[ i'll remember this, for when the next time you complain about the lack of variety in my soaps and shampoos, alhaitham nearly says. the thought comes fully-formed. it dies in his throat. alhaitham's fingers find purchase in a particularly difficult knot, and kaveh groans. the sound is torn from him in raw strips. it fills the room with a headiness that leaves its reverberations in minute marks. observe: the curve of alhaitham's brow as he digs his thumb in just so, so that he can leverage apart another knot of muscle there. the brimming heat of kaveh's skin is like that of a burning brand's. it is the heat of a little sun; it is the warmth of a curled cat.

the sound becomes him, though alhaitham does not say so.

instead, his grip on kaveh has nary a shift. the press of his hands continue, stolid and patient - ]

So you concede. [ and, perhaps, just a little bit smug. ] That your posture over your drafts is horrendous, and would have even a shrimp feel visible pain should they behold it.

[ because that is, in fact, the argument he's going to drag up over this. ]