sempiternals | Hang up all my fragile thoughts

[Darkening that snarl may be, but perhaps it's the most honest Alhaitham has seen Kaveh. He's sweet, really, considerate, always willing to help, always willing to say yes to something that he has no business saying yes to. Alhaitham is new, but he can already see that Kaveh's control is bursting at the seams, fraying and frazzling him to a space where he can no longer keep a grasp on himself.

He needs to stop. Blowing the smoke out of his lips to the side so it doesn't hit him, he doesn't move his eyes from those red, flaming ones, which seem to be asking Alhaitham for one excuse, one simple, small excuse.

For what, he's not sure, but—] When was the last time you took a break? Had a day off?

I can't do that! [ comes the immediate response, eyes flashing, and if Alhaitham had any doubt at all that Kaveh is basically begging him for help, then the shattered look in the other's eyes will assuage it, confirm his suspicion.

Why it's Alhaitham he looks to even Kaveh wouldn't know, even if he were to be brave enough to admit to himself that that's what he's doing. Perhaps it's just how famously intelligent the other man is, or perhaps it's something else entirely. Either way, Kaveh feels like he's about to break, and the last thing he fucking needs— ]

I don't have the time for a day off. I don't have the mora for a day off. I'd love a break, Alhaitham, I'd love one so much but I just can't—

[He could say that he does have the time for it. He could, now that Alhaitham was there, take some days off for his own sake and Alhaitham would cover for his classes. There's such a thing as PTO, and mental health days nowadays. That would solve the mora issue, as well.

And yet, he doesn't want to point that out, because another person slips into his mind. Long dark hair and bright, sharp eyes, grinning down at him and shaking her head when she spots him.

You just need to bone, she had said, exasperatedly, as he sighed in frustration.

Perhaps he does understand where Kaveh is, and what he's feeling. They merely have different ways of coping with it.

So perhaps the situation is similar.] How's your love life, nowadays? Maybe releasing some tension would help.

[ If Kaveh was slightly less drunk, and if Kaveh hadn't spent the last several hours managing to overlay Alhaitham's voice with Mister E's words (after all, the sober part of him can tell that, frustrating as he is, Alhaitham is really only trying to help him with they money situation, just as Mister E always does), the question probably would have earned the other man a death stare and another round of cursing.

Instead, Alhaitham is met with a silent, contemplative look that lasts for all of three seconds before he launches himself the rest of the way between them, grabbing the other man's cigarette and dropping it on the asphalt under them before he seizes Alhaitham's shirt and yanks him into a firm, hungry kiss.

He tastes of cigarettes, but Kaveh's too drunk to care. The other is right, the tension lately is just too much and if he can get rid of it somehow— ]

My love life sucks, [ he rasps against the other's mouth. ] I've caught feelings for a guy who only knows me as pixels on a screen, so—

[He'll hand it to Kaveh, Alhaitham is thoroughly surprised by this.

Of all things, he was not expecting his colleague to launch lips-first into him, he's about to complain about his cigarette, his shirt, and then—

—nothing. He doesn't respond for the most part, his hands coming up to curl around the round of those shoulders (the strongest part of him, really, tapered as Kaveh is), to push him away.

And then Kaveh confesses a half-complaint, a half-grievance, something to latch onto to excuse and justify all of this, the alcohol breath, the anger, the need.

A benefactor, the necklace, 'pixels on a screen'. The need for money, lack of time.

The undeniably attractive need to please.

What would be the odds? Alhaitham leans into another kiss, this time cradling his face, tilting his head just so and slotting their lips together into something less frustrated, more controlled, more present. He needs to check something, so he skims one of his hands down, tracing over his neck, his clavicle, kneading at his chest with a swipe of his thumb over where the nipple should be, and then lower to pull him closer by the waist.]

[ Even drunk, Kaveh is entirely sure he'll be shoved away. What he's doing— seeking physical solace in a man whose attention he has done nothing but spurn and insult— makes absolutely no sense, after all; if their situations were reversed, he'd be shoving Alhaitham back and asking what the fuck he thinks he's doing—

And yet after a moment where it seems like that is exactly what's about to happen, hands on his shoulders as if ready to push, Alhaitham instead cups his face and kisses back, and Kaveh's breath catches in his throat.

Oh, this works very nicely.

The other teacher is a better kisser than he could have imagined, strong and almost possessive in action; in Kaveh's fantasies, Mister E has pulled him close by the waist in the exact same way. It's the thumb over his chest that takes him by surprise, a breathless sound against the other's mouth as it brushes metal; even through the fabric of his shirt, it's sensitive, leaving him aching for more. ]

I want you to fuck me.

[ It's abrupt, perhaps, a declaration made barely thirty seconds into a make-out that neither of them could have predicted happening. But Kaveh is drunk, and his brain is working overtime, painting images and connections where he knows that none exist, leaving him with a strange desire to prove that he's more than just those same pixels about which he complained. ]

[His arm weaves around his waist and holds tighter, guides him onto the (damp and cold, sorry, Kaveh) wall of the building, bracing his weight on one arm and encasing him from anyone's sight, but only because Alhaitham's knees almost buckle at the request and—

It's him, it's him, the odds of the person wearing the same necklace and the same piercing and his issues and the way his gasps sound the same, his—. He's opening his mouth to kiss him deep again, to stop himself from calling out his monicker, to shush him from making other inane claim when this—

His thoughts are scattered. He can only breathe in lungfuls of Kaveh into himself, press close into his warmth by weaving a knee between the architect's as though that would help him with soothing the ache under his skin that Pharos had left in him. Alhaitham's hand on his waist unwinds, but not without giving Kaveh's hip a possessive squeeze, and then reaching up to stroke at his cheek with the back of his fingers.

'Who is Pharos obsessed with?' his brain shouts out, only to be shut down immediately.]

You're drunk. [He whispers, so warm, so fond.]

[ He doesn't care that the wall is damp and cold, barely even notices it; if anything, it feels nice under his heated skin, especially as Alhaitham leans in to deepen their kisses, to press a knee between both of Kaveh's, bringing all of the distraction the blonde needs and none of the solutions.

His hips cant down just as the other's hand unwinds, bringing him down flush against the other's knee. He's already half-hard, something the action will no doubt make obvious to the other man, even as he whines against the other's mouth at what he perceives as— what is probably actually— a rejection.

The fondness in the other man's voice breaks him, lets him buy into the dream that this is someone he wants, someone he can't stop thinking about— that this is his Mister E, not a fellow teacher he can barely stand in the same room for more than a minute.

But that's alright, isn't it? There's no way that fondness can be for him. So what, if they're just using each other? ]

I don't care that I'm drunk. [ He grinds down against him again, slow and deliberate. ] I need it.

[ And then, as his teeth nip down against the other's lower lip, soft red eyes shining with desire: ]

Don't you want me?

Fuck.

[Alhaitham is nothing if not eloquent. Blunt as he may be, he gets the point across, gets his feelings and thoughts out of his mind without question, even if the interpretation of them is down to something he can't control—other people's reception. He rarely uses curses, but his words fail him at the moment, the inside of his mouth burning and aching for more of that warmth that Kaveh so desperately seems to need. Here is the most stunning of men grinding slowly onto his thigh, begging him to take him, looking like he wants to be devoured when Alhaitham knows perfectly well who'd fall into whose mouth. ] I do.

[His thumb runs across the kiss-bruised stain on Kaveh's lips, his other hand leaving the propping of Alhaitham's weight to steady him by pressing it on the small of his back.] I would make you see stars if I could.

[The fingers on his mouth slip to trace at the necklace, then tug it to pull him close and to capture that bottom lip, giving it a soft kiss, meant to soothe, not to entice.] But you'd regret it in the morning. And that'll do you more harm than good.

What if I want to regret it in the morning?

[ A whine, another slow grind of his hips as he huffs out a sigh into that kiss, hating how it feels because he knows from that alone that it's designed to calm him— and yet it was preceded by a tug on the necklace, an answer to a fantasy he's already had several times over. ]

If you want me, then take me. Make me see stars. Show me—

[ Unfortunately for both of them, that's where Kaveh's seduction ends. For Kaveh, because he has no more energy left in him, and his night will not end in sex.

For Alhaitham, because the drink catches up with the blonde enough that he reels back... and proceeds to eject the majority of the night's drinks— and most of his dinner— all over the other's shirt. ]

[Alhaitham is losing his mind.

He sighs, leans his forehead against the damp coldness of the wall behind Kaveh. He's too good at this, wrapping himself around him and tugging at his best—and worst—strings. Alhaitham knows. Pharos. Kaveh. It all makes sense with how neither of them ever seem to slip out from under his skin.

He's about to say something like you're driving me crazy. And then.

A pungent, strong smell, and warmth all over his shirt.

Oh.

Well, that is the wake up call he needed.

He steps away a little bit, but only to make sure he can brush Kaveh's hair back gently.] Breathe.

[ Unfortunately, breathing is the last thing on Kaveh's mind right now.

Suddenly, violently sober, the blonde blinks up at Alhaitham, horror written all over his expression. ]

I'm sorry. I'm— I'll pay for dry-cleaning, I'm so sorry—

[ He gets no further in his apologies, although this time at least he manages to turn away before he vomits again, this time on the pavement, his knees buckling under his own weight as he hunches over with a cough. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and Kaveh blinks them viciously away, only for them to be immediately replaced by fresh copies.

He's such a fucking mess. ]

Shush. [Is the only thing he says, and even so, it's very muted, very softened. Alhaitham still crouches, helps and keeps Kaveh steady as he hurls, still brushing his locks away from the mess, and strokes his back.] Breathe. Better out than in.

[Once the other is done heaving, Alhaitham keeps a steady hand on his shoulder still.] Do you want some water?

[ Kaveh's nod is weak, tired. Fuck, he hates this. He hates all of it. What a fucking mess he's become, how fucking pathetic that he's hunched over here in the back alley of a bar with a man he hates with all his heart, yet who somehow reminds him of someone so important that it makes him ache—

—someone he can't even have—

—trying to initiate sex of all things with this man, when he's always dreamed of his first time with another person being something actually important and special—

(hah. a virgin sex worker.)

—vomit all over the ground in front of him, not to mention the man's shirt.

Kaveh wants to start crying and never fucking stop. ]

Y-yes. Please. [ Water. Although he dreads the steadiness of that hand leaving his shoulder. And also— ]

Why are you being so nice to me?

Why wouldn't I? [A soft, slow pet on the space between Kaveh's shoulder blades, and Alhaitham gets up with a soft mutter of] Alright. Just sit down and take deep breaths.

[He goes to get a glass of water, and the bartender is quick enough to give him some wet wipes and shrugs. It's as though they've seen this happen before, often, and have everything ready. Alhaitham says that he'll cover the drinks and that they'll probably head home.

He carefully picks up Kaveh's jacket on the stool he left, then his coat. He steps back out, ready to hand the glass to Kaveh. He's almost wondering if he has run away when he opens the back door.]

[ Honestly? If he had any strength in his legs, he probably would have jumped up and run for his life. But he's weak from being sick, exhausted from the need to break down in tears— several having slipped free already by the time Alhaitham emerges from the bar again— and just all around not in the condition to fulfill his desire.

A shaking, fluttering hand reaches up to grab the water, to drink back a few trembling sips before red eyes track back to the other man's face, guilt and shame written all over his expression. ]

I wouldn't be nice to me, if I were you.

[ He says it quietly. After all, in their entire acquaintance, all he's done is be incredibly rude— ]

Well, it's a good thing I'm not you, then. [He sits beside him, grabbing the pack of wet wipes the bartender gave him and starting to clean himself off. It's not so bad — the waste is more liquid than food, at least.

He glances at Kaveh, at Pharos, and wonders if there's anything he can do as both Alhaitham and Mister E to settle his mind. It feels as though he's reaching for him to help him somehow, and yet not wanting to burden him.] You've been nothing but honest to me. I've been nothing but honest with you. I'd be a fool if I left you to your own devices just because we disagree.

[ Later, when he's not drunk and feeling sorry for himself, Kaveh will find the room to be angry at the other's words.

I'd be a fool if I left you to your own devices just because we disagree.

Intended or not, it's a jab— because it's exactly what Kaveh has been trying to do, wanting Alhaitham just to leave him alone instead of engaging in discourse with him even when he's being nice.

For now, though, he just nods, sips at his water as he shifts so he can lean against the alley wall, eyes closing as he tries to stop the world from acting like a fairground ride around him. (Spin, dip, twirl...) ]

Well, if we're being honest, I'm lonely, and I feel like a fucking fool. [ His fingers come up to toy with the necklace, making it more than clear who is on his mind as he admits: ] I know practically nothing about this guy, I haven't even seen his face— but I can't stop thinking about him. Isn't that pathetic?

[Alhaitham takes a long time to reply, his eyes fixed on the necklace dangling between those beautiful collarbones, between Kaveh's gorgeous fingers. He has lovely hands, he's realized, even if well-worked and strong. A long palm, longer fingers. Nails impeccably groomed. He's wondered plenty of times how it'd be to feel them digging into his back, if he'd scratch or if he'd bruise.

And yet, there he is saying that he can't stop thinking about the guy while handling this gift of his—Alhaitham's gift. Mister E's gift. Everything seems to add up. The wrong color, the fact that he defended whoever gave it to him so strongly, that he's never seen him. Is he really who Pharos is obsessed with? What are the chances of all of this to be true?

So very small, and yet, a small warmth in his chest blooms. Hope. He knows it's hope.

This is getting complicated, is something that will not be the last time Alhaitham will think.]

Not at all. [He finally says. He doesn't really enjoy having people's attention on himself, but] I know how it feels when someone makes you feel special.

[Like Pharos had made him feel. In a way that didn't make him want to seclude himself into a room with a book and no noise around him. He manages to shine light on him in a way where he doesn't care if others see, if others talk. He wants all that light of his on himself.]

[ Alhaitham's words leave Kaveh silent for a moment. He would have never imagined that Alhaitham of all people could resonate with something so emotional— (he barely knows the man, though, is that even a fair observation, he wonders?)— and yet here they are, discussing his affection for someone totally, in essence, theoretical.

He bites his lip, ignoring the taste of bile, and curls his legs up against his chest. ]

Everyone else I talk to just treats me like... like I'm there just for their benefit, like I'm not a human with wants and desires and wishes. [ Drunk as he is, he isn't giving any thought as to how dangerous this line of conversation is, how revealing it is— how lucky he is that he's talking to someone who, even if Kaveh doesn't realize it, already has a good idea of what it means.

(There are many who would judge him for what he does. He could potentially lose his job. None of is registers.) ]

But he.. he's not like them. He encourages me to look after myself. He bought me something pretty because I told him there isn't much I wanna buy right now and he knew somehow that it was a lie. He..

[ Archons, why is he telling Alhaitham of all people about this stupid, unreachable crush? ]

Heh. See? Pathetic, no matter what you say.

[Alhaitham settles down carefully next to Kaveh as he speaks, carefully cradling the jackets without pressing them to the dirty fabric of his shirt. He still listens carefully, and quietly. He's talking about him. It has to be.

Anyone would be over the moon with how their silly little crush is reciprocated, except they don't know (except Alhaitham, Alhaitham now knows), about how they wax about how they don't even know what to do with these feelings. Anyone would be delighted.

And yet—]

It is as you say.[He admits, and fishes for a new cigarette and lights it.] It's pretty pathetic. Not your feelings, but that you're crushing over someone who's doing the bare minimum.

[Archons, he's being stupid. What's with this self-sabotage?

And yet, no. Alhaitham knows. Pharos deserves to be treated with respect. Kaveh deserves more than just pretty trinkets and being treated with respect.]

[ Kaveh just stares at him. Here he is, pouring his heart out, and this jerk— ]

That's not the pathetic part! [ he snaps. ] Don't second-guess him, alright? You don't know him.

[ Of course, neither does Kaveh. And that's the miserable part, that's the part that's so fucking pathetic, because he's putting so much of himself into this one person whom really he doesn't know, and... ]

You don't know what he does. It's not just the bare minimum, alright? He's. He's good to me. ...And why are you smoking! I told you to stop that!! Gods, anyone would think you want to fucking drop dead.

[ Ah, yes. The perfect defense: turn the offense right back around onto the other person so they don't have time to criticize you anymore. ]

I don't, but I also know that treating people nicely is just basic human decency. Seems to me you're just too used to being treated wrong.

[He blows a plume of smoke regardless, a bit relieved that Kaveh at least seems to have enough energy to defend him once again, and then chastise him for smoking.

He does, however, keep his hand holding the cigarette away from them both, not wanting the smoke to waft towards Kaveh anyway.] I'm smoking because I feel like kissing you again, and 1) you probably taste bad, and 2) you don't want that.

[ Kaveh starts to argue, a protest rising quickly to his lips, but before he can get too far, the explanation for Alhaitham's choice to smoke settles on his ears, and something twists inside him. It's stupid, it's so stupid, that he's attracted to this man, but...

He grabs his water, swishing it in his mouth before he spits it on the ground, and crimson eyes flash as he turns back to the other man. ]

Don't tell me what I want.

[ And he reaches, at first for the other's shirt before he remembers not to do that, instead just lunging forward to collide with him, lips hungry as they seek the other man's. ]

[He'll tack his reflexes onto the way he holds Kaveh straight away, dropping the cigarette from his fingers and weaving them in his hair as he kisses him back, deepens it straight away. It's the most irrational thing he's ever done, and he wonders if Kaveh knows. If Pharos knows it's him, the person who gave him the necklace, if the hunger in his mouth is just the same that they've tried not to think was reciprocated when looking at a computer screen.

He shouldn't know. There's no way for Kaveh to know. But he's not considering that right then. He's too focused on the way he feels under his lips and how he wants to make that throat utter his name in ecstasy.]

You're not drunk. [He whispers between kissing, between tangling his tongue with Kaveh's again.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject