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One minute he’s expertly swaying the room in his favor, the next he’s catching a throwing knife aimed squarely between his eyes. Basim goes cross-eyed staring at the damn thing trapped between his fingers, grateful for his sharp reflexes. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
It’s not a question.
He cautiously lowers the blade to see the flush creeping up Hytham’s neck.
Finally.
“What am I doing?”
“You planned this.”
“Oh, come now, Hytham–”
“What do you mean?” Shaun pipes up between them, looking skittish. Basim can hardly blame the man. He’s put his faith in him more times than he deserved. “Gamma team suddenly disappears after we conveniently find a Ring of Eden to protect us from an impending EMP blast that we had no way to get away from prior?”
“That’s a stretch, mate.”
“Is it?” Hytham takes a careful step forward, eyes glued to Basim’s, daring him to do anything untoward, “or are you just afraid to admit that he’s good at leveraging coincidences to cover his tracks.” Basim smiles, reveling in Hytham’s deduction.
A resident expert, indeed.
“But he was with us the whole time!” Shaun sputters.
“How long have you been at this? Was the accident in Lisbon your doing too?”
Basim starts to toy with the blade in his hand, all nonchalant, “I admire your flattery, Hytham. Sadly, I’m not nearly as nefarious as you give me credit for.” Hytham visibly bristles.
“Alright, enough!” Basim wants to stitch William’s lips together for interrupting. Things were just getting interesting. “It doesn’t matter what he did, what matters is he’s right. We’re sorely unequipped for a mission of this scale, and we only have one shot at this.”
“But, Bill–”
“We need him out there, Shaun.”
“So he can do what—” Rebecca starts to grill him too, “run off and find something else he can muck up for whatever game he's playing?”
“I’m going with him.”
Everyone stops to look at Hytham, who continues to give Basim his undivided attention. Eyes searing into his, hot and heavy.
Lucky him.
He has seen that look on Hytham a handful of times, barely holding onto a wrath threatening to spill over the edge like a stampede rearing to crush whatever lay in its path. He never imagined he'd be on the receiving end of it, but he’d be lying if he didn’t think it made Hytham look beautiful.
Basim has tried numerous times to get a rise out of him and failed. The barricade between them has been impossible to deal with, so to see his composure finally slip like this is rewarding, to say the least.
“You’re supposed to be laying low.” Shaun reasons.
“So is he.”
“You’ll be seen.”
“No. I won’t.”
“Can you guarantee that?!”
Hytham finally stops drilling a hole through Basim’s skull, forces his shoulders to relax and turns to Shaun with an alarming degree of calm. “Are you doubting your wife’s abilities?” The room stills. Basim bites his cheek to keep the joy threatening to bubble past his lips at bay.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“I had a good mentor.” Hytham spits.
Basim’s amusement briefly sours.
“It’s settled then.” Bill crosses his arms. “The two of you will infiltrate the venue together.”
“I was wondering when I’d see you back in action, little eagle.” Basim grins, triumphant.
Hytham tries his best to walk away without acknowledging him. The tightly bound fists at his sides says otherwise.
Their orders are clear.
At the slightest hint of trouble, every unit operating in and out of the city retreats. To lose anymore of their well established assets would be costly, especially with the stunt Basim already pulled. They’ve been planting their seeds in every nook and cranny for months. Abstergo’s network hangs by a thread, and their success running an operation of this scale would finally put them on equal footing with the Templars. Basim may have plans of his own, but he still believes in the justice their creed delivers. Tonight is strictly Assassin business, and he would hate to see all their hard work crumble after everything he’s helped them achieve.
Hytham adjusts the cufflinks on his sleeves and secures his earpiece in place. They’re both supposed to look the part tonight, and Hytham looks… he looks stunning. The well tailored suit is so different from his usual knitted sweaters.
“I trust you.”
Basim’s stomach lurches. After all that, after reaffirming just how enigmatic he can be, Basim’s drowning to ask him ‘why?’ Instead, he stands with his mouth ajar, dumbfounded, unable to find the wit that should come so naturally to him.
Hytham turns around to face him in the silence of the room, eyes shining like crystal, shooting straight through him. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I–”
“Testing! One, two!” Rebecca’s voice cuts sharply in their ears.
“Roger.”
“Great! You two have an hour, let’s get to it.”
“Ah, Dr. Lange!” Basim announces loudly, arms spread wide.
Lange Muller, a well-respected philanthropist and pharmaceutical physician in Denmark. Father of two, loving husband, and most importantly, a successor to one of many unhinged projects left behind by Gramatica. Basim and Hytham find him with his hands wound around two younger women, giggling and peppering him with sloppy kisses atop the leather chaise in a dark corner of the hall. “I’m glad to have caught you so unoccupied!”
“Piss off.”
“That’s no way to treat Kruger’s guests.”
Lange sighs. The look of bliss slips from his face. “Get off,” he growls, shoving the women away with more force than necessary. One of them stumbles to the ground, shocked by the sudden outburst. Both of them scamper away, nearly forgetting their belongings on the way out. “What do you want?”
“Information.” Basim shrugs.
“Does Kruger know that two of his guests have wandered off gallivanting in places they shouldn't be?”
“I don’t know. Does Kruger know that you’re using his fundraisers to hide two of the largest human trafficking rings in eastern Europe?” Lange barks out a laugh and taps out a cigarette from the pack sitting atop the coffee table separating them. Basim waits patiently, watches him stick one between his teeth and light it before leaning back against the lavish cushions with a daring leer. “Do you feel in control?”
Basim raises an eyebrow, enticing him to continue. He knows Lange will indulge him, his kind are always so eager to flaunt their power. “Our patrons are wrapped up in more scandals than you would believe. You pull the casket on our operation, you drop forty-million kids below the poverty line.” Basim rolls his eyes. “Won’t anyone think of the children!” Lange’s grin slips just a fraction. “It makes no difference to me if forty million or a billion children starve.” Basim sneers, leaning his face forward.
“You’re not with Kruger.”
“Whatever gave you that idea.”
“Where is Victor Bilyk?” Hytham cuts in, reminding the two other men that he’s still in the room. Basim looks back at him, feeling a brief surge of annoyance. Hytham seldom ever interrupts him when conducting an interrogation. Oftentimes he’ll leave him to his methods, trust in his methods, but then, Basim hasn’t been in the field with Hytham in over a millennium.
“Who?”
“Don’t play coy with me.” Hytham takes a dangerous step forward.
Lange plucks the cigarette from his lips and exhales the smoke through his nose. “Make it worth my while then, pretty boy.” Basim immediately flares up watching Lange shoot Hytham a salacious smile. He wants to rip the man’s eyes from his skull, but before he can even respond in a manner befitting a man like Lange, Hytham quickly, quietly, strides towards Lange and plops himself atop his lap, straddling each side of the man's thighs.
Basim freezes.
Lange laughs and slides a possessive hand over Hytham’s ass, who makes quick work of the man’s belt with his deft fingers. Lange lulls his head on his free hand, clearly enjoying the view, cigarette burning away at his fingertips and looking far too smug for Basim’s comfort. “So eager,” he grins, squeezing the man’s asscheek. Then, to Basim’s dread, Hytham slides a hand down the front of the man’s pants. He wants to look away, but he can’t tear himself from what’s unfolding. Basim watches the way Lange’s eyes roll back into his head, he watches the man’s stupid jaw drop open in pleasure as Hytham does something wicked with his hand, he watches him sluggishly thrust up into Hytham’s touch, then very suddenly stop, eyes bulging out of his head to warily look down—“Where’s Bilyk?”
Hytham’s hidden blade gleams against the man’s dick. Lange watches a tiny bead of blood flow from the small cut at the base of his cock and gathers the severity of the situation in seconds. His face goes pale.
Basim can do nothing but watch, mouth dry.
“You don’t understand, the men who hired us, they’ll–”
“Right now, I’m the man who will cut your dick off if you don’t tell us what we want to know.” Hytham squeezes his hand painfully around the man’s cock for emphasis. “Catania!” Lange yelps faintly as to not arouse suspicion. “He traveled to Catania two months ago to lay low. They operate out of Naples for easy port access, and he’s got over 200 assets ready to move every day.”
“Where else?”
“Marseille! Jesus—Marseille, please let me go. That’s all I know!”
Hytham leans in close, inches from his face as he levels the man with one of his icy glares and whispers low. “But I’m not done making it worth your while.”
The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch. They subdue Lange and shove his body in a closet. The guards are dropped by Galina before they can understand who’s in the building. Authorities are alerted, and Kruger has a long night ahead of him, but that’s none of Hytham or Basim’s concern, and they hightail it out of there before anyone catches wind of their presence. Rebecca does an impeccable job wiping any surveillance with either of them in it, and Shaun alerts all assassins within vicinity to apprehend or kill all potential whistlers that catch wind of tonight's events. With any luck, they can bust Bilyk in Naples before news spreads.
But Basim can think of little else than retiring to their hotel room for the night. Hytham hasn’t looked at him once since he wrapped his thick fingers around Lange’s cock, and it's driving him mad, to put it mildly. An agonizing twenty-five minute car ride through the city later, they’re finally walking in with their key cards, and Basim wastes no time in slamming Hytham back up against the door before it can even lock into place.
Hytham’s breath hitches against Basim’s teeth. The door clicks behind them, and Basim’s hands are on him in seconds. His fingers smooth through Hytham’s silky hair, down the man’s sensitive neck, tug at the tie trapped between the heat of their bodies in a hopeless attempt to weld their bodies together. When his resolve starts to wane, Basim nips at Hytham’s lips a little too harshly, then promptly licks it to silently apologize. He’s kissing down the side of his prickly jaw, down his neck, prying his shirt open to bury his nose in the crook of his shoulder to breathe in the man’s natural heady scent. It’s so much, it's too much, it's intoxicating and yet still not enough.
“You were incredible.” Basim’s voice is rough with desire. “I forgot what it was like to work with you.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re unpredictable.” Basim bites the sensitive skin when breathing it in isn’t enough, and Hytham rewards him with a delicious moan, turning his head away to give Basim more skin to mark. “You’re telling me I’m unpredictable?” Basim smiles and kisses the bruise that’s sure to bloom.
“Fuck.” Hytham rasps.
“Oh I intend to.” Basim unzips Hytham’s pants in a daze, drops to his knees, and swallows his springing cock in one fluid motion. Hytham juts his hip up into his mouth. A gasp rips from his lungs and drawls into a low and steady groan as he steels himself to the door, banging a fist back against it. Basim huffs through his nose, indulges in the vibrations of Hytham’s wavering control. The weight of his cock pressed firmly against the length of Basim’s tongue is heavenly, but before he can really get a rhythm going to make Hytham properly lose it, the man’s fingers weave through Basim’s hair, grip, then pull. With a wet pop, Basim’s head goes abruptly. A trail of saliva drips between his lips and the tip of Hytham's rosy cock, tempting him to finish what he started. His throat lodges with a wanton sound. The sheer force of Hytham’s hold makes his dick stir uncomfortably up against his pants. “Not this time.”
Everything stills. A shimmer of moonlight curtains through the windows behind them, casting a chilling glow in Hytham’s steely eyes. Piercing through the veil is a thousand years of yearning. Basim feels his gut stir with a mixture of sickening guilt and unholy desire. God, he wants him so bad.
Then Hytham slowly, gently guides Basim back to standing by the roots of his hair. Basim, mesmerized, follows easily, possessed by the light of his eyes and the strength of his grip. When he is level with him once more, Hytham releases him, smiles softly, and begins to brush his hair back into place with his fingers before wiping the saliva from his lips with a tenderness that is so very much like Hytham. The kindness in his eyes pulls Basim close, like a moth to a flame, begging to feel the static of their lips touching again. But Hytham seems to have other plans, putting a halt to Basim’s advances with a single finger on his lips.
“Strip for me.” Hytham orders, low and syrupy.
Basim’s heart flips. He takes a moment to calm the tightness threatening to crush his lungs, lest he rip his clothes from his body and beg to be taken where he stands. He is embarrassingly wound up, forces the tremors in his body down and makes quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt, never once taking eyes off of Hytham. The light in the man’s eyes gloss over with something dark. When the last of his garments slip away, Hytham takes a steady step forward. With a shaky sigh, he places a warm hand on Basim’s skin, roves over the hairs dusted across his broad chest, firmly thumbs at a perky nipple, eliciting a shock of pleasure through Basim who helplessly leans into his touch, welcoming the way his hands roam, curious and attentive.
He expects Hytham to trail further south, closes his eyes, waits for the moment calloused fingers wrap themselves around his excited cock, desperate for attention. But to his greater surprise, Hytham’s hands suddenly stop, linger on the sensitive skin just below his ribcage. Basim opens his eyes to catch Hytham’s shimmering gaze fixed on a particular scar, spanning his fingers wide across it. He remembers in vivid detail, Hytham clambering into the alcove of a tall tower near the Hippodrome, relieved to see him and chastising him all the same. He remembers the way his chest puffed up with pride at being discovered despite the blood loss and vertigo settling in. The swiftness of Hytham’s fingers as he secured the spare cloth around his ribs, mindful yet strong, a welcome reassurance amidst the imbalance of everything around them.
Since then, Basim had been injured numerous times in front of Hytham, but there was something special about the Hippodrome, about the way his trust was rewarded the first time it happened. The way Hytham holds possessively close to the wound now makes Basim believe he is reliving that moment too.
“They made me believe you were impervious.”
Basim laughs softly.
“Can you blame me?” Hytham smiles again. “They called you a desert mirage.”
“And yet,” Basim murmurs, beginning to undo the buttons on Hytham’s shirt, “you found me all the same.”
Hytham’s smile drops instantly. A slight tremble can be felt through the tips of his fingers, bleeding into his skin. His eyes look profoundly sad. Basim chooses to ignore it, stubbornly forces his attention back to his dress shirt.
The silence between them is deafening.
When the last of the buttons come undone, instinct draws his eyes to the bump on Hytham’s chest, caused by the manner in which his ribs healed after his failed assault on Kjotve… only, that bump isn’t there anymore.
The liminal space between them rings, shakes the glass barricade looming over them. Basim can see it cracking. He’s so close—so close, he knows if he reaches beyond the boundary just a bit more, they can finally put to rest the unnerving gaps pulling them apart. But just like every other time, he takes too long. Hytham slams him up against the wall in seconds, devours his mouth with his, pries his lips apart with his tongue, and takes everything within his reach. His lips are chapped yet pleasant, tasting bittersweet and so much like home. It’s addicting. Then Hytham does the unthinkable and hoists Basim up by his thighs with a strength he’d forgotten the man possessed. Their lips rip apart. Basim gasps, arms latching tight around Hytham and burying his head in the crook of his neck. They are moving in seconds. Hytham carries him across the room and tosses him harshly atop the bed on his side. Basim, dazed, can’t even right himself atop the sheets before Hytham’s palm presses firm on the small of his back, effectively pinning him face down into the sheets with his legs bent beneath him. And in the next second, his hips are raised, his cheeks are spread, and a very hot and wet tongue slides up against his entrance.
Basim loses it.
He’s been with other men, has tried his luck with handing them control, but never have they successfully scratched the itch to be tossed and turned with such confidence. Oftentimes they are too unsure, other times they are too full of themselves, and that is how Basim came to realize that he was not a man fit for quick thrills. He always needed more, craved an intimacy impossible to indulge in his line of work. But it would be a huge discredit to Hytham’s attentive care to pretend his response was purely an emotional one. His ministrations immediately send Basim in a whirl. Hytham’s tongue breaks the threshold of tight skin, and Basim bites down on the sheets to quell a bursting moan. “Shhh–” Hytham soothes with a fleeting kiss on his sensitive skin, steadily smoothing a hand up his quivering back. “Relax, Basim.” His hands make quick work of the tension building in his thighs, massaging the muscles beginning to ache. He can feel himself turning to jelly as Hytham dives back in, nose burying deep in his skin as his mouth sets to work. He licks and sucks and peppers him with sloppy, reverent kisses. The strength of his tongue sends Basim in a tizzy, slicking up his walls with wet pops and quick smacks—God, Hytham is relentless.
Basim fights every instinct in his body wanting to bend under pressure and fails, fists his fingers through the comforters thick layers and bites down even harder. Hytham pulls his tongue away with one last filthy suck and Basim foolishly relents, sighs with relief thinking the onslaught is over, melting in on himself. He is woefully proven wrong the next second when Hytham tugs a leg from beneath him by the ankle and shoves two slicked fingers inside him at once. Basim chokes on a gasp that spits right through him, body going up aflame and momentarily thrashing against the delicious intrusion, betraying his need for control as he pushes further back into Hytham’s touch. Hytham’s persistent fingers scissor wide, causing Basim’s toes to curl and his brows to knit together. His jaw drops open as he silently cries out, neck tensing up from the sheer restraint. He knows he's drooling shamelessly onto the bed, and he doesn't care. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” Hytham’s voice drips like velvet, shaking Basim from his stupor. He sucks in a sharp breath as Hytham gradually eases in a third finger, teasing and searching until they rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves hidden deep inside, causing Basim to jolt and rut into the bed.
Embarrassing.
“How long has it been?” Basim dares to look back for a second, sees the sincerity in those glass eyes glazed with raw desire. He is speechless watching Hytham slick himself up with lube, still half clothed. His pants are gone, his tie loosely hangs from his glistening neck, his shirt is undone but only halfway off his shoulders. His hair looks properly disheveled, which makes Basim wonder just how much he enjoyed eating him out, and his lips—oh, what a delicious-looking red they are. Ripe and pleading to be bitten. “How long, Basim?”
‘Too long,’ he thinks, laying his head tiredly on the bed from the strain. Then he laughs, fixating on the generous amount of lube slathered on Hytham’s angry cock. “You planned this?”
“I snagged it from the hall.”
“Was that after, or before you knocked him out?”
Hytham scoffs, removing his fingers from his ass, leaving Basim bereft. “After I realized how thoroughly I had you wrapped around my thumb.” Hytham says, playfully smacking his ass with a grin. Basim smiles back lazily, watching Hytham climb overtop of him and gradually pin him to the bed with his chest, dick flush between the crevice of his asscheeks, languidly sliding up and down between them. Hytham’s balmy breath ghosts behind his ear, hitching ever so slightly as he builds a gentle rhythm. He dips his nose down his neck, roves over his skin with his bare teeth, ready to leave his mark. Basim squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself as Hytham finally lines up his cock. He can feel himself twitching up against it, body aching to be filled.
Then, inch by agonizing inch, Hytham steadily pushes himself into Basim until he is fully seated, sending a building tingle of pleasure from the tips of his fingers and up his spine. Hytham’s cock is thicker than he remembered, but the stretch burns less than he would have liked. He is painfully thorough that way, very giving and attentive, and yet somehow still infuriating as he stubbornly refuses to budge. Basim waits it out, hopeful that Hytham will cave first as the man takes his time nibbling at his sweaty neck, tantalizing him with every touch. Basim vibrates with the need to flip them over and assume control. He wants to ride him roughly until his thick cock numbs his insides so completely. Basim’s dick stirs, trapped between his gut and the bed, soaking the sheets with pre-cum as he imagines all that is to come. He wants to kick and scream, is practically squirming with need, feeling Hytham's pulsating cock inside him. All the while, Hytham happily sighs as if he is fully content to lay where he is. Basim can feel the smile on his lips.
The bastard.
“You’re so good to me, Basim.”
Still nothing.
It becomes so unbearable that he begins to writhe up into him against his will. Patience running thin, Basim focuses his remaining energy on restraining every sound desperate to seep from his lungs. That is, until Hytham wraps his fingers around the side of his face and curls them into his mouth, pulling his head up sharply, eliciting a gasp.
“Ask me.”
“I– Hytham.”
“Come on, Basim.” Hytham croons sweet with promise.
“P–Please.”
In one fluid motion, Hytham fully pulls out and slams back in.
Basim wails.
‘Ah, fuck it.’ Basim thinks. Hytham leans back and pulls his fingers from his mouth to grip onto his shoulders, and Basim drops his head, barely holding himself upright by his failing elbows. He lets Hytham hear it all. Every unnatural sound his lips can spare. Every groan, every gasp, every strangled cry. And Hytham rewards him, sending shock after shock through his entire body with every slam. His pace is slow yet measured, his thrusts are hard and leaden. Basim swears his heart is close to stopping, he doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer and tries to set a quicker pace to satisfy his cravings, only for Hytham’s hands to press harshly onto his waist and squeeze.
“Hytham–”
“No.”
Karma’s a bitch.
Then suddenly, Hytham grabs both of Basim’s arms, pins them squarely behind his back, and yanks him up to fuck into him even harder. Realizing that both his arms are being hoisted up by a single fist is dizzying. The strength of his thrusts are so raw, it wrenches the air from Basim’s lungs, makes his dick bounce harshly up against his belly with every slam. Basim can’t—he can't!
He’s so fucking close.
“Look at you.”
The mirror—Oh God, the mirror above the bed. He’d completely forgotten it was there. Basim feels himself flush even harder, color stark against his dark perplexion, embarrassed to see himself so vulnerable, so thoroughly ruined. His hair looks winded, his lips thoroughly used, his dick is a weeping mess, frustrated with the lack of attention. A mix of cum, and lube, and sweat trail down the inside of his thighs. Basim’s neck is riddled with fresh angry marks, Hytham is biting one onto his shoulder right now, drawing a long and harsh groan from Basim’s lips. Both their skin glistens in the moonlight, and Hytham’s eyes—he’s never seen them this hungry, ravenous, like he can't get enough.
Finally, Hytham’s free hand snakes onto his cock and starts to pump him in tandem with his thrusts as he licks a hot strip up his bruised neck. Then, very suddenly, a burst of pleasure erupts from inside, sending sparks in his vision. Hytham hits his prostate perfectly, causing Basim to bellow. His cock is on the edge of release, he can feel it pulsing, craving that sweet release when Hytham, the fucker, wraps his thick fingers around the base of his cock and squeezes tight enough to prevent him from coming.
“Please–” Basim chokes, turning his face just enough to look him in the eyes. Hytham laughs, rich and melodic, leans forward just enough to devour Basim’s mouth and all the hushed and strangled sighs falling from them. It’s sloppy, delicious. Basim moans into his mouth some more when he starts to stroke the length of his dick again, angling every thrust to hit his prostate, edging him to his release bit by bit. The desperation is settling in. Hytham groans, stuttering mid-shove, losing rhythm suddenly and burying his face in his shoulder. “Basim, you're too much.”
‘Hytham’s close too.’
“Let me come for you.” Basim pleads between Hytham’s thrusts as they become more frantic. The pre-cum from his own cock slides up and down the length of his dick with every one of Hytham’s firm strokes. His pace finally picks up just the way Basim wants, slamming into him at just the right angle over and over and over again until—“Please!”
On the final thrust, Hytham grabs both his arms, one in each hand, and pulls him back hard. Basim cums far enough to stain the mirror in front of them, spurting down the headboard and onto the bed. Hytham’s cum rushes inside him as his cock pulses, trickling down his shaking thighs as he rides the last waves of pleasure. Hytham sighs into his ear and playfully bites it as he wraps an arm across Basim’s broad chest to hold closer. His free hand finds his cock again, drains the last of Basim’s cum with a few more strokes. Basim winds a lazy arm back around Hytham’s head, stroking the short hairs at the base of his neck, encouraging him to empty every last drop he has inside him, shudder after shudder. “Fuck…”
They collapse together. Hytham pulls out, and they drop instantly with Hytham draped over Basim’s sweaty back, all tangled limbs and tired bones. He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until he feels the bed dip where he thought Hytham already was. A damp cloth delicately wipes at his hypersensitive skin, cleaning whatever mess was made between them. “Basim,” Hytham whispers, “turn over.”
“Hmmm– term me yursef.” Hytham snorts. It’s unclear whether he understood him or not considering his face is stuffed in a pillow, but sure enough, Hytham rolls him over to clean the cum stuck to his stomach. “And I thought I was messy.”
Basim’s eyes are too heavy to open, but he knows he'd kick himself later if he didn't at least try to see the smile in Hytham's voice. He's been rendered speechless so many times tonight. What's one more time going to do?
And Hytham's smile is beautiful. Aglow, contagious, sincere the way only Hytham's smile is. It pulls at his crow’s feet, shines something warm in his eyes, like bathing in the sun’s glow on a lazy afternoon. He does not regret it. He savors it, stores it someplace safe for him to cherish again later.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Basim asks, hoarse and quiet.
Hytham turns away to dispose of the sullied cloth, a bright flush creeps up the side of his neck and onto his cheeks. A lovely contrast to compliment his bright blue eyes.
Beautiful.
Basim grabs Hytham's wrist and pulls him down to lay with him on the bed, and Hytham goes willingly, resting his forehead atop Basim’s momentarily, breathing in each others scent before they curl around each other. Hytham adjusts the blanket overtop of them, shielding them from the troubles of the world. There still lie centuries of anguish beneath their feet waiting to be uncovered, but moments such as these allow them to leave it all behind. Right now, they are the Basim and Hytham they remember from a lifetime ago, and nothing else in the world could possibly matter more.