[ Kaveh's attempt to talk is quickly forgotten in the face of the man's continued words, eyes fixed on the Vahumana insignia on the hat he wears, the architect trying to place how he knows him. Members of his darshan don't usually have much of a reason to undertake projects alongside scholars of aetiology, and it's been a while since he had anything to do with Akademiya scholars on a social level, especially now that he's busy hiding so much of his personal life from others. Yet there's something uncomfortably familiar about the man.
And it's something that becomes clearer as he keeps talking, moves closer into Kaveh's bubble and starts murmuring something about continuing where they left off, about the scribe being a thug, about the architect's enthusiasm—
The recognition settles in his stomach in the same moment as he catches sight of Alhaitham over the man's shoulder, sees the invisible fury etched into his decidedly-calm features, watches the thoughts play back over his face like a theater performance of which Kaveh should be ashamed. Heat starts to come into his cheeks, and his lips part once more as if to offer some sort of explanation— what if his partner thinks he's allowing this to happen, seeking affection from someone else just because he can?— but they snap shut again in the next moment, silenced in the face of Alhaitham's words.
Sadly, the same is not true for the man crowded into his space, who meets the scribe's eyes with smug amusement in his own, an expression that says he has nothing to fear even in the face of that anger (and seriously, Kaveh is starting to wonder how any of these people got into the Akademiya in the first place when they're so stupid in the face of his boyfriend's irritation).
"So you own the Akademiya now?" he drawls, seemingly unperturbed by the taller man's fury. "I think it's clear I have just as much a right to be here as you. This is the House of Daena, last I checked, not the House of Asshat— If the Light of Kshahrewar wants to spend time with me, here, who's to stop him?"
A hand touches his behind, a deliberate grasp out of nowhere, and the man is halfway into a statement about freeing themselves from such pathetic company when Kaveh shakes him off, takes a step or two back as quickly as if he's been burned, anger coming to light in his own eyes.
Seriously, how could he have thought for even a moment that this guy was a good substitute for Alhaitham—? ]
You're assuming I want to spend time with you— [ he says, and he really should say the guy's name but to this moment he doesn't remember it ] —which I don't. I was drunk that night; the moment has passed. I'm not interested.
[ It should be enough to end the conversation.
It's not.
The man chases him a step, that same faux-concern in his eyes that he wore at the start of the conversation, when he asked if Kaveh was okay. "Come on, baby," he says. "You don't have to pretend you don't want me. This jerk can't bully you here." ]
[ the man shakes free of alhaitham's grip, clearly not intimidated in the least by someone who had already demonstrated their strength towards him - and the scribe is about to reply with some scathing words about his 'right to be here' when the asshole just. grabs the architect suggestively, much to kaveh's abject horror.
that kind of transgression combined with such slimy, nauseating words makes alhaitham instantly stiffen, a cool, white fury snaking its way through his veins as his partner takes a step back in an attempt to escape; to get away from assault.
what happens next is purely instinctual, metered only by the fact that some part of his rational self is dimly aware they're still very much in public and that attention even on the fringes of such a lively party would still be relatively easy to draw. but nonetheless, a flash of green crosses the scribe's scowl almost faster than can be perceived as the heady sense of energy starts to lay heavy in the air - and in a fluid movement, alhaitham grabs the vahumana scholar by both shoulders and bodily shoves him back towards the side hall they'd just left a few moments ago. ]
Get over here.
[ he hisses, following the stumbling man into the relative darkness of the hallway in a stalk that resembled a carnivore circling their prey. what this piece of shit had to say about him, alhaitham couldn't care less - insults to him were like oil on water, and he'd been privy to enough of them over the years from those who disliked him. jerk, loner, cold, emotionless - he'd heard it all, and he couldn't give less of a shit.
but to have the audacity to touch his partner so intimately - against his will - it made the logic in his mind simply short circuit into fury, the taller man catching up with the culprit in question as they moved out of direct eyeline of the other partygoers.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?", the other splutters as he regains his footing and straightens out his robes, disheveled from the sheer force the scribe had shoved him with. "You have no right -"
despite being a scholar of words, alhaitham has had entirely enough of talking, and before the other can even manage to get a full sentence out, muscles flex fluidly under linen and he throws a solid punch straight at the man's face. ]
[ If he were to be asked about it later, Kaveh would admit he has no idea if the ability to sense a Vision's activation is something native to those who possess their own, or if he is simply so attuned to Alhaitham that the change in the air is palpable. In the end, perhaps it doesn't matter, because the end result is the same: the architect's thoughts go from anger to concern, a widening of his crimson eyes as they flit back to his partner. Don't, he wants to say, don't get yourself kicked out of the Akademiya on my account; he's not worth it, but the words are trapped under the shameful reminder that all of this is only happening because he was a coward, because he played stupid games in an attempt to draw the scribe's attention to him. And it worked, but apparently some of the side-effects are much less pleasing.
His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]
[ - is his clipped reply to kaveh, because it's laughable such a worm of a human would be able to even remotely affect his job. and anyway? those things are so far from alhaitham's mind at this point because the scholar is (unfortunately) still conscious and spouting filth directly past him at the blonde again - mm.
unacceptable.
at the slur and the bloody spit that lands at the ground near their feet, alhaitham's jaw sets as he takes a step forward, bending down only to yank the man up on his feet by the front of his shirt. the sheer strength involved in holding up someone at least his height doesn't seem to even register to the scribe, fist bunched in the scholar's robes and holding his body weight as if he were a sack of feathers. their faces are only several inches apart at this point, more than enough for alhaitham to stare the other down with a look so cold in his eyes it'd shoot terror into the heart of a normal man. ]
You have two options. [ he murmurs lowly as the man scowls back at him, deep voice even but fringed with something unpredictable. ] Either you apologise to this esteemed member of the Kshahrewar, or I haul you in front of the General Mahamatra. I'm sure he - and the other members of the matra with him - would be thrilled to entertain you.
[ a hand swats at alhaitham's, though the vahumana scholar's strength is no match for the scribe's. when he realises that physical retaliation in this position would be somewhat futile, he spits for a final time directly in the taller man's face and then laughs; a horrible, dark thing.
"Like I'd apologise to someone happy to whore themselv-"
- but, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because before he can get out one last epithet at kaveh, alhaitham turns on his heel and bodily drags the other man with him whether he likes it or not. minor scuffling ensues, but the scribe is like an immovable object at this point, his grip like iron as he tugs the other out of the hall and into the party.
pausing for a moment as he reaches kaveh, the silver-haired man gives him an inscrutable look and frowns, face still stained with blood. ]
Stay here. [ he states simply, quiet enough for only the blonde to hear. like this were a normal sequence of events to transpire. ] I don't want you to get involved - unlike me, you have something to lose.
[ because kaveh had been the life of the party just a short time ago, had been inspiring those around him, proving to the remnants of the akademiya why he's exactly what they needed to move forward - and alhaitham doesn't want to sacrifice that future, not on the back of one pissant.
and so, he re-enters the party dragging the culprit behind him, intent on seeking out the general wherever he may be. the matra would not look favourably on sexual harassment, especially right under their noses. ]
[ You may not be concerned, the architect wants to say, but I am. Alhaitham might not be the most career-driven person on Teyvat, but a job is still a job, and the last thing Kaveh wants is to cost the scribe his. But he also knows better than to fight the other man on it. Besides, he probably couldn't even if he wanted to, because he's reeling like he's been slapped, his mind ringing with the slurs that fall off the Vahumana scholar's lips.
Slut.
It's hardly the first time such words have been aimed at him, but they sting, make his gut twist itself in ugly knots at the knowledge that he's worth that little to someone— even if that someone is an asshole like this guy, who isn't worth the thoughts Kaveh's wasting on him.
He nods mutely in response to Alhaitham's command, and it's not until his partner storms back through the arch with the scholar in his grip— the scholar whose cold blue eyes are fixed on Kaveh's face, an expression glinting behind the irises that for once in his life the architect is entirely unable to read.
And it's only once he's watching the pair move across the room— watching the figures parting for the scribe's stalking figure, watching the way heads turn and then bow together, hearing the drone of concerned murmurs starting to overtake the warmer buzz of conversation that had previously been filling the air— that he remembers vaguely he should have wiped the bloody spit off his partner's face.
Archons, he's going to be sick—
Part of him feels like he should watch what's going on, try to keep eyes on the party, make sure Alhaitham's okay, but he almost can't bear it, instead finds himself scuffing the gob of bloody spit into the stone floor, drinking too deep from his wine glass and wishing he had another.
Whore. Needy, clingy, desperate whore.
What a surprise then, the insidious little voice reminds him, that he's been so frustrated about Alhaitham not taking him to bed. Even an actual stranger knows it's all he's good for. How is he meant to keep the other man around otherwise? ]
Shut up.
[ He whispers it to himself, the fingers of both hands curling into fists as he scuffs his shoes over the floor again, feet falling into a pacing, back-and-forth rhythm over the width of the hallway. ]
[ congruent to his abrasive personality, the scholar doesn't go quietly with alhaitham - not that he'd expected him to, that is. swiping his face clean with his sleeve wasn't the most ideal solution to being splattered with someone else's blood, especially since he was wearing white for once, and it's really that that's bothering him as he hauls the scumbag across the floor, not the somewhat shocked expressions he was receiving.
"is that - the former grand sage?" "who's that with him? they didn't get into a fist fight at a professional affair, did they? how barbaric -" "keep your voice down! of course the scribe of the akademiya wouldn't stoop to such a level."
the hubbub is, of course, interspersed with further insults from the man in alhaitham's vicelike grip, mostly directed at his captor. but, the conversations, the yelling, all of it fades to white noise because at least the culprit is distracted for the moment; at least he's too focused on the scribe to smear kaveh's name in the dirt, and at least the commotion was enough to attract the attention of the general mahamatra without having to cross the entire hall floor.
looking decidedly unaffected, alhaitham hands off the man in his custody to a pair of matra who had joined cyno on his approach who get an equally loud and vulgar list of epithets. it's not unnoticed that the general's eyes flick between the scribe and the scholar's broken nose in a scrutinising manner - nothing would ever get past him - but as an aside and in confidence, a few murmured words from alhaitham to the general explains (at least) what's needed to be known for now. judging from the minute narrowing of crimson eyes and the curtness with which kaveh's attacker is then escorted from the room by the matra guard, the scribe almost feels pity for him.
the general scorned was not a person to trifle with, and by assaulting kaveh - trifle he had.
the matter dealt with, alhaitham makes his way back across the hall to where he'd left kaveh, completely ignoring the fact the volume in the room had dropped significantly since he'd emerged. no, he was more concerned with rolling up his sleeves because one was now stained with the blood of a scumbag, and it was going to take a great deal of effort to launder it out.
ducking back under the curtain that hung across the side hall entrance, his eyes come to rest on kaveh - pacing back and forth, but thankfully, where he'd left him.
this of all times was probably the most worthwhile to have actually listened to alhaitham's 'advice'. ]
It's been resolved.
[ he states simply, the tone as neutral as if this had been a matter to solve that had crossed his desk that day. though, after a short pause the scribe offers a quieter; ]
[ Even from here, the drop of volume in the adjacent room is evident, leaving Kaveh feeling even sicker than he did when this whole thing started. He's worried about Alhaitham, mostly, more than he's worried about himself; the feelings he has toward himself are those he tries to ignore, tries to smother as soon as they rise unbidden and accusatory in his mind.
At the very least, the force of effort keeps him from suffering a complete meltdown, his energy spent maintaining at least even a narrow barrier between the events of the night and his proclivity for self-hatred. After all, with everything his partner has done tonight on his behalf, the last thing he should have to deal with upon coming back is a panicky, tear-stained boyfriend.
Oh, but he wants to go home.
Despite his best efforts, the distress is still written clearly over his face by the time the other man emerges from the main area into the darkened hallway. Kaveh crosses the floor in quick steps as soon as he speaks; suppressing the very real temptation to throw himself into the other's arms like something in an Inazuman light novel, he instead reaches up, using his fingers and the cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the remnants of the scholar's blood smeared on his face. ]
I'm alright. [ His voice is soft, his eyes searching as they scan over every square inch of the scribe's face. It's a lie, of course it is, but in Kaveh's mind it's a necessary one with how much Alhaitham just put on the line for him— whether the other man sees it that way or not. His other hand though, the one not skimming over the scribe's face, tells the truth of the matter in the way it finds purchase in the material of Alhaitham's shirt, an attempt by Kaveh to ground himself against his partner's immovable form.
[ even though they'd only been 'together' for a fortnight, it takes very little to see through kaveh's bold-faced lie after the many, many years they'd spent in each other's orbit. alhaitham doesn't immediately question it though in respect for the blonde's obvious fragility, allowing him to gently wipe the rest of the mess off of his face even though the culprit wasn't worth the destruction of two good shirts, let alone one.
the soft pull on the fabric of his shirt is a signal that neither of them really wants to be here anymore - not that alhaitham had remotely wanted to be here in the first place - but the night was still relatively young, and he knows that kaveh still has things to do, people to meet, charm to lay on. at the very least, he'd be able to continue on with his night with relatively little interruption considering he'd been kept out of the eye of the storm; as for alhaitham, he's expecting some sort of early call into his office tomorrow morning by the general for further explanations and probably a disciplinary 'don't punch others on campus'.
fair enough for the matra to state, but the scribe would do it again in a heartbeat. ]
Why wouldn't I be? [ he replies plainly, as if it was silly he'd have an answer anything but 'fine'. ] I wasn't the target. You, however...
[ and the horrible insults, spat with vitriol just a short time before cross his mind again, the taller man frowning as his sentence trails off. there's a brief pause as alhaitham simply looks back at kaveh searchingly because he knows that those kinds of words would've hurt him straight to his core - especially someone as sensitive and emotionally vulnerable as he is. if he'd seen one thing over the years they'd spent around one another, it was kaveh's uncanny ability to paper over the fractures and wounds of his psyche to save everyone else the trouble of worrying.
wordlessly, the scribe pulls the other into a firm, secure embrace, his face resting on the blonde hair on the crown of kaveh's head as his arms encircle his partner entirely. he's still not very good with saying the 'right' things in emotionally charged situations, but it's plain that kaveh's hurting - and he hates that. perhaps this would help, in some small way; perhaps this would remind him that he's not alone, even if it's all alhaitham can confidently do to comfort him. ]
You deserved none of that.
[ a quiet murmur sounds against kaveh's hair, the scribe's tone somewhat bitter. ]
[ Why wouldn't he be? Because that man managed to rile him up enough that he lashed out, a break of composure Kaveh's rarely seen in all the time he's known Alhaitham. Because he made him come to this party (no matter what the scribe says about Kaveh's ability to make him do anything at all), and now it's turned into a spectacle of the worst kind.
Because the architect yet again caused problems for someone he loves by making stupid choices. If he hadn't been so quick to whore himself out—
(And there's that word again, stuck in his thoughts despite his attempts to shut it out, holding on with both hands to whisper cruelly into his mind.)
Instinct has him hide the pain even when it's obvious that Alhaitham can see right through him, even when the other's gaze looks at him so searchingly before he reaches to pull him close, holding him tight and firm in way that makes the elder of the two want to break down into the tears he's been holding back since this whole mess started. The quiet murmur into his hair is equally as dangerous, and Kaveh finds himself remaining silent for a while longer than he should, taking slow and measured breaths in an effort to calm himself down, to stop the outburst on the tip of his tongue, the anguished exclamation that he did deserve it, that he started this whole damn thing with his stupid games.
Instead, he presses closer, continuing that slow pattern of inhale and exhale, hoping that with the way he's curled into Alhaitham's embrace, the hitch and shudder in each breath isn't too obvious. ]
I wanna go home— [ is what he says when he finally works up the courage to speak, although the slight shift in topic is necessary for him to keep any of his composure at all ] —I know I can't right now, but I do.
[ And despite his best efforts, a sniffle— although it's followed by a soft, wet laugh, an accusation spoken without anger: ]
Damnit Alhaitham, I was doing a good job of holding myself together until you hugged me.
[ is his unassuming reply, because they'd both rather be at home - ah, 'home', a stranger concept now than it'd been two weeks ago - than in this hellhole of a social extravaganza. but there's some consolation in the fact that the hubbub in the main hall had returned to its previous volume, the drama already forgotten (or being discussed loudly in the circles dotted around the room). even if they had to venture back in for career or face's sake, at least the worst of it was likely over.
as the blonde laughs and playfully admonishes him, his quiet voice a soft rumble against the skin of his neck, alhaitham keeps holding him for a few more moments. the scribe was still attempting to figure out the various cadences and situations in which kaveh would end up in tears and largely it still confuses him - but at least this time he's fairly certain they're good tears, letting out the stress of the altercation if nothing else.
and then, reluctantly, he eases his hold on the architect, moving back just enough to look him seriously in the eyes. large hands travel down to rest at the sides of his arms atop the crimson fabric of his shirt that so beautifully lit up his eyes, even if they were threatening to cry. ]
Since when could you hold yourself together around me anyway?
[ a jocular jab in return, because falling into their habits seemed to bring comfort and distraction. unfortunately, they both have responsibilities and jobs to do so going back into the fray was non-negotiable, so alhaitham instead sets about straightening kaveh's collar so it sits right again; fixes some stray hair that was out of place. all very analytical and meticulous, all very him. ]
When you're ready to go home, say the word and we'll leave -
[ a beat, and there's the tiniest hint of devilry hiding in the back of his eyes; ]
[ The tears, in reality, are borne half of relief and the release of stress, half of the stress itself and the guilt and shame Kaveh's brain is trying to levy onto his heart. Of course, if Alhaitham were to ask, though, he'd claim them to be all good, all stress relief and affection for the scribe and the actions he took in his partner's defense. In the end though the question isn't asked, a teasing joke in his direction making up the most of the other's reply, a comforting assurance (paired with a devilish threat) forming the rest; Kaveh finds himself relaxing a little, grateful for the fact that the taller man hasn't chosen to focus his scholarly intent on the obvious emotion.
Despite the gratitude, though, he's sure to huff at the jab, to give Alhaitham a look as they separate, although it's edged with a soft smile that belies the truth of his feelings; as the scribe straightens his collar and fixes his hair, the sheen in Kaveh's eyes warms and fades, leaving only affection in its wake.
And where Alhaitham's fondness for him appears in the meticulous way he tidies his appearance, the promise that they can go home whenever Kaveh's ready— even though they both know it's not as simple as all that— the architect's is shown by a soft kiss pressed to the corner of those lips, a slight straightening of his figure so that he can press his forehead briefly to his partner's. ]
No more scenes, [ he says, and he hopes his voice is appropriately stern. ] I can hold out for a little while longer.
[ And hold out he does. The rest of the night goes by decently enough; while eyes are certainly turned their way upon their emergence from the side hall, Kaveh's social skills are enough that they're able to integrate themselves back in with the groups scattered around the room without too much trouble. Where questions are asked, the architect says only that the scholar in question was inappropriate in his actions, and that the matra would be dealing with it. And where suspicious gazes are levied at Alhaitham, the blonde is quick to explain he acted defensively, before— as smoothly as possible— finding a change of topic to get even the nosiest of academics focused on something else for a time. It's not exactly easy, but in the long run it feels like a success, Kaveh thinks.
Still, that doesn't mean that he's not exhausted by the time they finally make it through the door of Alhaitham's house; even the pleasant buzz of tipsiness can't hide it at this point, the careful mask he wears in public having slipped from his face.
(Not that that really matters, though; it's not a mask he wears at home, and even if he did he has the feeling Alhaitham would see right through it.)
When the door snicks closed behind them, he turns to face his partner, reaching without hesitation to wind arms around his shoulders, eyes closing as he slots himself in closer and pulls the scribe to him in the same movement. Too bad, he thinks, if Alhaitham wanted to move further into the house. He needs this right now. ]
[ alhaitham agrees, and they somewhat reluctantly part to suffer through the rest of the evening.
the remainder of the party is much less eventful, and to the scribe's delight, everyone seems to be too intimidated or wary to bring up the earlier altercation with him in conversation. instead, he whiles the rest of the time away on the fringes of the event again, being pulled in and out of conversations of varying value about the akademiya, about haravatat, about his current studies and interests. no topic was engaging enough to distract him completely from keeping an eye on the blonde on the other side of the room though, and alhaitham wasn't about to take any chances after what kaveh had already had to suffer through that night.
luckily, no further worms squirmed out of the woodwork and after what seems like eons the soiree wraps up, scholars leaving in throngs and in varying stages of inebriation. socialising is so, so very exhausting for alhaitham that he's unbelievably relieved to cross the threshold of his - their - home, the hallway just barely illuminated by the dim lights out on the street. in here it's quiet, it's secure, it's safe to be unapologetically himself without the frustration that the judgement of others brings with it. and so, he lets out a rather heavy sigh of fatigue as they close the door behind them, so very pleased to be back, and -
then, he's pleasantly interrupted by kaveh's lithe form against his, slim arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him towards the architect in a gentle embrace. it's perhaps the nicest 'welcome home' he can think of after spending a grueling evening in the company of those he'd rather not be remotely close to, and without thinking, alhaitham reciprocates. encircling the other's waist with his own arms, he holds kaveh almost possessively close, lips brushing against the shell of his ear before placing a soft kiss just above it on his golden hair. ]
Let's not go to one of those again. Ever.
[ he mutters, voice thready with fatigue but obviously pleased to be back in the one place he valued most, with the person he valued most. of course, there'd be many other social engagements - scholars couldn't get enough of the damn things - but alhaitham could dream, especially when his arms were wrapped around a font of them.
pulling back an inch, turquoise irises take in kaveh's face in that analytical way he always assesses a situation. ]
How are you feeling?
[ because even though that's not a natural question for him, something tells him he should probably ask. he's learning, even if it's a slow process. ]
[ Pulled in close to Alhaitham in return, Kaveh's lips part in a soft sigh of content. There's something unspoken in the way the taller man holds him, an echo of the same possessiveness he watched flit across his face earlier in the evening, that makes the architect finally feel calm, like he can properly breathe for the first time all evening.
He remembers vaguely the conversation they had the morning after his drunken confession, the scribe's reticence to admit his jealousy, and his lips quirk in a fond smile. Maybe on some level, he likes feeling like he belongs to someone? But the thought is chased by broken memory of the night before, of that man who gave them so much trouble tonight, and Kaveh's brows crease in a small frown at the same moment that Alhaitham separates from him so slightly. ]
I'm fine. [ It's said in a murmur, his eyes not quite meeting those that search his face. But even before the words fully leave his lips, the pang of guilt strikes him, and he heaves out a soft sigh, one hand pulling back to his own chest, lifting to his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
Really, what's the point in lying to Alhaitham when the other man can see right through him anyway?
So Kaveh steadies himself with a breath, keeps himself grounded with a flutter of fingers through the silver of Alhaitham's hair. This time, he refuses to cry. He's here, at home, with the person who makes him feel safest— (and usually most irritated too, but the scribe has been nothing but sweet tonight)— There's no reason for him to be upset, to feel trapped by words spoken by someone obviously so far below him. ]
...I feel awful. None of that would have happened tonight if I'd acted maturely and told you about my feelings instead of trying to piss you off.
[ Sure, he had his reasons at the time— fear of being kicked out of the house, or worse of being removed from Alhaitham's life altogether— but he's a grown man, damnit. So much of this could have been prevented if he'd just acted his age. ]
Now I've caused you problems, maybe gotten you in trouble... I'm sorry.
[ the feeling of kaveh's deft fingers through his hair is decidedly pleasant, but the words alhaitham is hearing are much less so. frowning, his expression is one of disbelief. ]
You're not seriously suggesting you're responsible for that man's conduct?
[ it irritates him to think of it, but whether or not he'd had a dalliance with someone didn't give them the right to treat the blonde with such disrespect, talk down to him like he was less than nothing - mm. the recollection of the night's earlier altercation makes the scribe bristle again, the epithets echoing in his head with such a resonance that it almost makes him want to track the matra down and knock the scholar down a second time. ]
I'm not going to comment on your choice of casual partners, [ no point, because he'd voiced his opinion already when the man had been in the house the first time, ] - but I don't follow the mental gymnastics it'd take to blame yourself for what happened tonight. Someone with the world's most fragile ego couldn't take no for an answer, and retaliated in the only way someone with such a challenged intellect would know how.
[ maybe his explanation is more logic than emotion, but the taller man simply doesn't understand how kaveh doesn't see what he does - a common issue between them, illuminated much more in this moment. ]
And - you didn't cause me problems. [ the back-and-forth in him wants to add the glib 'tonight', but he catches himself before he says it. probably not the right time. ] I did what I did because I wanted to, and I'd do it again. Whatever minor 'trouble' that comes of that was well worth it, and judging by the mood the General Mahamatra was in after a brief explanation?
[ a brief pause as he raises a hand between them to cup the blonde's cheek, his expression serious in the absolute as his eyes dip to where his thumb brushes against kaveh's cheekbone. ]
[ He's quick to shake his head, even as Alhaitham's hand cups his cheek so gently. Since that argument between them those years ago, Kaveh has sometimes wondered what it would be like to have the other man's sense of morality. If the younger man has ever regretted anything, certainly never heard him admit it. Everything he says, he means. Everything he means, he says. Compared to the architect, who works himself into an anxious panic over even a perceived slight to someone else...
But it's just who they are. Perfect reflections of one another: Kaveh blaming himself for the actions of another, Alhaitham unable to fathom how such self-blame is possible. There's probably no point in trying to explain— but Kaveh tries anyway. ]
I know I'm not responsible for his conduct. He was an asshole all on his own. But— [ and his eyes drop, looking at the hollow of the scribe's throat rather than at his face ] —he's an asshole who wouldn't have even had a reason to cross paths with us had I not used him to try and make you jealous.
[ Because that was what he had done— he'd used him, that night, and taken pleasure in Alhaitham throwing him out because it meant he'd been seen by the person he really wanted. And maybe the other man says he didn't deserve anything that happened to him tonight... but when it comes down to it, maybe he did.
He sighs, trying to put that thought aside, because it's not going to help him right now. Instead, he tries on a small smile, a weak joke on his lips, changing the subject before he can quite help it: ]
Well, I'm not going to say that entire plan was your greatest work, [ because yes, it had been a rather ridiculous chain of events - ] - but there'll always be characters like that lurking in the shadows, especially in the Akademiya. Foreseeing what happened tonight would've been impossible.
[ alhaitham never pulls any punches with the truth, but regardless of how obtusely the architect had gone about attempting to reveal his feelings, no relationship - casual or not - deserved someone being treated in that way. especially not kaveh; his kaveh. the taller man would always be a proponent for the blunt truth, but it's always nice when the truth also aligns with his personal interests.
the half-smile and odd comment does little to throw alhaitham, but he plays along anyway - kaveh was all emotion and raw nerves at the best of times. it would likely do well not to dwell too much on something neither of them could change or forget, so instead he raises an eyebrow at the observation. the hand on kaveh's cheek moves up to thread almost soothingly (for whom? unclear) through his golden hair instead, as his other shifts to hold the small of his back. caged in. ]
Oh?
[ his low voice muses, not displeased with the compliment but that had certainly not been his objective. on the contrary, getting furious is such a hugely uncomfortable feeling for alhaitham that he's still coming down from it, adrenaline still running quietly through his veins despite the fact the scholar had been hauled off hours ago now. ]
Does that mean I'm going to get provoked more often?
[ He finds himself quick to relax in response to Alhaitham's words. They're oddly soothing, even coming from someone like the scribe who really does prefer to say exactly as he means— And perhaps that's why. As much as Alhaitham's honesty put a wedge between them years ago, as much as it can frustrate the hell out of him at times, it's something Kaveh has come to expect, something almost soothing because he knows if the taller man thought he was truly to blame, he would say so.
He still doesn't agree that he should leave others to their own devices and let them struggle where he could otherwise help, and he never will, but he's grown enough to acknowledge that, at the very least, Alhaitham understands him.
And somehow, despite having seen the absolute worst of him, the other man hasn't left.
It's enough knowledge to let Kaveh relax into him, that smile only broadening as Alhaitham's hand shifts into his hair, as the other wraps around to hold him close, as that deep voice takes a decidedly deeper pitch in time with his words. The blonde's own hands move to frame the sharp lines of the scribe's jaw, and a note of teasing leeches into his smile, into the laugh he offers as he considers the serious expression on the others' face. ]
Mm. Maybe. Only if it doesn't bother you. [ While he may not know that Alhaitham was left uncomfortable from tonight, he does remember the morning after his last outburst, the surprise in response to Kaveh's admission that he found the other's jealousy attractive. ] If it does, there are always other ways to get your attention.
In the interest of both of us staying employed, I'd suggest avoiding it.
[ especially because there'd probably be 'talks' when he returned to his office; at the very least, cyno would want a formal statement considering the ramifications the altercation will have on the scholar's career and future within the akademiya.
his expression remains level as his eyes travel over kaveh's face, a quiet part of him pleased that most of the self-loathing had disappeared from his partner's expression. alhaitham had never been one to focus on emotion, but something about the blonde smiling, laughing, sets some of his internal rigidity at ease - and the less hurt he sees cross kaveh's face, the better. ]
You've long since perfected the art of monopolising my attention anyway, [ the scribe murmurs lowly, hands moving to run appreciatively down the sides of kaveh's waist. the silken crimson fabric of his shirt is as pleasant against his fingers as the feeling of the lithe torso underneath, the architect all graceful muscle. ] - especially tonight.
[ in a languid motion, the scribe's thumbs hook under the hem of kaveh's loose shirt, untucking it in a way that gives him enough access to sneak his hands across bare skin instead of cloth. cocking his head slightly to ghost his lips against the blonde's, alhaitham breathes; ]
You know all eyes were on you all night, right? [ the flash of something carnal ghosts across his face as he locks his gaze on kaveh's, an intense stare. ] Following you around the room, hanging off your every word for how stunning you are. Truly exasperating to watch from afar, really...
[ Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alhaitham's comment causes Kaveh's lips to tweak further upwards at the corners, a ghost of a laugh from between them as he shakes his head. It no doubt helps to ease the scribe's mind as his eyes search the architect's face for signs of his usual emotion.
And Kaveh's mind is eased a little, too, the worst events of the night moving further and further away from his thoughts. ]
Mm, noted.
[ It's said with another hinted-at laugh, although the sound cuts itself off when Alhaitham's fingers slip under the hem of his shirt in such a smooth motion, the sensation of hands on his bare back at the same moment as that kiss ghosted over his lips. Kaveh's eyes start to fall shut under the attention, but then he sees the lascivious look that passes over the taller man's expression and something contorts in his stomach, something half-aroused and half-frustrated as those disappointed thoughts from earlier in the night barge their way back into his conscious.
This is nice— this is more than nice— and so for a moment he thinks to ignore it—
But if tonight has taught him anything, it's that trying to solve the problems between them without words has a tendency to cause further problems.
And so, he meets Alhaitham's gaze as unflinchingly as possible (not an easy feat under the scribe's full attention), his own hands falling to curve around the small of his partner's back. ] Then why won't you be with me? [ he asks, and there's more vulnerability in his voice than he would like. ] If all your attention is on me...
[ about to continue what he'd started and close the gap between them, alhaitham takes pause when crimson eyes meet his own with a true vulnerability only kaveh could muster, a question on his lips that he probably should've seen coming. it doesn't seem to throw him, however, the scribe simply looking back at him with the same seriousness as he would in any other situation.
had this really been bothering him enough to make his voice so uneasy? ]
All my attention is on you.
[ alhaitham states matter-of-factly, his tone even - although, it's really difficult not to continue touching the blonde, not to keep exploring the smooth expanse of skin under his shirt. a quiet hum escapes him at the feeling of deft hands at the small of his back, thoughts turning over in his head about what words would be best to use but plagued by distraction and the general fatigue of the evening. ]
It's not that I won't. [ he murmurs, a certainty to his voice that is perhaps a little blunt - but genuine, nonetheless. ] We've already reminisced about the beginnings and circumstances of this relationship tonight, as well as the other lesser parties who were involved. I simply didn't want to risk another misunderstanding that physicality was the only thing I was interested in.
[ an unreadable expression flickers across his face as his eyes drag over kaveh's form in an almost hungry fashion, and if there was any doubt left in the blonde's mind, surely that would start to assuage it. ]
If you're satisfied that's now the case, just say the word.
[ The words are barely out of Kaveh's mouth before he's starting to regret them, before he starts to stutter out clarifications, trying to explain that he doesn't want to push, that he only wants whatever Alhaitham is comfortable with giving him— but as always he's silenced by the other's calm, even voice, an explanation that makes so much sense that Kaveh almost wonders how he didn't see it by himself.
Almost, because he's a little busy focusing on the scribe's explanation, on the flicker of something indecipherable on his face as his eyes trace Kaveh's body, and little molten pools of heat unfurl in the architect's chest and stomach both. ]
Oh. [ It's breathed out, and for a moment it's the only thing he remembers how to say or do, focused as he is not only on the implication of that hunger in Alhaitham's eyes, but also the sincerity of his words, the thoughtfulness of his actions. His arms lock a little tighter around the other's lower back, tugging him in closer, a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth.
(And as words do start to come together in his mind again, there's space for a smart-ass quip about how he's pretty sure his satisfaction is Alhaitham's job, but they're put aside in favor of the gravity of the moment, of the flames burning him from the inside out with need and love and want alike.) ]
Now is good— [ he murmurs, coiling a leg around one of the scribe's, tangling them together in a way that lets him get closer still ] —now is perfect.
[ it might be an emotional gesture to have waited, though to alhaitham it's more pragmatic - a way to avoid the kind of upset that had dogged them both for years with their inability to see eye to eye or to communicate in ways each other would understand. but it seems that this time, this one time, he'd managed to figure out the correct way to navigate the minefield that is the feelings and perceptions of others, kaveh being one of the more complex subjects to judge.
the words of permission unlock something deep inside the scribe, flicking a switch that he'd locked off to himself since they'd agreed to see each other - and that change is reflected in his demeanor, his entire self just a little less rigid, eyes just a little more wild. it's all he needs, really, and with the slim leg slinking around his thigh, alhaitham lets out a faint guttural growl accompanied by; ]
Agreed.
[ - and then the scribe surges forward with fervor, soft touches forgotten as he soundly kisses his partner in the dim hall, illuminated only by the soft light outside. it's a powerful motion, one that belies he does very much want the other, arms slipping under kaveh's backside and bodily lifting him like he weighed nothing. at first it seems like he's simply trying to even out their height difference, but he strides forward as he carries the blonde with him, sitting him roughly up on the hall console table as books fall, the wood creaks and ceramics topple off it only to smash loudly on the floor.
he doesn't care, not now, the barrage of kisses swift and relentless like a dam bursting its banks as everything turns to heat, hitching breath and muscle under his fingers.
[ They're close enough together that Kaveh doesn't see the change reflected in Alhaitham's eyes or the shift in his demeanor, but he hears that growl, the sound answered by a sharp southward turn of that pooling heat; and when the other swoops in, he respond to that firm kiss with one of his own, his hands sliding up a little further to splay over the broad expanse of the scribe's back.
Agreed, Alhaitham says, and his voice sends shivers of want down Kaveh's spine. He's waited for this for so long.
He's not expecting to be lifted,
(and while the effortlessness of it doesn't exactly surprise him, his partner's show of strength does have him utter out some small, throaty sound of pleasure)
nor is he expecting to be sat on the console table, the sudden smashing of ceramic on the floor making him startle, the thump of books following eliciting a breathless laugh into that chasing, pressing mouth. ] Alhaitham, your books— [ he says, or tries to say, the words captured by those kisses and stolen away. And then it stops mattering, Kaveh's attention almost entirely on the feel of that body crowding him into the table, on the feel of lips assaulting his own in the best of ways, the faint taste of wine on the scribe's breath and the heady scent of his cologne making him feel drunk with desire.
His hands untangle, finding their way to Alhaitham's front, red-painted nails catching on the lower hem of his shirt to push it upward, baring inch after inch of muscled skin with a hurried drag of his fingertips. He breaks the flurry of kisses for as long (too long) as it takes to pull the stained lined up and over that silver head of hair, tossing it carelessly aside to join the ceramics and books and whatever else may have previously been on this table before he replaced it.
And then he joins his mouth to the scribe's again, pausing only for a molten-eyed look at the other's bare torso. His fingers will do most of the work mapping it for him anyway. ]
Read them already, [ he breathes dismissively, truly unconcerned for the tomes that now laid scattered on the hall floor among the shards of broken pottery. perhaps it was the first time in his life he'd eschewed a book, but it was extremely difficult to care or concentrate on anything else when kaveh was making such delicious sounds against his mouth and deftly trying to divest him of his shirt. assisting in the endeavour by straightening his torso up just enough for the blonde to tug it off and discard it on the floor, alhaitham wastes no time in diving straight back in and similarly pulling up at the crimson silk of kaveh's own top.
unlike how he normally carries himself - fluid, cool, collected - there's a hasty, raw edge to the scribe's actions as he manages to slip the shirt over the blonde's head and drop it to the hallway floor with equal carelessness. after so long, so long of restraining himself, of wanting, of waiting, being parted from the other for even a moment seems like an age, the desire emphasised by the swiftness with which he dives back in.
large hands sink into golden hair as alhaitham connects their lips with a passion that he's otherwise not known to possess, his touch almost greedy as fingers on one side travel searchingly down kaveh's bare side to stop briefly at the jut of his hipbone. his famous control has already slipped away for the second time this evening, and while it's not the same kind of emotion that had unleashed at the scholar earlier that night, it's stil new to him - overwhelming, all-encompassing, but unlike the anger?
this loss of logical boundary was thrilling. arousing.
teeth graze kaveh's bottom lip as the scribe unashamedly drops his travelling hand lower to the junction of the architect's legs, palming him firmly through the fabric of his black leggings. ]
A bed or the hallway, [ he murmurs in a breathless, graveled tone against kaveh's kiss-reddened lips. ] Your choice.
[ On any regular day, of course, Kaveh would likely be complaining under his breath at the other man, something about how read or not, he's liable to be the one that winds up cleaning them off the floor; he's quickly finding though that he would happily clean up any number of the scribe's messes if their creation is anything like this. (Besides, this one at least is both of theirs, isn't it?)
And so Alhaitham's dismissal of the books is met with another breathy laugh, the blonde aiding in the removal of his shirt before he chases the mouth descending once more on his, rewarding the searching touch of his partner's fingers down his side with another low sound into the kiss. His own fingers paint elegant patterns over firm muscle, a graze of their tips over the sensitive peaks, and Kaveh is halfway into a decision to pinch when his thoughts are overwhelmed by the sensation of a hand dipping firm between his legs, the sound he makes too loud as his hips lift unbidden into the movements.
He's going to be hard in record time, at this rate. Biologists could study the effect Alhaitham has on his body—
Husky words against his lips bring him back to reality from those thoughts, his eyes opening to consider them— and Alhaitham— for the briefest of moments. As much as he doesn't want to move from here, as much as the thought of separating for long enough to get to a bed is almost painful, Kaveh of course is a romantic at heart, and he doesn't want their first time together to be on a console table with shattered ceramics at their feet.
So he brushes a softer kiss against the scribe's lips, one hand stilled over his heart and the other at his waist, a matching breathlessness in his voice as he replies: ]
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
no subject
And it's something that becomes clearer as he keeps talking, moves closer into Kaveh's bubble and starts murmuring something about continuing where they left off, about the scribe being a thug, about the architect's enthusiasm—
The recognition settles in his stomach in the same moment as he catches sight of Alhaitham over the man's shoulder, sees the invisible fury etched into his decidedly-calm features, watches the thoughts play back over his face like a theater performance of which Kaveh should be ashamed. Heat starts to come into his cheeks, and his lips part once more as if to offer some sort of explanation— what if his partner thinks he's allowing this to happen, seeking affection from someone else just because he can?— but they snap shut again in the next moment, silenced in the face of Alhaitham's words.
Sadly, the same is not true for the man crowded into his space, who meets the scribe's eyes with smug amusement in his own, an expression that says he has nothing to fear even in the face of that anger (and seriously, Kaveh is starting to wonder how any of these people got into the Akademiya in the first place when they're so stupid in the face of his boyfriend's irritation).
"So you own the Akademiya now?" he drawls, seemingly unperturbed by the taller man's fury. "I think it's clear I have just as much a right to be here as you. This is the House of Daena, last I checked, not the House of Asshat— If the Light of Kshahrewar wants to spend time with me, here, who's to stop him?"
A hand touches his behind, a deliberate grasp out of nowhere, and the man is halfway into a statement about freeing themselves from such pathetic company when Kaveh shakes him off, takes a step or two back as quickly as if he's been burned, anger coming to light in his own eyes.
Seriously, how could he have thought for even a moment that this guy was a good substitute for Alhaitham—? ]
You're assuming I want to spend time with you— [ he says, and he really should say the guy's name but to this moment he doesn't remember it ] —which I don't. I was drunk that night; the moment has passed. I'm not interested.
[ It should be enough to end the conversation.
It's not.
The man chases him a step, that same faux-concern in his eyes that he wore at the start of the conversation, when he asked if Kaveh was okay. "Come on, baby," he says. "You don't have to pretend you don't want me. This jerk can't bully you here." ]
no subject
that kind of transgression combined with such slimy, nauseating words makes alhaitham instantly stiffen, a cool, white fury snaking its way through his veins as his partner takes a step back in an attempt to escape; to get away from assault.
what happens next is purely instinctual, metered only by the fact that some part of his rational self is dimly aware they're still very much in public and that attention even on the fringes of such a lively party would still be relatively easy to draw. but nonetheless, a flash of green crosses the scribe's scowl almost faster than can be perceived as the heady sense of energy starts to lay heavy in the air - and in a fluid movement, alhaitham grabs the vahumana scholar by both shoulders and bodily shoves him back towards the side hall they'd just left a few moments ago. ]
Get over here.
[ he hisses, following the stumbling man into the relative darkness of the hallway in a stalk that resembled a carnivore circling their prey. what this piece of shit had to say about him, alhaitham couldn't care less - insults to him were like oil on water, and he'd been privy to enough of them over the years from those who disliked him. jerk, loner, cold, emotionless - he'd heard it all, and he couldn't give less of a shit.
but to have the audacity to touch his partner so intimately - against his will - it made the logic in his mind simply short circuit into fury, the taller man catching up with the culprit in question as they moved out of direct eyeline of the other partygoers.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?", the other splutters as he regains his footing and straightens out his robes, disheveled from the sheer force the scribe had shoved him with. "You have no right -"
despite being a scholar of words, alhaitham has had entirely enough of talking, and before the other can even manage to get a full sentence out, muscles flex fluidly under linen and he throws a solid punch straight at the man's face. ]
no subject
His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]
no subject
[ - is his clipped reply to kaveh, because it's laughable such a worm of a human would be able to even remotely affect his job. and anyway? those things are so far from alhaitham's mind at this point because the scholar is (unfortunately) still conscious and spouting filth directly past him at the blonde again - mm.
unacceptable.
at the slur and the bloody spit that lands at the ground near their feet, alhaitham's jaw sets as he takes a step forward, bending down only to yank the man up on his feet by the front of his shirt. the sheer strength involved in holding up someone at least his height doesn't seem to even register to the scribe, fist bunched in the scholar's robes and holding his body weight as if he were a sack of feathers. their faces are only several inches apart at this point, more than enough for alhaitham to stare the other down with a look so cold in his eyes it'd shoot terror into the heart of a normal man. ]
You have two options. [ he murmurs lowly as the man scowls back at him, deep voice even but fringed with something unpredictable. ] Either you apologise to this esteemed member of the Kshahrewar, or I haul you in front of the General Mahamatra. I'm sure he - and the other members of the matra with him - would be thrilled to entertain you.
[ a hand swats at alhaitham's, though the vahumana scholar's strength is no match for the scribe's. when he realises that physical retaliation in this position would be somewhat futile, he spits for a final time directly in the taller man's face and then laughs; a horrible, dark thing.
"Like I'd apologise to someone happy to whore themselv-"
- but, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because before he can get out one last epithet at kaveh, alhaitham turns on his heel and bodily drags the other man with him whether he likes it or not. minor scuffling ensues, but the scribe is like an immovable object at this point, his grip like iron as he tugs the other out of the hall and into the party.
pausing for a moment as he reaches kaveh, the silver-haired man gives him an inscrutable look and frowns, face still stained with blood. ]
Stay here. [ he states simply, quiet enough for only the blonde to hear. like this were a normal sequence of events to transpire. ] I don't want you to get involved - unlike me, you have something to lose.
[ because kaveh had been the life of the party just a short time ago, had been inspiring those around him, proving to the remnants of the akademiya why he's exactly what they needed to move forward - and alhaitham doesn't want to sacrifice that future, not on the back of one pissant.
and so, he re-enters the party dragging the culprit behind him, intent on seeking out the general wherever he may be. the matra would not look favourably on sexual harassment, especially right under their noses. ]
no subject
Slut.
It's hardly the first time such words have been aimed at him, but they sting, make his gut twist itself in ugly knots at the knowledge that he's worth that little to someone— even if that someone is an asshole like this guy, who isn't worth the thoughts Kaveh's wasting on him.
He nods mutely in response to Alhaitham's command, and it's not until his partner storms back through the arch with the scholar in his grip— the scholar whose cold blue eyes are fixed on Kaveh's face, an expression glinting behind the irises that for once in his life the architect is entirely unable to read.
And it's only once he's watching the pair move across the room— watching the figures parting for the scribe's stalking figure, watching the way heads turn and then bow together, hearing the drone of concerned murmurs starting to overtake the warmer buzz of conversation that had previously been filling the air— that he remembers vaguely he should have wiped the bloody spit off his partner's face.
Archons, he's going to be sick—
Part of him feels like he should watch what's going on, try to keep eyes on the party, make sure Alhaitham's okay, but he almost can't bear it, instead finds himself scuffing the gob of bloody spit into the stone floor, drinking too deep from his wine glass and wishing he had another.
Whore. Needy, clingy, desperate whore.
What a surprise then, the insidious little voice reminds him, that he's been so frustrated about Alhaitham not taking him to bed. Even an actual stranger knows it's all he's good for. How is he meant to keep the other man around otherwise? ]
Shut up.
[ He whispers it to himself, the fingers of both hands curling into fists as he scuffs his shoes over the floor again, feet falling into a pacing, back-and-forth rhythm over the width of the hallway. ]
no subject
"is that - the former grand sage?" "who's that with him? they didn't get into a fist fight at a professional affair, did they? how barbaric -" "keep your voice down! of course the scribe of the akademiya wouldn't stoop to such a level."
the hubbub is, of course, interspersed with further insults from the man in alhaitham's vicelike grip, mostly directed at his captor. but, the conversations, the yelling, all of it fades to white noise because at least the culprit is distracted for the moment; at least he's too focused on the scribe to smear kaveh's name in the dirt, and at least the commotion was enough to attract the attention of the general mahamatra without having to cross the entire hall floor.
looking decidedly unaffected, alhaitham hands off the man in his custody to a pair of matra who had joined cyno on his approach who get an equally loud and vulgar list of epithets. it's not unnoticed that the general's eyes flick between the scribe and the scholar's broken nose in a scrutinising manner - nothing would ever get past him - but as an aside and in confidence, a few murmured words from alhaitham to the general explains (at least) what's needed to be known for now. judging from the minute narrowing of crimson eyes and the curtness with which kaveh's attacker is then escorted from the room by the matra guard, the scribe almost feels pity for him.
the general scorned was not a person to trifle with, and by assaulting kaveh - trifle he had.
the matter dealt with, alhaitham makes his way back across the hall to where he'd left kaveh, completely ignoring the fact the volume in the room had dropped significantly since he'd emerged. no, he was more concerned with rolling up his sleeves because one was now stained with the blood of a scumbag, and it was going to take a great deal of effort to launder it out.
ducking back under the curtain that hung across the side hall entrance, his eyes come to rest on kaveh - pacing back and forth, but thankfully, where he'd left him.
this of all times was probably the most worthwhile to have actually listened to alhaitham's 'advice'. ]
It's been resolved.
[ he states simply, the tone as neutral as if this had been a matter to solve that had crossed his desk that day. though, after a short pause the scribe offers a quieter; ]
Are you - ... alright?
no subject
At the very least, the force of effort keeps him from suffering a complete meltdown, his energy spent maintaining at least even a narrow barrier between the events of the night and his proclivity for self-hatred. After all, with everything his partner has done tonight on his behalf, the last thing he should have to deal with upon coming back is a panicky, tear-stained boyfriend.
Oh, but he wants to go home.
Despite his best efforts, the distress is still written clearly over his face by the time the other man emerges from the main area into the darkened hallway. Kaveh crosses the floor in quick steps as soon as he speaks; suppressing the very real temptation to throw himself into the other's arms like something in an Inazuman light novel, he instead reaches up, using his fingers and the cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the remnants of the scholar's blood smeared on his face. ]
I'm alright. [ His voice is soft, his eyes searching as they scan over every square inch of the scribe's face. It's a lie, of course it is, but in Kaveh's mind it's a necessary one with how much Alhaitham just put on the line for him— whether the other man sees it that way or not. His other hand though, the one not skimming over the scribe's face, tells the truth of the matter in the way it finds purchase in the material of Alhaitham's shirt, an attempt by Kaveh to ground himself against his partner's immovable form.
The closest thing to home he can get right now.
He swallows, closes his eyes. He's alright. ]
How about you? Are you okay?
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the soft pull on the fabric of his shirt is a signal that neither of them really wants to be here anymore - not that alhaitham had remotely wanted to be here in the first place - but the night was still relatively young, and he knows that kaveh still has things to do, people to meet, charm to lay on. at the very least, he'd be able to continue on with his night with relatively little interruption considering he'd been kept out of the eye of the storm; as for alhaitham, he's expecting some sort of early call into his office tomorrow morning by the general for further explanations and probably a disciplinary 'don't punch others on campus'.
fair enough for the matra to state, but the scribe would do it again in a heartbeat. ]
Why wouldn't I be? [ he replies plainly, as if it was silly he'd have an answer anything but 'fine'. ] I wasn't the target. You, however...
[ and the horrible insults, spat with vitriol just a short time before cross his mind again, the taller man frowning as his sentence trails off. there's a brief pause as alhaitham simply looks back at kaveh searchingly because he knows that those kinds of words would've hurt him straight to his core - especially someone as sensitive and emotionally vulnerable as he is. if he'd seen one thing over the years they'd spent around one another, it was kaveh's uncanny ability to paper over the fractures and wounds of his psyche to save everyone else the trouble of worrying.
unfortunately, nothing escapes alhaitham's unwavering gaze.
wordlessly, the scribe pulls the other into a firm, secure embrace, his face resting on the blonde hair on the crown of kaveh's head as his arms encircle his partner entirely. he's still not very good with saying the 'right' things in emotionally charged situations, but it's plain that kaveh's hurting - and he hates that. perhaps this would help, in some small way; perhaps this would remind him that he's not alone, even if it's all alhaitham can confidently do to comfort him. ]
You deserved none of that.
[ a quiet murmur sounds against kaveh's hair, the scribe's tone somewhat bitter. ]
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Because the architect yet again caused problems for someone he loves by making stupid choices. If he hadn't been so quick to whore himself out—
(And there's that word again, stuck in his thoughts despite his attempts to shut it out, holding on with both hands to whisper cruelly into his mind.)
Instinct has him hide the pain even when it's obvious that Alhaitham can see right through him, even when the other's gaze looks at him so searchingly before he reaches to pull him close, holding him tight and firm in way that makes the elder of the two want to break down into the tears he's been holding back since this whole mess started. The quiet murmur into his hair is equally as dangerous, and Kaveh finds himself remaining silent for a while longer than he should, taking slow and measured breaths in an effort to calm himself down, to stop the outburst on the tip of his tongue, the anguished exclamation that he did deserve it, that he started this whole damn thing with his stupid games.
Instead, he presses closer, continuing that slow pattern of inhale and exhale, hoping that with the way he's curled into Alhaitham's embrace, the hitch and shudder in each breath isn't too obvious. ]
I wanna go home— [ is what he says when he finally works up the courage to speak, although the slight shift in topic is necessary for him to keep any of his composure at all ] —I know I can't right now, but I do.
[ And despite his best efforts, a sniffle— although it's followed by a soft, wet laugh, an accusation spoken without anger: ]
Damnit Alhaitham, I was doing a good job of holding myself together until you hugged me.
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[ is his unassuming reply, because they'd both rather be at home - ah, 'home', a stranger concept now than it'd been two weeks ago - than in this hellhole of a social extravaganza. but there's some consolation in the fact that the hubbub in the main hall had returned to its previous volume, the drama already forgotten (or being discussed loudly in the circles dotted around the room). even if they had to venture back in for career or face's sake, at least the worst of it was likely over.
as the blonde laughs and playfully admonishes him, his quiet voice a soft rumble against the skin of his neck, alhaitham keeps holding him for a few more moments. the scribe was still attempting to figure out the various cadences and situations in which kaveh would end up in tears and largely it still confuses him - but at least this time he's fairly certain they're good tears, letting out the stress of the altercation if nothing else.
and then, reluctantly, he eases his hold on the architect, moving back just enough to look him seriously in the eyes. large hands travel down to rest at the sides of his arms atop the crimson fabric of his shirt that so beautifully lit up his eyes, even if they were threatening to cry. ]
Since when could you hold yourself together around me anyway?
[ a jocular jab in return, because falling into their habits seemed to bring comfort and distraction. unfortunately, they both have responsibilities and jobs to do so going back into the fray was non-negotiable, so alhaitham instead sets about straightening kaveh's collar so it sits right again; fixes some stray hair that was out of place. all very analytical and meticulous, all very him. ]
When you're ready to go home, say the word and we'll leave -
[ a beat, and there's the tiniest hint of devilry hiding in the back of his eyes; ]
I'll even cause another scene, if necessary.
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Despite the gratitude, though, he's sure to huff at the jab, to give Alhaitham a look as they separate, although it's edged with a soft smile that belies the truth of his feelings; as the scribe straightens his collar and fixes his hair, the sheen in Kaveh's eyes warms and fades, leaving only affection in its wake.
And where Alhaitham's fondness for him appears in the meticulous way he tidies his appearance, the promise that they can go home whenever Kaveh's ready— even though they both know it's not as simple as all that— the architect's is shown by a soft kiss pressed to the corner of those lips, a slight straightening of his figure so that he can press his forehead briefly to his partner's. ]
No more scenes, [ he says, and he hopes his voice is appropriately stern. ] I can hold out for a little while longer.
[ And hold out he does. The rest of the night goes by decently enough; while eyes are certainly turned their way upon their emergence from the side hall, Kaveh's social skills are enough that they're able to integrate themselves back in with the groups scattered around the room without too much trouble. Where questions are asked, the architect says only that the scholar in question was inappropriate in his actions, and that the matra would be dealing with it. And where suspicious gazes are levied at Alhaitham, the blonde is quick to explain he acted defensively, before— as smoothly as possible— finding a change of topic to get even the nosiest of academics focused on something else for a time. It's not exactly easy, but in the long run it feels like a success, Kaveh thinks.
Still, that doesn't mean that he's not exhausted by the time they finally make it through the door of Alhaitham's house; even the pleasant buzz of tipsiness can't hide it at this point, the careful mask he wears in public having slipped from his face.
(Not that that really matters, though; it's not a mask he wears at home, and even if he did he has the feeling Alhaitham would see right through it.)
When the door snicks closed behind them, he turns to face his partner, reaching without hesitation to wind arms around his shoulders, eyes closing as he slots himself in closer and pulls the scribe to him in the same movement. Too bad, he thinks, if Alhaitham wanted to move further into the house. He needs this right now. ]
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[ alhaitham agrees, and they somewhat reluctantly part to suffer through the rest of the evening.
the remainder of the party is much less eventful, and to the scribe's delight, everyone seems to be too intimidated or wary to bring up the earlier altercation with him in conversation. instead, he whiles the rest of the time away on the fringes of the event again, being pulled in and out of conversations of varying value about the akademiya, about haravatat, about his current studies and interests. no topic was engaging enough to distract him completely from keeping an eye on the blonde on the other side of the room though, and alhaitham wasn't about to take any chances after what kaveh had already had to suffer through that night.
luckily, no further worms squirmed out of the woodwork and after what seems like eons the soiree wraps up, scholars leaving in throngs and in varying stages of inebriation. socialising is so, so very exhausting for alhaitham that he's unbelievably relieved to cross the threshold of his - their - home, the hallway just barely illuminated by the dim lights out on the street. in here it's quiet, it's secure, it's safe to be unapologetically himself without the frustration that the judgement of others brings with it. and so, he lets out a rather heavy sigh of fatigue as they close the door behind them, so very pleased to be back, and -
then, he's pleasantly interrupted by kaveh's lithe form against his, slim arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him towards the architect in a gentle embrace. it's perhaps the nicest 'welcome home' he can think of after spending a grueling evening in the company of those he'd rather not be remotely close to, and without thinking, alhaitham reciprocates. encircling the other's waist with his own arms, he holds kaveh almost possessively close, lips brushing against the shell of his ear before placing a soft kiss just above it on his golden hair. ]
Let's not go to one of those again. Ever.
[ he mutters, voice thready with fatigue but obviously pleased to be back in the one place he valued most, with the person he valued most. of course, there'd be many other social engagements - scholars couldn't get enough of the damn things - but alhaitham could dream, especially when his arms were wrapped around a font of them.
pulling back an inch, turquoise irises take in kaveh's face in that analytical way he always assesses a situation. ]
How are you feeling?
[ because even though that's not a natural question for him, something tells him he should probably ask. he's learning, even if it's a slow process. ]
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He remembers vaguely the conversation they had the morning after his drunken confession, the scribe's reticence to admit his jealousy, and his lips quirk in a fond smile. Maybe on some level, he likes feeling like he belongs to someone? But the thought is chased by broken memory of the night before, of that man who gave them so much trouble tonight, and Kaveh's brows crease in a small frown at the same moment that Alhaitham separates from him so slightly. ]
I'm fine. [ It's said in a murmur, his eyes not quite meeting those that search his face. But even before the words fully leave his lips, the pang of guilt strikes him, and he heaves out a soft sigh, one hand pulling back to his own chest, lifting to his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
Really, what's the point in lying to Alhaitham when the other man can see right through him anyway?
So Kaveh steadies himself with a breath, keeps himself grounded with a flutter of fingers through the silver of Alhaitham's hair. This time, he refuses to cry. He's here, at home, with the person who makes him feel safest— (and usually most irritated too, but the scribe has been nothing but sweet tonight)— There's no reason for him to be upset, to feel trapped by words spoken by someone obviously so far below him. ]
...I feel awful. None of that would have happened tonight if I'd acted maturely and told you about my feelings instead of trying to piss you off.
[ Sure, he had his reasons at the time— fear of being kicked out of the house, or worse of being removed from Alhaitham's life altogether— but he's a grown man, damnit. So much of this could have been prevented if he'd just acted his age. ]
Now I've caused you problems, maybe gotten you in trouble... I'm sorry.
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You're not seriously suggesting you're responsible for that man's conduct?
[ it irritates him to think of it, but whether or not he'd had a dalliance with someone didn't give them the right to treat the blonde with such disrespect, talk down to him like he was less than nothing - mm. the recollection of the night's earlier altercation makes the scribe bristle again, the epithets echoing in his head with such a resonance that it almost makes him want to track the matra down and knock the scholar down a second time. ]
I'm not going to comment on your choice of casual partners, [ no point, because he'd voiced his opinion already when the man had been in the house the first time, ] - but I don't follow the mental gymnastics it'd take to blame yourself for what happened tonight. Someone with the world's most fragile ego couldn't take no for an answer, and retaliated in the only way someone with such a challenged intellect would know how.
[ maybe his explanation is more logic than emotion, but the taller man simply doesn't understand how kaveh doesn't see what he does - a common issue between them, illuminated much more in this moment. ]
And - you didn't cause me problems. [ the back-and-forth in him wants to add the glib 'tonight', but he catches himself before he says it. probably not the right time. ] I did what I did because I wanted to, and I'd do it again. Whatever minor 'trouble' that comes of that was well worth it, and judging by the mood the General Mahamatra was in after a brief explanation?
[ a brief pause as he raises a hand between them to cup the blonde's cheek, his expression serious in the absolute as his eyes dip to where his thumb brushes against kaveh's cheekbone. ]
Let's just say I don't envy the matra's guest.
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But it's just who they are. Perfect reflections of one another: Kaveh blaming himself for the actions of another, Alhaitham unable to fathom how such self-blame is possible. There's probably no point in trying to explain— but Kaveh tries anyway. ]
I know I'm not responsible for his conduct. He was an asshole all on his own. But— [ and his eyes drop, looking at the hollow of the scribe's throat rather than at his face ] —he's an asshole who wouldn't have even had a reason to cross paths with us had I not used him to try and make you jealous.
[ Because that was what he had done— he'd used him, that night, and taken pleasure in Alhaitham throwing him out because it meant he'd been seen by the person he really wanted. And maybe the other man says he didn't deserve anything that happened to him tonight... but when it comes down to it, maybe he did.
He sighs, trying to put that thought aside, because it's not going to help him right now. Instead, he tries on a small smile, a weak joke on his lips, changing the subject before he can quite help it: ]
You're really hot when you're mad.
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[ alhaitham never pulls any punches with the truth, but regardless of how obtusely the architect had gone about attempting to reveal his feelings, no relationship - casual or not - deserved someone being treated in that way. especially not kaveh; his kaveh. the taller man would always be a proponent for the blunt truth, but it's always nice when the truth also aligns with his personal interests.
the half-smile and odd comment does little to throw alhaitham, but he plays along anyway - kaveh was all emotion and raw nerves at the best of times. it would likely do well not to dwell too much on something neither of them could change or forget, so instead he raises an eyebrow at the observation. the hand on kaveh's cheek moves up to thread almost soothingly (for whom? unclear) through his golden hair instead, as his other shifts to hold the small of his back. caged in. ]
Oh?
[ his low voice muses, not displeased with the compliment but that had certainly not been his objective. on the contrary, getting furious is such a hugely uncomfortable feeling for alhaitham that he's still coming down from it, adrenaline still running quietly through his veins despite the fact the scholar had been hauled off hours ago now. ]
Does that mean I'm going to get provoked more often?
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He still doesn't agree that he should leave others to their own devices and let them struggle where he could otherwise help, and he never will, but he's grown enough to acknowledge that, at the very least, Alhaitham understands him.
And somehow, despite having seen the absolute worst of him, the other man hasn't left.
It's enough knowledge to let Kaveh relax into him, that smile only broadening as Alhaitham's hand shifts into his hair, as the other wraps around to hold him close, as that deep voice takes a decidedly deeper pitch in time with his words. The blonde's own hands move to frame the sharp lines of the scribe's jaw, and a note of teasing leeches into his smile, into the laugh he offers as he considers the serious expression on the others' face. ]
Mm. Maybe. Only if it doesn't bother you. [ While he may not know that Alhaitham was left uncomfortable from tonight, he does remember the morning after his last outburst, the surprise in response to Kaveh's admission that he found the other's jealousy attractive. ] If it does, there are always other ways to get your attention.
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[ especially because there'd probably be 'talks' when he returned to his office; at the very least, cyno would want a formal statement considering the ramifications the altercation will have on the scholar's career and future within the akademiya.
his expression remains level as his eyes travel over kaveh's face, a quiet part of him pleased that most of the self-loathing had disappeared from his partner's expression. alhaitham had never been one to focus on emotion, but something about the blonde smiling, laughing, sets some of his internal rigidity at ease - and the less hurt he sees cross kaveh's face, the better. ]
You've long since perfected the art of monopolising my attention anyway, [ the scribe murmurs lowly, hands moving to run appreciatively down the sides of kaveh's waist. the silken crimson fabric of his shirt is as pleasant against his fingers as the feeling of the lithe torso underneath, the architect all graceful muscle. ] - especially tonight.
[ in a languid motion, the scribe's thumbs hook under the hem of kaveh's loose shirt, untucking it in a way that gives him enough access to sneak his hands across bare skin instead of cloth. cocking his head slightly to ghost his lips against the blonde's, alhaitham breathes; ]
You know all eyes were on you all night, right? [ the flash of something carnal ghosts across his face as he locks his gaze on kaveh's, an intense stare. ] Following you around the room, hanging off your every word for how stunning you are. Truly exasperating to watch from afar, really...
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And Kaveh's mind is eased a little, too, the worst events of the night moving further and further away from his thoughts. ]
Mm, noted.
[ It's said with another hinted-at laugh, although the sound cuts itself off when Alhaitham's fingers slip under the hem of his shirt in such a smooth motion, the sensation of hands on his bare back at the same moment as that kiss ghosted over his lips. Kaveh's eyes start to fall shut under the attention, but then he sees the lascivious look that passes over the taller man's expression and something contorts in his stomach, something half-aroused and half-frustrated as those disappointed thoughts from earlier in the night barge their way back into his conscious.
This is nice— this is more than nice— and so for a moment he thinks to ignore it—
But if tonight has taught him anything, it's that trying to solve the problems between them without words has a tendency to cause further problems.
And so, he meets Alhaitham's gaze as unflinchingly as possible (not an easy feat under the scribe's full attention), his own hands falling to curve around the small of his partner's back. ] Then why won't you be with me? [ he asks, and there's more vulnerability in his voice than he would like. ] If all your attention is on me...
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had this really been bothering him enough to make his voice so uneasy? ]
All my attention is on you.
[ alhaitham states matter-of-factly, his tone even - although, it's really difficult not to continue touching the blonde, not to keep exploring the smooth expanse of skin under his shirt. a quiet hum escapes him at the feeling of deft hands at the small of his back, thoughts turning over in his head about what words would be best to use but plagued by distraction and the general fatigue of the evening. ]
It's not that I won't. [ he murmurs, a certainty to his voice that is perhaps a little blunt - but genuine, nonetheless. ] We've already reminisced about the beginnings and circumstances of this relationship tonight, as well as the other lesser parties who were involved. I simply didn't want to risk another misunderstanding that physicality was the only thing I was interested in.
[ an unreadable expression flickers across his face as his eyes drag over kaveh's form in an almost hungry fashion, and if there was any doubt left in the blonde's mind, surely that would start to assuage it. ]
If you're satisfied that's now the case, just say the word.
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Almost, because he's a little busy focusing on the scribe's explanation, on the flicker of something indecipherable on his face as his eyes trace Kaveh's body, and little molten pools of heat unfurl in the architect's chest and stomach both. ]
Oh. [ It's breathed out, and for a moment it's the only thing he remembers how to say or do, focused as he is not only on the implication of that hunger in Alhaitham's eyes, but also the sincerity of his words, the thoughtfulness of his actions. His arms lock a little tighter around the other's lower back, tugging him in closer, a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth.
(And as words do start to come together in his mind again, there's space for a smart-ass quip about how he's pretty sure his satisfaction is Alhaitham's job, but they're put aside in favor of the gravity of the moment, of the flames burning him from the inside out with need and love and want alike.) ]
Now is good— [ he murmurs, coiling a leg around one of the scribe's, tangling them together in a way that lets him get closer still ] —now is perfect.
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the words of permission unlock something deep inside the scribe, flicking a switch that he'd locked off to himself since they'd agreed to see each other - and that change is reflected in his demeanor, his entire self just a little less rigid, eyes just a little more wild. it's all he needs, really, and with the slim leg slinking around his thigh, alhaitham lets out a faint guttural growl accompanied by; ]
Agreed.
[ - and then the scribe surges forward with fervor, soft touches forgotten as he soundly kisses his partner in the dim hall, illuminated only by the soft light outside. it's a powerful motion, one that belies he does very much want the other, arms slipping under kaveh's backside and bodily lifting him like he weighed nothing. at first it seems like he's simply trying to even out their height difference, but he strides forward as he carries the blonde with him, sitting him roughly up on the hall console table as books fall, the wood creaks and ceramics topple off it only to smash loudly on the floor.
he doesn't care, not now, the barrage of kisses swift and relentless like a dam bursting its banks as everything turns to heat, hitching breath and muscle under his fingers.
now is perfect. ]
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Agreed, Alhaitham says, and his voice sends shivers of want down Kaveh's spine. He's waited for this for so long.
He's not expecting to be lifted,
(and while the effortlessness of it doesn't exactly surprise him, his partner's show of strength does have him utter out some small, throaty sound of pleasure)
nor is he expecting to be sat on the console table, the sudden smashing of ceramic on the floor making him startle, the thump of books following eliciting a breathless laugh into that chasing, pressing mouth. ] Alhaitham, your books— [ he says, or tries to say, the words captured by those kisses and stolen away. And then it stops mattering, Kaveh's attention almost entirely on the feel of that body crowding him into the table, on the feel of lips assaulting his own in the best of ways, the faint taste of wine on the scribe's breath and the heady scent of his cologne making him feel drunk with desire.
His hands untangle, finding their way to Alhaitham's front, red-painted nails catching on the lower hem of his shirt to push it upward, baring inch after inch of muscled skin with a hurried drag of his fingertips. He breaks the flurry of kisses for as long (too long) as it takes to pull the stained lined up and over that silver head of hair, tossing it carelessly aside to join the ceramics and books and whatever else may have previously been on this table before he replaced it.
And then he joins his mouth to the scribe's again, pausing only for a molten-eyed look at the other's bare torso. His fingers will do most of the work mapping it for him anyway. ]
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unlike how he normally carries himself - fluid, cool, collected - there's a hasty, raw edge to the scribe's actions as he manages to slip the shirt over the blonde's head and drop it to the hallway floor with equal carelessness. after so long, so long of restraining himself, of wanting, of waiting, being parted from the other for even a moment seems like an age, the desire emphasised by the swiftness with which he dives back in.
large hands sink into golden hair as alhaitham connects their lips with a passion that he's otherwise not known to possess, his touch almost greedy as fingers on one side travel searchingly down kaveh's bare side to stop briefly at the jut of his hipbone. his famous control has already slipped away for the second time this evening, and while it's not the same kind of emotion that had unleashed at the scholar earlier that night, it's stil new to him - overwhelming, all-encompassing, but unlike the anger?
this loss of logical boundary was thrilling. arousing.
teeth graze kaveh's bottom lip as the scribe unashamedly drops his travelling hand lower to the junction of the architect's legs, palming him firmly through the fabric of his black leggings. ]
A bed or the hallway, [ he murmurs in a breathless, graveled tone against kaveh's kiss-reddened lips. ] Your choice.
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And so Alhaitham's dismissal of the books is met with another breathy laugh, the blonde aiding in the removal of his shirt before he chases the mouth descending once more on his, rewarding the searching touch of his partner's fingers down his side with another low sound into the kiss. His own fingers paint elegant patterns over firm muscle, a graze of their tips over the sensitive peaks, and Kaveh is halfway into a decision to pinch when his thoughts are overwhelmed by the sensation of a hand dipping firm between his legs, the sound he makes too loud as his hips lift unbidden into the movements.
He's going to be hard in record time, at this rate. Biologists could study the effect Alhaitham has on his body—
Husky words against his lips bring him back to reality from those thoughts, his eyes opening to consider them— and Alhaitham— for the briefest of moments. As much as he doesn't want to move from here, as much as the thought of separating for long enough to get to a bed is almost painful, Kaveh of course is a romantic at heart, and he doesn't want their first time together to be on a console table with shattered ceramics at their feet.
So he brushes a softer kiss against the scribe's lips, one hand stilled over his heart and the other at his waist, a matching breathlessness in his voice as he replies: ]
Let's go to a bed.
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