisily— while he rearranges the covers until they're over him and not just his head. ]
You are such a jerk. [ But there's no venom in his voice at all, the smile returning again in the next second as he recovers the glass and drinks from it. ] Thanks.
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
no subject
[ is his flippant reply, though the jab lacked any heat. rather, it felt familiar, like they'd fallen back into their old dynamic which was imperfect, perhaps, but comfortable.
as the shorter man closes the distance between them, alhaitham's hands fall instead to hold his shoulders as fingers curl into the black material of his shirt - reminiscent of how kaveh had done exactly that last time the scribe had ventured into his rooms. the architect's lithe body against his is warm in a way only he could manage, both in form and spirit, and it does something to settle alhaitham's soul from the mess the last two weeks had brought.
if the scribe notices the sheet pooling at their feet on the floor, he doesn't say anything. instead, alhaitham simply looks back down at the other as kaveh's hand travels up his chest; traces the length of his collarbone; ghosts up the side of his throat, the expression one of faint appreciation. appreciation, not just for the obviously very attractive sight to take in that was kaveh naked, but for words that were finally born of honesty instead of fear.
words, words existed for a reason and were meant to be used, especially for things like this.
soft lips graze the angle of his jaw as kaveh speaks, the architect's graveled voice shooting straight to his core as he feels it on his skin. in turn, his gloved hands tighten into those broad but angular shoulders as alhaitham does everything within his power to resist the vision in front of him, resist simply grabbing him and finishing what that other man had started - only with far more finesse. more meaning. but - kaveh was drunk. he shouldn't. he really shouldn't.
but he's perfectly allowed to assert himself; so the scribe takes the architect's chin in his hand once more, the pad of his thumb resting just against his bottom lip, and tilts kaveh's head so those ruby eyes have to meet his own. he can't help himself, and those embers of arrogant possessiveness are there in his gaze still burning just as brightly as before.
in a deep but quiet voice, probably more commanding than it should be; ]
I don't want you to be with anyone else.
[ a pause, his thumb running the length of his lip in a slow, purposeful motion. ]
You should be mine.
no subject
To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]
no subject
until now, he'd only enjoyed an outsider's perspective on the matter, but alhaitham had to concede: kaveh was far too powerful (in this respect) for his own good.
the affirmation of his statement and that fire being stoked in those emotive ruby eyes - it's enough to make the scribe look a little smug. what they had between them was still beyond definition, but for someone who finds comfort in dealing in concrete statements and finds his housemate infuriatingly attractive? it seemed like an excellent step in a mutually beneficial direction, really. ]
Good.
[ he murmurs approvingly, letting kaveh rearrange them and tilting his head slightly for better access for the kiss he was being urged towards.
oh, he tries so hard to remain chaste, an almost impossible task when the blonde's mouth is so inviting, tastes like the sweet liquor that he loves and imbibes far too much of. there's a moment where the the kiss deepens slightly, teeth meet lips and heated breath quickens - but, with the iron will of all seven archons, alhaitham manages to break away. just an inch, granted, but he fixes kaveh with a matter-of-fact look. ]
A reminder that you're drunk. [ the scribe points out, his own voice rough like he was clinging on by a thread that only existed because he was, perhaps, the most stubborn person in all of teyvat. ] Keeping in mind how easy it seems to be for you - [ ugh. that's not fair, but he hates admitting error; ] - us - to misconstrue intention, we should probably continue this after you sleep it off.
[ whether he meant the general discussion or the physical aspect of the situation remains ambiguous, but alhaitham is a proper scholar. given observation of cause and effect, he wasn't about to stumble headfirst into another week of stress by trying to navigate an objectively sensitive topic with a very drunk, very emotional architect. ]
no subject
And so even though Kaveh is so tempted by the way the scribe flinches, by the rough hunger in his kiss and his voice, he's compliant— perhaps somewhat pouty, but compliant— when Alhaitham suggests that they continue this in the morning. His fingers loosen their grip in the other's shirt, and he takes a step back, wobbling as he does, needing to put distance between them lest his desire leads him to try and close the space once more.
(He notices, too, the way the other man corrects himself, admitting his own share of the fault when Kaveh knows how much he hates to do so. Perhaps later, he thinks, he'll make it worth Alhaitham's while— a thought very much not assisting him in his decision to step away.) ]
I almost wish I hadn't gone drinking. [ Almost, because if he hadn't, they likely wouldn't be in this situation right now. ] But you're right.
[ The ambiguity of Alhaitham's statement doesn't go unnoticed, but perhaps for the first time in weeks— maybe even longer— Kaveh feels like he's not particularly worried about which of the possible outcomes might end up taking place. There's no denying that they need to talk more, and he can tell the scribe wants the physical connection at least almost as much as he does; both will happen at some point, and he's content to wait. ...Which in and of itself is weird, actually— Kaveh's not really the patient type in anything other than his working life, nor is he great at dealing with uncertainties when it comes to emotion— something he might need to think about later when he's less drunk.
For now, at least, he takes the last shaky steps back to the bed and sits down, looking up at Alhaitham as he moves to pull what's left of the covers (read: not much) over him, a thoughtful look on his face. ]
You promise we'll continue in the morning, though?
no subject
[ alhaitham responds contrarily, his expression bemused as the architect sulkily but agreeably withdraws, stumbling back towards his bed like a fawn taking its first steps. the lack of motor control kaveh seemed to have in this moment only further confirms that this was the right course of action considering he could barely walk, let alone navigate what had become a veritable minefield of miscommunication.
in a tone that's more glib than anything else; ]
I think a better question is: are you going to remember this in the morning?
[ at least, if the hangover didn't kill him, perhaps the embarrassment might.
with a short sigh at the sheer state of the blonde as he attempts to pull the covers left on his bed over his body, the scribe languidly turns on his heel and leaves the room for a moment (through the broken door - yes, he'd said he wouldn't pay to fix it, but really he'd take a look at it tomorrow). some distant clattering noises filter in from the rough direction of their kitchen area, and the taller man returns presently with a tall glass of water, putting it down soundly on kaveh's bedside table. ]
Drink this or you'll die. Probably.
[ he directs, tone neutral as he realises he's stepped on the other cover that had been dragged off as collateral damage earlier - and so he picks that up, dropping it unceremoniously back on the bed right over kaveh's blonde head. ]
no subject
[ It's an indignant parting shot, made as the other exits the room without another word, and for a moment Kaveh's pout only deepens, the architect strongly considering getting up from the tangle of the singular cover around him to try and follow Alhaitham out of the room— he knows the other said he should rest, but is he really going to just walk out without saying goodnight?
The intent really is there, to follow him out, but the body isn't willing; Kaveh ends up flopping face-first into the pillow with a groan, exhausted and drunk and now a little sulky on top of that.
And to be completely honest, despite his protest, there's certainly a more-than-probable chance of his memory failing him— it has before, after all. But at least right now he stubbornly believes— has convinced himself even— that it's impossible on account of the sheer magnitude of what has happened here, tonight, between them.
He rolls onto his side when Alhaitham returns to the room, and the smile on his lips is decidedly soft, at least until it's replaced with a scowl when the cover is dropped onto his face right as he's in the middle of reaching out for it, causing him instead to flail, nearly knock the thing off the nightstand, and curse the scribe under his breath— in actuality incredibly noisily— while he rearranges the covers until they're over him and not just his head. ]
You are such a jerk. [ But there's no venom in his voice at all, the smile returning again in the next second as he recovers the glass and drinks from it. ] Thanks.