You have me. [He whispers against another kiss, meant to soothe, to calm. He's had him for years.
But there have been numerous times Kaveh has complained about Alhaitham's inability to appreciate art, to be patient and admire it, to let it 'seep in' and 'let it speak to him'.
And now Kaveh writhes against him in an arch, warm and inviting and so alive against his fingertips, coiling and releasing and his eyelashes dark against the flush of his cheeks, darkening further the carmine of his eyes.
He finally wants to watch this man unravel over and over and study each stretch of his muscles, each slope of his bones against the skin. Wants to see how warm his breath goes, how moist it would feel against his own skin if it stutters when he touches him like so.
Alhaitham finally understands.
He dips his head to his neck, letting his teeth rake over the skin of the curve but not letting it snag yet. He presses one—just one—finger at the entrance, and nips at his earlobe before he nuzzles it.] Move for me, then. I want to feel you doing it.
no subject
But there have been numerous times Kaveh has complained about Alhaitham's inability to appreciate art, to be patient and admire it, to let it 'seep in' and 'let it speak to him'.
And now Kaveh writhes against him in an arch, warm and inviting and so alive against his fingertips, coiling and releasing and his eyelashes dark against the flush of his cheeks, darkening further the carmine of his eyes.
He finally wants to watch this man unravel over and over and study each stretch of his muscles, each slope of his bones against the skin. Wants to see how warm his breath goes, how moist it would feel against his own skin if it stutters when he touches him like so.
Alhaitham finally understands.
He dips his head to his neck, letting his teeth rake over the skin of the curve but not letting it snag yet. He presses one—just one—finger at the entrance, and nips at his earlobe before he nuzzles it.] Move for me, then. I want to feel you doing it.