[ The sigh he leaves against Alhaitham's lips is shaky; he recognizes the affirmation for what it is, appreciates somewhere deep inside him the scribe's decision to confirm his answer without words when they both know how easily his words tend to rile Kaveh up. Perhaps the alcohol has softened him, or perhaps both of them, or maybe it has simply given them the bridge they've needed to close the gap that has existed between them for so long, keeping them apart even as they've lived together in an odd kind of domesticity.
And then Alhaitham speaks, and Kaveh's heart sings in his chest. ]
I do now, [ he whispers, a softness to his laugh that's half-relieved, half-embarrassed at his apparent blindness to something for which the other has been waiting;
His arms tighten, pulling the scribe close to him, heart burning hot in his chest as he chases Alhaitham's mouth with kisses. He hoped, he yearned, but he never let himself believe until nowβ and now he doesn't want to let the other man go. ]
I take it back, then. [ It's a soft laugh against the other's lips, an afterthought to the giddy joy in his chest as one of his hands drops and slides between them, bracing on Alhaitham's thigh. ] I don't care that you're drunk. I want to, and we should.
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And then Alhaitham speaks, and Kaveh's heart sings in his chest. ]
I do now, [ he whispers, a softness to his laugh that's half-relieved, half-embarrassed at his apparent blindness to something for which the other has been waiting;
His arms tighten, pulling the scribe close to him, heart burning hot in his chest as he chases Alhaitham's mouth with kisses. He hoped, he yearned, but he never let himself believe until nowβ and now he doesn't want to let the other man go. ]
I take it back, then. [ It's a soft laugh against the other's lips, an afterthought to the giddy joy in his chest as one of his hands drops and slides between them, bracing on Alhaitham's thigh. ] I don't care that you're drunk. I want to, and we should.