[It's whiplash, the spark of pleasure through his spine, his eyes fluttering closed to really hone in on the sensation while also the feeling lending weight to his eyelids, to his chin, making his mouth part. And then the sudden shift of weight on him, a shadow cast on him, and cold air on his chest when the other lifts.
He opens his eyes to find Kaveh looking down at him, flushed and swollen and flustered on his own arousal and the beginnings of panic. There's a mark on the place his teeth had been, glistening and still wet, and a part of Alhaitham realizes that his belief about hickeys and bruises being just something immature and insecure people do may need revision. The light overhead casts behind his roommate, his hair bearing a halo. He looks divine, Alhaitham can't help but reach towards a strand and brush it with his fingers.
They shouldn't, he says. He knows the weight of this. Their own relationship keeps teetering on the edge of a cision, on the back and forth of whatever connects them. Like energy, it's a relentless and restless thing, feeding out of its own fears, fickleness, and obsessions alike.
The hand on Kaveh's spine pushes him just slightly lower so he can press him back down. There's no ice in Sumeru, and yet now the bed feels like it's made of Cryo, and if Alhaitham does one wrong move, everything will be crumbling down.
So he pries one hand from his chest, presses a kiss to a knuckle, and starts talking. In all these years living together and the occasional moments where Alhaitham does allow himself to get truly drunk, Kaveh should know that he becomes quiet, receptive, but very passive. Never takes the initiative for anything. If he's leaned against, he'll allow it, even lean back. If he's asked a question, he'll make a sound or hum in reply and not much else. If someone tells him to do something, he ignores the request until the person does it themselves.
With his eyes still fixed on the architect, Alhaitham mutters against the skin between Kaveh's fingers.] 'Yours the blood and the tears, The eternal strife, horrible and magnificent, Yours the lure and the beauty.'
[He moves to the next knuckle as he keeps reciting. Things he read, things he heard, even the words he saw Kaveh lingering on in the House of Daena every now and then when he stumbled into the works of a different Darshan.]
'Battered and wrecked, I come to you, you first—' [he whispers as he mouths along the side of his hand, the one that supports his fingers when Kaveh draws, which is always stained with charcoal and ink.]
'—my own sunset-skinned heart waiting to be held and peeled—' [as he moves to Kaveh's palm, pressing a kiss there, libation for the tools of a passion, a trade.]
'So it is if the heart has devoted itself to love, there is not a single inch of emptiness. Gladness gleams all the way to the grave,' [said against the round of the base of a thumb, nuzzling on the finger, eyes still fixated on Kaveh's. His other hand still pressing the small of his back close to him like they're waiting in a ball for the music to start.
Alhaitham nips at his wrist, finally.] 'My mouth, without the other’s: useless. I long to fill it like a grave.
no subject
He opens his eyes to find Kaveh looking down at him, flushed and swollen and flustered on his own arousal and the beginnings of panic. There's a mark on the place his teeth had been, glistening and still wet, and a part of Alhaitham realizes that his belief about hickeys and bruises being just something immature and insecure people do may need revision. The light overhead casts behind his roommate, his hair bearing a halo. He looks divine, Alhaitham can't help but reach towards a strand and brush it with his fingers.
They shouldn't, he says. He knows the weight of this. Their own relationship keeps teetering on the edge of a cision, on the back and forth of whatever connects them. Like energy, it's a relentless and restless thing, feeding out of its own fears, fickleness, and obsessions alike.
The hand on Kaveh's spine pushes him just slightly lower so he can press him back down. There's no ice in Sumeru, and yet now the bed feels like it's made of Cryo, and if Alhaitham does one wrong move, everything will be crumbling down.
So he pries one hand from his chest, presses a kiss to a knuckle, and starts talking. In all these years living together and the occasional moments where Alhaitham does allow himself to get truly drunk, Kaveh should know that he becomes quiet, receptive, but very passive. Never takes the initiative for anything. If he's leaned against, he'll allow it, even lean back. If he's asked a question, he'll make a sound or hum in reply and not much else. If someone tells him to do something, he ignores the request until the person does it themselves.
With his eyes still fixed on the architect, Alhaitham mutters against the skin between Kaveh's fingers.] 'Yours the blood and the tears, The eternal strife, horrible and magnificent, Yours the lure and the beauty.'
[He moves to the next knuckle as he keeps reciting. Things he read, things he heard, even the words he saw Kaveh lingering on in the House of Daena every now and then when he stumbled into the works of a different Darshan.]
'Battered and wrecked, I come to you, you first—' [he whispers as he mouths along the side of his hand, the one that supports his fingers when Kaveh draws, which is always stained with charcoal and ink.]
'—my own sunset-skinned heart waiting to be held and peeled—' [as he moves to Kaveh's palm, pressing a kiss there, libation for the tools of a passion, a trade.]
'So it is if the heart has devoted itself to love, there is not a single inch of emptiness. Gladness gleams all the way to the grave,' [said against the round of the base of a thumb, nuzzling on the finger, eyes still fixated on Kaveh's. His other hand still pressing the small of his back close to him like they're waiting in a ball for the music to start.
Alhaitham nips at his wrist, finally.] 'My mouth, without the other’s: useless. I long to fill it like a grave.