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“Fuck, Haitham, you– Fuck you, actually–”
Al-Haitham leans back, letting Kaveh’s cock slip from his mouth until only the head rests on his bottom lip. “Patience, Senior,” he rasps, his voice hoarse.
Kaveh fists at the sheets, groaning as he thrusts forwards, but Al-Haitham moves with him.
“You’re being petulant.”
“I’m horny, you ridiculous asshole. You’ve been edging me for hours.”
Al-Haitham chuckles, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Kaveh’s thigh. “It’s been ten minutes.”
Kaveh scoffs. “Have you been counting?”
“No.”
“Then eat shit.”
Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow, sliding his hands from Kaveh’s hips to his lower back and lifting him slightly, just enough so that Kaveh’s ass is right at eye level. He sticks his tongue out and licks a stripe along Kaveh’s perineum, making Kaveh shiver in his arms.
“That is not what I meant, you–”
“Are you complaining?” Al-Haitham asks, blowing lightly on Kaveh’s fluttering hole.
Kaveh keens. “No.”
Al-Haitham chuckles again, tonguing it gently as he readjusts so that he can get a hand around Kaveh’s cock at the same time. Kaveh has always been particularly reactive to oral sex of any kind, which is something that Al-Haitham definitely takes advantage of, but he doesn’t want Kaveh to get too excited, so he tightens his grip.
“You’re so mean to me, Haitham,” Kaveh groans. “You know I can come more than once, so just–”
“Not yet,” Al-Haitham interrupts. “I don’t want you going boneless and making me do all the work.”
Kaveh huffs, screwing his eyes shut as Al-Haitham resumes his efforts. “You are– the laziest top in Teyvat,” he pants. “I don’t– don’t know why I even sleep with you.”
“Because you love me,” Al-Haitham says simply, “and you’re the one who asked me to top tonight.”
“Stop talking.”
“Hm.”
Al-Haitham hears Kaveh gasp as he enters him with his tongue again, curling it with practiced technique and letting Kaveh’s body language urge him on. He can feel his own body responding to the moans coming from the top of the bed, but he ignores it, for now. The promise of what comes next is too enticing to risk for a little pre-coital friction.
He can feel Kaveh’s hole relaxing around his tongue, becoming pliant and wanting, so he fumbles around by his knees for the bottle of oil he’d taken from their bedside drawer. He finds it, pops the stopper out of the top with his thumb, and momentarily removes his face from Kaveh’s ass so he can drizzle some over his fingers.
His tongue folds over itself in his mouth, the faint taste of Kaveh’s perfumed soap lingering on his taste buds. He supposes it’s better than the alternative, though, so he doesn’t complain.
He’s the one who makes them both bathe thoroughly before intercourse, anyway.
Kaveh arches his back at the first intrusion of Al-Haitham’s middle finger, glaring at Al-Haitham down the length of his body. “A little warning would be nice,” he says breathily.
“I didn’t realize you were incapable of reading into a pause in activity,” Al-Haitham quips, diving back in to tease Kaveh’s rim with his tongue where it clenches around his finger.
“You’re insufferable,” Kaveh says.
Al-Haitham just grunts in response.
It always goes like this: Kaveh complains about Al-Haitham being an inconsiderate lover, but he usually comes more than once when he bottoms and he goes soft whenever Al-Haitham tries to be nice, so Al-Haitham knows that there’s no truth to Kaveh’s words. He just likes being difficult, and he definitely gets off to their bickering, though he claims that he doesn’t.
Al-Haitham does, too, but at least he’s honest about it.
He adds a second finger, fighting the urge to grind his cock against the side of the mattress.
Kaveh is beautiful like this, sweaty and debauched. From here, Al-Haitham can’t see Kaveh’s face, but he can picture it in his mind clearly enough, and that’s as much of a problem as the sight of the real thing. Based on the way Kaveh is digging his heel into Al-Haitham’s shoulder and grinding down on his fingers with abandon, Al-Haitham has a pretty good idea of the state that Kaveh must be in: his cheeks are likely red, his hair stuck to his neck and forehead. It’s probably bothering him — he’s not far enough gone yet for matted hair to escape his notice — but Kaveh has a thing about grounding himself during sex, so Al-Haitham knows that he’s probably too busy clutching the sheets for dear life to reach up and fix it.
“Put your hair up,” Al-Haitham mutters, kissing his way up Kaveh’s thigh to give him some reprieve. “I’ll wait.”
“Archons, thank you,” Kaveh sighs, and Al-Haitham hears the telltale sound of a drawer being wrenched open and then slammed shut. He watches Kaveh sit up to throw his hair into a knot on top of his head, his fingers unmoving until Kaveh is ready to carry on.
The light from the mid-afternoon sun is streaming in through the crack in the closed curtains, mingling with the warm glow from the lamp by the bookshelf. It makes the sweat on Kaveh’s chest shimmer, and casts a shadow under his chin that makes him look sculpted rather than formed.
“Okay,” Kaveh says, flopping back against the pillow. “I’m good.”
“And you call me a pillow princess,” Al-Haitham mutters, spreading his fingers as gently as he can.
Kaveh huffs. “You are a pillow princess. If you didn’t like being in control so much, you’d have me riding you every time we did this just so you wouldn’t have to move.”
“And yet,” Al-Haitham says, leaving the end open to interpretation.
Kaveh hums, circling his hips a bit to drive Al-Haitham’s fingers deeper. “And yet.”
Al-Haitham adds a third finger, stroking Kaveh’s cock as he stretches him to make sure his erection doesn’t wane. This part isn’t the most fun for either of them, but it’s necessary. Al-Haitham isn’t small.
Kaveh’s breathing has been shallow and erratic for a while now, but it’s when the moans that escape his lips go up in pitch and in frequency that Al-Haitham knows he’s ready. He pulls his fingers out carefully and reaches for the bottle again.
“Any last words?” Al-Haitham asks teasingly as he climbs onto the bed to settle between Kaveh’s open legs.
“Are you going to kill me or fuck me?” Kaveh asks, leaning up on his elbows to watch Al-Haitham line himself up.
Al-Haitham exhales at the sight of his cock pressed against Kaveh’s entrance. “In Fontaine, they call an orgasm la petite mort,” he says distractedly. “The little death.”
“That’s morbid,” Kaveh mumbles. “Why would you– ahhhhh.”
Al-Haitham groans as he pushes in, closing his eyes to revel in the sensation of Kaveh’s heat surrounding him. His fingers dig into the skin of Kaveh’s hips, and he knows it’ll bruise, but they both like that more than they’re willing to admit.
“Hai– Haitham,” Kaveh pants, “Archons, why does this never get easier?”
“Does it hurt?” Al-Haitham grunts, stilling his hips.
Kaveh shakes his head violently, the bun on top of his head sagging a bit from being whipped around. “Keep moving.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Fuck you.”
Al-Haitham grins down at him. “I said, ask ni–”
“Al-Haitham.”
“Alright,” Al-Haitham sighs, his resolve paper-thin. “Fine, but I’m not moving because you told me to.”
“Whatever, I don’t care,” Kaveh groans as Al-Haitham bottoms out. “You’re so stubborn.”
Al-Haitham scoffs. “And you’re not?”
Kaveh blinks his eyes open at that, leveling Al-Haitham with a bleary, sorry excuse for a glare.
“Right,” Al-Haitham chuckles. “Bottom gets impudence privileges. My mistake.”
“I can’t believe I just heard you concede. Who are you and what– ah, what have you done with Al-Haitham?”
“I’m not answering that.” He grinds his hips forward, pulling a sharp gasp from Kaveh and a moan from deep inside himself. “Fuck.”
Kaveh laughs — a wild, manic thing — his fingers digging so hard into the mattress that Al-Haitham thinks they may have to buy some new sheets again soon. This wouldn’t be the first time Kaveh accidentally ripped a hole in the fabric.
“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham breathes, and it sounds like a prayer, even to his own ears.
“I’m going to kill you,” Kaveh grits out from behind clenched teeth.
Al-Haitham huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”
He pulls back, then — excruciatingly slowly — until his cock is almost all the way out, and then thrusts back in with vigor. “Ah,” Kaveh shrieks.
The pace that Al-Haitham sets is not punishing, but it’s not forgiving, either. He knows what Kaveh likes, and he’ll give it to him, even if he pretends that it’s for his own benefit. They both know it’s a farce. In fact, they are both very well aware that Al-Haitham is a sap underneath the hard exterior, but if it makes Kaveh happy to be fucked into oblivion, so be it. Al-Haitham will play along.
There are times when Kaveh will take Al-Haitham by the hand and treat him to soft kisses and gentle touches, but today is not such a day. Today, Kaveh had come home with steam coming from his ears and a scowl on his face after his breakfast with a client, stomping around the house with no respect for Al-Haitham’s peace and quiet, so Al-Haitham had done what he’s grown accustomed to doing when Kaveh is in a bad mood: he’d promised to take his mind off of things for a while.
“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh squawks, his chest heaving, and Al-Haitham is a weak, weak man.
“Say that again,” he breathes. “Say my name like that again.”
“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says easily. “Al-Haitham, Haitham, Haitham–”
Al-Haitham groans loudly, lifting one of Kaveh’s legs up to his mouth. He nips at his ankle, then kisses the same spot to soothe the pain, though Kaveh doesn’t need it. The kiss is for Al-Haitham. “You’re so good, Kaveh,” he says, too honestly. “So good like this. So good for me.”
“Yeah?” Kaveh gasps, rocking along with Al-Haitham’s rhythm. “Does it feel good?”
“So good.”
“How good?”
Al-Haitham huffs out a laugh. “Good.”
“Come on, Haravatat,” Kaveh teases, clearly still too coherent for his own good. “Where are all those words you claim to love so much?”
“What do you want me to say, Kaveh? You can feel me.”
Kaveh hums, the pitch jumping at the end in time with a particularly deep thrust. “I can,” he agrees. “I definitely can.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Talk to me, Haitham.”
Al-Haitham grunts, trying to form words — any words at all, really — through the haze in his mind. “You’re pretty.”
Kaveh scoffs. “Ingenious. I can see how you graduated with honors.”
“Beautiful, then. You feel… You feel so good,” Al-Haitham stutters.
“You can do better than tha– ah.”
Al-Haitham smirks as he aims for the same spot again, making Kaveh writhe beneath him. “I love seeing you like this. Like you’re mine,” he admits, his tongue loosening. “Love marking you.” He presses harder against Kaveh’s hips for emphasis.
“Yeah?” Kaveh asks again. “Tell me more.”
“You fuck like you were made for it,” Al-Haitham says, aware by now that Kaveh has a thing for dirty talk. It doesn’t come naturally to Al-Haitham, but he tries. “You take me so well.”
“I’m yours,” Kaveh breathes.
Al-Haitham is so close. “Mine.”
“All yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, Haitham, fuck me–”
“I am.”
“Call me names.”
“Like what, Senior?”
“No, like–”
“I’m not calling you Baby.”
“No, like–”
“Darling?”
“Slut, Haitham, call me a fucking slut or something!”
Al-Haitham stops, blinks, then blinks again. “What?”
“Don’t stop,” Kaveh groans, trying to fuck himself down on Al-Haitham’s cock. “Just… Call me a slut, okay? I’m a slut, your little sl–”
“You’re not a slut, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham deadpans. He’s very fucking confused.
“I’m not a slut, I’m your slut.”
Al-Haitham blinks again, holding Kaveh still by his hips. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Kaveh groans, covering his face with his hands. “It doesn’t have to make sense, you– just say it, won’t you?”
“No,” Al-Haitham says in response. “It’s incorrect.”
“What about this is incorre–”
“The word slut carries connotations of promiscuity,” Al-Haitham explains, still sheathed mostly inside Kaveh, but not moving. “How can you be my slut if you’re sleeping around?”
Kaveh sighs. “I’m not sleeping around, and it does not always mean that.”
“Are you sleeping around?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you’re not a slut.”
Kaveh tips his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Can you just– It’s just a word, for fuck’s sake.”
“Words have meaning,” Al-Haitham counters.
“Okay, and slut doesn’t necessarily imply that I’m unfaithful.”
Al-Haitham rolls his eyes. “It literally does, Kaveh.”
“It doesn’t–”
“Look,” Al-Haitham says, an idea forming in his head. “I’ll prove it to you.”
He steps back, his cock slipping out of Kaveh’s ass and slapping him in the stomach. He winces at the wet feeling of warm lube and precome against his skin, but elects to ignore it. It isn’t pressing.
He does get distracted, though, by the sight of Kaveh’s hole stretched out and clenching around nothing. It’s enticing, for sure. He reaches for it almost on autopilot, slipping the pad of his thumb inside to pull at the rim, but thinks better of it as Kaveh’s leg moves to wrap around him again.
They can keep fucking after this is sorted out.
Al-Haitham looks up at Kaveh, expecting a fight — or a scowl, at least — but is met with a hungry expression instead, his eyes downcast and darkened with lust. Al-Haitham glances down again, only to realize that Kaveh is staring directly at his dick, still bouncing sadly in place.
“You’re incorrigible,” Al-Haitham scoffs, turning towards the bookshelf across the room.
Kaveh huffs, and Al-Haitham can almost picture the way his arms cross over his chest. “I’m not the one sticking my thumb in people’s assholes after pulling my cock out for no reason,” he says irritably.
“I had a reason,” Al-Haitham says as he crosses the floor.
“That makes it worse.”
Al-Haitham doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead scanning the shelf in front of him for a blue spine with black writing. He swears it was in here.
“Come on, Haitham, it doesn’t matter,” Kaveh says, his voice smooth and inviting. “We can argue about this later.”
“Or I can prove you wrong now, and we can drop it,” Al-Haitham responds.
“You’re an ass.” No longer smooth nor inviting.
The book he wants turns out to be hidden behind a framed photo of a cat that he doesn’t recognize. He’s relatively sure that he and Kaveh don’t have a cat, so he’s not sure why this one has earned a place of such high respect, but his interest in the matter is a solid two-point-seven out of ten, so he moves the frame aside and pulls the book down with no questions asked.
“Is that the fucking dictionary?” Kaveh asks, and Al-Haitham turns, blinking at him in surprise.
Kaveh’s arms are, indeed, crossed tightly over his chest, making the muscles between them bulge obscenely over the tops of his wrists. “Yes,” Al-Haitham mutters, looking back down at the book in his hands.
This edition is old — it belonged to his parents, originally, and possibly one of their parents before them — but is still mostly current, save for some colloquialisms and slang that Al-Haitham has no interest in defining, anyway. It had been at the back of the shelf for most of Al-Haitham’s life, considering the fact that he had a portable, mandatory dictionary attached to his ear already, and had no need for a physical one.
Now, though, it tends to come in handy.
“Slut,” Al-Haitham reads out loud. “Noun. Plural, sluts. Disparaging and off–”
“You have to be kidding.”
“Offensive. Defined as a promiscuous person, colon, someone who has many sexual partners. Usually used of a woman.”
Al-Haitham glances up with an eyebrow raised, and Kaveh rolls his eyes. “That last part seems unnecessary.”
“Alternate definition,” Al-Haitham continues, “informal. A person with a seemingly insatiable but often undiscerning desire to do or have something specified. Example given: ‘guilty of being a shoe slut’.”
He looks up again, fully aware that he’s doing a terrible job of concealing the smirk on his face.
“Are you a shoe slut, Kaveh?”
“I hope you get mauled by a sumpter beast.”
“There are some synonyms listed, if you’re still not convinced.”
Kaveh clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You know as well as I do that synonyms are never perfect–”
“Strumpet,” Al-Haitham reads. “Trollop. Harlot.”
“The colloquial implications of similar words are different–”
“Scarlet woman. Hussy — now that one sounds like a slur.”
“Ugh, Haitham! Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes,” Al-Haitham says, snapping the dictionary shut, “but you’re not helping yourself as much as you think you are.”
Kaveh narrows his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You cited colloquial implications as evidence that these synonyms are irrelevant, but these so-called colloquial implications of the word ‘slut’ are not accurate to your situation.”
“You’re slipping into your annoying academic persona,” Kaveh says dryly.
Al-Haitham sighs. “It’s not a persona.”
Kaveh groans, flopping melodramatically onto his back. “Does it even matter?” he asks the ceiling. “Who cares what the word means? Can’t you just do this one thing?”
“Are you asking me to lie?”
“It’s not a lie.”
“It is a lie,” Al-Haitham insists. “Why do you want me to lie?”
Kaveh screams into his hands. “Because it’s…” he says, muffled. “You know.”
Al-Haitham shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
Kaveh groans again, kicking his feet in the air and then sitting up again to stare Al-Haitham down with impunity. “It’s a kink,” he says, his cheeks flushed
He’s embarrassed, Al-Haitham realizes. “A kink,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“You require being lied to to reach sexual climax…?” Al-Haitham asks, still not understanding. “That’s bullshit. I’ve seen you orgasm hundreds of times, and I’ve never lied to you.”
Kaveh makes a sound that falls somewhere between a screech and a growl, his eyes wild. “It’s not a requirement, you– Archons, do you not know what a kink is?”
“I know what a kink is,” Al-Haitham snarls. “Obviously. I just don’t see how that has anything to do with your desire to be called a slut.”
Kaveh goes as red as a Jueyun chili at that.
Oh.
Oh.
“You want me to… humiliate you?” Al-Haitham asks carefully.
Kaveh pouts, averting his gaze. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, almost too quietly for Al-Haitham to hear.
“But that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Can you please stop saying it out loud?”
Kaveh pulls his legs in, curling in on himself out of sheepishness, but — as he does — Al-Haitham gets a glimpse of his still-hard cock standing proudly between his legs.
He’s actually into this. Huh.
Al-Haitham fights a grin off his face, forcing an air of brazenness about him as he starts to approach the bed again. “Why should I?” he asks with faux-innocence. “Isn’t this what you desire?”
Kaveh glances at him uncertainly, scooting backwards on the bed until his back hits the headboard.
“Communication is important, Kaveh. You have to tell me what you want.”
Kaveh just flattens his lips and shakes his head.
Al-Haitham climbs onto the bed, crawling up towards Kaveh and straddling his now-outstretched legs with his knees. “Is this okay?” he asks, and it takes a second, but Kaveh nods, still blushing. “I can stop.”
Kaveh shakes his head again.
“Then,” Al-Haitham whispers, leaning in until his lips graze the shell of Kaveh’s ear, “tell me what you want. Please.”
Kaveh moans, wrapping his arms around the back of Al-Haitham’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “Need you,” he mutters against Al-Haitham’s lips. “I want you to degrade me. Use me and make me yours, just– whatever you want, I just need–”
“You’re already mine, Kaveh.”
“You know what I mean.”
Al-Haitham hums, reaching down to Kaveh’s ass and easily slipping two fingers back inside. “Why should I play along?” he asks, channeling some divine confidence that definitely doesn’t belong to him. “What’s in this for me?”
“That’s a stupid question,” Kaveh mumbles, arching into Al-Haitham’s touch. “You don’t care what’s in it for you.”
True. “What if I’m morally opposed?” Al-Haitham counters.
“You’re not morally opposed to anything.”
“Do you really believe that?’
“Come on, Al-Haitham. Just this once.”
Al-Haitham chuckles to himself, shifting them both so that he can line his cock up with Kaveh’s hole once again. It’s more intimate, like this, with Al-Haitham hovering over Kaveh and their chests mere centimeters from each other. Maybe that’s what does it — the fact that it feels more trusting, more confident — but, whatever the reason, Al-Haitham hears himself speak: “What if we compromise?”
Kaveh sighs at the feeling of Al-Haitham entering him again, his nails scraping along the backs of Al-Haitham’s shoulders.
“You’re not a slut,” Al-Haitham continues, fucking into Kaveh as slowly as he can stand, “and I reject the idea that one could be a a slut for anyone in particular–”
“How is this a compromise?” Kaveh breathes.
“–so I’m not going to call you my slut either–”
Kaveh groans in frustration, throwing his head back.
“–but you certainly are acting like one.”
The room goes still.
Kaveh seems to have stopped breathing, though his heart is beating incredibly fast — Al-Haitham can feel it — and he’s just staring at Al-Haitham, mouth agape and eyes wide.
Love really does make you do the strangest things.
“Nothing to say?” Al-Haitham mutters, glancing down at Kaveh’s lips as he continues to grind his hips forward. “Fucked stupid already?”
Kaveh inhales sharply, his jaw snapping shut.
“What a shame. I was having fun.”
Kaveh breaks, then, moving his hips in circles in a clear attempt to make Al-Haitham go faster. He’s panting into Al-Haitham’s mouth, his hair nearly completely falling out of the bun he put it in earlier, and Al-Haitham can feel how hard he is between them.
He looks at Kaveh in wonder. “Fucking yourself on my cock like you’re desperate for it, now?” he asks, awed, and Kaveh only nods in response. Al-Haitham feels high. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Kaveh breathes. “Yes, yes, please–”
“Fuck, look at you. If only the people of Sumeru could see the Light of Kshahrewar the way I do,” Al-Haitham muses. “Literally begging for it.”
Kaveh’s eyes flash, and Al-Haitham feels his heart flutter.
“You’re a mess, Kaveh.”
“Yes, I’m a–”
“If a photo of you like this got out, your reputation would be ruined,” Al-Haitham says, and Kaveh lets out the most depraved sound Al-Haitham has ever heard. “Is that what you want?”
Kaveh shakes his head.
“Are you sure?” Al-Haitham asks.
“I’m sure,” Kaveh gets out, but it sounds like it’s a struggle.
Al-Haitham takes him by the chin, angling his face so he can look him in the eye. “Good,” he says quietly, thrusting harder now. “No one else gets to see you like this. Only me.”
“Only you,” Kaveh agrees.
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
Al-Haitham grins. “You want more, though, don’t you? You want me to demean you? To shame you?”
“Please, please–”
“Maybe I’ll make you beg properly, next time.”
Kaveh scrunches his eyebrows together. “You couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t I?” Al-Haitham asks, drunk on the way he’s making Kaveh blush, obsessed with the way Kaveh is leaking against his abs. “If I asked you to get on your knees and wait for me — for hours — would you say no?”
Kaveh blinks, bleary-eyed. “Would I?”
Al-Haitham laughs softly into another kiss. “I’m asking you.”
“No,” Kaveh answers, his tone light and honest. “I would be annoyed, at first…”
“But you would do it.”
Kaveh nods.
“Fuck, Kaveh, what am I supposed to do with you?”
“It seems like you have some ideas.”
Images of Kaveh with his wrists tied together flash before Al-Haitham’s eyes. He’s never considered himself particularly into bondage, but if it’s degradation Kaveh wants… “You could say that,” Al-Haitham mutters.
Kaveh chuckles wetly, tugging at Al-Haitham’s hair. “Good. I’ll be judging them harshly.”
“Oh, Senior, I don’t think you’ll be in much of a state to be judging anything at all.”
___________________________________________________________
Al-Haitham falls onto his back, his chest heaving with the effort he just expended. Kaveh is in a similar state beside him, floating in and out of consciousness after three consecutive orgasms of his own, and he looks… happy. Satisfied. He sighs, throwing a leg over Al-Haitham’s so that they’re touching, but not too much. Not enough to be overwhelming.
Archons, Al-Haitham loves this man.
He props himself up onto the elbow closest to Kaveh, using his other hand to untangle Kaveh’s hair from the band that’s still wrapped messily around half of it on top of his head. He’s careful not to pull, but it’s difficult. They really did a number on that bun.
“Mm,” Kaveh hums, lifting his head slightly from the pillow to give Al-Haitham easier access to the back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Al-Haitham replies absentmindedly, finally getting the band free. He places it on the table next to him, then turns back to look at Kaveh, mind hazy and content.
Objectively, Kaveh looks like shit. His hair is matted and his face is flushed, sweaty, and definitely stickier than it should be, but Al-Haitham feels a sick sense of pride at the fact that he made Kaveh look like this. He made Kaveh into this disgusting, beautiful monster.
His eyes graze over Kaveh’s features, taking in the sharpness of his collarbones and the curve of the muscles in his arms. He really is a work of art.
“Haitham,” Kaveh mumbles, dragging his fingers through the come on his chest and stomach that hasn’t quite dried. “‘M gross.”
Al-Haitham’s nose scrunches upwards and his eyebrows furrow. “Why are you doing that, then?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, stop.”
“You’re so grumpy.”
Al-Haitham grimaces, taking in just how much fluid actually covers Kaveh’s torso. “You really are a mess,” he mutters.
Kaveh scoffs, opening one eye to glare at Al-Haitham with a comically low amount of malice.
“What?” Al-Haitham asks with a grin. “You asked for this.”
“The moment’s over, bastard.”
“Are you sure? I have tons of material.”
Kaveh smacks him on the arm with a huff. “This is not free rein to make fun of me whenever you want.”
“You know I’m going to do that, anyway,” Al-Haitham says quietly, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of Kaveh’s mouth. “Now I’m just going to be checking for surprise erections whenever I do.”
Kaveh rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You think too much of yourself,” he replies, splaying his hands over Al-Haitham’s chest. “I’m not that easy to please.”
Al-Haitham hums. “I’m aware.”
“You– ugh! Just get me a damn towel, will you?”