[ His scowl deepens, and he's about to shoot back a smug reply when the other man tugs his arm back once more, and where Kaveh was already off-balance, the pull of his arm makes it worse, the blonde yelping as he staggers forward and sprawls out over the scribe. ]

Archons, Alhaitham—

[ His hands brace on the other's chest, pushing him back, putting space between them— he decidedly does not take a moment to breathe in the mixed scent of cologne and alcohol on the other's skin (except that he does)— and adjusts his sprawl so that he's sitting on his lap, rather than splayed akimbo.

The scowl is gone, replaced by an alcohol-sly grin. ]

Well, now that I'm practically giving you a lap dance, surely that's a worthwhile replacement for a polite "please".