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Al-Haitham was never one for parties.
Hell, he even decides ahead of time that he won’t be attending the big banquet on the last day of school. He detests social gatherings, finding his precious time more productive by immersing himself in academia and reading. The disdainful and scornful eyes from others were the least of his problems— he was alright by the idea of being an unlikeable person. A seemingly young man with shrewdness and rationale, yet held the most unconventional methods that conflicted with the wishes of the higher-ups from his university.
As the semester drew to a close before the balmy summer days were approaching, Al-Haitham had busied himself with the last chapter of his 120-page thesis on semiotics. However, his recent findings have lacked some crucial evidence required for the grand finale, leaving him to commit to all-nighters with increased caffeine consumption (which fueled him further frustration). It wasn’t until two days ago that another colleague in the same field had offered to lend him their USB drive, containing PDF articles that were dubiously obtained from the university’s library system through unknown means. Pursuant to meet his goal in the most expeditious time as possible, Al-Haitham had no qualms meeting the person in front of the designated frat house, retrieving the drive and returning back home. Simple and straightforward. It was not like he had any intention to stay and have a nice drink, not when his public appearance was frowned upon by the people akin to him.
Except, his colleague didn’t appear at the entrance like he requested.
His frustration mounts as his eyebrows crease deeply, his eyes rapidly scanning for the person he was supposed to rendezvous with. He has been constantly checking on his phone for the past ten minutes, receiving no response after informing them. The blaring trap music, the colorful fluorescent lights ricocheting off the walls, the faint whiff of vomit and possibly piss— he fucking hates all of it. Within the next ten minutes of swimming through the crowd and exchanging dirty glances with other partygoers, Al-Haitham decides that it was futile to continue his search. Perhaps he could contact the person and schedule a visit for another day, but time was ticking fast. He only has a measly timeframe of three weeks before the deadline— the thought leaves a deep scowl on his face, as he is unable to do anything for the time being.
Pushing past the attenders, Al-Haitham forcibly storms midway to the frat house’s entrance door, intent on returning to his apartment—
“Al-Haitham?”
His legs immediately stop in their tracks, frozen by the familiar voice. It couldn’t be.
Was it his old lab partner from organic chemistry a year ago? His old peer editor from his (mandatory) ethics writing class last semester? He didn’t forget your name, either.
“Al-Haitham! It’s me!” Your voice reaches to his ears. It really is you.
By the Archons, what a horrid timing to find you in this wretched place. You, out all of the people. Al-Haitham’s nose scrunches up in grimace (he just wanted to finish his thesis, for fuck’s sake), just before he compels himself to regain his composure.
He can ignore your voice and head back to his residency, he can do that— but his body language tells him otherwise.
Turning his head slowly, his cyan eyes scans the perimeter from the source of your voice until he is able to discern your face. You swiftly make your way through the sea of partygoers with the plastic cup on your hand, halting a few feet away from his tall physique.
“Al-Haitham, it’s nice to see you again.”
His mouth instantaneously dries up from the lack of saliva, his tongue failing him to form any greeting. He hasn’t spoken to you since the end of last semester, awfully too engrossed in his thesis for friendly meetups and banter.
“I didn’t expect you to be here at a frat party.” It’s painfully obvious that Al-Haitham is looking down at you, and you immediately shrink due to his intimidating aura. “You’re usually cooped up with studies,” your tone meek as a mouse.
He forces himself to swallow empty.
“I just wanted to have a drink, that’s all,” Al-Haitham lies, silently thanking the Archons that he didn’t stumble on his words.
“Really? You seemed kind of upset for a bit there,” you sheepishly laugh. Maybe, it was a bad idea to approach him now? The immediate twinge of regret follows and tugs your heartstrings down, as you realize that you might have overstepped his boundaries. You internally curse at yourself.
“No, I’m not upset at all,” he plainly assures. Did you believe that you were the cause of his displeasure? “It was something that I was thinking of,” he clarifies. However, within the timespan of you calling his name and right now, the thoughts of the USB drive and his colleague are almost long forgotten. An awkward silence fills the air, despite the ongoing music booming within the cramped building.
To ease the tension, his vocal cords reflex. “You look nice,” he blurts.
You look gorgeous, his thought resonates.
The sleek bustier’s straps hugging your chest, coupled with the mini skirt and the flashy makeup on your features— you are undeniably attractive. Your eyeliner wings crinkle, glossed lips tilting up into a sweet smile.
Your beauty, your charm, your wits, your tolerance of withstanding his crass personality—
He’s so smitten by you.
“By the way, since you’re here, would you mind keeping me company?…” Your voice falters, feeling almost demure from his incoming reaction. “My friends have left to do their own thing, so it’s just me alone... Y-you don’t have to, of course!” You eye to the rim of your cup to avert his gaze, the tip of your fingers toying with the plastic material.
He freezes again. Al-Haitham wants to say yes, but—
“Are… you not with your boyfriend this time?”
Hesitancy preoccupies his words and thoughts. In hindsight, he only remembers because you casually mentioned your partner to him once during a lab assignment. The blood flow circulates in his system quickly, his heart trying to pump faster from the gush of adrenaline. It wasn’t that he wanted to reject your favor— he secretly hoped to stay with you a little longer, but he was not the type to meddle in other people’s personal affairs.
A heavy sigh escapes from your lips. “No, we’re not dating anymore. Things just didn’t work out between us in the end,” a dejected smile forms on the corners of your lips.
For a long moment, a sudden wave of relief washes over Al-Haitham after hearing the news. His taut muscles ease from the apprehension, and his heartbeat decelerates.
“Well, I have nothing else better to do. I suppose I can keep you company for now,” repressing the reminder of his thesis down into his mind— he can deal with that later, though, a part of him is unsure of how to entertain you in the meantime.
Your eyes brighten up at his response, the false eyelashes twinkling in orange glitter as they bat in glee.
You’re the prettiest girl he has laid his eyes upon.
“Thank you! Do you want to go somewhere else? This place is making me a little dizzy,” you anxiously remarked.
Oh, oh. Al-Haitham quickly realizes your little suggestion. He makes no attempt to respond to you at first, so in an effort to conceal his embarrassment, he scours for a nearby secluded corner until a flight of stairs is spotted.
“Do you want to go upstairs? It should be… quieter,” his tone turning skeptical.
You’re thankful for the dimmed lights that he cannot view the blood rushing to your cheeks, nodding too eagerly than you would like to.
“Grab onto my arm,” Al-Haitham utters, mentally preparing himself to avert the curious stares from the passerby. You wasted no time latching onto his bomber jacket’s sleeve, softened eyes meeting his own for a few moments to thank him. The faint scent of his cologne increases his attractiveness by a tenfold, not overpowering or volatile. Although, he cannot ignore the close proximity of your supple breasts squishing against his triceps. You had to be purposefully playing with him.
He nods as he slowly tears his view from you, intaking a slow breath before exhaling. His eyes locked on the flight stairs as the both of you beeline through the sea of people, averting the reactions of others. Al-Haitham's restraint proves to be successful after his arm doesn’t reflex to punch some creep for wooing at the both of you— instead, he picks up his pace as to drag you and ascend up the stairs. By the time he is able to find a vacant bedroom and lead you inside, fatigue numbs your legs as your lungs demand for more oxygen.
Al-Haitham securely locks the door behind you, wanting no intruders or interruptions. His facial expression twists with concern to see your slouched figure. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yes… I’m fine. You walk really fast,” you half-joked, the air finally flowing into your lungs as your breathing stabilizes. It was the only option he could take to minimize the lingering eyes and sneers; he had hope you’d understand.
You head for the foot of the bed, sitting on the plush mattress as your eyes survey the area. Raunchy sex posters of nude actresses stickied to the walls— and some sunlight-starved indoor plants nestled in the corners of the room. The shoddy lamp near the closet was the only source of light for visibility, dimly orange hues reflecting on the painted walls of the room.
Al-Haitham leans his back toward the bedroom door, shutting his eyes and crossing his arms. What is he supposed to do now? Wait until the party dies down and leave? Should he take you home? Make small conversations with you? Ask if he can have sex with you? No, no.
His train of thought is disrupted by the sound of your voice, beckoning him to sit with you as the quiet atmosphere becomes more unbearable. His taciturn demeanor doesn’t help to alleviate the awkwardness.
“You should come over here,” you softly gestured. His mind becomes less cognizant than before, his instincts obeying your words. He takes a step, and then a few more strides before settling next to you on the bed.
The cup on your hand remains as you finish the last drops of alcohol, and you poorly attempt to toss it into the wastebasket. It misses. You don’t make any attempt to go pick it up.
Instead, your eyes turn to meet with Al-Haitham’s. He’s been observing for a while unbeknownst to you, the usual stoicism plastering on his visage. His skin radiantly glows under the warm hue of the lamplight. His stern eyes express no apparent interest, but you smile in his direction with charm.
His heart wants to rip itself apart from his ribcage. His mind frantically encourages him to take the initiative. But right before he can open his mouth, you beat him to the chase.
“Al-Haitham, there’s…” A short pause to lick your gleaming lips, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “There’s something I want to discuss with you about.”
This is it, he concludes. “Go on,” he urges.
“Al-Haitham, you’re a really nice person to be around with,” your vibrant eyes wander to the carpeted floor, too bashful to directly face him.
Nice? Him? A nice person?
“I know you are not well liked by most of your peers,” you continued. “But… you are kind to me, and I won’t forget the things you’ve taught me. You’re also very smart— smarter than me— you’ve always helped me study, and I admire your dedication for learning.”
You pause to gather your remaining thoughts.
Al-Haitham’s breathing hitches— he is too impatient for the next incoming words of your confession.
Before you can speak any further, he surges forward to kiss your dewy lips— lips he agonizes to taste. His restraint starts to shred apart, your lips reciprocating the same movements in return to his. His hand extends up to cradle your head— wait. Wait. What is he doing?
What the hell is he doing, taking advantage of you right now? Didn’t you have alcohol on you?
The yelling voice in his head forcibly breaks apart from your figure, incoherent thoughts scrambling to find the correct words. His mind isn’t sound; this isn’t like him at all. He struggles to read you, but the pupils behind your eyes dilate out of astonishment, leaving you speechless.
“I- Sorry,” He’s fumbling with his words, resorting to taking another deep breath. “I should’ve stopped myself and let you speak,” he’s too aware of you kissing him back, but the immense guilt pierces through his insides. It’s his turn to avert your eyes. “I’m sorry-“ you interrupted his apology with a tight grip on his wrist.
“No, don’t be. I… I was just shocked that you pulled yourself apart like that.”
He wants to excuse himself and leave, to bury this incident in the back of his head—
“I've always liked you, Al-Haitham.”
His head prompts to lift up, tongue-tied and incapable of responding. Is he hearing you right?
“I’ve always liked you, since the day we met as lab partners. I’ve never stopped liking you, even if you acted cold or distant on some days, even when I was dating my ex-boyfriend, and even now,” your morale diminishing through the continuation of your confession— you're afraid of his reaction.
“I wished that you kept in contact with me after our class ended, but I was too afraid to bother you.” The sentence causes his heart drop to the pit of his stomach; he was strongly convinced that you no longer wanted his presence, as long as your boyfriend was still around. Therefore, he isolated himself to finish his studies, turning a blind eye to you in the process.
You fool, he berates himself.
“However,” your voice cracks as tears well up in the corner of your eyes.
“I understand if you’re not willing to return my feelings... I can accept that outcome as well,” your head sinks down, bracing for the harsh reality of his rejection. You’re unsure if he's reciprocating your feelings, or if this whole entire thing was going to become a one-night stand, but your notion inclines towards the second scenario. He kissed you because he wanted to only sleep with you, right? Right?
Stillness passes by until Al-Haitham formulates his thoughts, deducing that you were not completely inebriated. However, he carefully treads on with the impending question—
“You drank alcohol, are you aware of what you’re saying?”
You become mirthful by his meticulousness, relieved at the turn of events as you pinpoint his unspoken answer. “Yes, I'm still sober. It was half a cup of Smirnoff,” you deadpan, wiping the tears off of the corners of your eyes. A drunk mind also speaks a sober heart, does it not? You scoot closer to narrow the proximity between, centimeters away from his kissable lips as your left hand raises to caress over his cheekbone (soft, he thinks). “I want you to be selfish with me, Al-Haitham,” the words on the tip of your tongue seizing his heart into your bewitchment.
If what you’ve confessed is true, then by the Archons, Celestia has truly blessed him with a miracle.
Al-Haitham wastes no time to meet your lips again. This time, he allows his own selfishness to slip out as you feverishly try to match with his body rhythm, simultaneously kicking the stilettos off from your feet. His arms guide your body to straddle his lap, hands resting on your hips as both of your lips completely meld with one another in unison. His teeth nip at your lower lip, and you obediently part to let his tongue swipe over yours.
The taste of citrus vodka and a hint of cherry lip gloss, he notes.
Both of you simultaneously break apart, gasping for oxygen as the strand of saliva from the end of your lips disconnects from his end.
“You’re so fucking sexy— you know that, right?” Al-Haitham’s voice brimming with suaveness as he plants a flurry of sloppy kisses against your jawline and neck. You can only giggle in response, partly due to the ticklishness and embarrassment from his compliment. He's completely wrapped around your little finger.
A small, airy moan erupts from your throat as you feel Al-Haitham sink his canines into the soft skin of your neck, marking you with a deep shade of violet blemish. Your body writhes under the sensation of flashing pain as he targets the other bare areas of your skin, traveling to your collarbone. Your whines increase in pitch as he continues to trail with hickeys, hands tightly gripping onto the jacket’s fabric for steadiness.
Al-Haitham stops before your bosom, inspecting the tight curvatures as the bustier cups your boobs to prevent them from spilling out. It’s sexy, yes… but the complicated straps of your garment serve as a hindrance to his ministrations. His hand swiftly unclasps your bustier from the back, eventually discarding it to a random corner. He surveys your face, flushing with pink and half-lidded eyes staring back at his, dreamily anticipating his next action. Beguilement lied within you— a siren luring a sailor to his impending death.
Now free, your buds stiffen at the exposure of the chilling air. You squirm in his lap— earning a low grunt from him, silently pleading him to touch you more. Al-Haitham switches positions to lie you on the back against the bed, leaning close to the shell of your ear.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself now,” his timbre dangerously dropping an octave. Your pleas are soon answered by his lips, sucking on one of your nipples as his fingers kneaded the other breast. Keen to the feeling, you instinctively push him closer, palming against his forming tent as a guttural groan escapes from his jugular. As payback for contravening to his previous words, his teeth gently grazes against your nipple, which earns him a short yelp from you in return. He switches to the other breast, lapping and licking the sensitive bud while you squeeze his shoulders for further encouragement.
Eventually, he undresses you from the pleated miniskirt, haphazardly throwing it onto the floor. His hand moves to squeeze your inner thigh, dangerously close to your sex while his other hand smooths over your hip. Al-Haitham delves back to your pretty lips, tongues locking in a sensual French kiss.
“You should take off your clothes too,” you murmur against his silky lips (you’re perceptive of the chapstick brand he’s using), tugging on his jacket to remind him of the inadequate exposure he’s exhibiting compared to you. He hums, complying with your request. As his clothes and sneakers are strewn with yours across the floor, the two of you were now left in your undergarments.
Al-Haitham studies your features again, pushing back a couple of hair strands out of the way. Amazingly, the waterproof eye makeup has been clutching onto your skin for dear life during the tussle; the sparkly pigment of your highlight dot across your flushed contour like tiny jewels; the satiny sheen from the lip gloss persists on your swollen lips after many lip-to-lip contact.
He pictures how ravishing you’ll look if he fucks you right now.
In a wordless exchange, your hand extends over to caress his pectoralis major, your eyes captivated by the ripples and rigidity of his muscles and the minuscule moles scattered across his sunkissed, brown skin. His gray locks droop over and tickle your collarbone, drawing short giggles from your lips. Your other hand travels down to his v-line, stopping just above the waistband of his underwear.
“You’re so beautiful, Al-Haitham,” you sigh blissfully, allured by his profound pulchritude. He takes pride in your compliment, flashing you a seductive smirk.
Al-Haitham proceeds to peck a chaste kiss on your lovely lips, his index finger prodding against the wet spot of your panties in amusement as you whimper in excitement. “So wet for me already?” He teases, causing your blush to explode. His finger slowly swipes up and down in a motion, but he takes no attempt into removing the offending clothing article.
It would certainly be unwise to disobey him a second time, so all you can do is beg him with a string of “please.” He almost feels pity for you.
“Hm? You’re going to have to speak clearly to get what you want,” Al-Haitham chuckles, egging you on. Now amped with mild frustration, you decide to play with his silly game and take a step further. “P-Please… Please touch me, Al-Haitham. I want you to make me feel good,” you implore, voice dripping with desperation.
“Good,” he praises, only for him to hastily tug the lace panties off, the sound of tearing reaching your ears. You gasp in horror, flabbergasted at his impulsive action.
“Th-that was really expensive!” Your eyebrows furrow, distress appearing on your frown. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re upset.
“And I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you every kind of lingerie you want, hm?” You can only blink at him slowly, which he takes it in as compliance. You make a mental note to drag him to Victoria’s Secret for a future date.
He lowers his head down, his warm mouth enclosing the glistening folds of your cunt. You arch your back at the indescribable feeling of pleasure as your hand flies to his soft, gray locks of hair to keep him situated on your pussy. A series of moans and sighs follow through while Al-Haitham plunges his deft tongue inside, milking as many reactions out of you as possible. The slurping sounds are defiling as they echo across the room, but Al-Haitham doesn’t care. He devours with your sex like a starved man, like it’s his last meal as a soldier. Your taste is addictive, invigorating his taste buds as you wrap your thighs around his head and squeal in delight.
“I- I’m going to—,” you stutter, almost reaching your limit— when he abruptly stops in his tracks. You audibly groan at the loss of his touch, giving him a deserved stink eye as he shoots a sardonic smile in return.
“Didn’t I say to not get ahead of yourself? Know your place.” You shrink back, finally heeding his command.
Though, he quickly resumes his ministrations, opting for his slender fingers instead of his mouth this time. His index and middle finger squelch against your juices as he dexterously pumps them in and out rapidly, while his thumb repeatedly circles around the bundle of your clitoris. Tears form at the brink of your eyelids, your mind fogged with lust and pleasure as you near climax.
Al-Haitham kisses your inner thigh, permitting you to orgasm on his fingers and mouth as he laps up your honeyed essence to his desire. By the time he’s finished, he’s looming over your figure once again. The area around his lips is drenched with your cum— his carnivorous eyes lock into your submissive ones as he licks his fingers clean. Your cheeks redden a deeper shade of pink at the lecherous sight.
“You taste divine,” he raggedly whispers before leaning down to passionately kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You blindly reach for the waistband of his underwear, desperately trying to pull it off with little to no strength.
It’s amusing to Al-Haitham that he is capable of reducing you to this state so easily, under his absolute mercy.
“Let me… Let me make you feel good too,” you gently croon to him. Your thoughtful consideration leaves Al-Haitham smiling just a little. He appreciates the generosity, but it can wait for another time.
“Next time, next time,” Al-Haitham promises you— he looks forward to the future blowjob appointment— but for now, he will cast his usual demeanor aside to tend to your needs. In what feels like a long eternity, he finally removes himself from the confinement of his underwear, revealing his well-endowed cock that makes your jaw slightly slack from the sight.
He's so big. Is he going to be able to fit inside you?
As much as Al-Haitham desperately wants to dick you down until you can’t walk in the morning, he refrains himself from continuing so until his question is to be answered with a yes or no.
“Are you sure that you want this?” His tone is earnest, which makes you grin at the seriousness he’s presenting.
“Of course, I want you to fuck me,” convincement in your answer unyielding as your mind turns restless at the image of his veined cock twitching inside of you. His lips crease up into a smirk, now riled up by your brazen response.
“Tell me to stop if you need me to,” Al-Haitham casually reminds, shifting to the center of your legs.
He guides the tip of his cock to your hole, enough to make you reel at the size of his penis. He tentatively sinks down inch by inch, until he completely bottoms out inside of your heated cunt. Some moments pass before he retreats his dick three-quarters of the way out, only to slam back to your insides and make you jolt in surprise. His initial pace begins steady and deliberate to not overwhelm you, but immediately ramps up more momentum as the tip brushes against your sweet spot.
“F-fuck… you’re tight,” he breathes out, focusing on the warmth of your pussy enveloping him. The wetness replicates enough lube for him to slide in-and-out easily; you’re taking him so well like the good girl you are.
“Al-Haitham… Al-Hhh- Nnhg!” Euphoria clouds your mental state as you’re getting railed by the man of your dreams, wanton and deprived noises increasing in volume to the point of drowning the muffling party music from downstairs. His name escapes your lips like a mantra, keeping him glued to you as if he can never break apart. Your hands grip to his shoulder blades, the acrylic nails clawing onto his warm skin as bloody welts shape his back. The pain is too numb for him to wince— the undulations of raw ecstasy quickly overwhelm every sensation in his body.
“I… I- Shit. I’ve… always dreamed about this,” he absentmindedly blurts out, causing your body temperature to rise even more. You can't wrap your mind around his words; it’s a shocking discovery that Al-Haitham would admit his perverse fantasies involving you, despite the no-nonsense disposition he exudes.
“You…” His speech starts to slur due to the pleasure scrambling his uninhibited thoughts. “I’ve a-always wanted to make you mine,” he continues, his pounding never missing a beat.
“I’m glad… that you broke up with that bastard.” You mewl his name in surprise, taken aback with another new revelation. Was Al-Haitham secretly jealous all this time?
“But, you’re mine now! All mine!” Al-Haitham rightfully declares through the promise of rapture and bliss, raising your leg up to angle his thrusts deeper, the tempo of his balls slapping against your butt joining with your exquisite sounds. His free hand reaches to your clit once again, exerting pressure as the bundle of nerves further sends you into cloud nine. By this point, your teary eyes are rolling back, mouth gaping, and rosy flush spreads through the course of your body.
Your sultry features contort in many ways as he fucks you like no tomorrow, your sounds reducing to incoherent babbles with a mix of “please” and his name—
It’s all so perfect. You’re so perfect.
He wanted all of this. All of you. Everything that he could ever wish for.
He etches the erotic panorama of you displaying underneath him, searing it onto his mind forever.
Al-Haitham does not relent with his movements, as white spots begin to blur your vision. He feels your warmth flowing down on his shaft, to which he ogles at the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.
“W-where should I-” he gasps, about to burst at any second. His pupils are blown back by the intensity of his carnal desire, the chase of his arousal reaching the apex—
“I-inside...!” You throw your head back from the overstimulation, arms dropping to his sides and fisting the sheets beneath as you arch your back to climax around his cock.
His orgasm immediately takes over after your consent, the twitching tip spurting hot ribbons of seed inside your fluttering pussy as you squeeze around his cock, milking him dry. Al-Haitham lets out an animalistic-like growl at the warm and fleeting feeling, his jaw clenching in concentration as his sloppy thrusts falter in speed, finishing his cream inside of you. He gently settles your leg down on the bed and ejects himself from your pussy, his peripherals enraptured by the semen dripping down your thighs and onto the bed sheets.
Perfect.
The room is filled with labored breathing and panting and odors of sweat and sex. Al-Haitham plops down next to you, catching his breath as you come down from your high. He zones out, vision fixing at the white popcorn ceiling.
If they were in his apartment right now, Al-Haitham would get lectured from Kaveh’s complaints by the following morning— not that he was ever inclined to have the tiniest bit of consideration for his roommate in the first place.
You turn your head to view his face, eyes floating in a hazy trance. He’s flushed and sweaty just as much as you are, chest heaving for air, but he’s still gorgeous as ever. You try your best to cuddle next to his frame, which he gives you a look in return.
“Is… it true? That you think about me?” Your voice is slightly hoarse, but you could care less. Al-Haitham can only nod slightly, incapacitated as he slowly recovers from the weariness.
“How about you tell me in detail sometime?” You pause, ghosting the pads of your dainty fingers over his pecs. He blinks at you once, twice. Three times.
“You got some nerve,” Al-Haitham smugly scoffs. He doesn’t have to tell you, he’ll show you— eventually. He turns to his side to plant a kiss on your forehead, the softhearted action contrasting with his former statement five seconds ago. It’s sweet and soothing, as if he thinks that you’re fragile and easy to break. Enough of manhandling for one day.
“By the way, you seemed angry earlier… Has anything been troubling you?” You inquire out of concern. Al-Haitham has no reason to lie to you in the first place.
“I was thinking about my thesis. Writer’s block, I guess,” he mutters shortly. You slowly nod in sympathy, deciding not to question it any further.
After a period of rest and quietude, Al-Haitham stands to pick up all of the clothing, throwing away your poor panties as you eye it falling into the trash bin, silently bidding it farewell. He draws some baby wipes from a nearby drawer, returning to your figure and cleaning the mess he’s caused between your legs. It’s the least he can do; his sweet gesture prompts you to comb your fingers through his silky hair.
“We should probably leave now, the party is almost ending,” he reminds you with haste, checking the clock on his phone ticking to almost 1 AM.
You’re met with the miniskirt flung to your face after you give him no effort to get out of bed, and Al-Haitham, now fully clothed, smirks as you give him a dirty look. “If you can’t stand, I’ll help you walk to my car,” his sneering tone sending shivers down your spine.
“Hmph, it’s your fault,” you huff. He knows you're not truly mad at him, so he decides to provoke you further.
“Oh? You seemed to thoroughly enjoy it,” he retorts, crossing his arms.
Your brain can’t conjure an excuse to his witty remark, because he’s right. He’s amazing at sex, you think, for someone who is antisocial.
You painstakingly attempt to fix your disheveled appearance (thank the Archons for waterproof makeup) as he patiently waits until you’re finished. “Come, let me carry you,” Al-Haitham offers, approaching from behind and proceeding to lift you in bridal-style without your permission. Too feeble to protest back, you hook your arms around his neck and give a quick smooch to his bronze cheek, the lip gloss faintly stamping onto his skin. He feels you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck as he makes his way downstairs— disregarding the glances of the dispersing bystanders across his path— and exits out of the emptying frat house, eventually arriving to his Tesla.
The car ride is silent, but the comfortable kind of silence. No talking, no radio, not even the car engine dares to sputter. The lingering touch of his calloused hand rubbing your thigh lulled you into a peaceful slumber, until the same hand was nudging your arm to wake you up an hour later.
“We’re here,” he quietly reminds you through a murmur. Your eyes blink groggily in an attempt to focus your sight, arms slowly stretching to relieve from the stiffness of your muscles.
Al-Haitham guides you to the front of your porch, careful to not trip you over the granite steps. He holds your frame steady as your hand fumbles in your purse to retrieve the keys. Once the door is unlocked, you ignore the lethargy weighing on your legs to stand before him and bid your goodbye.
“I had a great time with you today,” drowsiness lacing in your voice as your doe-like eyes try to focus on his handsome face.
“Does this mean that you’re my boyfriend now?”
Al-Haitham hums, feigning indecisiveness. “I’ll have to think about it,” he answers dryly to your rhetorical question, but you roll your eyes.
You tiptoe as you reach up to his face, eyes settling on his wonderful and already-familiar lips, his cyan pair to your glossed ones, and the gap is eventually closed by a firm, but tender kiss.
Your lips have always been soft like he believed. He grabs onto your waist for comfort, his thumbs mindlessly tracing over the bare skin. You eventually pull away from him, grinning from the loving kiss, but hands remain on his chest. Just for a bit, his lips quirk up to form a tiny smile, and time feels frozen.
You’re so enamored by him as he is by you.
You’re the first to break the silence. “Well, this is goodbye for now,” you sighed. He empathizes with your current feelings, unenthusiastic at the idea of departing from you.
“Go in already,” he sarcastically jests, purposefully destroying the romantic atmosphere.
“Aww, you’re no fun!” You exasperatedly exclaim, earning him a playful punch to his chest, but you know that he meant no malice behind his tongue. “You still have my number, right?”
He nods assuredly, bringing the smile back to your face. At least he didn’t erase you from his contact list. You take a step into your apartment, holding the door to the side as your cheery gaze lingers on him just for a few moments longer.
“Goodnight, Al-Haitham.”
His hands insert themselves into his jacket’s compartments to shield from the chilly breeze, his locks flowing beneath the moonlight. “Be safe. Goodnight.”
The door slowly closes, followed by a quiet click of the lock. His position remains motionless for a few seconds, before subsequently retreating to his car.
—
“Where the hell were you last night?” Kaveh’s indignation is through the roof, as Al-Haitham does not have the patience to deal with his nagging for the umpteenth time at nine in the morning. Fortunately, his colleague had opted to deliver the USB drive to him an hour later, and he could continue writing his thesis later in the day.
“Why would you need to know? None of your business,” the gray-haired man ripostes curtly as he fetches a Monster Energy from the kitchen fridge.
Kaveh inhales deeply, gathering the last strands of his sensibility through reasoning. “You were supposed to get groceries yesterday. It’s your turn for this week.”
“Oh,” Al-Haitham failed to recall about his errands last night, now contemplating at their almost-empty fridge. However, he had a much higher priority to attend to than the needs of his housemate.
“Well, you could’ve just bought the groceries by yourself. Or get take-out from Wanmin Restaurant,” he diverges from Kaveh's interrogation, swinging the fridge door shut.
Kaveh is one step closer to going ballistic at his god-awful roommate; he prays to the Archons to let him move out if it wasn’t for his current financial debt. By the time he is running his mouth about how Al-Haitham is an incompetent and snobbish housemate, the latter retires to his bedroom to escape from the earful, following by a loud slam of the bedroom door, effectively shutting Kaveh up.
Al-Haitham would have to introduce you to Kaveh sometime soon.
He reaches for his phone from his sweatpants’ pocket, staring at the text bubble icon.
—
You’re awoken by the alarm blaring off of your phone, sluggishly scrambling to hit the snooze button. The faint ache between your legs was an indicator that you needed much rest. Luckily, today was your day off—
Or, so you thought.
Your phone buzzes in your grasp as a new notification appears.
al-haitham 🥹💕
Do you want to grab lunch with me today? There’s a new shawarma restaurant near my apartment that I’ve been meaning to visit.
You take a second to reread his message carefully, a new feeling of overjoy bubbling in your heart like a child seemingly wanting candy. You fingers waste no time to respond back—
of course, i’d love to eat with you!! 🥺
Legs be damned, you internally muster enough motivation that would last for the entire day, if it meant spending time with your new boyfriend.
al-haitham 🥹 💕
Good, I'll pick you up at 1.
A new text pops up on his screen.
i can’t wait to see you soon. ily ❤️❤️❤️
You don’t expect Al-Haitham to profess back; your heart already knows— But he reciprocates the same affection with his words anyway, sincerity forming on the curvature of his lips.
al-haitham 🥹💕
I love you too.