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“Haven’t we had this discussion before?” Alhaitham asked. It was very much a rhetorical question, but he knew Kaveh would not allow it to remain one.
Kaveh swallowed the last bite of his pita pocket and licked his lips. With an irritated flick of the wrist, he brushed a strand of blond hair out of his face and fixed Alhaitham with a challenging glint in his eyes. “So what? Only by discussion and revisitation of previously discussed topics can new findings be made. A plethora of previously established ‘facts’ have been disproven by now, so I’d like to argue that there is ample value in reevaluating this matter. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone else?”
Alhaitham felt something stir inside him. So it was one of those days. They were sitting in an empty meeting room that sometimes doubled as a classroom for Kaveh’s guest lectures. Today they were using it for their shared lunch break. Though, by the set of Kaveh’s jaw, Alhaitham could easily tell he had a hunger that asked to be satisfied by something other than food.
“Let me ask you, then,” he said, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “Why do the old Sumerian literary classics concern you, who is neither a scholar of linguistics nor involved in any business revolving around literature? Don’t get me wrong,” he added before Kaveh could protest. “I am well aware of the benefits of dabbling in more than one field of study, and denying this fact would be hypocritical of me. Still, I can’t help but wonder why you would choose to pick a fight with me about a topic I have spent many hours studying when you have not.”
Kaveh huffed out a breath of air. “It’s really quite simple. An aptitude for linguistics doesn’t translate seamlessly to an adequate understanding of literature, as much as you make it seem like it does. Literature is not just words on a page to be analyzed in a sterile environment. Literature is art. Unlike you, I have an eye for the details, a sense for romance, and there is quite a bit of that buried in the old scrolls that you Haravatat types like to overlook.”
Alhaitham felt his lips pull into a smile. “Go on then. Give me one example.”
“Easy,” Kaveh said. He got up from his chair and circled the table they were sitting at. He lowered himself on the edge of it, his thighs just centimeters away from Alhaitham’s elbow, which was resting on the table. “You are familiar with the story of Ashraf and Milad, yes?”
Alhaitham nodded. Anyone who had spent any notable amount of time studying in the halls of the Akademiya would have come across the ancient tale of the two scholars.
“Well,” Kaveh continued, “up until this point, their relationship has been declared purely platonic, hasn’t it?”
“That is because there is no evidence that it wasn’t. Many scholars, myself included, have conducted detailed analyses on the usage of analogies, metaphors and the implications of the euphemisms used to describe their relationship across both the original script and its many translations, and while there are some passages that leave room for discussion, especially pertaining to the frequent usage of the word ‘love’, the overall consensus is that there were no inherently romantic feelings involved. The social context of when it was originally written indicates this as well.”
Kaveh’s vermillion eyes lit up at Alhaitham’s words, the first adventurous flames of an impending blaze. “No evidence? I beg to differ. It’s as clear as day that those two were written as lovers. For one, when Ashraf visits Milad in his dream and tells him to wake up, to come to the land of those who are awake and enlightened, it’s implied that Milad does not yet know himself and his desires, but Ashraf has already come to grips with his romantic desire for Milad and is actively courting.”
That much Alhaitham expected. “That is one of the scenes up for discussion. It needs to be contrasted with the multiple instances where the opposite may be implied. On the basis of what has continued to be defined as true romantic love, Ashraf would neither have discouraged Milad from leaving his old master’s workshop nor confronted him with the reality of his own fatal mistakes in the way he did. Therefore, interpreting the dream as something other than a metaphor for intellectual awakening is foolish.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Kaveh scoffed, poking Alhaiham’s chest with his finger. “Aren’t you always telling me that sugarcoating your words does more damage than good and that being cared for may bring with it the pain of self-reflection? That to love sometimes means getting hurt and that true growth can only come from being told the truth? That in being truthful one shows respect for those he loves?”
“This is not about me or my personal stance on the definition of love,” Alhaitham retorted, but under Kaveh’s heated gaze he felt naked, trapped between his words of defiance and passion. He found himself craving more of it, felt himself wanting to step into Kaveh’s verbal trap at the promise of more, the temptation honey-sweet.
“Is that all you have to say?” Kaveh loomed over him, the fabric of his tunic slipping halfway down his left shoulder, exposing a dusky nipple. If Alhaitham wanted to he could lean in and close his lips around it. He swallowed, trying not to let his baser desires lead him astray so easily when he had an argument to win.
“I would like for you to reflect on the value of platonic love,” he said, despite the fact that platonic love was the last thing on his mind right now. The way Kaveh talked to him, the way his entire body moved with the conviction behind his arguments—when he took Alhaitham’s words and bent them to his liking, when he used his quick wit to verbally disarm, that’s when he was most beautiful. There was something erotic in the way he matched Alhaitham’s pace so effortlessly, always a comeback on the tip of his tongue. He left little room for him to argue on the basis of the results his research had yielded, instead forcing him to follow down the path Kaveh was leading him.
“I fail to see how anything about their relationship can be considered platonic,” Kaveh laughed. The way his eyes had darkened with something carnal wasn’t lost on Alhaitham. “When they reunite at the end of the story, and Ashraf tells Milad how he was incomplete without Milad to keep him company, and the moon emerges from a bank of stormy clouds, the implication is very clear. They have not reached perfect harmony, and they probably never will, but they have found a way to be with each other that allows them to keep growing alongside one another.”
Alhaitham rose to his feet, no longer able nor willing to let Kaveh talk down at him. With his arms bracketing Kaveh on either side and his hips slotting between Kaveh’s spread thighs, he pressed against him, holding eye contact. “And a platonic relationship doesn’t suffice to accommodate for that?” he challenged.
Kaveh let out a low groan. His hands came up to hold on to Alhaitham’s shoulders, the familiar heat of his skin sending electric signals down Alhaitam’s spine. When he opened his mouth to speak again, his breath fanned across Alhaitham’s lips, and it took Alhaitham everything he had to maintain the laughable distance that remained between them. He needed to hear Kaveh’s answer.
“Think about Milad’s response. He says, ‘ I have found you, but you were never truly gone. I have carried you with me, every step of the way, and the aching of my heart has never quite abated, but now, in your embrace, I am finally home, and my heart is at peace.’ Considering context, choice of vocabulary, and the emotional tension invoked through the usage of the word ‘home’ when neither of them possesses a physical house, it’s clear that he considers Ashraf to be his soulmate and romantic partner.”
Kaveh’s last words left his lips in a rush, his cheeks flushed attractively. His eyes were flickering with the excitement of delivering a well-thought out argument, and Alhaitham’s body reacted to it in a way that made him question whether he wanted Kaveh to continue or if he wanted to cover his mouth with his own, to swallow every clever thought before he had a chance to voice it. He was hard, his cock straining against the unforgiving material of his work pants. When he tipped his hips forward, Kaveh let out another quiet moan, fingernails digging sharply into Alhaitham’s biceps. This argument had long left the tracks of literary analysis—it was morphing into something else, something far removed from good scholarly practice.
“Looks like someone’s excited,” Kaveh commented, dropping one of his hands from Alhaitham’s shoulder to trace the outline of his erection against his thigh. “But I would like to hear your response, you know. It’s fine if you agree with me, by the way.”
Alhaitham laughed. It was obvious Kaveh was equally aroused, but it seemed he had no intention of dropping their discussion. Fine with Alhaitham. It wasn’t the first time they got carried away like this.
“I agree, in part,” he murmured, his hands settling on Kaveh’s thighs. He kneaded the supple flesh that gave so beautifully under his fingers, then slid his hands up to where his thighs met his hips, pulling Kaveh flush against himself. “It is abundantly clear that those two are meant to be soulmates. It is brought up multiple times throughout the entire story how they complete each other, and in chapter seven, the imagery of the mirror takes a prominent role that underlines this notion. However, this stands in no relation to the concept of romantic love.”
Kaveh’s hands started moving, too. They were fumbling with Alhaitham’s belt pouch, trying to undo the knot that kept it in place. “Cute,” he said, his breathing uneven. “Do I need to remind you what the central theme of that chapter is?”
Alhaitham nudged Kaveh’s hands away to take off his belt pouch himself. With a soft thud, it fell to the floor, and just as quickly, Kaveh’s hands were back on him, tugging his tight shirt out of his pants. Slim fingers dipped beneath the fabric, splaying hotly against Alhaitham’s stomach. Kaveh leaned in closer, his eyes half-lidded, and said, “A wedding, Haitham. The mirror appears during Milad’s sister’s wedding ceremony. That should suffice to make it so abundantly clear that the context is romantic.” Kaveh punctuated his statement with a shaky roll of his hips, making Alhaitham gasp.
“It’s not Milad’s wedding,” Alhaitham replied, his own voice unexpectedly scratchy. He needed to get himself out of these pants, and soon.
“He lingers long after the ceremony, though. And even though Ashraf is not present for the festivities, his name appears repeatedly as Milad contemplates the mirror on the table. It symbolizes the first step of his journey of self-discovery, which also encapsulates his feelings for Ashraf.”
Kaveh seemed to have read his mind. His fingers stopped exploring the planes of Alhaitham’s stomach and instead started popping the buttons on his pants, tugging them down along with his underwear. Cool air hit Alhaitham’s flushed cock, shortly followed by the hot curl of Kaveh’s hand around him. Alhaitham bit his lip on a moan at the much needed touch, rutting thoughtlessly against Kaveh’s palm.
“Already lost for words? O-or do you give in?” Kaveh teased, clearly nearing his limit as well.
“Just collecting my thoughts,” Alhaitham replied. He could barely think. All he wanted was Kaveh—his hand stroking languidly along Alhaitham’s leaking cock was nowhere near enough to satiate the hunger for his body and mind alike. With practiced ease, he undid Kaveh’s pants and pulled him free as well, saliva collecting in his mouth at the sight of him, twitching and wet.
“Collect them faster,” Kaveh gasped, his hand stuttering on an upstroke as Alhaitham took hold of him, smearing precome around the tip and then down his shaft. He gave him a few loose strokes, noting with satisfaction how Kaveh’s sharp eyes started to lose their focus, threatening to flutter closed with pleasure.
“Again,” Alhaitham began, licking his lips, “your theory lacks proof. Even if Milad thinks of Ashraf as he takes a look at the mirror, it isn’t stated anywhere that he sees him in a romantic light. Yes, the word ‘love’ is mentioned, but its properties aren’t specified.”
“Then let’s revisit the exact passage, shall we?” Kaveh huffed. He twisted his wrist just so, sending a bolt of pleasure through Alhaitham’s body . “‘ He loved the shape of his mouth and the graceful curve of his shoulders, the divine slope of his neck, and he wanted nothing but to claim them as his, even as he knew he would never accomplish such a task.’ Does that sound like there is no romantic love involved, hm?”
His lips brushed the shell of Alhaitham’s ear as he cited the passage—and Alhaitham was impressed that he had memorized it at all—but the heat of Kaveh’s breath, the feeling of him so close and yet not close enough was making it hard to formulate a response. His entire body felt like it had fire shooting through his veins, with every word from Kaveh’s mouth, his lust for him grew.
Kaveh continued, “And during the bath at midnight, Ashraf is trying to help Milad up from the water, but when their hands touch, ‘he feels like his breathing has stopped, and he tells Ashraf to take his cloak and wrap himself in it, for he is afraid he may lose ownership of his hands and eyes and mouth, his whole body indeed, in the face of such irresistible temptation’.”
Alhaitham shivered. Whether it was the nature of their argument, or the content of the story, or the way the words sounded in Kaveh’s breathless voice, Alhaitham did not know, but he knew he was quickly losing patience. Alhaitham suspected Kaveh had another argument sitting pretty on his tongue, but he was in no rush to hear it. Instead of replying to Kaveh’s argument, he grabbed his chin with his free hand and fit their mouths together in a searing kiss. Kaveh moaned into it, his voice vibrating in his throat as he returned the kiss, his tongue pushing into Alhaitham’s mouth. He accepted him gladly. It was sloppy and messy, but it was exactly what he needed. He lost himself in the push and pull of their bodies, the chatter of students and lecturers passing by the door blurring into little more than background noise. He wondered briefly what kind of debauched picture the two of them might make if they were to be discovered like this—their pants down, leaning against the table and jerking each other off, while the remainder of their lunch had been left where it was, forgotten. Kaveh gasped for air, his lips shiny and red as he pulled back to look at Alhaitham.
“Do you…do you surrender now?”
“No,” Alhaitham said, his heart thumping against his breastbone. Even if giving up meant getting off sooner, he wanted to find out how far Kaveh was willing to go. He pressed himself closer, fitting both himself and Kaveh in his hands and rubbing their cocks together. Both of them let out wrecked noises at the feeling, and Alhaitham noted how Kaveh’s hips started rolling against his with more insistence now.
“Th-then convince me,” Kaveh managed, arms wrapping around the back of Alhaitham’s neck to steady himself.
Alhaitham took a deep breath, trying to sort his frazzled thoughts. “So. About the word ‘love’.” He swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady. It was hard with how good Kaveh’s cock felt against his, hot and pulsating. When he rubbed up against where Alhaitham was most sensitive, right below the head, he felt like he was going to tip over the edge right then. He barely managed to suppress it, hissing through his teeth.
“Y-yeah?” Kaveh prompted, his lips scraping Alhaitham’s neck. “Don’t stop.”
“Love,” Alhaitham repeated, “comes in many forms. It is highly likely that someone like Milad would find artistic value in Ashraf’s form. Like an artist admiring a—ah, fuck —a sculpture.” The way Kaveh kept fucking up into his hands, rubbing against his own cock with every snap of his hips felt entirely too good.
Kaveh gave a small laugh, clearly enjoying the way Alhaitham was starting to fall apart. “Mmh, the only time a sculpture is mentioned, the choice of words is rather different.” He punctuated his statement with a biting kiss to the side of Alhaitham’s neck, right below his ear, and Alhaitham’s knees came dangerously close to buckling. The friction between them was becoming too much too quickly. He spit in his hand to ease the slide, speeding up his movements. Kaveh moaned again, tempting Alhaitham to simply discard their conversation altogether and concentrate fully on the sensation of their bodies against one another.
“I’m close,” he warned.
“You can’t come y-yet. Discussion’s not over.”
“Who said that’s for you to decide?” Alhaitham countered.
Kaveh heaved a shuddering breath. “Give me one good counter argument t-to all I’ve said.”
“Just one?”
“Hurry up,” Kaveh demanded, and who was Alhaitham to deny him? He had long noticed where his interpretation stemmed from, and it was time to let Kaveh know. He buried his face in Kaveh’s hair, inhaling the smell of him, and gave him his response. “All the arguments you’ve made…display a degree of understanding few scholars possess. But there is one fatal flaw in your line of argumentation. Have…have you not noticed that your views have been colored by your real life experiences?”
“W-what do you mean?” Kaveh gasped.
“You think these characters behave like they do because you have tied them to real life people. You think that my love for you and yours for me is reflected in the ancient scrolls.”
“ Fuck, Haitham— ”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kaveh squirmed against him, shaking his head left to right in denial. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth digging into kiss-swollen lips.
“It’s fine. I feel f-flattered.” Alhaitham pressed a sloppy kiss against the corner of Kaveh’s mouth. “But I need to hear you say it, Kaveh.”
“N-never…”
“Then you leave me no choice.” Alhaitham let go of them, attempting to take a step back. Kaveh’s eyes flew open reflexively, his hands curling around Alhaitam’s wrists in a death grip. His cock twitched pitifully at the loss.
“Don’t you d-dare stop now,” he hissed, yanking at Alhaitham’s arms. “So what,” he continued, breath shaky, “what if I thought there was a resemblance? What's it to you if I romanticize my relationship with you?” Kaveh’s face had gone a dark red that spread beautifully down his neck to his chest, his eyes the color of smoldering embers. “You’re annoying on good days, so what else can I—”
Alhaitham closed the distance between them in one swift step, devouring Kaveh’s lips in a kiss. He was not usually one to pass on the pleasure of instant sexual gratification, but hearing Kaveh tell him he was right, in whatever garbled and twisted form it may be, surpassed that feeling by far. It was all he needed, it was admission enough. He wrapped his hands around them again and started up a quick rhythm. Kaveh clung to him like he was his lifeline, gasping and moaning with each stroke of Alhaitham’s hands.
“Oh, gods, Haitham, yes— I’m gonna—”
“I’ve got you,” Alhaitham rasped. “Come.”
“ Fuck.” Kaveh’s teeth sank into the junction of Alhaitham’s shoulder and neck as he came, thick strings of come splattering across Alhaitham’s hands, his cock, their clothes. Alhaitham wanted to watch Kaveh come undone until the end, but when Kaveh moaned out his name, nails scratching deliciously down his back, the coiling tension in his gut finally snapped. With a badly suppressed moan, he toppled over the edge, adding to the mess Kaveh had already made of them. He stroked them through it until they were both spent and oversensitive, his sweaty forehead coming to rest against Kaveh’s heaving shoulder.
Panting, the two of them stood in the empty meeting room, trying to collect their wits. Despite the stickiness coating Alhaitham’s hands and sullying his clothes, a deep feeling of satisfaction spread throughout him. His limbs felt comfortably heavy, but his mind was clear and refreshed. Kaveh stirred against him, leaning up for a kiss.
“You got pretty worked up there.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice.
“I liked your arguments,” Alhaitham said against Kaveh’s lips. “Likening our relationship to that of the enlightened scholars of old may yet be your greatest attempt at flattery. I thought it was rather romantic of you. Alas, I can’t accept any of it as the truth.”
“I hate it when you act like you’re right,” Kaveh said, but there was no trace of anger in his voice. Another kiss, this time to Alhaitham’s cheek. “Mm, my clothes are ruined now.”
“Hold on.”
Alhaitham reached for the handkerchief he had left on the table earlier to wipe the two of them down. When they had tucked themselves back into their pants, Alhaitham took a step back to inspect the extent of the damage. The stains on his own clothes weren’t a problem, they were inconspicuous and he could easily conceal them with his belt pouch. Kaveh wasn’t as lucky, as some of their come had dripped down onto his thigh, leaving a milky trail down the black fabric of his pants.
“Just say you spilled some yogurt,” Alhaitham suggested, which earned him a slap to the bicep.
“I have a lecture after break ends,” Kaveh sighed. “How am I supposed to hide this?”
“As I said. Yogurt,” Alhaitham insisted. “It’s your own fault anyway, considering you were the one who started this.”
“Oh, so I’m the one at fault now? You were the one who escalated it!” Kaveh puffed out his cheeks, arms crossed. “And I didn’t even win the discussion,” he added, as if that somehow worsened the weight of the indisputable evidence their break time activities had left on his thigh.
“We can continue the discussion later tonight,” Alhaitham said, brushing past Kaveh to collect his mostly untouched lunch. Before long, the bell would ring, calling both of them back to their respective duties. It was time to clean up.
“Oh, I’ll ruin you,” Kaveh said, turning in Alhaitham’s direction. “You won’t even know what hit you once I’m done with you.”
“With your intellect?” Alhaitham asked, smiling. “Or with your body?”
In a flurry of red and white and turquoise, Kaveh moved to stand in front of him, sparks in his eyes. He looked like he was about to delve into a new debate with him right then and there, tension curling visibly in his body, like metal springs waiting to snap. Alhaitham loved him.
“Both,” Kaveh said sweetly, and Alhaitham knew it was a threat as much as it was a promise.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Kaveh didn’t protest when Alhaitham pulled him in for a last lingering kiss, melting into his embrace like jelly. Where his words had carried a prideful bite before, his kisses were gentle and soothing. Alhaitham basked in the moment, relishing every sweet breath shared between them. Eventually the bell rang, and they had to separate.
“See you tonight,” Alhaitham said when Kaveh stepped out of the room first, holding his briefcase in front of him to hide the stains on his pants. Kaveh stuck out his tongue at him and started making his way down the hallway, blond hair swinging behind him. Alhaitham looked after him fondly until he rounded the corner before he too returned to his office.
His break had felt shorter than usual—and still, in Alhaitham’s book, it was a break well spent.