indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ 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?

[Ah, now that.

That is a very dangerous question.

So Alhaitham cups the back of Kaveh's head, and nuzzles his nose in a up and down motion, and maybe it's a nod, an affirmation, but he doesn't confirm it with his voice, nor denies it. Alhaitham knows that if he does reply that he knows, has always known, it'll be somewhat infuriating for Kaveh. He doesn't deny the flurry of irrational feelings thrumming his ribcage, making him antsy, the rush that goes through him when he's kissed and whispered their well-kept secret.

Because it is well-kept, so very tight and foolproofed. But what a rounded, well-assumed hypothesis would answer everything about them, the intimate decibels in their voices, the manoeuvres within their house. The ease with which the air slips between them, be it between their throats, or their bodies, weaves through their hair like Alhaitham often fixes Kaveh's pins and Kaveh arranges the cable from his headphones. It explains them, it justifies them—their moments, good or terrible. It lends reason to the long, leisured purse of Alhaitham's lips against Kaveh's, the sigh in the scribe's lungs as he kisses him meaningfully.]

Do you know? ['That I am? He tilts his head.]

[ 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 now— 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.

[Alhaitham does the unthinkable.

Because it is, in a way, an unthinkable act, and a manifestation of something that is not so much about rational thought, but of joy and delight.

He laughs, the corners of his lips tugging at him, folding the skin of his cheeks, unrelenting and unstoppable. Although the last of his row of low chuckles against Kaveh's mouth stops at a hitch, his body automatically responding to the span of the architect's fingers on him, the lock of their tangled legs tightening now that they're not fighting the inevitable gravity between them.]

Trying to make up for lost time? [Oh, he sounds breathless, and it's intriguing enough to make his eyebrows twitch for half a moment; he's never heard himself like this except when using or training with his swords, and even so, it's not the same.]

[ Kaveh's breath catches in response to that laugh, an answering chuckle of his own as his fingers press tighter, as a delightful shudder trips its way down his spine. Alhaitham sounds happy in a way that makes Kaveh giddy, has him pull back just enough that he can press kisses to the corners of that curved mouth, to the creases in Alhaitham's cheek. ]

Maybe, [ he confesses in answer to the question, nudging nose and lips against the other's cheek, another soft laugh on his lips before he finds his way back to Alhaitham's mouth, catching it in a soft kiss. ] Can you blame me?

[ After all, he's wanted this for so long— they've wanted this for so long; and now that they have it, he doesn't want to wait even for a moment. His hand shifts, fingers no longer anchoring against Alhaitham's thigh but spreading, cupping over his arousal and massaging him through the fabric, a low sound of pleasure on his lips as he does.

Oh, but he's dreamed of this. ]

[Perhaps the one thing that Alhaitham would refrain from ever admitting would be how surprised he is with how affectionate Kaveh is when kissing, searching for the little things on him as an excuse to press his lips to.

(and yet, and yet)

The Scribe shakes his head gently, eyes fond when they open just enough to look at the elation on his cheeks, on the softness of his eyes as he gasps for another laugh. There are no stars in Kaveh's eyes like literature claims there to be when one finds the truth about their feelings being reciprocated, and yet, here he is, still dazed when he finds them, the shade of red to his irises the most stunning he's seen them.

They did say that all artists tend to be in love.

It's enough for him to be distracted until the heel of Kaveh's palm is unmistakable, rubbing through already tight fabric and making his both his hips and his Adam's apple jolt with the sudden realization, his knee canting sideways to give the architect more room, his mouth opening but no sound coming out.

After a second, he leans in to capture Kaveh's ear between his lips, teasing the lobe between his teeth, the edges of his fingers slowly seeping down the waist of his pajamas.] We have time to spare.

[ There's just enough space between them when Kaveh's hand anchors between Alhaitham's legs that he's able to see the way his face moves in time with his hips, lips parting in a silent answer to the touch. It sends a delightful shudder down the blonde's spine, a smile finding his lips that he presses to Alhaitham's chin just as the younger turns his head away to catch his ear in a teasing bite.

Time to spare... sounds so luxurious to his mind after months— years— of pining. And yet— ]

I know. [ Despite the softness of agreement on his lips, the motion of his hand doesn't stop or even slow; Kaveh's head cants back with a sigh of pleasure as he continues rubbing his hand into Alhaitham's arousal. ] I know we have time, I'm gonna take advantage of that, but— mm.

[ His free hand reaches, tangles into the other's hair to hold him close, tongue darting out over lips that feel too dry. He wants to kiss him again, but right now he's enjoying the attention to his earlobe too, enough that it keeps him in place for a few moments more. ]

But right now I want to catch up. [ He chuckles, palm pressing in a little more firmly. ] Am I being too selfish?

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