The bathroom's sterile atmosphere and the scent of soap and cleanliness surround him as he waits, his sleepiness waning
Kaveh is already preparing himself and Alhaitham watches him, the sight of his familiar movements, the gentle precision of his hands, riveting in its own right. His fingers graze over Alhaitham's shoulders and back and the touch is electrifying and familiar, a reminder of the countless times they've been there against Alhaitham's skin, and he knows how deft they are at drawing numerous drawings on his skin, and how tight they get when they clench and grapple hard against his flesh. Alhaitham's breath catches for a fleeting moment, but he forces himself to focus on the objective practicality of the situation, even if his previous claim of 'not feeling like it' has been proven absolutely wrong. His gaze briefly meets Kaveh's as he carries a veneer of casualness at the rare compliment.
He knows he wants. There are so many combinations of those three words he can weave together from this moment alone.
His eyes lock on Kaveh's for a while and then slip down to where the architect's collarbone is instead.
Nothing in life could have ever prepared his him for everything Alhaitham makes him feel. He's more than what he should consider family. He's someone who can actually build fruitful conversations with, and speak on his level. Alhaitham's gaze puts a wrench in him that nearly has him spilling all his guts and yet he fears coming to face the reality he very much rejects. Or Alhaitham's many: I told you so.
He can't comprehend how those words could equate to affection, even if they stem from it.
He has him sit on the stool in the shower: water is turned off of course and Kaveh decides on leaving his shirt outside by the sink in case it gets wet. He gently lets water rinse off the sweat of the night, soothing his healing wound and any dead skin.
The language of geniuses is the hardest language yet because definitions differ.
He squeezes water off of the small towel and starts dabbing away around his shoulders, careful to avoid the largest gash stretching across his back. His muscles are still there despite his inactivity. Kaveh longs to drape his arms around him, but for now this will do. "Going out will be good."
The towel is damp and has the faintest trace of warmth that teases gooseskin onto Alhaitham's shoulders. Still, he can't help but appreciate the touch, the gentleness and care from those fingers. Would that Kaveh treat himself the way he's treating Alhaitham right then, but he doesn't linger too much into that thought. He merely leans into it, his muscles relaxing with Kaveh's gentle ministrations. The touch is more than just physical, it sends Alhaitham's brain into overdrive of memories, of everything that transcends the mundane, and is wrapped in the domesticity that they once had, that still remains between them like a stain from rusted materials.
As Kaveh works, Alhaitham tilts his head slightly. Looking up and over his shoulder at the architect, watching him frown as he works. There's a momentary impulse to lean back against him, to seek the comfort and familiarity of their closeness. To ask for those arms to wrap around him. Still, he stops, caught in the whirlwind of his own emotions, the riptide of yearning that threatens to pull him under.
He must be exhausted. Alhaitham barely stops himself, but does so. Instead, he offers a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a subtle sign of his longing. "Will you go with me?"
The question is almost offensive in a way. Had Kaveh not been the one to practically beg him to get out of bed for a nice day out? He doesn't hold it against him, but it doesn't stop him from commenting: "The Scribe can be so idiotic sometimes. I'm obviously coming with you." What if there's someone waiting to ambush him in the city? They didn't finish off everyone back then.
He pauses for a long moment while tending to the soapy residue on his shoulder-blades, cleaning it off of him and then his shoulders. He squeezes the towel from water over them to better let everything run down his back. "You look tense and all you've done is sleep. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need a massage?" Any excuse to touch him is good enough in his eyes, but long years of lectures haunt him. While some debates are great for the minds, others keep repelling him.
"Oh, obviously you haven't had enough of me, yet, hu—"
The water droplets from the cleaning cascade down his back, creating a contrast of heat and coolness that sends shivers through his body he groans, hunches, and tries his best not to tense the site of his injury and Alhaitham sees this as a touché. He sighs, still, admonished but not defeated.
The offer of a massage is too tempting to resist. Alhaitham has been cared for and handled plenty already, but now he feels petulant, willful. Perhaps it's selfish of him. "I may take you up on that."
"Hmph," I never get enough of you. He scolds himself about it and how it could all solve itself if he were to apologize. "Is that so," comes out dry, drastically contradicting the warmth on his hands as he pumps out the essence ointment. It has the double agent of treating his healing scar, too: safe and creamy against any skin surface. Kaveh inches closer on the bucket he's sitting on behind Alhaitham, running down his palms over his shoulders to begin and squeezing delicately down his biceps.
Touching him is always surreal to him. That the gods blessed this man in every possible way is a simple statistical miracle. Too bad his personality suffered along the way, yet Kaveh doesn't truly think of it as an imperfection. He welcomes the difference, he even protects it when it's strangers taking jabs at their Scribe. "Relax, will you?" He says while gliding fingers over to his nape, pushing his thumbs at either side of his spine and treading up to the base of his skull, "and you better not fall asleep on me."
Only each of them is allowed to talk about their grievances of the other. Alhaitham had realized this before when he was about to walk around the curve of the central pillar of the House of Daena to find Kaveh about to rip some other scholar's eyes out for referring to a rumour about something along the lines of Alhaitham's 'preferential treatment' amongst the Sages. Such a ludicrous thing has not even worth paying attention to, and yet, Kaveh, the Light of the Kshahrewar, not a penny to his name, making a ruckus about how Alhaitham, of all people, had no connections to anyone to place him at an advantageous position in the Akademiya. Even Alhaitham's own criticism of the Architect was not without its tone of fondness, of acceptance, in a way.
Acceptance which would be welcome now, when Kaveh's fingers dig into his muscles, and all he can think is how good they feel. His head cants low, down with a groan and a hiss at how they feel on the back of his neck, sending swirls of pleasurable ache to the back of his fluttering closed eyes and loosening his jaw. "Ah, so telling someone to relax—actually helps the other person do it, now?"
“Yes, it does,” he replied as a stern thumb glides down the crook of his neck. He uses both hands to gently squeeze it, hoping to reap the stress that has been accumulating in bed for ages now.
All the hammering and work comes in handy when it comes to this. Delicate as he seems, his grip and precision is surgical. His care is boundless. Listening to Alhaitham groan like this puts a smile on his face— good thing he can’t see it.
Fingertips steadily work around the large scar, tracing the vivid pinkness of it. He’s a lot more gentle now as he caresses down every bone on his spine and over every knotted muscle. “You have to consciously hear someone tell you. Then your brain clicks into action.”
After a few minutes of that and watching the back of his head hang in delight, he begins to wonder if it’s enough to stop here. His hands slide carefully down his sides and over his thighs. He rests his chin on his shoulder so he can look down.
"So why do you say it doesn't when I—" a clear of his throat. Those fingers really do wonders. Alhaitham does entertain himself often just observing how Kaveh uses his hands on a daily basis, snapping his fingers, running them in his hair, splaying them when pressing rolls of floorplans down, holding a glass, but the way they feel is just an added bonus to an already presence and (not-so-)subtle fixation. "When I tell you to relax?"
Of course, they're going to argue, even when the Scribe is being handled like Kaveh is trying to test the give of clay, and he does give, does allow himself to be molded to the architect's content.
His stomach clenches instinctively when those hands glide over the sensitive skin of his sides. He can feel Kaveh being happy about the result, and yet, as he presses close behind him and those fingers venture further than his hips, he takes a deep breath.
Anyone would consider that they should probably be embarrassed, with how easy he is being. And yet, that doesn't even cross Alhaitham's mind. Not when he knows what he wants and needs so well, not when he can lean his head against Kaveh's and he settles back against him in full deliverance. "If I ever do, I will."
Deep inside, he's the pathetic one. Still having to live under Alhaitham's roof without a way to stand firm on his decisions. He puts all the energy into making his projects have the best foundations and yet he's the one crumbling on his feet. "I don't want to argue," he mumbles as Alhaitham leans against him like butter. Kaveh normally braces himself for rejection despite all the positive reception from him. After everything, he can't say he would blame him if he were to say no and permanently leave another scar in his heart.
If he will lose him tomorrow, then he better touch him all he can today.
His fingers sprawl widely over the muscles of his thighs before pulling back on his hips, then sliding over his abdomen. He's still chiseled, this perfect human. He's not brave enough to leave kisses on his neck, he doesn't want to rile him up so much to the point of putting his safety at risk. At least they're sitting down, so it's not like they can slip and fall this way.
And like this, Kaveh is in control. He fully intends on walking out of this still wearing his pants. He ventures closer to the middle, pressing thumbs around his cock and letting his fingers naturally around his balls so he can spread his legs a little more. He massages down the brackets of his inner thighs, tactfully avoiding his sack so he can spread the leftover oil on his hands around it. "C-Close your eyes if you haven't already."
Kaveh's admission about not wanting to argue blares a warning sign in his head, and Alhaitham turns his head just enough to look at the architect's profile from this angle. That makes his breath hitch, his heart thrum with something dangerous underneath his ribcage. There's something to it.
"You don't?" He asks, the angle making it so it's right into Kaveh's ear, his voice already wrecked. Legs parting wider out of mere instinct, out of acceptance and reception, out of want, and Alhaitham has to suck in a breath between his teeth not to roll and shift his hips into Kaveh's touch more fully. It's perfectly normal to be this affected when someone is touching you like this, Alhaitham reasons. It doesn't matter if his erection is slowly filling out, the only courteous thing to do is to ignore it as a natural reaction to stimuli. Instead, he does comply, closes his eyes, and lets his head lul further into Kaveh's, breathing heat into his hair when the kneading of his inner thighs sends a jolt across his core. "I thought you'd want me to see your handiwork," he whispers.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Kaveh is already preparing himself and Alhaitham watches him, the sight of his familiar movements, the gentle precision of his hands, riveting in its own right. His fingers graze over Alhaitham's shoulders and back and the touch is electrifying and familiar, a reminder of the countless times they've been there against Alhaitham's skin, and he knows how deft they are at drawing numerous drawings on his skin, and how tight they get when they clench and grapple hard against his flesh. Alhaitham's breath catches for a fleeting moment, but he forces himself to focus on the objective practicality of the situation, even if his previous claim of 'not feeling like it' has been proven absolutely wrong. His gaze briefly meets Kaveh's as he carries a veneer of casualness at the rare compliment.
He knows he wants. There are so many combinations of those three words he can weave together from this moment alone.
His eyes lock on Kaveh's for a while and then slip down to where the architect's collarbone is instead.
"Please," he says softly.
no subject
He can't comprehend how those words could equate to affection, even if they stem from it.
He has him sit on the stool in the shower: water is turned off of course and Kaveh decides on leaving his shirt outside by the sink in case it gets wet. He gently lets water rinse off the sweat of the night, soothing his healing wound and any dead skin.
The language of geniuses is the hardest language yet because definitions differ.
He squeezes water off of the small towel and starts dabbing away around his shoulders, careful to avoid the largest gash stretching across his back. His muscles are still there despite his inactivity. Kaveh longs to drape his arms around him, but for now this will do. "Going out will be good."
no subject
As Kaveh works, Alhaitham tilts his head slightly. Looking up and over his shoulder at the architect, watching him frown as he works. There's a momentary impulse to lean back against him, to seek the comfort and familiarity of their closeness. To ask for those arms to wrap around him. Still, he stops, caught in the whirlwind of his own emotions, the riptide of yearning that threatens to pull him under.
He must be exhausted. Alhaitham barely stops himself, but does so. Instead, he offers a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a subtle sign of his longing. "Will you go with me?"
no subject
He pauses for a long moment while tending to the soapy residue on his shoulder-blades, cleaning it off of him and then his shoulders. He squeezes the towel from water over them to better let everything run down his back. "You look tense and all you've done is sleep. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need a massage?" Any excuse to touch him is good enough in his eyes, but long years of lectures haunt him. While some debates are great for the minds, others keep repelling him.
no subject
The water droplets from the cleaning cascade down his back, creating a contrast of heat and coolness that sends shivers through his body he groans, hunches, and tries his best not to tense the site of his injury and Alhaitham sees this as a touché. He sighs, still, admonished but not defeated.
The offer of a massage is too tempting to resist. Alhaitham has been cared for and handled plenty already, but now he feels petulant, willful. Perhaps it's selfish of him. "I may take you up on that."
no subject
Touching him is always surreal to him. That the gods blessed this man in every possible way is a simple statistical miracle. Too bad his personality suffered along the way, yet Kaveh doesn't truly think of it as an imperfection. He welcomes the difference, he even protects it when it's strangers taking jabs at their Scribe. "Relax, will you?" He says while gliding fingers over to his nape, pushing his thumbs at either side of his spine and treading up to the base of his skull, "and you better not fall asleep on me."
no subject
Acceptance which would be welcome now, when Kaveh's fingers dig into his muscles, and all he can think is how good they feel. His head cants low, down with a groan and a hiss at how they feel on the back of his neck, sending swirls of pleasurable ache to the back of his fluttering closed eyes and loosening his jaw. "Ah, so telling someone to relax—actually helps the other person do it, now?"
no subject
All the hammering and work comes in handy when it comes to this. Delicate as he seems, his grip and precision is surgical. His care is boundless.
Listening to Alhaitham groan like this puts a smile on his face— good thing he can’t see it.
Fingertips steadily work around the large scar, tracing the vivid pinkness of it. He’s a lot more gentle now as he caresses down every bone on his spine and over every knotted muscle. “You have to consciously hear someone tell you. Then your brain clicks into action.”
After a few minutes of that and watching the back of his head hang in delight, he begins to wonder if it’s enough to stop here. His hands slide carefully down his sides and over his thighs. He rests his chin on his shoulder so he can look down.
“If you want me to stop just say so.”
no subject
Of course, they're going to argue, even when the Scribe is being handled like Kaveh is trying to test the give of clay, and he does give, does allow himself to be molded to the architect's content.
His stomach clenches instinctively when those hands glide over the sensitive skin of his sides. He can feel Kaveh being happy about the result, and yet, as he presses close behind him and those fingers venture further than his hips, he takes a deep breath.
Anyone would consider that they should probably be embarrassed, with how easy he is being. And yet, that doesn't even cross Alhaitham's mind. Not when he knows what he wants and needs so well, not when he can lean his head against Kaveh's and he settles back against him in full deliverance. "If I ever do, I will."
no subject
If he will lose him tomorrow, then he better touch him all he can today.
His fingers sprawl widely over the muscles of his thighs before pulling back on his hips, then sliding over his abdomen. He's still chiseled, this perfect human. He's not brave enough to leave kisses on his neck, he doesn't want to rile him up so much to the point of putting his safety at risk. At least they're sitting down, so it's not like they can slip and fall this way.
And like this, Kaveh is in control. He fully intends on walking out of this still wearing his pants. He ventures closer to the middle, pressing thumbs around his cock and letting his fingers naturally around his balls so he can spread his legs a little more. He massages down the brackets of his inner thighs, tactfully avoiding his sack so he can spread the leftover oil on his hands around it. "C-Close your eyes if you haven't already."
no subject
"You don't?" He asks, the angle making it so it's right into Kaveh's ear, his voice already wrecked. Legs parting wider out of mere instinct, out of acceptance and reception, out of want, and Alhaitham has to suck in a breath between his teeth not to roll and shift his hips into Kaveh's touch more fully. It's perfectly normal to be this affected when someone is touching you like this, Alhaitham reasons. It doesn't matter if his erection is slowly filling out, the only courteous thing to do is to ignore it as a natural reaction to stimuli. Instead, he does comply, closes his eyes, and lets his head lul further into Kaveh's, breathing heat into his hair when the kneading of his inner thighs sends a jolt across his core. "I thought you'd want me to see your handiwork," he whispers.
no subject