indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[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—

[He'll add that to the numerous things he'll have to think about later, the thrill of seeing Kaveh flustered and flushed, cheeks trying to meet the crimson of his eyes, which scrunch closed in well-known, familiar frustration.

Well, not so well-known. Not when there's something equally as carmine begging for attention near Alhaitham's hand.

Instead, though, he settles his weight on an arm, brushes his roommate's hair back so he can take a closer look, and peer deep into those unruly eyes of his.] Oh? Would I joke at a time like this? You said you wanted me; I want to make sure you get what you want. After all, there are a lot of things I could be doing. [Fingers clasp around the curve of Kaveh's neck, a steady grip, a heavy pet; fingers splaying as much surface as he can in his as he thumbs over his Adam's apple, and then to the grove between his collarbones. He skims the back of his knuckles along the wing of bone toward a shoulder, and then feels and kneads at the flesh of a pec.] Well?

[ Kaveh's eyelids flutter, a breath of frustration of his lips as Alhaitham's fingers move over his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, his chest. Of all the willful, frustrating— ]

Fine. You want me to be accurate with my words? Don't be so fucking difficult— [ The last word, ground between his teeth, turns into something of a moan as he cants his hips up against the other, rutting into whatever part of his leg he can reach. ] Come on, Alhaitham—

[ He's horny to the point of frustrated, and yet somehow still unwilling to speak to his own desires, although at this point it's hard to say (even for himself) if he's being stubborn or shy. More likely, it's a little of both— a fact perhaps a little ironic considering where his mouth has just been. ]

Please.

[It all goes against his own rationality, how he leans in to kiss that 'please' away, as though it slips into Alhaitham's own palate, becomes part of him. He runs his tongue over his lower lip after nipping at it, aiming to soothe the hurt. A please as earnest as that isn't supposed to be said three times, but he feels like hearing a lot more of it now.]

I see. [He curls his fingers on Kaveh's hips, kneading none too gently, and then doing the same to the round of his behind as he rolls against his leg. He should be appointed Grand Sage just from how much mindfulness he's applying in a moment like this, when the Architect is underneath him so vividly wanting and needful. It would be, for sure, a lot more than any self-control Azar had ever shown.

Not that he wants to think about him right now. Instead, he gives Kaveh's cheek an experimental squeeze.] Is this it?

[Oh, how stubborn can he be...]

[ Kaveh's eyes roll back, lids fluttering, when his plea is answered not with what they both know he wants, but with Alhaitham's fingers curling on his hips and then his backside, as teeth and tongue bully and soothe his lower lip in turn. The sound he makes is somewhere between a whine and a groan, hips rocking up against his leg again, his hands coming to the other's chest to press, to scratch his demands (gently) into the skin. ]

Depends, [ he mutters darkly before he can stop himself, the sarcasm all too evident in his voice. ] How quick is your refractory period?

[ But even heady with alcohol, Kaveh knows that's a lot to ask. And so, stubborn to the end, he reaches for Alhaitham's wrist, pulling it between them, lowering it nearer to his aching arousal— all without a word. Then, a kiss to the other's sharp jaw. ]

Is that clear enough for you?

[Nails. There's something he hadn't considered before, in the quick instance between imagining these actions as a possibility and the actuality of doing them. It's his shock at the unexpected laced with the grate on his skin, leaving gentle pink stripes and curves where Kaveh's fingers dig into. Adding that to the way he sounds and he's almost losing his mind—]

Take a look for yourself. [Instead of snapping back with something equally clever, Alhaitham's lip twitches, still delighted to keep their back and forth even when their breathing is growing labored, Alhaitham's mouth running dry, and he points out at the obvious. This, he had expected, anticipated. His head tilts, grey hair canting side to reveal his left eye.] Yes, I am aware you have an erection. What do you want me to do about it?

Edited 2023-09-26 19:55 (UTC)

[ Alhaitham's response is met with a long, frustrated groan, Kaveh's frustration echoed in the way his hips rock up, seeking something the other is clearly intent on keeping from him for now. It's enough that it takes him several moments to process what the scribe actually said in the moments before that, answering a question that the blonde had only asked out of frustration. But when he does, he releases Alhaitham's wrist to reach for him instead.

Finding the other hard again demolishes any willpower Kaveh had left to keep fighting him. With another groan, he reaches up with both hands, cupping Alhaitham's face as he kisses him hard, an almost bruising pressure as he crushes their lips together. ]

Fuck me. [ It's breathed against the other's mouth, a tremble in his voice. ] Or— or let me fuck you, if it's what you prefer. I just... I want you. I wanna be with you. Please.

[At that, Alhaitham freezes. It's perhaps only a second. Half of it, even. Maybe even less so. The Scribe stops in his tracks, his nostrils flaring for that tiny instance—

—and his arms instead come to wrap tightly around Kaveh's middle and torso, his face burrowing against the architect's neck. Maybe Kaveh will be able to see a shade darker on a patch of Alhaitham's neck, the back of his ears. He only takes a deep, lung-rattling breath, as he squeezes the man in his arms like he's never before.

(Maybe, just maybe, he's done something similar when the darkest waves of grief hit one of them back then...)]

In a moment. I will. Just. One minute.

[ Kaveh feels rather than sees the way Alhaitham freezes, and for the barest of moments assumes that he's said the wrong thing— it would hardly be the first time, after all— but then arms wrap tightly around his middle, the other man's face pressing into his neck, and the blonde bites back a soft gasp. ]

Haitham—?

[ His fingers lift, running through the scribe's hair and over his neck, feeling the heat in his skin as well as he can see it, and a fond smile comes to his lips, answering the embrace with a press of his mouth against the top of Alhaitham's head.

The last time they were this close—

Mm, he doesn't want to think about it. ]

Of course. [ It's a murmur, his voice sweet with affection. ] Take as long as you need, okay? I'm here.

[There are no words in any language that truly encompass what he's feeling. There are innumerous ways he could describe his heartrate, his breathing, the heat he feels on the highs of his cheek, the way he tightens his arms around his roommate when he feels the moisture of his breath brush against his scalp. Alhaitham can't give meaning to the thrum inside him, to the bloom of his mouth against the pulse on Kaveh's neck, feeling that heartbeat feed into the rush of his Alhaitham's bloodstream.

So he doesn't. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't because he knows what it all means, has known for so long.

Alhaitham only draws back just enough so he can kiss Kaveh again. And it's nothing special, really. It's a mere purse of his lips where he captures the architect's lower one between them, breathes deep and shivers with his eyes half fluttered open and heavy. The meaning is there, in the mingle of their breaths, in the curl of his fingers as he brushes the back of his knuckles on Kaveh's cheek.]

[ His sigh is one of content as their lips touch, a tenderly sweet kiss that lingers between them as Alhaitham's knuckles brush against his cheek, as Kaveh's fingers reach up to catch that hand in his. Despite the fact that just a moment ago, he was whining and rutting in desperation, that his erection is still straining flushed and aching against his stomach, he's not thinking about how much he needs right now— his mind is focused on the sudden softness about the other man.

And where anyone else at all might be confused by the sudden change, Kaveh just smiles. ]

I love you too, [ he murmurs, another sweetly soft kiss against Alhaitham's mouth, a squeeze of his fingers around the other's hand. Unlike the scribe, the architect needs the words, needs to have them in the space between their lips, sweet with promise. ] I'm sorry it took me so long to say it.

[ He sighs again, offering a brush of his tongue over Alhaitham's lower lip, a pleased hum on his own. ]

[Alhaitham's mouth unfurls around Kaveh's tongue, suckles on it teasingly.

It's only for a second, though, his open eyes fluttering closed when he deepens the kiss, all of his thoughts gone, instead remain all he feels, wanting to make them as tangible, palpable as possible.

Kaveh may need them, and he promises to tell them, somehow, perhaps in another instance where it's all he can whisper into his ear, delirious by their shared warmth and their bodies no longer suffering from the pangs of the hunger for each other. Alhaitham's fingers skim over a hip and hook Kaveh's thigh around his waist, pressing close into the cradle of his hips. The motion brings them closer, closer still, and their lengths press against each other and he groans deeply into Kaveh's mouth.

He hates that he has to pull back.] Do you have—?

[Stuff. Things. Whatever you use to prepare yourself with, is what he means.]

[ Of course, when Kaveh hears the words from Alhaitham, he'll be overjoyed— but where he knows he needs to say them aloud himself, at least for now he's okay with the fact that the other hasn't. He knows Alhaitham, knows that despite his love of words, he's not as quick to use them as others might be, waiting for the place and time he deems worthy of them.

And besides: the poetry, the kisses, the return of the question before— in his own way, the other has already told him, hasn't he?

So he's utterly content as he leans into the kiss, heart pounding in his chest, arms lifting to circle the other's shoulders, a movement he's forced to undo in the next moment when Alhaitham pulls back from him just as they're brought together in a way that makes Kaveh curse meaningfully against the sound groaned into his mouth.

Does he have—

It takes his brain a moment or two to unfog enough that he can process the words. ] Yeah. [ He hates that he has to pull back even further, putting space between them as he shifts across the bed to open a drawer in his sidetable and resurfacing in the next moment with a vial of an oil flavored with the barest touch of vanilla.

He turns, looking back at Alhaitham. ]

Can you? [ he asks, the sweetness in his voice an odd contrast to the arousal swollen and flushed against his abdomen. ] Or do you need me to?

[Now, that he's crawling over and away from him, tan lines from those loose clothes Kaveh likes to wear displayed before him, and Alhaitham understands why his roommate had decided to kiss at his stomach when he struggled with his shirt.

He leans in, pressing kisses and nips along each dent of his spine, up until Kaveh moves back and he manoeuvers them, a man on a mission and mouthing at that silly v-shape over the wing of Kaveh's shoulderblade. Wrapped arm around his waist, another underneath Kaveh's head, making sure the architect is well-pressed with his back against Alhaitham's chest, the Scribe nuzzles his hair away as he shows his hand in front of him, his mouth settling behind his ear.] Guide me.

[ Ah— and now it's Kaveh's turn to be caught off-guard. The gasp on his lips very much echoes the one Alhaitham made earlier, a flush of color warming his cheeks as the other's ministrations very nearly distract him from the task at hand. But he's successful in the end, rewarded in the way he's tugged back against the other man, lips at his ear and the scribe's arousal pressing up against the cleft of his ass. It's enough to make him whine out even as he nods, presses the vial into the other's fingers, shifts his hips and legs just enough that Alhaitham will have the access he needs. ]

Put it on your fingers. [ His voice is breathy, words strained with his need. ] Lots of it— if you think it's enough, it's probably not. And then you're gonna stretch me open.

[ His mouth feels dry. Gods, it's all he can do not to writhe in anticipation. The thought of Alhaitham pressing those fingers into him, agonizingly slow— ]

You can start with two. [ Responsible? No. Answering his desire? Also no, but closer to yes than it would be if he told Alhaitham to start with one. ] I can take it.

[Difficult, to not rush through all of this when Kaveh says that he wants him to stretch him open, with two fingers because he can take it. What really balances out and reels Alhaitham back is the way Kaveh says it, nervous and expectant alike, his breath hitching when he rolls his hips just an increment tighter, how warm he feels against him. He could sleep like this. He wants to sleep like this. Maybe they will. ]

[He mouths along the shell of his ear while opening the vial and letting the oil ooze down his fingers.] Tsh, it's gotten everywhere, [he mutters as he stretches the arm under Kaveh's head to place the container on the bedside, rubs the slick substance along the length of his middle and forefinger with his thumb.] It'll be a problem if we have to use all of it.

[He shifts behind Kaveh, his dry hand coming to curl over the top of his hairline, bringing his head back, his neck to arch, maneuvering it just enough so he can lap at the length of his lips.

He's always been a ridiculously quick study.] I thought you said we had time. [He says as he circles the pad of his fingers along the brim of his ass.] What made you change your mind, Senior?

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