indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ 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?

[The groan he releases could blend with a scoff, probably carries half of its dismissal.]

No… [He presses his mouth to his ear, tilting away just enough to clear his throat, and attempt at filtering the breaks of his voice.] You've never—[so much for that. That almost sounds like a wheeze.

He wants to tell him, wants to tell Kaveh that he's never once seen him being selfish or too selfish ever, that was Alhaitham's idiosyncrasy, not his. Kaveh who delivers himself over and over until he's scattered too thin for the sake of kindness and rightness, finding purpose in others but never within himself. Maybe he should tell him to be selfish for once in his life, to do of Alhaitham what he well-pleased, to tell him finally, taunt him into action once more. But Alhaitham feels heated, his mouth fumbles on the number of things he could say, even more so because of the alcohol, his mind quicker than his body, and Kaveh's hand—and he's always, always been good with his hands and—

Kaveh does end up having his kiss, with Alhaitham's throat releasing what is almost gravel rolling across flooring as protest for his own lack of eloquence. Even if he wants this, he never really expected that he'd be this quickly affected, so taken into the riptide of their heated whispers, the warmth of Kaveh's eyes; there's a crease between his brows deepening as he nips on his roommate's lower lip. The Scribe has wanted this for years, though he rarely ventured into the possibility of the what ifs and what could be's, for his own sake, for the sake of the (apparently elusive to everyone else) heart thrumming underneath his ribs. It should figure, that his tendency to be relatively unphased would be shattered with the delighted hum of Kaveh's throat when he plays with his ear, with the scrape of his nails on his scalp.

A thought comes to mind, within the syrup sweetness of their bodies pressed together, and it spurs him into action. He's not really being selfish, is he?

His fingers cross the threshold of Kaveh's waistband, and wrap around his erection. It takes a bit of surveying, checking length, girth, the surprising softness of that thin skin, the weight of it in the circle of his digits, but when he does shape his hand into a grip, it's firm, determined, and he begins stroking it straight away.]

Then I should catch up, too. [He purses his mouth chastely against the corner of Kaveh's mouth.] Right, Senior?

[ They are fated, it seems, to undo one another. Kaveh delights in the sound of Alhaitham's words falling to pieces under the swell that engulfs them, in the husky sound that rolls from his throat into their kiss in response to the frustration, in the drumming of the scribe's heart against the press of their chests. When it comes down to it, it doesn't matter what exactly Alhaitham was going to say; Kaveh understands his intent, glows with it, answers it with each soft press of his lips into their kiss. The idea that all he needed, this whole time, was something already within his power—

Archons, it's intoxicating. Alhaitham is intoxicating. Kaveh intends to tell him as much— but then it's his turn to dissolve under the other's affection, the words catching on naught but air as his roommate's— lover's?— hand slips under his waistband and curls around him, stroking with a firm kind of determination that has the blonde's eyes roll back in his head, makes a trembling curse word trip from his mouth.

His own hand stutters to a temporary halt, the fingers in the other's hair tightening, and he answers the question— disarming as it is— with a series of quick, hungry kisses. ]

Gods, Alhaitham... this is when you finally decide to call me senior?

[ Ah, but— fuck, how is he meant to focus like this?

With a shuddering moan, he breaks free of their kiss, heated cheeks pressing into the crook of Alhaitham's neck, tongue laving over the mark he's left there as if it will ground him; as he does, both hands unwind, mimicking his younger partner's moves in finding the waistband of his pants, displacing it enough that one hand might slide beneath, taking a firm hold of his erection in turn. ]

Consider this... mm, a reward for paying due respect.

[ His hand trembles, the overwhelming feeling of his own pleasure distracting him somewhat, but his grip remains solid as he answers Alhaitham's rhythm in kind, moaning lowly into his throat. The scribe isn't the only one who's wanted this for years; Kaveh has thought about this too often, dreamed of it, and he's not about to let himself be swallowed up whole by the sensations. ]

[It's the flutter of his nerves like hummingbird wings under his lungs that makes his breath hitch, almost close to a laugh, his lips twitching against that golden silky hair, and he releases a slow, stuttering exhale when Kaveh finally grabs his length and begins stroking him in kind, a reciprocal motion rather than his own and yet perfect.

Alhaitham knows what he knows, what he doesn't know, he knows that there's an even wider extent of what he doesn't know that he doesn't know, and this…

… he's not sure where it falls into. He's not sure he wants to categorize it yet.

All he does know, is that Kaveh's weight over him makes him feel grounded, attuned to the present and the material, the palpable, in a way that he's never once been. His warmth seeps into his own, and he wonders if the other hears his heartbeat, with how strongly it seems to beat he hears it in his temples.]

Should I, ah, call you Light of Kshahrewar, instead? [He's insufferable, still, a slight edge of a smile to his teeth as he groans into the side of his head, above his ear. He squeezes the grip on him just slightly when the architect's palm brushes a spot on his underside, and he presses his thumb to mirror on Kaveh's.] Do you like hearing that?

Alhaitham—!

[ It's a sound half-cry of shock and embarrassment, half-moan, and Kaveh punctuates it with a sharp, punishing nip to the scribe's skin even as his hips stutter unbidden upwards into the other's touch. The idea of being called "Light of the Kshahrewar" is embarrassing at the best of times, much less from the man currently atop his bed with him, it invites admiration on a level the blonde is never fully okay with, much less ready to hear.

(And yet— and yet— something about the way Alhaitham says it, voice edged with a smile and punctuated with a groan, fingers squeezing slightly as they caress and stroke his erection—) ]

F-Fuck. [ Kaveh whimpers, the movements of his hand stuttering in the same rhythm as his own hips, and for a moment he pauses, breathes hard into the other man's skin as he tries to find his bearings again. It's too, too easy to get overwhelmed by something as simple as words, as a touch, especially when those words, those touches, come from someone for whom Kaveh has been waiting— ]

If you're going to call me that, you have to understand that I'm going to call you Grand Sage, [ he adds after a moment, and if he deliberately leaves off the "Acting" part on purpose when he references the job Alhaitham has already quit (and he does leave it off on purpose), he'll never confess to it. He laughs into the other's neck, and being the source of the teasing this time gives him back enough wherewithal to start moving his hand once more; this time, he works a little fasters, twisting his hand around the other's arousal as it moves in quickened strokes, and there's another moan on Kaveh's lips at the heat of it in his grip. ]

[It's a marvel, really, the utterance of his name half aghast. The slickness wetting and smearing his palm and fingers, the sweet ache in his skin when enamel sinks deeper into it. Alhaitham keeps his eyes open for all of it, capturing the blush on Kaveh's ear, the stutters of his hand and the heavy breathing raising his shoulders and pressing further against his chest.

The curse. It's yet another wonder, that Alhaitham would cause him to react like this. And not out of anger, not out of shock, but of utter delight and not knowing what to do with it.

His breath hitches once the pace increases, and Alhaitham does gasp, unable to stop his lungs from trying to reach for more air. Enough that his chest pangs softly. He's truly never felt like this before.] Wait—

[He scoots himself higher, pulls Kaveh into another kiss as he grabs the back of his thigh, pulls him with him as he sets his shoulders on the headboard. It feels cold on his heated back. He's probably flushed. He feels flushed. He doesn't care.

He nudges their lips apart as he finalizes a kiss, and then another, and another.] I'm not a Sage. [He shakes his head, squeezes the round of the architect's rear before sliding his hand up his back.]

[ The movement gives Kaveh space to breathe, a soft sound on his lips as he's pulled further up the bed with Alhaitham, answering the squeeze of the other's hands on the fullness of his backside with a low groan, with kisses eager and wanting pressed in kind into the scribe's mouth. And for a singular moment, he thinks about turning it into an argument— not one just for the sake of arguing, but to tell the other man that he's of more importance than he allows others to see him, that maybe he's not a sage but he could be—

Yet, as much as Kaveh those things, wants Alhaitham to see himself the way Kaveh sees him, there's a part of him motivated (selfishly, despite the other's belief that the blonde has not a self-serving bone in his body) by the pleasure of what they're doing, the fear of ruining it by saying all the wrong things.

And so he chuckles instead as answer to the other's objection, a sound kiss and a hum of acquiescence, hand slipping back into its previous position now that they're secured against the headboard. Fingers press over the tip of his arousal, a low moan into the other's mouth at the leaking wetness he feels on his fingers, and—

Mm.

Kaveh breaks the kiss and unwinds his grip on the other, pushing himself away enough that he can curl fingers around the waistband of Alhaitham's pants, tugging them over his hips— and he tries, genuinely, not to stare, but he can't quite help himself. ]

Alhaitham, [ he murmurs, voice rough with lust, and his crimson eyes dark with the same as they lift back to the other's face. ] Will you tell me what you like? Where you prefer to go— what you prefer to do?

[ A strange question, perhaps, when their first kiss led Kaveh to wonder after the other's level of experience— but more than anything he wants them to be on the same page, especially with this. ]

[Had Kaveh started to tell him how much of a Sage he could be, Alhaitham would know how to reply. It's not that he doesn't know that he could be a Sage, that he has the skills, the knowledge, the ethos and the reputation for it. But he doesn't want to, not when Acting as one in the interim was a thankless job, but it was more than what he wanted, and more trouble than he could care for. He knows that Kaveh, himself, would be able to become one, possibly even find some sort of fulfilment with it. But there's also the risk of him spreading himself too thin, like the way he keeps kissing him, moans into him, touching Alhaitham and then promptly moving his hands away to draw his trousers low, away from the Scribe and asking silly little questions.

He doesn't answer, not immediately. He merely cradles Kaveh's jaw and kisses that roughness away from his voice, wanting those darkened eyes to flutter closed. He doesn't even wonder if he's looking the same, if his pupils are blown wide, if his voice sounds thick. Merely lets his tongue do the talking as it leisurely curls on the architect's, traces the edge of his teeth.

(He's a very fast learner.)

Eventually, though, even if dazed, he does draw back and shifts his hips to let those pants be tugged off. He doesn't really know what he prefers, he's never really done this with anyone.]

I don't know… I prefer you with no clothes, too. [Drunkenness, perhaps, makes him allow for this, tugging at those pajama pants as well. They're a lot easier to move than his own.]

[ It's not quite what he meant, and he's pretty sure Alhaitham knows as much, but Kaveh is in no position to complain when the words are being kissed out of his mouth, when the scribe is reaching for him to remove his pants in turn. Of the two of them, the blonde has a more difficult job ahead of him, but he's nothing if not stubborn, and between that and the shift of Alhaitham's hips he has the tools he needs to do it.

Of course, it's hardly fair that "no clothes" for Kaveh literally means naked, where Alhaitham at least is still in his underwear once the architect finally works his pants over his hips. And so without giving himself time to pause and admire the outline of the other's arousal pushing against his underclothes, or to get too distracted by the feeling of the other's hands working at his own remaining clothing, he reaches to pull at those too, watching as the scribe's arousal is freed from its confines.

A fast learner Alhaitham indeed is, and it gives Kaveh a thought, the blonde's carmine eyes lifting languidly to meet his junior's, a lazy smile curving the corners of his mouth as he takes the scribe in hand once more, a smooth rhythm of strokes punctuating his words. ]

If you don't know... looks like I need to figure it out. [ It's said with a smile, and Kaveh darts in to press one quick kiss against Alhaitham's lips before pulling away again, further this time unless the other tries to stop him, intent on hunching over his lap and showing him one way he can bring him pleasure. ]

[Kaveh's skin under his fingers keeps changing its texture, from warm and soft to cool and smooth to something he doesn't have the chance to really parse, and he does let out a noise of complaint, wanting to feel more of that under his fingers, moving in only to be interrupted by a few tugs on his erection that do a wonderful job of getting him to gasp, Kaveh looking like the cat that got the cream, and—

Archons, the breath he draws in makes his teeth snap with how rattling it is at the sight of his roommate leaning over to take him into his mouth, and he needs to cover his mouth even if he goes perfectly still, perfectly quiet as though he's afraid of ruining the moment, ruining the heat of Kaveh's breath on his own skin, the way he brackets himself in the cradle of his hips.

He does reach out, eventually, his fingers stroking his hair away from his eyes, tracing the shell of his ear and down his neck, with a whisper.] Kaveh…

[ There's a slight smile on Kaveh's lips at the sound Alhaitham makes as his breath ghosts over the end of his arousal, at the way the other man tenses up as if afraid to move; with a sweet sound on his tongue he takes him into his mouth, starting with the tip alone before drawing him in deeper, one hand bracing against the other's thighs. A shudder dances through his veins when fingers reach to sweep his hair back from his face, to brush and caress over his skin, and Kaveh rewards him with a lowering of his head, drawing more of the other between his lips.

His tongue curls, dragging against the skin as he starts to move in a slow but steady rhythm, a low hum of pleasure on his lips. And what gag reflex won't allow him to take right now, he cups with the hand not helping him balance, stroking him in a counterrhythm.

Like this, he can't talk, but his eyes flick up, trying to catch what he can of the other's expression, something like a question in his eyes— was it worth the momentary complaint, he wonders, humming lowly again. ]

[He almost doesn't answer, his core is tight as a vice, his legs sitting very still. The back of Alhaitham's head bumps the headboard of the bed, but he doesn't care, not when he's trying his best not to fist his fingers into the bedsheets, not to roll his hips further into the warmth of Kaveh's mouth.

The humming, doesn't help, and the Scribe swallows down something that could may as well be his heart—that's ridiculous, that's no way humanly impossible.

It's only when Kaveh hums again in questioning that he realizes that he had scrunched his eyes shut, and the view from his angle is—

He's not coming back from this. Kaveh's lips glisten in the low light. His dark eyelashes fan over the highs of his flushed cheeks and they're not coming back from this.

All he can think of is the words he once read when Kaveh's mother sent him books from Fontaine:

'Aprés moi, le déluge.'

He cradles Kaveh's cheek and lets his thumb touch the corner of Kaveh's lips, his own parting with a hiss as he touches along his length being engulfed again. Feels the hollowing of his cheeks as he pulls back. He's mesmerizing. No one should look this beautiful with a dick in their mouth.

The tension easily stretches so thin it's threatening to break.] Kaveh—don't overdo it.

[ As focused as he is on what he's doing, the tautness in Alhaitham's body is obvious. He can feel the way the other is deliberately holding himself still, perhaps forcing himself not to follow instinct and move; he can see the way the scribe's eyes are scrunched up, the way they take a moment to focus once they open, something dark and needy in them that matches the heat written over his cheeks.

He murmurs something in Fontainian, something Kaveh can't quite understand, and touches his face in a way almost reverent, a hiss on his lips that sends shudders of pleasure down the blonde's spine. "Don't overdo it," he says, and the architect wonders what exactly he means—

Is he wound tightly enough that he's afraid to burst?

With a sharp intake of breath, a soft pop of his lips, Kaveh pulls back, breath ghosting over the flushed, leaking tip of Alhaitham's arousal as he tilts his head, curiosity finding his features as his tongue traces his swollen lips. ]

It's okay, [ he says. ] I wanna take you apart, Alhaitham. I want you to feel good. Like you said: we have time.

[ And he lowers himself over the other man again, bracing himself against his thighs once more as he begins to move in a smooth, quick rhythm, eyes still despite the urge to let them sink shut; he wants to see Alhaitham's face as he tips over the precipice, as he caves to the pleasure Kaveh is offering. ]

[Kaveh's lips catch the soft amber light of Kaveh's bedroom, glistening right next to his weeping cock, the plane of his shoulders spread wide to brace himself on the Scribe's thighs. Kaveh looks like a Rishboland Tiger when they curl down to drink from a river. He's as hot as a summer night, Alhaitham realizes, his lungs aching as though his ribs threaten to break.

He wants to take him apart, he says, unaware that Alhaitham is already crumbling down.

His eyes prickle to stop them from fluttering closed with the sensation of heat and pressure and the look of Kaveh's eyelashes casting shadows over his eyes, the red peering right at him and the flush of his cheeks. If Kaveh wants to watch him, then he's going to give him what he wants. Alhaitham reaches, brushes Kaveh's hair back and away from his face, cradling his cheeks gently and skimming his thumb over his skin, tenderly so, as he rolls his hips just an increment into his mouth with a grunt through his teeth.] Close...

[ Alhaitham's fingers brush through his hair, caress over his skin, his hips roll in the barest of movements as he grunts out a warning, and Kaveh is in heaven. It's music to his ears, something he has wanted for the longest time; dreamed about night after night without daring to voice it aloud; his own arousal aches with the pleasure of it, hips trembling with the effort of holding himself together, and he wonders if it would be possible to come untouched from naught but the other's sounds.

With his ability to speak taken away, he can't tell the other man that it's alright, to let go— even to use his hips more if he wants— and so he does his best to let his body answer on his behalf, a smile behind his eyes as he redoubles his efforts, taking the other deep enough that he nearly chokes.

A moment, and he starts to move in earnest, filling the room with the lewd, filthy sounds of mouth against skin.

Fall apart, he wants to say. Fall apart for me. ]

Edited 2023-09-16 12:51 (UTC)

[He had expected Kaveh to pull back with his warning, to perhaps stroke him to the rest of his completion, and not to go forth with this—fellatio, his mind would remind him of the word later with the strangest case of clarity after a moment of nothing at all—with even more gusto, like an overexcited maestro who would push forward his orchestra with repetitive once more, with feeling. Alhaitham lets out a sharp breath through his teeth, his legs folding to frame Kaveh's shape on his bed, and really, of all things to expect, this was in the very little realm of possibility in the Scribe's calculations.

Except it's Kaveh. He tends to bring those tiny breaches of the unlikely into fruition with an elegant flare of his fingers, a glint in his eye. It's what made him so mesmerizing in the first place.

Though as mesmerizing as it is, Alhaitham can't help the flutter of his eyes at the build-up, the arch of his back and the roll of his hips as the tension in his core stretches so thin it snaps apart, and his eyes do fly open, emptily looking at the ceiling of Kaveh's bedroom, when he does come undone with a soft, almost silent hiss, and a stutter to his hips, his fingers tangled in the golden locks of the architect's hair, and nothing, absolutely nothing in his mind.]

[ As measured as it is, there's something about Alhaitham's reaction that assures Kaveh that he wasn't prepared for the blonde to commit wholly rather than pull back; somehow, it's more attractive than anything he's seen from him so far, the sharp breath ground through his teeth as his back arches, as his hips roll in the same moment that saline musk floods Kaveh's mouth. Fingers tangle in his hair, and he swallows, eyelids fluttering as his tongue works gentle over the other once, twice, easing him through the pleasure before he finally pulls back.

The empty look on Alhaitham's face isn't lost on him, and the smile that curls his lips is a fond one. And he wants to kiss him, but he has no idea how Alhaitham might react to the taste of his own completion on his lips, so Kaveh's body stretches, mouth finding the underside of his jaw instead, pressing adoring kisses along the skin as his fingers splay over the hard muscle of his pectorals. ]

That was quite the show, Haitham, [ he murmurs, and his voice is huskier than normal, wrecked with the effort of taking Alhaitham deep, rich with content and yet still trembling with his own arousal. ] How are you feeling?

[He wants to laugh. For someone who has a reputation of being callous, blunt, unfeeling, and for someone who people automatically assume he has everything under control so they barely never ask, Alhaitham is asked how he is feeling exactly when he can't really put his finger on his own state. His mind is simultaneously blank, reeling with a clarity that he hadn't found even when he took care of himself to ease the tension in his body, to get his libido out of the way when the blonde decided to do something that, for some unfathomable reason, made Alhaitham stir. One time it was the way he tucked his hair behind his ear. Another was when he got a glimpse of his back muscles when arranging the light fixtures to some odd angle because it made the room look "better" somehow. It was the crease between his brows as he thought, the way he snapped his fingers, the way he snapped his teeth—

And said blonde is crawling back up his body, putting those thoughts again to a stop. He probably has no idea the power he has.

So instead of answering—he couldn't, really, give an answer that he wouldn't deem embarrassing for someone like him—he cradles the back of Kaveh's head, pulls him up to a kiss, the warmth he had previously felt and the taste of himself in his mouth just enough of an encouragement to rolling them over and thumbing at the crease of his hip.] Tell me what you want.

[ The sound Kaveh makes, when Alhaitham pulls him into a kiss, is something closer to a whimper than anything else; he truly wasn't expecting the other to be comfortable with it, and yet he does it without any hesitation, draws Kaveh to him and captivates him the way he always does (and Archons, how amazed he would be to learn of the power the other sees in him, because under Alhaitham's touch he feels weak, has always felt weak).

He chuckles into the other's lips as he's rolled, pressed under him with a hand thumbing at his hip, and Kaveh's blink in response to the words is slow, the blonde almost dazed with the question. ]

What I want?

[ His fingers brush at Alhaitham's silver hair, pushing it back from his face in the same way the other did his gold before. Truthfully, what he wants most he's just made temporarily impossible with his own fervor— so he laughs again, nudges his nose fondly against the other's before kissing him again, a tender catch of their lips. ]

I want you. I don't care how, Alhaitham— it's enough that it's you. So... whatever you're comfortable with.

[It seems as though they're bound to surprise each other over and over like this, with small whimpers, sharp gasps, arched eyebrows and widened eyes. And it's all so new, the way he watches his thumb skim over hipbone, only to trace on the juncture where Kaveh's thigh meets torso, his fingers kneading tightly as he sighs into the architect's mouth.

And how unsurprising, and beautifully familiar, for Kaveh to not voice his wants and needs and nudge the spotlight to try and shine a light on Alhaitham's.

It's a good thing he's used to this, has perfected this into an art.] It seems we're at an impasse.

[He tilts his head into the touch of his hair, chasing after more of it.] I don't know what I want, or what I should be doing. So I guess you'll have to tell me. Where do you want me to touch you?

[ Despite himself, despite everything, a scowl darkens Kaveh's pretty face. He meant what he said when he told Alhaitham he'd be happy with anything—! It wasn't an invitation for the other to push or probe at him, even if he does it with a tilt of his head into Kaveh's touch, a look on his face so perfectly content that any other time the blonde would melt for it.

He's still trying to work out what to say in his own defense when the other continues, asks for specifics, and the noise the architect makes is indignant, a flush heating his cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut, caught somewhere between aroused, embarrassed, and frustrated. ]

Alhaitham, you're joking— [ He's not joking, Kaveh knows that. He's being difficult. Stubborn. Proving a point. The blonde whines. ] You know where I want you to touch—

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