Work Text:
“You’re being idiotic again.”
If Kaveh has any preference for how he’d like to be greeted after having pulled an all-nighter working on a project, this is certainly not one of them. His eyes are bloodshot, his veins filled with a substance that’s certainly more caffeine than cells and plasma, and if Haitham breathes another petulant word in his direction, he’s going to snap his arm over his knee.
“I beg your pardon?”
He’s at his desk with a lump in his neck from hunching all night. His pencil is sharpened to a nub and his favourite—very expensive—fountain pen is in dire need of more ink. Haitham stands in the corner, tucking a book into his side bag for work. It makes Kaveh ache to look at him—literally.
“I told you to stop pulling all-nighters. It ruins your circadian rhythm.”
“Since when did you care? I don’t see how my choices affect you when you sleep so soundly with that headset on every night.”
“I’m sorry,” Haitham deadpans, slipping into his shoes. “Was I supposed to enjoy listening to you grovelling all night?”
“You—” Kaveh can’t find it in himself to come up with a quip. He lets the word fizzle out to nothing, watching Haitham grab his keys from the bowl near the door.
“See you at the Akademia,” he says. Kaveh stares at him.
“Sure.”
The front door closes, and Kaveh is left alone again. He drops his head to the desk and doesn’t think about the nib-shaped imprint that’ll be left on his forehead when he wakes from his power nap.
-
Kaveh’s favourite pen is missing, and it has Haitham written all over it. No pun intended. Despite outward appearances, Haitham can be an extremely petulant, shit-disturbing pain in Kaveh’s ass. He proves this frequently by taking Kaveh’s belongings and hiding them from him, as well as putting things too high for Kaveh to reach—and he isn’t even short—and always eating the leftovers Kaveh keeps for himself in the icebox.
It is a very petulant thing, to steal Kaveh’s pen, but he knows he didn’t lose it, and Haithan is aware of its importance, so it only makes sense for him to have taken it. Maybe. Probably.
Kaveh finds himself grumbling under his breath as he pushes open the door of Haitham’s room. Stupid dick—as soon as he gets promoted, that holier-than-thou attitude is amplified tenfold and leaves Kaveh in the dust, coughing and watery-eyed and much, much more annoyed than he normally is.
Who does he think he is, taking Kaveh’s belongings and stashing them away? It’s primary school behaviour, and for the one who’s always claiming he’s the more mature of the two of them, Haitham is doing a pretty shit job of proving it.
In any case, Kaveh figures he might as well be childish back since Haitham is setting such a good example. Being the acting Grand Sage means that he has to go to work much earlier than Kaveh—the lowly architect who, as Haitham so dearly loves to point out, gets paid to ‘sit and draw all day.’ Of course, this is true, but it’s not like it isn’t worth anything.
The first place Kaveh checks is the dresser and unsurprisingly, finds that it’s full of skin-tight sleeveless shirts and work trousers and other things that aren’t of interest. Twenty pairs of the same underwear. A single pair of pajama bottoms printed with lotuses—something to tease him for another time. He closes the drawer and moves on.
The desk has no drawers, and Kaveh can’t see his belongings on top of it, which means it isn’t there. The bookshelf, of course, contains only books, and a few scholarly awards that Haitham has won over the years. Unimportant, but, begrudgingly, somewhat impressive. Kaveh’s search is mostly uneventful and ends in more grumbling—a lot more colourful this time around.
The last place to look is the bedside table, which is made of dark, oiled wood with nothing but a lamp and a thick (and no doubt boring) piece of non-fiction on it. Kaveh pulls out the drawer and—
What the fuck?
He should leave. Kaveh should leave the house—maybe the country—and gouge out his eyes and change his name and pretend that he never came to snoop around in Haitham’s room. A shot to the head would be preferable to knowing that, for some benign reason, Alhaitham, acting Grand Sage of the Sumeru Akademia, owns a phallus the size of Kaveh’s forearm. A big, green cock that would strike fear in most, tucked neatly in his bedside drawer next to a vial of oil. A half-empty vial of oil. Yes, Kaveh does seem to think that death would be better than acknowledging this monster of a creation and his roommate in the same context.
He snaps the drawer shut almost immediately. Even still, Kaveh finds that the thought of Haitham spearing himself open on it with a flush down to his chest and dewy eyes is imprinted on the backs of his eyelids like a brand.
Kaveh doesn’t even remember what he came in here for.
-
It seems only natural that after finding Haitham’s behemoth of a cock, it proves very difficult to look him in the eye. Or look at him in general. Even breathing the same air as Haitham makes Kaveh’s gut twist in a horrifying cocktail of fear and arousal.
He’s always known Haitham is attractive—he does have eyes, after all—and though he’d never admit to having a crush on his junior, he certainly isn’t hard to look at. Or imagine flushed and crying, bent over a messy desk. These are not things he should be thinking about Haitham, and yet, he sits in the depths of his bedroom furiously jerking himself off to the thought of Haitham crying over him instead of that stupid phallus. Maybe that isn’t healthy.
It also isn’t healthy to avoid Haitham like the plague, but when someone becomes your latest spank bank material, it’s a little awkward to meet their eye over breakfast.
In the past week, he’s seen Haitham twice, which is a miraculous feat because they inhabit the same space. Also considering that space is hardly enough for one grown man, let alone two. He plans meticulously, which is a curious feat for Kaveh, and manages to avoid Haitham when he leaves for work in the morning by waking at the crack of dawn and slipping out before sunrise. At night, he stays at the bars and gets pleasantly inebriated before sneaking back into his apartment like a teenager who’d gone to a party without their parent’s consent. It’s draining, but when his mind stays firmly in the gutter, he’d rather the hole in his wallet than the hole in his brain.
Tonight, it seems that Haitham had waited for him to come home. It’s well after two in the morning, which is a time that Kaveh would expect to see Haitham least, for his junior tended to sleep at eleven and wake at eight to “keep his mind right”. To Kaveh, it always sounded prudish, but he supposes that a healthy sleeping schedule is something he should probably endeavour to set up for himself. One day. For now, he’s content with the constant bags under his eyes and the caffeine-induced work frenzies.
When he stumbles into the house, stinking of wine and smoke, he is surprised to see Haitham at the kitchen table with his hands folded over one another. Unlike him to play nonchalant, Kaveh supposes, but he could have at least pretended like he hadn’t been sitting there for an indeterminable amount of time to hound Kaveh for something or other.
“Good evening,” Haitham says plainly. “Well—morning, now.”
“What…” Kaveh trails off.
He rubs his eyes, willing his fuzzy brain to think of a plausible reason for being hounded by his housemate at such an absurd time of day. He was content to fall face first onto his mattress fully clothed in the night’s attire, only to wake the next day with a vision-shaped dent in him, but it seems he won’t be getting off so easily. No, of course, he is an adult who has to deal with his problems head-on.
“What are you doing up?”
“I waited for you,” Haitham says, which is pretty fucking obvious. He continues, “Are you avoiding me?”
“Huh?” Kaveh says. “No. When have we ever been particularly close?”
“Well, I’d at least hope to see the leech that lives in my spare room once a week. I’m not saying we should be on top of each other, it just feels as though you’ve been avoiding me for whatever reason.”
Kaveh very much would like to be on top of Haitham. Isn’t that the issue?
“I’m not,” Kaveh says. He hopes it passes as believable. “I’m going to bed. Pester me some other time, okay?”
Haitham doesn’t say anything else.
-
In the morning, he manages to get out without much hassle. He sleeps like shit, but he could have guessed that to be the case before he went to bed, and getting up at six to leave the house didn’t help. At work, he didn’t run into Haitham, but their jobs rarely interfere anyway, so he also wasn’t worried about that. This avoiding Haitham thing is a lot harder than it seems. It means he doesn’t get to sit in his sofa crease, and also that his bed is only available for sleeping, and he’s going to go broke if he goes to the taverns any more this month. He’s sort of financially dependent on Haitham for the necessities—not that he’d ever admit to that.
Eventually, Kaveh has to face it: he needs to go home.
-
Like the other night, Haitham is waiting for him. This time, he sits on the couch as Kaveh goes to the kitchen to make tea. He’s still in his work clothes and again is doing the obvious waiting pose from before. Kaveh stops in his tracks.
“Am I…” he says, “in trouble?”
“You’re being strange,” Haitham drones, crossing his arms. “I mean, stranger than usual. You’ve been behaving out of sorts for the past few days—is there some kind of illness I should be made aware of?”
Kaveh scoffs, turning his nose up. “As if! I am perfectly normal, thank you very much.”
“You’ve never been normal,” Haitham retorts uninterestedly. “If you’re going to continue to behave like an idiot, endeavour to do it less obviously. Or when you’re ignoring me. Sorry—not ignoring me.”
That makes Kaveh’s vision sear. “You—!” he grits. “This is your fault!”
Haitham pauses, glancing up. “Care to explain exactly how you falling over yourself for the past week is my doing?”
“Because!” Kaveh hisses. “Because—”
What the fuck is he supposed to say? That he found the twelve-inch phallus in Haitham’s bedroom looking for his fountain pen and has since been unable to stop thinking about Haitham spearing himself open on it? That he’s now begun thinking about himself in that toy’s place? Which, for the record, never would have crossed his mind if it weren’t for its existence in the first place. Kaveh was perfectly content living in blissful ignorance of his feelings towards Haitham—besides the obvious ones—the ones that only seem to arise when he’s four glasses deep. Now— now he’s stuck tucking his dick into the crease of his leg when he’s at the Akademia because his mind will wander and miraculously land on a fantasy of himself bending Haitham over the big oak desk in his shiny new office.
“Because?” Haitham provokes. “Have you developed a stutter?”
Gods, Kaveh really could punch this brat.
“Because you’re a bottom,” he grits.
Haitham blanches. “I beg your pardon?”
“Because I found your fucking—monster cock.”
The air in the living space is suddenly very icy like a cold front rushed in from Dragonspine. Haitham doesn’t speak for a moment and neither does Kaveh. This is it. He’s going to get kicked out and then he’s going to be homeless. He’s going to have to live off scraps and still think about Haitham and that stupid fucking toy. He’d rather Haitham lop his head off his shoulders than speak a word about anything that just came out of his mouth.
“Do my sexual preferences surprise you?”
That is…not the question Kaveh had envisioned Haitham asking him. He had pictured a lot more punching and a lot fewer words.
Kaveh’s eyes shift. “Well,” he says, “No, not really.”
“Snooping aside, I don’t see how this poses an issue.”
“Snooping—for your information, Mister Sage, I was looking for the pen you stole from me. It isn’t my fault you keep your sex toys in your bedside drawer.”
Haitham blinks. “Where else do you suggest I keep them?”
“Archons,” Kaveh groans, smoothing a hand over his burning face. “I’m not suggesting anything just—”
Just what? This is a Kaveh problem, no doubt about it. All Haitham did was own something that Kaveh never should have seen. It’s Kaveh who’s backed himself into a corner.
“Still,” Haitham continues, “How exactly has this caused your recent behaviour?”
“I thought you were supposed to be an intellectual,” Kaveh tuts. “I want to fuck you, idiot.”
And for the first time in his life, Haitham looks like he has a genuine realization borne from misunderstanding. Like he couldn’t possibly piece the two together. The break of sun in his eyes and the slight part of his dry berry lips all reflect the fact that he, intelligent as he is, could never have considered such a possibility. Why would he? It isn’t like he and Kaveh are particularly affectionate and sure, they like each other, but they bicker (Like a married couple, Tighnari would often say, as if he and Cyno were not the very same) more often than they have genuine conversations. There would be no reason for Haitham to assume Kaveh felt any emotions besides contempt.
“Oh,” is all Haitham says for a moment.
“Fuck,” Kaveh curses, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s ruined, tattered, blown to smithereens and Kaveh is left standing in dust which will not settle. No amount of apologizing could possibly fill the pit he’s dug himself. It’s bottomless, spanning from one side of the world to the other. “I’ll just—I’m gonna go.”
“You don’t have to,” Haitham tells him.
“I’ve made things strange,” Kaveh says. “There’s no reason to stay.”
A firm hand flies back to stop Kaveh as he walks behind the couch to make for the entrance. The grip is tight, and urgent, leaving a ring of pink around Kaveh’s smaller wrist as Haitham turns his head to stare up at him.
“I’d let you,” he tells him.
For a moment, Kaveh doesn’t understand what he means. Then, as if never more obvious, the blood in his cheeks seems all the more apparent under Haitham’s olive skin. His eyes stay firmly on Kaveh, but the purse in his lips lets the elder know that he’s fighting the urge to look away, embarrassed. Haitham has never been embarrassed, not once, not in all the years Kaveh has known him. There is also:
“Fuck me,” Haitham explains. “If you wanted to.”
Something twists in Kaveh’s chest, like a dagger between the ribs intent on slicing up his lungs and heart to do the most damage. To bleed him dry right there, ghastly and pale, like a prized piece of livestock awaiting consumption. Haitham’s gaze certainly doesn’t ease the notion Kaveh has that he might be devoured.
He clears his throat, allowing himself the luxury to look away in embarrassment. Haitham always was the stoic one, even as Kaveh’s junior. He mutters, “Allowing me is not the same as wanting to.”
Again, Haitham pauses, his grip tightening as if nervous Kaveh might slip away. “I’d like it if you did,” he says. “You’re likely a better partner than that thing.”
Suddenly, without warning, Kaveh has the benign realization that Haitham probably doesn’t sleep with people—never has, maybe. Kaveh had always figured he was coy about it, private, as Haitham is a typically very private person. Perhaps, if one will allow Kaveh the ability to let his mind wander, that stupid green toy has been all he’s had concerning sex for an indeterminable amount of time.
(Please, Archons above, don’t let him be a virgin. Kaveh certainly wouldn’t be able to handle it if it were his duty to deflower the renowned Grand Sage.)
“Haitham—”
“I want you to fuck me,” Haitham decides. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Kaveh looks at him, just looks at him. There are no signs of mockery or sarcasm, though his voice is its usual deadpan. There is nothing but clear and genuine want. Of all the things Kaveh had expected in life, Haitham baring himself—for lack of better description—had not been one of them. Kaveh swallows around the lump building in the back of his throat. His cock gives a treacherous jerk.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Now?”
It’s how they end up on the couch together, with Kaveh’s hands on Haitham’s jaw, stroking at the sharp jut of bone, and Haitham’s on resting on his thigh, not quite confident enough to touch, a little shy, despite himself. His mouth is firm and he tastes clean, a little minty, like he’d brushed his teeth before sitting down, with a soft tongue that Kaveh has taken to licking over. It is not an awkward first kiss. Kaveh’s hands do not shake as they slide from Haitham’s jaw to his hair, fiddling with the soft silver strands, then down over his shoulders to settle on his chest. Jutting chest, hot under his palms. Kaveh can feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs, the only indication he’s feeling anything, besides the darkened flush in his cheeks that Kaveh can see upon pulling away.
At some point, Haitham pulls Kaveh into his lap, fingers biting into his thighs and gasping as Kaveh tweaks a nipple through the thin material of his shirt and claims his mouth again. The slide of their mouths against one another is gratifying in the same way it’s exhilarating, shooting sparks up Kaveh’s arms like his veins have been replaced with livewire, the same sting as hitting a nerve. Haitham is quiet, but Kaveh figures he normally is. He’s decided his mission for the night is to break down those walls and coax the sweetest sounds from his impassive partner, a symphonic orchestra for his ears alone.
Kaveh presses down and finds that it hadn’t taken much to work Haitham up. His arousal is made evident from the twitch it gives at the pressure, noticeable even through two layers of cloth.
“Eager,” Kaveh ribs, drawing his finger teasingly over the column of Haitham’s throat. “So hard from so little.”
The sudden feeling of Haitham palming him over his pants has Kaveh gasping, tongue darting out to lick the remnants of their kiss from his lips. “As if you’re any better,” Haitham rebuts, “I’d wager you’ve been hard since I grabbed you.”
“Mmh,” Kaveh hums. “Quite. Bed?”
Kaveh has seen Haitham naked before. After living together for so long, it’d have been hard for him not to have, after showers and in the morning before he changed for work. Yet, as he looks at Haitham, who lies on his elbows, nude to his underwear, Kaveh feels miraculously as if he’s never really seen Haitham before at all. He is, of course, well-built, with arms that could snap Kaveh in two and washboard abs that put the men on those magazines kept in the back of the book stalls to shame, but Haitham is also pretty. His long lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, pretty green eyes shining like nagadus emeralds. His olive skin has a warm glow beneath it, and with his hair fanned out so perfectly beneath him, Kaveh is left wanting nothing more than to positively devour him.
One last look. Kaveh does.
He crawls atop Haitham, peppering kisses down his chest until he can peer up and meet his eyes. He grabs one pec in his hand and murmurs against the hot skin, “Your tits are so big.”
Haitham looks positively baffled at that comment. “They’re not—” He has to pause to collect himself, then hisses, “tits.”
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Kaveh tells him. He teases a nipple, pinching at it until it peaks again, tugging until Haitham makes a noise that Kaveh is sure he’d deny was a whine before he sinks his teeth into the meat of the other, laving his tongue over the bud until it stiffens, too. He pulls away with a wet, exaggerated slurp. “They’re huge,” he begins, “They’re sensitive. You’re just like a girl. They’re definitely tits.”
Haitham wraps a hand in Kaveh’s hair but doesn’t tug—not yet. Kaveh wouldn’t mind if he did. “When I agreed to have sex,” he drones, “I did not agree to be berated.”
Kaveh coos. “Haitham. Of course you did.”
Haitham grumbles something vicious. It makes Kaveh grin.
“Are you in a particularly extended-foreplay mood?”
“I’m in a “lubricant’s in the dresser, put your cock in me” mood.”
“Wonderful,” Kaveh says. He reaches over and grabs the half-empty vial, silently thanking his discovery of its partner for blessing him with a very naked, very aroused Haitham in what he can only describe as an Archon-delivered gift. “We can do more fun things next time.”
A pause.
“Will there be a next time?”
“There might not be this time if you don’t hurry up and open me,” Haitham says. He’s never been so bratty in his life—well, maybe that isn’t true. It’s rare for Kaveh to hear him speak so fluidly, is all. Strong, stoic Al-Haitham, flushed to his tits, practically begging for Kaveh to fuck him. Kaveh really ought to pinch himself.
“Ha-ha,” Kaveh deadpans. “I don’t like your impudence.”
“I don’t like waiting.”
So Kaveh pours some oil on his fingers and bends Haitham at the knee to press one inside. Haitham takes it well—at least, he doesn’t flinch much. His pert little mouth parts to breathe out a huff, brows creasing slightly at the stretch. Not as much as his own, certainly, since Kaveh’s hands are a little smaller. He presses it in a few times, quirking upwards until Haitham shivers.
Haitham’s body is so warm beneath his hands; all taut muscle and sinew, blazing under calloused fingertips as Kaveh drags his free hand over the plains of his stomach and works him open on one, then two, and finally a third finger. He opens easily, soft inside now from Kaveh’s touch, his body twitching around the intrusion.
He’s quiet, but Kaveh doesn’t mind, not yet. He can tell Haitham feels good from the little puffs of breath that press past his spit-slicked lips. His cock, which is admittedly very impressive, hasn’t flagged in the slightest. What a pretty thing he is, to be rendered to a squirming mess from just three of Kaveh’s fingers. Kaveh lets him know this.
“Shut up,” Haitham says. “Hurry.”
“Hurry?” Kaveh asks. “And do what?”
“You know what.”
“Kaveh.”
Kaveh stops moving his fingers, enthralled by Haitham’s hiss. “Do I?”
“Fuck me,” Haitham says. “How many times do I have to ask you?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll never tire of you being so crass.” Kaveh hums sweetly. He strips himself of his undergarments so he can lube himself up and press the tip of his cock to Haitham’s hole, which twitches in anticipation. It seems to almost suck him in like Haitham’s broad, strong body needs Kaveh inside. Kaveh can hardly argue with the darkness in Haitham’s eyes, nor how he’s wrapped his strong legs around his waist and is urging Kaveh further.
It’s hot. Searing, even, enveloping Kaveh to the root, consuming his very soul. He tips his chin to the heavens, letting out a small moan at the feeling as he sinks inside of Haitham, inch after inch. Haitham is no better, gripping tightly at Kaveh’s forearms where he’s braced on either side of Haitham’s waist. His fingers are biting, but Kaveh doesn’t mind the sting.
“Ah,” Kaveh sighs, head drooping low again. He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re so tight.”
Haitham nods, though it wasn’t a question. He lets out another little breath when Kaveh pulls out and presses back in. Kaveh imagines that even Celestia doesn’t taste as sweet.
And sure, Kaveh has fucked people before. He’s been fucked by people before, and it’s never felt like this. His heart is throbbing like it’s trying to escape him, and his head is going dizzy from the pleasure of Haitham’s body pulling him in so sweetly. Maybe it’s just Haitham—the release of all that bickering, all of those longing stares he tried to pretend he never commit. How he would ignore the way his heart leapt to his throat when Haitham would step into the hallway with a towel around his waist and rivulets of water dripping down his chiselled abdomen, how even in school he’d wanted nothing more than to press him up against the wall and claim his mouth just to get him to shut up. Everything is Haitham’s fault. It always has been.
“You’re too quiet,” Kaveh tells him, pressing Haitham’s legs back so he can get in on him. “Let me hear you.”
“Maybe you’re not—ah!”
Kaveh grins. “What was that?”
Haitham doesn’t respond, but his unamused look is short-lived, quickly mitosing into pinched brows and a gaping mouth. Each thrust knocks these little punched-out noises from the middle of his chest, so sweet and soft, and Kaveh feels bad about swallowing them, but Haitham is positively begging to be kissed, so he does. It’s a little sloppier this time around, their bodies jostled with Kaveh’s movement. Haitham’s hands slide to his back, digging short nails into already marred skin, but Kaveh doesn’t mind. He’d give Haitham anything right now.
Haitham, Kaveh thinks, has always been sort of like a river. He’s calm, coaxing, and calculated, but when the moment calls for it can be vicious—unpredictable. Now, he’s nothing but a saccharine puddle under Kaveh, vibrating from the buzzing pleasure of Kaveh working his insides. His eyes have gone glassy like he’s going to cry but can’t find the will to and Kaveh swears there’s a line of drool at the corner of his mouth. He wants to lick it up, to taste Haitham for the millionth time tonight, but he has the feeling that his own mouth would betray his brain’s orders, unable to compute even such a simple command,
“Kaveh,” Haitham gasps, choking on a sound that comes from deep within him. His voice has somewhat pitched up with the exertion, but it still has that guttural grovel to it that licks pleasantly up Kaveh’s spine. “It feels good,” he continues, “More.”
“More?” Kaveh asks. He’s aiming for cocky but lands at shaky. “I never thought you’d be so greedy.”
“Please,” Haitham cries, “I want—to cum.”
Kaveh sees stars. It’s easy to take Haitham’s cock in hand, to thumb over the head and spread sticky spurts of pre around the tip. It’s easy to watch him shudder, to twitch like he isn’t sure whether he wants more or to get away from the feeling of Kaveh surrounding him, clouding his senses. Kaveh, for one, is pinholed on Haitham. The house could come down around them in a burst of flames and he’d still be enamoured. His hands would still be searching, feeling out hard abs and sharp collar bones and the sheer heat that burns under Haitham’s skin. He’d still be watching his face, his beautiful, annoyingly handsome face contort into a range of emotions that even Kaveh can barely decipher so far gone. He’d still want to kiss him, to taste his spit and feel the bumps in his tongue and swallow his moans. Kaveh doesn’t look away for a second when Haitham cums, streaking white all the way up his belly, and crying as sweetly as he is.
To be completely fair, Kaveh doesn’t last much longer either. It’s a lot different, after all, when you’ve been fantasizing about someone for so long and they’re finally under you, writhing, whimpering, and covered in their own spend. Haitham’s fucked out, dopey look is enough to fill Kaveh’s spank bank for eternity, though he’s sure there’s more where that came from.
Their syncopated heaving mellows to nothing but shallow breaths, and Kaveh presses his forehead to Haitham, letting his elbows buckle and fold until they’re chest-to-chest. He kisses him slowly, easily. It lacks the heat from beforehand, but the longing, that cloying feeling that seeps between his ribs is still very present in the way Haitham melts into it, dragging his fingers up Kaveh’s sweat-tacky back.
Haitham’s legs slide out so they’re flat, and after a while, his hands settle on Kaveh’s waist.
“Am I crushing you?”
“No,” Haitham tells him. “You’re lying in cum though.”
“It’s fine if it’s yours,” Kaveh teases.
“Disgusting. Get a rag.”
Kaveh whines at him, burying his face in Haitham’s neck. “Boo,” he says.
Haitham doesn’t respond for a moment before murmuring, “Fine. Two more minutes.”
It’s quiet. Haitham smells like clove and sweat and Kaveh, and if Kaveh weren’t thoroughly exhausted, it’d have him raring to go. It occurs to him, after about thirty seconds, that being so close to another person is nice. It feels right to have Haitham’s heart beating against his, mellowing now as he comes down. Kaveh’s never really dated, mostly just hooked up and—oh. Are they dating?
Haitham’s voice pulls him from the beginning of a spiral.
“Oh,” he says, as if reminded of something. “Kaveh.”
“Hmm?”
“I never stole your pen,” he tells him. “I don’t know what you were going on about.”
“What?” Kaveh asks, sitting up straight. He braces himself on Haitham’s chest. “Are you lying?”
“No.” Haitham shakes his head. “Why would I lie? What a benign thing to steal from you. If I were mad and wanted you to know, I’d eat your curry.”
“Then where—”
“How should I know?” Haitham says, “Did you check your bag? You must have been half asleep when you packed it, no?”
Naked as the day he was born, Kaveh springs out of bed and rushes for his satchel, which lies slumped on the armchair in the corner of his room. He rifles through it for a moment, tossing loose scraps of paper and tubes of hand cream and lip balm alike on the floor before something pricks him when he shoves his hand in deep. He wraps his grubby little fingers around it and—Gods, have mercy on his soul.
“I’m going to jump off the roof.”
“I won’t pay the funeral costs.”
He holds the pen up to the light as if to check whether or not it’s a figment of his imagination. He pokes the nib, watching ink bleed into the lines of his fingerprints.
“I can’t believe this pen is the reason I finally bedded you,” Kaveh states dumbly.
“It’d have happened sooner or later,” Haitham tells him. “You’d have cracked.”
“I doubt that.”
“You are a slave to your desires and I happen to be primary on that list.”
“As if! You’re second at best.”
Haitham mutters something unintelligible. Kaveh grabs a few tissues from his desk and climbs back into bed with him.
“About what I said earlier,” Kaveh begins, wiping down Haitham’s chest, “We really will be…together?”
“I can hardly see how I could live with you after letting you penetrate me,” Haitham deadpans. “Do I seem like someone who participates in one-night stands?”
“Well,” Kaveh says, “No. But you also don’t seem like someone who bends over for their inferior roommate so easily.”
“I never said you were inferior. I said you were an idiot. I also wouldn’t say I was easy.”
“You’re lucky I won’t pull out my greatsword right now.” Kaveh rolls his eyes. “And, you were easy.”
“Mmh.”
“You’re a petulant brat who hides behind his need to be sophisticated.”
“Mmh,” Haitham murmurs again. “You like it, though, don’t you?”
And yeah, Kaveh supposes he does.