indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ He can? Kaveh tilts his head, peers up at Alhaitham through alcohol-hazed eyes. Weird. The scribe isn't the type to shy away from an answer, not even while drunk— so why is he doing so now?

Not only that, but he tiredly rests his head against Kaveh's, rejecting the last of the wine. Kaveh hums in response, tilting the bottle gently against his own lips until the last of the liquid touches his tongue; only then does he lower it into his lap, head canting against Alhaitham's in response. ]

You've never rejected my questions before— [ he murmurs, although there's that typical demanding note in his tone, ] —so why not tell me yourself? I won't be offended.

[ A strange promise to make, perhaps, if either of them were anyone else. But Alhaitham knows as well as he does that Kaveh is quick to take the scribe's words as insult more often than not. (Although the architect would deny it if asked, of course.)

His hands are idle now; one comes up to brace on the younger's chest. ] Come on. Tell me.

Stubborn. [It doesn't sound like a complaint or an insult. It's as though it's part of who Kaveh is, and he's long embraced it.

He peers down at the hand on his chest, peels it away, but only to cradle it in his own and look at it as if the lines on Kaveh's palm hold interesting runes to decipher.] You're always offended.

Am not. [ He mutters it into the air, shaking his head as he curls in a little closer, eyes watching the way Alhaitham's hand takes his— teeth pressing momentarily into his wine-stained lower lip. ] You are.

[ Stubborn? Always offended? Both? Either way, at this point Kaveh is lying, and he knows it. Alhaitham is stubborn, but so is he. And of the two of them, he's easily the more-often offended party. But if he didn't reject it, then he wouldn't be who he is, and so this whole discussion wouldn't be happening in the first place.

His fingers flex under the other's touch, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. ]

If I'm offended, I'll do the dishes by myself for the rest of the month.

Aren't you being stubborn when you insist that you're not? [He says without skipping a beat, even if his voice is low, a little more mellow, definitely slurred at bits. Of course, Haravatat would have the idiots who somehow manage to stay eloquent even when inebriated.

He moves his eyes from Kaveh's palm to his ruby ones.] You realize that that's an incentive for me to try to offend you, and not the other way around?

[ A roll of his eyes. ] Aren't you being stubborn when you continue to try to change the subject?

[ Kaveh's speech isn't quite slurred, but he is very distracted; his eyes keep slipping to where his hand is caught in Alhaitham's, then back to where emerald eyes bore into his— mm, it's not quite fair how good he looks. That reminder surfaces at the back of his mind again, insistent— he wasn't actually rejected before— ]

Mm, then let me modify it a little. If you do offend me, no dishes. If you don't— [ He hums, his mind sorting through the words. ] If you don't offend me, perhaps a reward is in order?

Being stubborn often originates from being fearful of change. [He shrugs.

He's not afraid of change. Even a peaceful life, he has learned, has different shapes, different people. Even if he was, he's in no condition to start questioning much.

He tilts his head, considering. After a moment where he's just staring at Kaveh in silence, he nods.] That sounds like an adequate agreement.

[ It's good that the subject has moved on, or he might glare at the other all over again. Kaveh isn't afraid of change, and he doesn't enjoy the implication that he might be! (Even if what's actually happening is as simple as Alhaitham defending himself against the blonde's accusations.)

But the offer is accepted, and he smiles instead, something self-content, a hand lifting to idly skate his thumb across the other's lower lip. ]

You can request a specific reward if you like, [ he mumbles, ] but if there's no objection, I'm going to reward you with a kiss.

[Alhaitham frowns, his mouth instinctively parting at the touch, the angle of Kaveh's hand making it invisible in his line of sight and startling the scribe an increment. He shakes his head and plucks something absently from the lock on the side of Kaveh's face. The look he gives him is narrowed, his eyelids heavy with the thick air that rests on their skin, heavier with the breaths of their whispers to each other, the warmth of their bodies together. He's fond, because, of course, Kaveh would pick giving a reward to Alhaitham instead of demanding one for himself.] You're rewarding me on both results. There must be a benefit for you in one of them.

[ He laughs, shakes his head. ]

No I'm not. You forgot... or maybe you misheard. [ Or, in actuality, Kaveh's inebriated state meant he wasn't very clear in the first place. It doesn't seem to matter to him either way though, his thumb sneaking a half inch between those parted lips as Alhaitham's fingers pluck something from the side of his face. ] You offend me... no dishes. I won't do any of them at all—

[ He leans in just that bit closer, until his thumb is the only thing keeping their mouths from actually touching, his smile quirking just that little bit wider, his breath a fraction more labored than before as their closeness, as the promise of more, starts to impact him more than before. ]

But I want to kiss you, so... try really hard to say something nice.

[Alhaitham breathes deep, his chest rising gently, lowering slowly. It's silly, to be surprised at the fact that Kaveh wants to kiss him, even in his slightly drunken state. They've been circling around each other for so long, but Alhaitham knows how Kaveh works, how his insecurity weaves itself around him. To try to be soothing always holds risk.

The Scribe purses his lips against the thumb, at least getting something about it with a kiss on the pad. Perhaps it's opportunistic to use the loophole of their agreement, but he's willful, too.]

I'm thankful for that day in the House of Daena.

[ A slight smile flickers at Kaveh's lips when Alhaitham's lips purse against his thumb; the expression is replaced in the next second though by one of surprise, eyes widening in response to what the other says— and despite the fact that he knows it's biologically impossible, he would swear his heart skips a beat. That's possibly the nicest thing Alhaitham has ever said to him, to the point that Kaveh wonders for a moment if it's what the other originally meant to say, or if he's chosen something he knows will earn him the reward— for a moment, he wants to ask, but

it doesn't matter.

A few stuttered breaths fall off his lips as he stares, and then Kaveh's hand slides to Alhaitham's cheek, the blonde surging forward to press his mouth to the other man's. A soft whimper surfaces on his lips at the feeling, his other hand clutching fingers into the scribe's knee.

He's a little drunk, but— gods, this is everything he's needed for so long now. ]

[He wonders if the vice grip on his knee means nerves or earnestness. Kaveh permeates the roof of his mouth with wine-scented breath, and instead of scrunching his nose, Alhaitham finds that he doesn't mind it, doesn't care about it at all.

He leans in halfway, canting his head just slightly, then finding he did it too much and adjusting. Alhaitham isn't good at this, but his mind is far from the assessment of his performance, honing in on the shape of his roommate's lips, and the sound he's releasing when they slot just so, the fact that he barely feels the groan he lets out until it's slipping between his teeth.

Alhaitham's hand rests heavy on Kaveh's waist, steadying, grounding. He wants to take hold of his head and keep him there, kiss him over and over and over, but he knows it's the alcohol talking, it's the warmth of him on his lap. He'll take what he can get.]

[ The over-cant of Alhaitham's head gives Kaveh momentary pause— not into their kiss, but in his mind alone— is he inexperienced? Or just nervous the way the blonde is, those fingers pressing bruises into the space around the scribe's kneecaps. It's a mark that he should tread carefully, but the alcohol wins out over sensible thought for now— especially when the other groans.

He's barely aware of the sound on his own lips, but that on Alhaitham's, that groan, it does something to him, sets something alight in the deep of his gut that has him pressing closer, has the fingers on Alhaitham's face slide up and into his hair, pulling him in despite the worry of the moment just before.

Alhaitham can have whatever he wants; for sounds like that one, Kaveh will give him anything and everything.

Another soft sound answers the groan, the blonde's tongue skating over the scribe's lower lip in an echo of his thumb from moments before, teasing and seeking at the same time. ]

[Those fingers in his hair spark swirls of pleasure in his brain, enough to make gooseskin roll up his shoulders, and his fingers tighten in the flesh of Kaveh's waist. Alhaitham's breath catches in his throat when he feels something warm, his eyes fluttering open just slightly, his mouth blooming to capture the tongue between his lips, trying to catch it.

They're kissing. Of all things he had expected out of this dinner, out of texting Kaveh to help him out with Tighnari and Cyno, kissing Kaveh was definitely not in his plans. He's so eager on top of him now, though, Alhaitham's shoulders loosen to arch impossibly closer.]

[ The catch of his tongue is met with a low sound of pleasure— later, when Kaveh inevitably thinks about this, daydreams about it, he'll realize that in this moment he's more vocal than he can recall being in any other he's experienced, a smile curving the corners of his lips as he allows himself to taste, a warm sigh echoing between their mouths. ]

Alhaitham—

[ It's a mumble, obscured by the press of mouths and tongue, but it's there nonetheless, a breath of undisguised delight; where the scribe wanted to take Kaveh's face in both hands, the blonde actually does it, although it's paired with a parting of their lips, his eyes hooded and his breath short as he peers at him. ]

Can I kiss you again?

[Kaveh does not have to ask.

Alhaitham surges forward, and kisses Kaveh again, suckling on his upper lip, nipping at his lower. Tugs it with his teeth to bring him close. Kaveh doesn't have to ask for something that they both want when the two of them aren't thinking about the repercussions of their actions when everything is floating in a pleasurable haze. How could he, when Kaveh is acting so delighted, his eyes narrowed with something warm. Alhaitham sighs gently, does the thing that he was on the receiving end of, and laps at the reddened lip with a small, curious swipe.]

[ The sound on Kaveh's lips, when Alhaitham rushes forward to catch his mouth again, is rich with delight, filthier with want than it has any right to be over something as simple as kissing. His lips part to the seeking pleasure of the scribe's tongue, rewarding him by catching it between his lips in the same way that the other did before. His fingers flex, burying deep into the other's hair, a gentle tug of silver strands as the blonde seeks a more comfortable position on his lap.

He no longer cares how selfish he is being. After all, the press of the other's mouth to his, the teeth nipping and tugging to draw him back, are proof all by themselves that Alhaitham wants this too. And if it's just because he's drunk—

Mm, if it's just because he's drunk, Kaveh will deal with the fallout later. Right now, he wants nothing more than to enjoy this. ]

[He barely notices when his hand skirts around Kaveh's waist, brushing the small of his back, touching the warm, alcohol-softened patch of his skin. Not until he digs his fingertips into the base of his spine, feels it moving closer, and Alhaitham does nothing but steady him until there's almost no space between them. The scribe feels his breath hitch, the feel of his naked torso finally sinking into his mind, becoming aware of how smooth he feels despite the hard angles of a hard-working body.

Kaveh kisses playfully, reciprocating in the same way he does, so he explores, allows himself to try things that he never really thought he could. The thought of him has haunted him even in his waking hours, following him about his daily tasks like a persistent gnat, an illusion of what he thought he would be, born of a desire and a loneliness that could never be satiated until now, by the real thing. And the real thing is so much better, warm and alive, arching his back.]

This can't be comfortable for you... [Not that Alhaitham does anything to change it, what with him too distracted licking further into his mouth, teasing the corner of his lips, tracing it along the line of his teeth.]

Edited 2023-07-24 12:00 (UTC)

[ For having said earlier that Alhaitham should throw something at him if he's ever as noisy and Tighnari and Cyno have been tonight, the litany of sounds from Kaveh's lips is a lot, especially when the scribe digs fingers into his spine, pulls him closer in a way that leaves his head spinning, has his back arching to bring them closer despite their chests practically being flush already.

And, sure, there's discomfort from how he's seated— maybe even concern, because he can feel the heat starting to pool between his legs, feel the beginnings of arousal awakening into hardness, and they're close enough that Alhaitham will feel— but he's hardly paying attention to any of it, focused as he is on enjoying sensations he's dreamed of feeling for so long now. But when those words are spoken, his eyes flicker open, and he pulls back from the tongue licking between his lips, the smile curving his own. ]

My bed's right there, [ he murmurs, fingers tracing down over the side of Alhaitham's face, ] if you want it. [ A pause, and then: ] We don't have to do anything, but—

[Alhaitham tilts his head into the touch on his face, his eyes fixed on the rosier shade of Kaveh's lips when they're kiss-bruised, and notices how it appears different from how wine stains them with something darker.

He gets up with a groan, scooping Kaveh's thighs with his arms, and sets him on the bed. He does, however, slump over the man's chest, his head spinning with the effort. He may, however, nuzzle the skin along the sternum as he does, trying to get over that slight oversight on his part.]

[ The momentary insecurity is enough that Kaveh isn't quite expecting what happens next: he's swept into Alhaitham's arms, practically bridal style, and carried to the bed, a hum of delight on his lips as he's lowered into the mattress, as the younger man slumps into him, nuzzling into his chest in a way that the blonde can only assume such a tumble was deliberate. It's the first time in their entire co-habitation where he doesn't immediately respond to the scribe's action with criticism or complaint— instead, it's a contented smile, a firm grasp of Alhaitham's face that he might tug the other's mouth back to meet his.

There's a lot he wants to say, but they're things best saved for when he's no longer drunk— or perhaps things he shouldn't say at all, depending on how Alhaitham reacts in the morning— and so he simply slots their mouths together, picking right up where they left off as a soft nibble of teeth and flick of tongue serve to coax the other back in. ]

[As he hikes himself higher, the weight of him presses him closer, the friction delightful and erupting something sharp in Alhaitham's chest. Kissing Kaveh again, he uses the excuse to brace himself on the mattress to stroke his hair back and away from his face, his fingertips tracing on the shell of his ear and pinching an earlobe that is devoid of the customary earring that he wears. He's brushing everywhere he can with something close to mesmerized, from the sharpness of Kaveh's jaw to the slope of his Adam's apple on his throat. Like he probably would never be able to again, and has always wanted to.]

[ There's something, Kaveh realizes, almost reverent in Alhaitham's touches, something that makes the blonde's heart flutter with a depth of desire he doesn't dare speak— with love, if he's courageous enough to put a name on it even within his own heart. It's magnetic, the realization— drawing his attention away even from the kisses pressed into his mouth, leaving his head spinning as he murmurs his appreciation for the sensations.

His own hands are quick to answer in kind, exploring the sharp lines of Alhaitham's cheeks, the soft wisps of hair mussed and loose against his skin, the strength of the muscles under his skin-tight shirt; and he hums into their kiss, tongue swiping over the jut of the younger's lower lip. ]

You're wearing too many clothes, [ he mumbles into Alhaitham's mouth, fingers seeking around his waist for a seam or hem of some sort— he's imagined many times removing the scribe's clothing, but never thought to pay attention to how it's actually done. ] Help me take this off...

[Were this any other time, when Alhaitham wasn't still fuzzy-minded from the wine, and he'd do a whole show of straddling Kaveh's hips, roll up the skin-tight top he prefers off of him. As in, though, he grumbles, tumbles to the side with a thud, their legs tangled, and he pulls at the fabric in a way that's obviously practiced, but deterred by slow and sloppy movements.

He groans, arches on the bed like a disgruntled cat as the shirt gets stuck under Alhaitham's chin.]

[ Perhaps he shouldn't, but Kaveh chuckles. It's a soft sound, sweet; really, he's enamored by the way Alhaitham rolls around and complains— it's cute. Of the two of them, he's likely the more experienced— especially when it comes to ridding other people of their clothing— and with the lines of the scribe's abdominal muscles revealed to him, with the fabric caught under his chin, Kaveh knows now, easily, what comes next.

He turns, untangles his legs in a deliberate action, allowing him vertical freedom of movement; where Alhaitham only just shimmied up along his body, Kaveh moves down so that he can press his mouth to the muscles, tongue flickering against skin, teeth scraping in soft nips and nibbles.

At the same time, his fingers grip the material caught on the other's chin, tugging it up and over his head and tossing it, unceremonious, to the side somewhere. ]

Better.

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