[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? ]
[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.]
[ Kaveh agrees with the statement, aware that it's partially a question and aware also that he's lying through his teeth. While the events of the last ten minutes or so have certainly done their job in sobering him somewhat, he's still far too drunk to be making a judgement call like this, and he knows it.
He also knows that if Alhaitham knows it, he'll put a stop to it. And for some reason that even Kaveh doesn't fully understand, he doesn't want that. He wants the man, infuriating as he is.
So he agrees, even though it's wrong for so many reasons. ]
I still want you to fuck me, you know. [ He snatches the words in the space between their kiss, looking up at the other man with dark, serious eyes. ]
[He's driving him crazy. Pharos—Kaveh—can't do this to him. He knows he's still quite drunk, that he probably wouldn't even consider landing his lips on him if he were sober, let alone ask him to have sex with him.
And yet, his hands come to cradle that beautiful, gorgeous face, warm and clammy to the touch, and he kisses him some more, addicted to the heat of him, the sounds he makes, the feel of his lips.
But it's not sitting down by the backdoor of a bar that they'll do anything. Alhaitham nuzzles along the line of Kaveh's jaw, and presses his lips to the thin skin underneath it.] Do you want to go to my place?
[ The acceptance comes in a rush of breath, Kaveh's head tilting back to allow Alhaitham more room to kiss over his skin, sighing short and quick into the cool night air as his fingers run into the other man's hair, nails dragging light along the scalp.
He wants him, and it doesn't make any sense to Kaveh, but he does, and he's drunk and the chance is here and he wants to seize it with both hands— the other man's mouth feels divine against his skin, and after a moment he reaches to tug him into another kiss, wanting to enjoy the pressure against his own lips again. ]
[It's a bad idea, but this wouldn't be the first nor the last of those that Alhaitham would ever do.
Getting up, picking Kaveh up, and leading him to his car was a blur. He's actually fumbling with his keys because the moment they step close to his apartment's door, Alhaitham is pressing Kaveh close against it to kiss him again, a slow, heady thing, that is already peeling at his jacket when the door does click and open and they stumble inside.]
[ It's a terrible, horrible idea. But for his part, Kaveh is certainly no stranger to those. And right now, something about Alhaitham is drawing him in where it usually pushes him away, making it easy for him to give in to the baser of the urges inspired by the alcohol.
The car ride is a blur, and when they pull up at the other's apartment block Kaveh realizes vaguely that it's probably for the best that he's horny and drunk, because there's a streak of jealous bitterness that races through him at the location, significantly more upper-market than his own. But the sensation fades quickly, especially as he finds himself pressed up against the door with that smart mouth against his, kissing him in a way that makes his head spin
(or is that the alcohol?)
As they stumble through the door, he winds himself closer, hips arching up to roll against the other man, hands reaching to help with his jacket and shirt as much as he can, seeking to leave both in a pile on the floor even as he refuses to pull away from the other's mouth. ]
Bedroom, [ he whispers between kisses, with another slow roll of his hips. ] Where?
[Divesting Kaveh off his shirt doesn't even pass his mind when his fingers take charge, pressing them across collarbones, then wider to shuck the fabric off his shoulders. Everything is instinctive and irrational. His mind is—blissfully, he never thought it'd be blissfully—empty, and it's something it doesn't happen even when he watches the streams of this man, even when he'd been stroking himself to the image of him, his sounds, his flirtatious glances to the camera. The warmth of him is addicting, the way he presses back against him with his hips makes him hum, almost about to lose his mind. He steadies them, close, but unmoving, against his own.]
Driving me crazy. [He rasps.
And grabs the back of Kaveh's thighs to hike him high, picks him up.] I'll take you.
[ The curse falls from his lips on a whimper when Alhaitham stills his hips and then just drags him into his arms, his own wrapping tight around the other's shoulders as if afraid he's going to fall—
(he's not afraid, even drunk he can see and appreciate the tenseness in muscles that have no fucking right being so well defined— isn't the man a lifelong scholar?— and he feels light and protected in such a strong hold)
—and the second he's put down in the bedroom he's dragging that strong man into him, grinding his hips up against him as his mouth laves a path down the other's jaw and neck, sucking and nipping at the skin without thought as to how it will darken it. ]
Me too. Crazy. I want you—
[ His hand slips between them, to where his hips are rolling up against Alhaitham's, to rub against the other man through his pants. ]
[Still handling the back of those gorgeous, pliant thighs in his hands, Alhaitham lowers the man and hikes him deep into the bed, the smooth covers swishing underneath them, even if he pauses to roll his eyes back at the feeling of this heathen touching him so brazenly, and he has to roll his hips right into it, wishing the fabric of his trousers gone, wishing all of Kaveh's clothes discarded somewhere on the floor of his room, and yet unable to do so because he's holding onto that hair in a gentle fist, placing the stretch of skin between his thumb and forefinger underneath Kaveh's chin to tip at his head higher to kiss him hard with a groan, and then slide his palm down the beautiful column of his throat, followed by his lips.
He doesn't dare to bite, to brand, not really. Pharos is not just his, he's his viewers and that somehow makes him ache even further. But he'll rake his teeth and taunt at the skin until it's pink. Until Kaveh will need to cool it down the next day so the irritation leaves.
He picks up his hands, pins them next to his head against the mattress, and weaves their fingers together as he kisses him again and grinds against the beautiful cradle of his hips.] Let me feel you.
[ As he's pressed into the mattress, Alhaitham pins Kaveh's hands, and all the blonde can think about is what Mister E told him, about wanting to offer him pleasure and not just enjoy the show Pharos was putting on for him— that he wants to see Kaveh feeling good too.
And he knows he shouldn't be thinking of his crush at a time like this, but he can't help it; so much of what has happened tonight has brought his brain back to the other man time and time again. Alhaitham may drive him crazy in all the worst ways, but there's something about him that reminds Kaveh so very much of his favorite viewer, and..
He shakes himself free of the thoughts to listen to bring himself back into this moment, focusing on the man above him and the teeth taunting at his skin as his hips roll down and make him groan. And into the heat of that kiss, he moans again in answer, hips arching up to rock and grind, breath panting softly into Alhaitham's mouth. ]
You can feel as much of me as you want, I'm yours tonight—
[Words hold power, but as long as you know how powerful they aim to be, you can detach yourself from them and remain in your own power as long as you'd like.
Or so Alhaitham, master of over 20 languages and decipherer of the numerous ways those languages can imply, thought.
And yet, he's absolutely weak and powerless, faced with the strength of the words mumbled by Kaveh's mouth. He's groaning and pressing his body even closer, unable to withdraw even for just the short moment of shucking out their trousers, to feel each other's skin, to take in the warmth of the man underneath him fully, just for the sake of holding his hands, of squeezing them cherishingly, tenderly drawing a line from lips to chest with his mouth, curling on himself to press kisses across his pec to his nipples.]
[ Alhaitham's words bring a flush of pleasure to Kaveh's cheeks. He's too easily able to imagine the same words on his Mister E's lips, too desperate in so many ways to dream of it as what could be something between the two of them.
And when he's not drunk, later, perhaps he'll have the grace to feel guilty. As much as he can see Mister E in Alhaitham, he knows in his heart that they're not the same, that he doesn't even like the latter, that he's using him to enjoy a fantasy—
But right now he doesn't care. Not when he's busy writhing under the tenderness of those kisses, moving to stretch his body out properly to allow the other man more access to the span of chest he's peppering with kisses, and his hands reach to tangle fingers in his hair, pulling him close, even as his hips continue to arch and press up against the heat of the other's body.
And Archons, it's so much better than teasing himself with a toy. Alhaitham is real and warm and skilled, and offering him genuine pleasure that makes his toes curl, his heart pound.
(When did a stuffy scholar get so good at this anyway?) ]
[Truth to be told, Alhaitham is not that experienced.
All of this comes from those moments through a screen, a tally of when he's seen Pharos yelp, gasp, the way his flesh coiled suddenly from something that felt nice, something that felt ticklish. The shiver that comes when a toy or the lace or his fingers skimmed his skin.
E had looked at all of that and wondered how it'd be to be the one to cause that. Now, careful to nose at his piercing and blowing on it to cool the metal, he's thrilled on how Pharos—Kaveh—is reacting to all of this. It's because of him, it's because of him, it's because of him.
He wraps his arm around that gorgeous waist, arching his hips further into his own, and he can't help the groan, the slow but hard roll of him against the pressure, hiking it just an increment]. Fuck—
[His hand finds the hardness in Kaveh's trousers, squeezes and palms it roughly. The fabric is damp. He's about to lose his mind.]
[ The sound he makes when Alhaitham nudges at— and then blows on— his piercing is something unlike Kaveh has ever made before, a sharp and surprised moan of pleasure that shakes his lips and has his back lifting. He loves that the other man hasn't even asked about it, just taken advantage of its presence, and
Archons, Mister E really knew what he was doing on chat, telling Kaveh he'd take his time with him first. With another person, it's so much better like this than just rushing straight to the act; between mouth toying with his piercing between the curses on Alhaitham's lips, and the hand sliding between his legs, there's so much pleasure that Kaveh is dizzy with it— ]
F-fuck. Fuck, right there, please—
[ And then within seconds, a sudden, panicked change of tune, fingers pressing firm into the other's arms: ]
W-wait, it's too much, wait—!
[ But his protest arrives too late, Kaveh's inexperience in the face of real pleasure leading him to cum in his pants, hard, a wail on his breath that sounds suspiciously like the letter 'E'. ]
[Driving him crazy. Alhaitham should have known that this would be a rollercoaster when he first kissed Kaveh back, despite all the signs that would tell him to cease immediately. And yet, nothing in his brain told him to stop. The rational part of him has been strangely silent, subdued by the feel of his coworker against him, even despite throwing up on him, even despite all the anger. The knowledge of him being Pharos could be a deterrent, and yet here is Alhaitham, not E, making this man beg and then stutter.
He freezes upon the first 'wait', his hand stilling, eyes wide. After those sweet pleas, Kaveh is telling him no, but the momentum takes care of everything and he's wailing in his arms, right before him. And—
Seeing this right before him, without a screen to shield them, is so much more striking. He shivers when he hears something like the call of the nickname that Pharos so sweetly gave him, and it's his, his nickname, and no one else's.
It could just be his throat making a random sound, but irrationally, Alhaitham wants to believe it's him he's calling out.
(And if so: Has he really been imagining he's E, all this time? He supposed he should be jealous of himself.)
So he drops again, pressing soft kisses to the center of his chest, holding him close as he leaves more of his care with his mouth along his collarbones, along the line of his shoulder, up his throat.
It's apologetic. Perhaps the asking to wait was Kaveh's final moment of reluctance showing up too late. So he lingers for a while against that warm skin before he lifts his head and brushes Kaveh's hair away.] Are you alright?
[Only to find Kaveh out like a light.
Alhaitham takes a deep breath. This is going to be messy, but he will not take advantage of a person while they're asleep—nevermind that they're both drunk.
Painfully, he withdraws himself from the Architect, shivering at how cold the room suddenly feels. Alhaitham softens, sighing. He needs a shower. A cold one.
He'll take care of Kaveh first, peeling off his clothes, wiping the mess down with a warm damp towel, then dressing him with a set of clean boxers and a t-shirt before tucking him in. As an afterthought, he goes get a bucket and leaves it by the bedside, as well as aspirins, vitamins, and a bottle of water on the nightstand.
Only then does he go take a—very cold—shower, get into is pyjamas, steal one of the unused pillows from his bed, and go sleep on the couch.]
[ It's certainly not what Kaveh intends to do. He's drowning in the other's kisses and touches, and he doesn't want any of it to stop— and while he may not be actively thinking about passing out, he's a smart enough man to know somewhere in the back of his head that all this stops the moment he does.
And he doesn't want this to stop.
But there's nothing for it: between the heaviness of the alcohol and the headiness of his orgasm, he passes out in almost no time at all, the lingering of Alhaitham's lips against his skin more than enough to lull him into the land of dreams.
(And dreams there are. A faceless figure with a silhouette built far too similarly to someone he knows, purring low words and promises in his ear as he fucks himself for a camera, knowing he's watched and admired and loved. When he cums, he turns his head and presses his mouth to the stranger's with a soft, contented sigh
and he tastes like smoke, fingers curling gently around his necklace to anchor him, to pull him close and hold him and cherish him and—)
He wakes with a start in a darkened room made of swirls.
...No, the swirls—
He blinks, and then closes his eyes with a groan. Fuck, how much did he drink?
And where is he? ...He doesn't recognize the clothes that he's wearing, either.
It takes Kaveh several, several long minutes to pull himself together enough to get out of the bed. (Perhaps even tens of minutes; he's not counting.) Thank all the archons and gods, he's not sick (again), but the aspirins and vitamins are downed without a second thought, the bottle of water emptied into his stomach so quick that it hurts, even as his throat is still parched. Only then does he emerge from the room, bleary eyes looking around a place that by all rights is far too nice for someone like him, and his voice cracks on a leftover hoarseness as he calls out lowly: ]
[He tosses and turns on his couch. It's not the first time he sleeps on it—but it's the first time he's sleeping on it in this living room, and the window is wrong, the light hits his eyes differently, and it's all so very new.
This is what he tells himself when he has trouble sleeping. Nothing to do with the blond vixen sleeping tightly on his bed. Nothing to do with how he had looked so comfortable in his Egyptian cotton sheets. Alhaitham did not, at all, want to slip under the covers and snuggle close. Never in his life.
Kaveh is Pharos. Of all things, of all odds. No theoretical process of elimination could have made him suspect of it in the slightest.
And yet, there he was, writhing beautifully underneath him, asking him to fuck him. Without knowing what to do with the fan across the ethernet, watching him closely.
Alhaitham fell asleep with the thought that at least, he wasn't alone. They had each other. Perhaps they always did.
So when he hears the 'hello' ringing in his apartment, he hadn't slept that much and he frowns, and sits up, looking over the back of his couch to where the voice came from. Who...?
Oh, it's him again. He smiles and lays back down, wanting to go back to sleep.]
[ He's still in the middle of looking around when a sleepy, hair-mussed head appears from behind the couch, peering over it for a moment before smiling and disappearing once more. And for a moment, Kaveh can only frown, tilting his head and taking a hesitant step closer until the reality of it slaps him in the face and he recognizes, a mortified sound leaving his lips.
Never mind that Alhaitham apparently wants to sleep. Kaveh stalks over to the other side of the couch, staring down at him in what is meant to be anger but no doubt shows more like the mortification cutting him down to his very bones. ]
What the hell am I doing here? [ he seethes. ] Where are my clothes?
[ And then, as he belatedly recognizes the acrid taste on his tongue, the remnants of a cigarette he could never have smoked— because he doesn't: ]
[Okay, so getting some more sleep is definitely not on the cards for him. Alhaitham rubs at his eyes, yawning, and then rolling to a seating position on the couch. As much as he'd like to tell Kaveh to calm down, he understands that the previous night was a mess. That's sobering in on itself, even if his own head was pounding.]
Our clothes are hanging to dry. You threw up on me.
[He tilts his head.]
You don't remember? [He didn't seem that drunk. At least not enough to be blackout drunk and not recall.]
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sempiternals2023-10-04 01:27 am
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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. ]
no subject
[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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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[ Kaveh agrees with the statement, aware that it's partially a question and aware also that he's lying through his teeth. While the events of the last ten minutes or so have certainly done their job in sobering him somewhat, he's still far too drunk to be making a judgement call like this, and he knows it.
He also knows that if Alhaitham knows it, he'll put a stop to it. And for some reason that even Kaveh doesn't fully understand, he doesn't want that. He wants the man, infuriating as he is.
So he agrees, even though it's wrong for so many reasons. ]
I still want you to fuck me, you know. [ He snatches the words in the space between their kiss, looking up at the other man with dark, serious eyes. ]
no subject
And yet, his hands come to cradle that beautiful, gorgeous face, warm and clammy to the touch, and he kisses him some more, addicted to the heat of him, the sounds he makes, the feel of his lips.
But it's not sitting down by the backdoor of a bar that they'll do anything. Alhaitham nuzzles along the line of Kaveh's jaw, and presses his lips to the thin skin underneath it.] Do you want to go to my place?
no subject
[ The acceptance comes in a rush of breath, Kaveh's head tilting back to allow Alhaitham more room to kiss over his skin, sighing short and quick into the cool night air as his fingers run into the other man's hair, nails dragging light along the scalp.
He wants him, and it doesn't make any sense to Kaveh, but he does, and he's drunk and the chance is here and he wants to seize it with both hands— the other man's mouth feels divine against his skin, and after a moment he reaches to tug him into another kiss, wanting to enjoy the pressure against his own lips again. ]
Yeah— let's go to your place.
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Getting up, picking Kaveh up, and leading him to his car was a blur. He's actually fumbling with his keys because the moment they step close to his apartment's door, Alhaitham is pressing Kaveh close against it to kiss him again, a slow, heady thing, that is already peeling at his jacket when the door does click and open and they stumble inside.]
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The car ride is a blur, and when they pull up at the other's apartment block Kaveh realizes vaguely that it's probably for the best that he's horny and drunk, because there's a streak of jealous bitterness that races through him at the location, significantly more upper-market than his own. But the sensation fades quickly, especially as he finds himself pressed up against the door with that smart mouth against his, kissing him in a way that makes his head spin
(or is that the alcohol?)
As they stumble through the door, he winds himself closer, hips arching up to roll against the other man, hands reaching to help with his jacket and shirt as much as he can, seeking to leave both in a pile on the floor even as he refuses to pull away from the other's mouth. ]
Bedroom, [ he whispers between kisses, with another slow roll of his hips. ] Where?
no subject
Driving me crazy. [He rasps.
And grabs the back of Kaveh's thighs to hike him high, picks him up.] I'll take you.
no subject
[ The curse falls from his lips on a whimper when Alhaitham stills his hips and then just drags him into his arms, his own wrapping tight around the other's shoulders as if afraid he's going to fall—
(he's not afraid, even drunk he can see and appreciate the tenseness in muscles that have no fucking right being so well defined— isn't the man a lifelong scholar?— and he feels light and protected in such a strong hold)
—and the second he's put down in the bedroom he's dragging that strong man into him, grinding his hips up against him as his mouth laves a path down the other's jaw and neck, sucking and nipping at the skin without thought as to how it will darken it. ]
Me too. Crazy. I want you—
[ His hand slips between them, to where his hips are rolling up against Alhaitham's, to rub against the other man through his pants. ]
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He doesn't dare to bite, to brand, not really. Pharos is not just his, he's his viewers and that somehow makes him ache even further. But he'll rake his teeth and taunt at the skin until it's pink. Until Kaveh will need to cool it down the next day so the irritation leaves.
He picks up his hands, pins them next to his head against the mattress, and weaves their fingers together as he kisses him again and grinds against the beautiful cradle of his hips.] Let me feel you.
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And he knows he shouldn't be thinking of his crush at a time like this, but he can't help it; so much of what has happened tonight has brought his brain back to the other man time and time again. Alhaitham may drive him crazy in all the worst ways, but there's something about him that reminds Kaveh so very much of his favorite viewer, and..
He shakes himself free of the thoughts to listen to bring himself back into this moment, focusing on the man above him and the teeth taunting at his skin as his hips roll down and make him groan. And into the heat of that kiss, he moans again in answer, hips arching up to rock and grind, breath panting softly into Alhaitham's mouth. ]
You can feel as much of me as you want, I'm yours tonight—
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Or so Alhaitham, master of over 20 languages and decipherer of the numerous ways those languages can imply, thought.
And yet, he's absolutely weak and powerless, faced with the strength of the words mumbled by Kaveh's mouth. He's groaning and pressing his body even closer, unable to withdraw even for just the short moment of shucking out their trousers, to feel each other's skin, to take in the warmth of the man underneath him fully, just for the sake of holding his hands, of squeezing them cherishingly, tenderly drawing a line from lips to chest with his mouth, curling on himself to press kisses across his pec to his nipples.]
You're so beautiful.
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And when he's not drunk, later, perhaps he'll have the grace to feel guilty. As much as he can see Mister E in Alhaitham, he knows in his heart that they're not the same, that he doesn't even like the latter, that he's using him to enjoy a fantasy—
But right now he doesn't care. Not when he's busy writhing under the tenderness of those kisses, moving to stretch his body out properly to allow the other man more access to the span of chest he's peppering with kisses, and his hands reach to tangle fingers in his hair, pulling him close, even as his hips continue to arch and press up against the heat of the other's body.
And Archons, it's so much better than teasing himself with a toy. Alhaitham is real and warm and skilled, and offering him genuine pleasure that makes his toes curl, his heart pound.
(When did a stuffy scholar get so good at this anyway?) ]
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All of this comes from those moments through a screen, a tally of when he's seen Pharos yelp, gasp, the way his flesh coiled suddenly from something that felt nice, something that felt ticklish. The shiver that comes when a toy or the lace or his fingers skimmed his skin.
E had looked at all of that and wondered how it'd be to be the one to cause that. Now, careful to nose at his piercing and blowing on it to cool the metal, he's thrilled on how Pharos—Kaveh—is reacting to all of this. It's because of him, it's because of him, it's because of him.
He wraps his arm around that gorgeous waist, arching his hips further into his own, and he can't help the groan, the slow but hard roll of him against the pressure, hiking it just an increment]. Fuck—
[His hand finds the hardness in Kaveh's trousers, squeezes and palms it roughly. The fabric is damp. He's about to lose his mind.]
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Archons, Mister E really knew what he was doing on chat, telling Kaveh he'd take his time with him first. With another person, it's so much better like this than just rushing straight to the act; between mouth toying with his piercing between the curses on Alhaitham's lips, and the hand sliding between his legs, there's so much pleasure that Kaveh is dizzy with it— ]
F-fuck. Fuck, right there, please—
[ And then within seconds, a sudden, panicked change of tune, fingers pressing firm into the other's arms: ]
W-wait, it's too much, wait—!
[ But his protest arrives too late, Kaveh's inexperience in the face of real pleasure leading him to cum in his pants, hard, a wail on his breath that sounds suspiciously like the letter 'E'. ]
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He freezes upon the first 'wait', his hand stilling, eyes wide. After those sweet pleas, Kaveh is telling him no, but the momentum takes care of everything and he's wailing in his arms, right before him. And—
Seeing this right before him, without a screen to shield them, is so much more striking. He shivers when he hears something like the call of the nickname that Pharos so sweetly gave him, and it's his, his nickname, and no one else's.
It could just be his throat making a random sound, but irrationally, Alhaitham wants to believe it's him he's calling out.
(And if so: Has he really been imagining he's E, all this time? He supposed he should be jealous of himself.)
So he drops again, pressing soft kisses to the center of his chest, holding him close as he leaves more of his care with his mouth along his collarbones, along the line of his shoulder, up his throat.
It's apologetic. Perhaps the asking to wait was Kaveh's final moment of reluctance showing up too late. So he lingers for a while against that warm skin before he lifts his head and brushes Kaveh's hair away.] Are you alright?
[Only to find Kaveh out like a light.
Alhaitham takes a deep breath. This is going to be messy, but he will not take advantage of a person while they're asleep—nevermind that they're both drunk.
Painfully, he withdraws himself from the Architect, shivering at how cold the room suddenly feels. Alhaitham softens, sighing. He needs a shower. A cold one.
He'll take care of Kaveh first, peeling off his clothes, wiping the mess down with a warm damp towel, then dressing him with a set of clean boxers and a t-shirt before tucking him in. As an afterthought, he goes get a bucket and leaves it by the bedside, as well as aspirins, vitamins, and a bottle of water on the nightstand.
Only then does he go take a—very cold—shower, get into is pyjamas, steal one of the unused pillows from his bed, and go sleep on the couch.]
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And he doesn't want this to stop.
But there's nothing for it: between the heaviness of the alcohol and the headiness of his orgasm, he passes out in almost no time at all, the lingering of Alhaitham's lips against his skin more than enough to lull him into the land of dreams.
(And dreams there are. A faceless figure with a silhouette built far too similarly to someone he knows, purring low words and promises in his ear as he fucks himself for a camera, knowing he's watched and admired and loved. When he cums, he turns his head and presses his mouth to the stranger's with a soft, contented sigh
and he tastes like smoke, fingers curling gently around his necklace to anchor him, to pull him close and hold him and cherish him and—)
He wakes with a start in a darkened room made of swirls.
...No, the swirls—
He blinks, and then closes his eyes with a groan. Fuck, how much did he drink?
And where is he? ...He doesn't recognize the clothes that he's wearing, either.
It takes Kaveh several, several long minutes to pull himself together enough to get out of the bed. (Perhaps even tens of minutes; he's not counting.) Thank all the archons and gods, he's not sick (again), but the aspirins and vitamins are downed without a second thought, the bottle of water emptied into his stomach so quick that it hurts, even as his throat is still parched. Only then does he emerge from the room, bleary eyes looking around a place that by all rights is far too nice for someone like him, and his voice cracks on a leftover hoarseness as he calls out lowly: ]
Hello?
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This is what he tells himself when he has trouble sleeping. Nothing to do with the blond vixen sleeping tightly on his bed. Nothing to do with how he had looked so comfortable in his Egyptian cotton sheets. Alhaitham did not, at all, want to slip under the covers and snuggle close. Never in his life.
Kaveh is Pharos. Of all things, of all odds. No theoretical process of elimination could have made him suspect of it in the slightest.
And yet, there he was, writhing beautifully underneath him, asking him to fuck him. Without knowing what to do with the fan across the ethernet, watching him closely.
Alhaitham fell asleep with the thought that at least, he wasn't alone. They had each other. Perhaps they always did.
So when he hears the 'hello' ringing in his apartment, he hadn't slept that much and he frowns, and sits up, looking over the back of his couch to where the voice came from. Who...?
Oh, it's him again. He smiles and lays back down, wanting to go back to sleep.]
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Never mind that Alhaitham apparently wants to sleep. Kaveh stalks over to the other side of the couch, staring down at him in what is meant to be anger but no doubt shows more like the mortification cutting him down to his very bones. ]
What the hell am I doing here? [ he seethes. ] Where are my clothes?
[ And then, as he belatedly recognizes the acrid taste on his tongue, the remnants of a cigarette he could never have smoked— because he doesn't: ]
And what the fuck did you do to me?
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Our clothes are hanging to dry. You threw up on me.
[He tilts his head.]
You don't remember? [He didn't seem that drunk. At least not enough to be blackout drunk and not recall.]
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