indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ 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.

[The contortions of Alhaitham's torso under the sharp nips and the warmth of Kaveh's mouth surprise the Scribe, as he had been blind to be ready for it. They elicit a gasp, though it is stifled by the fabric. Suddenly Alhaitham becomes very aware of what they're doing, or he should be, the energy they're slowly building between them albeit clumsily and ambiguously.

He looks down after his top is removed, sees Kaveh. His expression is akin to that of a cat who accomplished its mission. Despite his stoic exterior, a hint of shame flickers within him at his response and he frowns, unused to it.] I didn't think you'd get me while I'm distracted.

[ He's so busy being content that he almost misses the look on Alhaitham's face— but when he spies it, everything screeches to a hold both physically and mentally, the blonde's fingers stilling against the scribe's chest as he pushes himself slightly up and back from the other man. ]

What's wrong? [ he asks, right as Alhaitham says something about being distracted, and he finds a smile on his lips again, a softening of his expression as his hand lifts to cup the other man's cheek instead.

The scribe is... embarrassed? Ashamed? Something like that—

But he's not about to accuse him of that fact, and so instead he skims his thumb over the other's lower lip once more, red eyes soft, gaze tender. ]

Talk to me.

[He's already unused to feeling embarrassed about anything, much more so when he's called out on it. His eyes flicker to Kaveh's worry, how some hint of sweetness seems to draw the way they're shaped.

Alhaitham shakes his head, weaving his feelings into rationality. He's embarrassed because he was shocked, which stemmed from how he's never really thought of how Kaveh's mouth on his stomach would feel.

Instead of answering, he opens his mouth, captures the architect's thumb between his lips, trapping it gently between his teeth. The feel of his teeth' enamel against his fingernail's enamel is new. A little strange. And so is the pad's texture against his tongue as he swipes it gently there.

It's all so very new. And he can't help but be excited about it.]

[ Kaveh, as it stands, is somewhat less embarrassed than Alhaitham. The sensations he's feeling aren't unfamiliar, just stronger, far more pleasurable than anything he can remember— but given how long he's waited for the other, how long he's wanted, that on its own isn't much of a surprise. Later, he might think to remember all the noises he's made and will likely continue to make, be a little ashamed of that— especially after complaining so stridently about Tighnari and Cyno— but for now he just smiles at the shake of Alhaitham's head, hums in response to the teeth and tongue against his thumb. The pad of his thumb is surprisingly sensitive, sending shivers down his spine— ]

Mm, shit— why have we waited so long to do this, [ he mumbles, fingers running lightly from where his hand is trapped, exploring the skin around Alhaitham's lips, feather-light on his jaw. Without waiting for the other to answer, he leans in to bury his face into the curve of his throat, a sudden urge overtaking him— and Kaveh licks and nips and sucks at the skin, bullying it until it turns a pretty flushed red under his ministrations.

Even if it's hidden by the collar of Alhaitham's sinfully-tight shirt, even if the other never wants to lay hands on him again after tonight, Kaveh will know it was there, he'll remember this for himself— ]

I assume it's because we a—h... [The hypocrisy shouldn't escape him, really. How they've been shocked at the lack of boundaries both Cyno and Tighnari (Tighnari, of all people!) to start drunkenly making out under Alhaitham's roof, being loud about it while they're at it, and how hiding themselves from the debauchery only started something that may influence the forever of their relationship. The Mahamatra and the Forest Ranger have been in a relationship for a long time; Kaveh and Alhaitham were still teetering on the balance of their own, without a side to push and pull out of both the avoidance and acceptance of their own past. Alhaitham lets out a sound that's more breath than voice when Kaveh's teeth seize the sensitive skin above his pulse, and when he finds his fingers tangled in gold he doesn't pull away, merely steadies him there.]

Kaveh… [He wonders at the weight of the air, at how heavy his eyelids feel, how restless he's becoming, that he holds no qualms with shifting his weight and legs around, tangling them again, hooking his foot to lock one of them close, rolling his body until he's pressed against the architect above him, his other hand feeling at each indent and slope of his spine.

He raises his head to lock his own bites on his roommate's shoulder, his tongue darting straight away to taste at his skin.]

[ Between shifting to the bed and then breaking away in concern, the lancing heat of arousal between Kaveh's legs has waxed and waned somewhat— until Alhaitham's words shatter into a breathy moan, that is, the sound bringing that feeling rushing back with a vengeance, the blonde's hips tensing and shuddering a little against air. It's made even worse when the press of his teeth is answered with another graveled sound, and gasp of his name, the lock of the scribe's mouth to his shoulder in return— and this time it's Kaveh's turn to cry out, his fingers lifting, tangling in locks of green-tipped silver to hold him close.

But even through the whited-out cloud of bliss in his head, there's a pulsing black seed of doubt, something awakened by the thought from just a moment before. Even if Alhaitham never wants to lay hands on him again after this— Alhaitham is drunk, and if he doesn't want this when he's sober, isn't Kaveh taking advantage of him? What if that rejection from before was real, and it's only as the inebriation has taken hold that the scribe has caved to the idea of this being good?

That foot locks, pulling him close, pressing until their bodies are flush, and he's shaken momentarily from the thought by the feel of his quickly-burgeoning arousal rutting accidentally into the other's hips; a groan surfaces on his lips when he finds that Alhaitham is hard too, the press of their hips lancing pleasure through his veins. ]

Alhaitham—

[ He could just ignore it, couldn't he? He's drunk too, and the scribe's voice sounds wonderful, and they're both hard—

But what if, sober—

His hands drop between them, bracing hard, lifting him up and off the other man. His eyes are wide, staring even as he tries not to meet the other's eyes, breath short and sharp over kiss-bruised lips. ]

We shouldn't— You're drunk—

[ You don't want me, Alhaitham, you just think you do. ]

[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.

[ The words having tripped their way out over his lips, Kaveh is preparing to push himself off Alhaitham for good when fingers interrupt his intent by brushing through his hair, by pressing lowly at his spine to pull him back in. And then his hand is caught in the other man's, lips pressed to the knuckle, and the blonde's eyes widen in a shock that would perhaps be comical if the moment weren't steeped in an odd kind of beauty. Alhaitham, who is perhaps the single most passive drunk he knows, is reciting poetry, verses he's never heard and some he has, words murmured into his skin in synchronicity with a litany of soft, sweet kisses.

What little breath Kaveh has left is caught in his throat, eyes wide as he watches, listens, and his teeth press into his own lip to try in desperation to stop its trembling. His own movement comes before he even realizes he's making it, hand freeing itself from that gentle hold to join his other against the slope of Alhaitham's jaw, fingers soft and eyes fond as he leans in, a sweet press of his lips to the other's own.

Perhaps later, sober, he'll remember to be terrified: poetry though they may be, Alhaitham's words speak of something deep and genuine and real—

Battered and wrecked—
—waiting to be held—
—without the other's: useless.

Who gave him the right to speak such? Kaveh's heart feels like it's going a thousand miles a minute in his chest. And perhaps it's just that he's drunk, but at least to him it feels like the only viable answer to the other's poetry is a truth long kept secret, held deliberately out of reach lest one of them accidentally fall into it. ]

Do you know, [ he murmurs against Alhaitham's lips, ] that I'm in love with you?

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