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“Beautiful,” Alhaitham murmurs, trailing his fingers down Kaveh’s bare chest.
Kaveh shuts his eyes. Outside, the midnight sky is dark—but Kaveh has made the mistake of letting Alhaitham light candles in the room, which means that Alhaitham can see every centimeter of his body, every expression that flickers across his face. Even if the night shadows soften some marks and scars, Kaveh is still utterly exposed.
He breathes in the faint scent of cloves and sandalwood, sweet spice underlined with earth. The soft smell infuses each breath, seeps into his bones, and Kaveh sinks into the blankets beneath him as his mind nearly drifts away.
Nearly. The feeling of hands against his skin anchors him, though, keeping him tethered even as he floats.
Alhaitham has never liked scented candles. Kaveh wonders why he’s burning them now.
“Gorgeous,” comes that low voice again, and Kaveh feels warm lips marking a path down his sternum. Alhaitham kisses down to his stomach, then smooths his palms across the soft muscle of Kaveh’s abdomen, where he has failed to build enough strength, and his weakness is tangible. “More than enough.”
On rare occasions—when they are not at odds, when Alhaitham is inclined to care—it really is like he can read Kaveh’s mind.
The warmth of Alhaitham’s lips moves lower, dragging across the crease of one hip. His fingertips ghost past Kaveh’s cock with an almost-touch that makes Kaveh arch his back, pressing his head against the pillow and curling his fingers into the silky sheets. He inhales the sweet air through parted lips, and feels each breath tremble in his chest.
Alhaitham’s hand slides under Kaveh’s thigh, lifting his leg off the bed. “Strong,” Alhaitham murmurs, kissing from Kaveh’s thigh to his hip. Kaveh watches through his eyelashes as Alhaitham props that leg on his shoulder—that weak leg, which had barely managed to climb a tree earlier—and then lifts Kaveh’s other leg onto his opposite shoulder, pressing a kiss to his ankle. “Resolute.”
Stop, Kaveh wants to say. You’re wrong, you’re lying, you’re cruel.
But he asked for this. He asked Alhaitham to take him to bed and praise him, to make him feel like he’s not a complete failure.
Because Kaveh lies, too: when he says that his problems don’t matter, that he doesn’t dwell on the past, that he believes he’ll succeed. He smiles and pretends to get back on his feet when others are watching, and holds up that pretty façade for however long it takes until he’s alone again—and then he collapses, crushed under the weight of expectations and doubts.
These days, though, he’s never truly alone, because he stupidly subjects himself to living with a man who disdains him. And Kaveh is too weak to hold himself together indefinitely, which means that he inevitably falls apart when Alhaitham is watching.
Others might see Kaveh when he is foolish and fails, but Alhaitham sees him at his worst. He knows that Kaveh isn’t a fraction of the person everyone thinks he is. He knows that Kaveh never actually recovers from his failures, that he merely hides himself away until he’s managed to push those regrets to the back of his mind.
He knows that Kaveh is none of the words leaving his mouth. Kaveh is neither strong nor resolute, and he is certainly not enough.
But Alhaitham is a linguist. And that means he’s good with words, Kaveh supposes—even when he doesn’t mean them.
“Clever,” Alhaitham says. He leans down to brush his lips against Kaveh’s cock, and Kaveh’s breath hitches. “You make beautiful things.”
“Like what?” Kaveh whispers. Alhaitham does not care about aesthetics, and never has; he can’t actually think that anything related to Kaveh is beautiful.
He speaks so convincingly, though, at times like these—so Kaveh decides to believe him in this moment, even if Alhaitham’s words will sour to lies once he leaves Kaveh to sleep in this bed alone.
“Everything,” Alhaitham says. He kisses his way back up to Kaveh’s chest, pausing to mouth at a nipple. His tongue flicks and circles the spot until Kaveh finally lets out a gasp, squirming beneath Alhaitham’s touch.
Somehow, with Alhaitham, even the smallest maneuvers always feel unbearably intense. Fingertips grazing a thigh, lips featherlight on a shoulder—however slight the touch, it makes heat surge through Kaveh’s veins, devouring every thought until only that fire of want remains.
“The butterflies,” Alhaitham says, his mouth inching toward Kaveh’s throat. “The palace.” He presses a warm kiss to Kaveh’s neck, then sucks lightly at the spot. “The sounds you make, when I touch you.”
The start of a moan hums in Kaveh’s throat, quiet and breathy. He holds back the sound and locks it up in his lungs, afraid that anything louder might bleed into a sob.
This is different from what they usually do. Kaveh and Alhaitham have had sex before—when Kaveh wants a distraction, when he needs to feel human again—and Alhaitham has complimented him before, too, by telling him that his body feels good; but Alhaitham has never spoken to him like this. He has never worshipped Kaveh with his words, or told such beautiful blatant lies.
Even though Kaveh has asked too much of him, Alhaitham plays the part perfectly. Every word out of Alhaitham’s mouth is exactly what Kaveh wants to hear, and he speaks so persuasively that Kaveh almost, almost forgets that Alhaitham is only doing this because Kaveh demanded it.
And Kaveh will feel guilty, afterwards, when the chemicals fade, and he’s left to reflect on his contemptible neediness and desperation. He will hate himself for making someone else help him yet again, for begging them to fix him when he is incapable of fixing himself—but for now, he lets himself be enveloped by Alhaitham’s adoring words, and imagines a world where he actually means them.
“You make beautiful sounds, Kaveh,” Alhaitham murmurs against his throat. Then his lips brush Kaveh’s ear, and his voice is so close that Kaveh jolts. “I’d like to hear them.”
That will be another regret, later: that he didn’t restrain himself enough, that he was too loud, too greedy, too much. But Kaveh lets out a quiet moan as Alhaitham’s hands and lips slide down his body, and watches through half-lidded eyes as Alhaitham settles between his legs.
“Beautiful,” Alhaitham says again. There’s no trace of dishonesty in his sharp eyes as they roam over Kaveh’s body. He really is good at this. “Your imagination, too.”
Kaveh suppresses a bitter laugh. His imagination—which Alhaitham had scorned earlier, when Kaveh pathetically tried and failed to solve his problems on his own.
It is cruel, so cruel, how Alhaitham can pile heavy stones onto Kaveh’s shoulders, how he’s one of the many reasons that Kaveh is crushed every time—only to touch him gently once the dust settles, as if he had nothing to do with any of it.
“No,” Kaveh murmurs. “It—it’s not. It’s hideous. Foolish. Naive.”
For a moment, Alhaitham’s mask slips. He looks up at Kaveh, his gaze sharpening, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
He’s frustrated, and of course he is. Kaveh is forcing Alhaitham to use words in ludicrous ways, to describe Kaveh with antonyms for what he really is. It must drive him insane.
Then Alhaitham shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. The tension fades from his expression, and when he looks at Kaveh again, there’s only a faint pinch in his brow, nearly imperceptible.
“The world isn’t as kind as you are,” Alhaitham says, quietly.
Kaveh stares down at him in confusion. It’s too honest to be praise, but not cold enough to be criticism; he doesn’t know what Alhaitham is trying to say.
“You imagine beautiful things,” Alhaitham says, his hands moving to grip Kaveh’s waist. “Imagine me touching you, Kaveh, any way you want. Imagine feeling good.”
Against his better judgment, Kaveh closes his eyes and obeys. He imagines a scene similar to this one—the candles, the quiet night—except with Alhaitham’s body draped over his as he presses deep inside Kaveh, kissing his jaw, murmuring words of genuine affection: I’ve always wanted you, Kaveh, I love you, you’re mine. And their limbs tangled together after a night of lovemaking, the morning sun glittering in Alhaitham’s fond gaze, and his smile so achingly warm, like the looks he used to give Kaveh when they were still friends, when Kaveh actually felt something resembling cherished.
He imagines making love, and waking up together, and Alhaitham wrapping his arms around him, pressing drowsy kisses to his lips and face.
And he keeps his eyes shut tight as tears form behind them, and a restrained sob shudders in his chest.
“What are you imagining?” Alhaitham murmurs.
Kaveh doesn’t speak. His lips tremble, and he tries to breathe steadily.
“Were you imagining this?” Alhaitham asks. He delicately takes Kaveh’s cock in his hand and strokes, and Kaveh gasps at the light touch. “Did you imagine me using my mouth?”
Alhaitham’s thumb smooths over the head of Kaveh’s cock, and then he places a kiss on the tip and sucks gently. Kaveh’s hips jerk, and he digs his teeth into his lip so sharply that it hurts, desperately trying to stay silent. If he moans, Alhaitham will hear the sob underneath it. He’ll notice the weakness in Kaveh’s voice.
Kaveh wraps his legs around Alhaitham’s head and shivers as Alhaitham continues, languidly dragging his tongue along Kaveh’s length, letting his lips linger each time he takes Kaveh into his mouth. Every movement feels slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring it—which is absurd, and can’t be true, but it makes Kaveh’s stomach flutter anyway.
Eventually, the warmth of Alhaitham’s mouth disappears. “What did you imagine, Kaveh?” he asks, his fingers swirling shapes on Kaveh’s thighs. He touches him so tenderly. It’s not fair.
A tremor goes through Kaveh, and he forces an answer past his bitten lips. “I—” His voice comes out hoarse, and he tries again. “Just…just stupid things.”
For a moment, Alhaitham doesn’t move at all, and Kaveh opens his eyes, fear seizing his chest. He worries that Alhaitham has finally had enough, that he’s about to get up and walk away—but then Alhaitham tugs Kaveh closer and folds their bodies together, dotting kisses across Kaveh’s chest and shoulders.
His hair tickles Kaveh’s skin, and a half-sob tumbles from Kaveh’s lips as he clings to Alhaitham, his fingers curling in the soft hairs at his nape. He locks his legs around Alhaitham’s waist and rolls his hips, grinding up against him.
“You imagined something beautiful and kind, I assume,” Alhaitham murmurs against Kaveh’s skin.
Beautiful, kind—those are just euphemisms for idealistic and foolish. Kaveh knows how Alhaitham defines those terms. He knows what Alhaitham is really thinking.
“You don’t mean that,” Kaveh blurts out, his voice shaking. A stubborn tear slips from one of his eyes, and his entire body curls with shame. “I—I know you just—I know what you think of me, and it’s—gods, why are you, why would you—you aren’t—”
His voice crumbles into a sob, and he trembles beneath Alhaitham, gasping for breath. It’s not working. It’s not enough. No matter how convincing Alhaitham’s act is, Kaveh can’t trick himself into believing his gentleness or praise.
Alhaitham did what he asked, but Kaveh couldn’t do his part. He’s wasted Alhaitham’s efforts, and that makes him feel even worse than he did before.
Kaveh cries, and like always, Alhaitham stays to watch him fall apart. “Kaveh,” he murmurs. He cups Kaveh’s cheek with a calloused hand, and Kaveh looks at him through blurry eyes.
Alhaitham’s face is so close, his lips centimeters away. The candlelight makes his skin glow amber, warms the cold turquoise of his eyes, softens him in a way that’s unbearable to look at. Fresh tears pool in Kaveh’s eyes, and he squeezes them shut, trying to quiet his sobs.
He can imagine what Alhaitham sees right now. Kaveh’s cheeks must be blotchy and tear-streaked, his mouth twisted in an ugly grimace, his whole face scrunched up as he tries to stop crying. There is nothing beautiful or strong about him. He’s an unattractive mess.
A horrible feeling unfurls in Kaveh’s chest, cold and dark, as if all the candles have suddenly been blown out. He wishes that he could flee this room and just run, run, until he’s far away from every living soul, until he’s well and truly alone—but he’s pinned beneath Alhaitham right now, laid out for him to observe every foible and flaw.
“No,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh opens his eyes, feeling them burn hot with tears.
He doesn’t understand. His mind fumbles to complete Alhaitham’s thought: No, stop crying. No, I don’t believe the words I’m saying. No, I don’t want to touch you ever again.
Every possibility weighs heavier and heavier on his chest, until Kaveh feels like he can’t breathe.
“No, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “You don’t know what I think of you.”
Kaveh stares up at him in confusion. There’s something almost mournful in Alhaitham’s expression, as if he’s resigning himself to an agonizing truth when he says those words. It doesn’t make sense.
Because how can he look at Kaveh like that, as if this somehow pains him? He’s not the pathetic, misfortunate failure that Kaveh is. He’s successful, blessed with good luck, unaffected by the opinions of others. How could this possibly hurt him? How could he possibly be pained?
Kaveh hurts in so many ways, and Alhaitham will never understand any of them. He doesn’t know what it’s like to constantly chase success, knowing that it’s unattainable at worst and fleeting at best. He doesn’t know what it’s like to stare at a blank piece of paper and question if his talent is worth anything, if perhaps he’ll wake up the next morning and find that all of his inspiration has dried up.
And Alhaitham doesn’t know what it’s like to feel his heart fracture every single time he looks at Kaveh.
There are so many cracks, at this point. They appear when Kaveh sees Alhaitham making coffee in the kitchen and wonders what it would be like if Alhaitham smiled and kissed him good morning. They appear when Kaveh passes Alhaitham in the Akademiya halls and receives only a curt nod of acknowledgment. They spiderweb when Kaveh comes home to find Alhaitham reading on the couch and thinks that he’s walked into some sort of nightmare, because it feels like he’s living with the ghost of a man who used to laugh and chat with him until three in the morning, who actually meant it when he called Kaveh clever and determined, who seemed like he might even be capable of falling in love with him.
That last thought spurs another wave of tears, and Kaveh shakes as they crawl down his cheeks.
He thought that Alhaitham could love him.
Kaveh vaguely registers Alhaitham’s thumb wiping away tears, and his fingers stroking Kaveh’s hair. But that tenderness is a lie, too, because Kaveh asked for comfort, and Alhaitham is simply keeping his word.
“Do what you want,” Kaveh croaks, his voice pitiful in his ears. “Y-you don’t have to do what I asked anymore. Just be honest and—and fuck me however you want. I…” Another sob hitches in his throat, and he trembles. Every other word comes out stuttered. “I’ll even take a shower and prepare if you—if you want it the other way tonight, or—or don’t fuck me at all, because I…right now, I’m…no one would want someone who’s like this, crying hideously, and—and—”
He shouldn’t have spoken. Hearing himself say those self-pitying things only makes him feel more ashamed, because here is yet another reason that Kaveh is neither beautiful nor strong: he can’t handle his misery gracefully.
He tries. He tries to laugh things off, or change the subject if he’s said something that ruined the mood. But ultimately, he always ends up like this, begging for comfort while piteous words tumble from his mouth. Alhaitham probably should have tired of him long ago, except Kaveh is decent in bed and does most of the housework.
Eventually, though, that won’t be enough. And that’s one of the reasons Kaveh is trying to escape this house—because if he can just leave before Alhaitham makes him, then at least he’ll be leaving on his own terms. At least then he can tell himself that he could have stayed, if he’d really wanted to. He can even pretend that Alhaitham misses him.
“What I want?” Alhaitham murmurs. He’s still looking at Kaveh with that pained look in his eyes, one hand cupping his face.
“Yes,” Kaveh says. “I—I mean, I still want to have sex, but I imagine that you don’t, with me looking like this, so…”
Alhaitham leans down until their noses bump together, and the feathery tufts of his bangs sweep across Kaveh’s forehead. His lips are impossibly close, and when he runs his thumb along Kaveh’s worried lip, Kaveh is almost certain that it’s an invitation to kiss.
But they rarely kiss during these late-night encounters. It’s impractical, since it doesn’t directly contribute to their pleasure, and for Kaveh, it’s far too intimate, far too vulnerable. He’d be giving up his ability to speak, when he normally uses words to hide—and he would be opening himself up in a way that he prefers not to, because unlike Alhaitham, Kaveh cannot be dishonest when he touches someone.
Then again, what pride does Kaveh have left, when he already broke down crying from a few kind words and soft touches? How much worse can he be in Alhaitham’s eyes, when Alhaitham has seen it all?
With a shaky breath, Kaveh carefully tilts his chin up and brings his lips against Alhaitham’s.
At first, Alhaitham’s mouth moves softly, almost uncertainly. Kaveh winds his arms around his neck and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss—and Alhaitham slowly warms up to kissing him, his movements becoming more decisive. Before long, Alhaitham’s kisses are firm, just shy of ravenous, as though he’s trying to make it clear that this was his idea, even if Kaveh was the one who brought their lips together.
Kaveh’s eyes still sting, and he’s almost certain that there’s snot on his face, but at least he’s not sobbing anymore, now that he’s focused on matching each press of Alhaitham’s lips. He doesn’t feel quite as adrift, with these kisses to anchor him.
And he knows that eventually he’ll go under, and the fractures will flood, and he’ll be weighed down by his waterlogged heart—but that’s better than feeling like he’s disintegrating. Kissing Alhaitham makes him feel solid, which is better, even if that weight means that he could sink to the seafloor and get stuck.
Alhaitham slips a hand beneath Kaveh’s shoulders and guides him upright, until Kaveh is sitting with his legs stretched across the rumpled blankets. With a hand still pressed against Kaveh’s back, Alhaitham cups his face and kisses him, shifting so that his knees bracket Kaveh’s thighs.
He’s warm, and close, and yet he seems like a dream in the candlelight, a trick of the flickering shadows. Because this shouldn’t be possible in Kaveh’s waking life. Alhaitham shouldn’t be holding him or kissing him like this, not when Kaveh ruined the moment with his foolish crying, and especially not when Kaveh told Alhaitham that he should drop the act and do whatever he wanted.
This can’t be what Alhaitham wants. It can’t be.
But it’s what Kaveh wants, so he drapes his arms over Alhaitham’s shoulders and keeps kissing him back, leaning into his warmth. He pushes aside the questions that tug at his mind in the silence, like why each kiss feels so sincere, or why Alhaitham is still here when he should have just abandoned Kaveh to his miserable thoughts.
Alhaitham’s kisses recede to soft pecks, and his hand drifts from Kaveh’s back to his abdomen. He strokes Kaveh’s stomach, his touch featherlight, and then his hand moves lower, fingertips brushing against his cock.
He pulls back to look at Kaveh, a question in his eyes. His other hand is still on Kaveh’s cheek, thumb smoothing the spot just below his eyelashes.
It’s so gentle. He’s so gentle.
And he’s lying.
Even though Alhaitham isn’t speaking, he still lies when he caresses Kaveh like this—like he’s something precious, when Kaveh knows damn well that Alhaitham doesn’t treasure him that way. If he did, then he’d look at Kaveh with affection in his eyes like he did years ago. He’d hold Kaveh in his arms on the couch after a horrible day. He’d comfort Kaveh and actually mean it, instead of layering his reassurances under so much criticism that Kaveh thinks he must be imagining them.
Why are you still lying? Kaveh wants to demand, as Alhaitham watches him and waits for an answer. But that hand cradling his face is so fond, so confusing, that Kaveh nearly asks something else: Are you actually telling the truth?
He finds himself nodding in assent. Alhaitham kisses the corner of Kaveh’s lips, so carefully that Kaveh nearly cries, and then he wraps his hand around Kaveh’s cock, stroking it back to hardness.
Kaveh clutches Alhaitham’s shoulders as he does, desperately trying to keep his breaths steady. He can’t recall ever feeling this fragile during sex, as if he’ll shatter from the slightest touch. “Haitham,” he breathes, without meaning to—and suddenly Alhaitham’s lips are back on his, steady and reassuring, grounding him.
With each touch, that heat from before gradually returns. Kaveh nips at Alhaitham’s lips and kisses him more insistently, pushing his tongue against his mouth with a quiet moan. Alhaitham’s breath hitches, and his strokes stutter as Kaveh does his best to devour him, each kiss hungrier than the last.
He can’t shake the feeling that Alhaitham will disappear the second the candles burn out. He needs to keep him here, needs to have him before he slips away.
Kaveh fumbles to stroke Alhaitham, who he’s neglected to touch until now—but Alhaitham stops his wrist and murmurs, “No need.”
He captures Kaveh’s lips in a lingering kiss, and then he leans over and retrieves a jar nestled among the sheets. Kaveh watches as Alhaitham swiftly unscrews the lid and coats his fingers, and he gasps when he feels Alhaitham’s slick palm spreading oil along his length.
Then, lightly gripping Kaveh’s cock, Alhaitham shifts his weight forward so that he’s positioned over it.
“W-wait,” Kaveh says, as he feels his tip brush Alhaitham’s entrance. “What about you—”
“I’m prepared,” Alhaitham says, and he slowly sinks down, taking Kaveh inside him.
Kaveh gasps and lets his forehead fall against Alhaitham’s chest. As Alhaitham rolls his hips, Kaveh presses light kisses against his sternum, too tired to resist the display of affection—and then Alhaitham moves so that Kaveh’s cock drags against that heat just right, and Kaveh’s kisses melt into moans, tumbling helplessly from his lips.
He presses his cheek to Alhaitham’s chest and feels each thump of his heart, startlingly fast. It shouldn’t be surprising, at a time like this—and yet, the frantic pulse seems so unlike Alhaitham, who moves leisurely through his days, detached from all worries. Kaveh somehow expected that even now, his heart would beat unhurried and steady.
But even Alhaitham isn’t immune to physical exertion. His heart hammers as he rides Kaveh, his breaths heavy enough to be audible.
“Beautiful,” Alhaitham says, almost sharply. His hand cups the back of Kaveh’s head, smoothing his hair down and holding him close to his chest. “You, and those sounds—you’re—” A quiet groan hums in his throat. “In all the right spots, Kaveh. Your lips, your hands, you—”
He breaks off in a moan as he lifts himself up and drops back down on Kaveh’s cock. The sudden slide sends a shiver through Kaveh, and a low moan drips from his tongue. He reaches down to cup Alhaitham’s ass and squeezes, his eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure building between his hips.
“Good,” Alhaitham murmurs. “Just like that.”
Just like that, he says—as if Kaveh is actually doing anything.
Kaveh doesn’t have much leverage in this position. Alhaitham is doing most of the work, and all of the talking—and when Kaveh tries to summon words of praise in return, he instead chokes on would-be confessions: I want you, I love you, I hate when you leave, I miss what we were. I wish I had you. I wish you wanted me.
“Haitham,” he gasps, verging on another sob. It hurts, it hurts, this knowledge that he’s once again painfully close to something that he’ll never actually have.
Kaveh is not lucky enough to love and be loved in return.
“Compelling,” Alhaitham says, with another roll of his hips. Kaveh wishes he would stop saying useless words, and just moan or gasp instead. “Always, Kaveh, always—”
Kaveh manages to thrust upward, startling Alhaitham into silence. He inhales sharply, and Kaveh lifts his head from Alhaitham’s chest to watch him.
Alhaitham looks perfect: the smooth muscles of his chest, and the clear strength in each of his limbs, all defined even in the soft light. The way he moves with so much confidence, calm and self-assured, because he does not experience doubts—or, if he does, because he has mastered the art of ignoring them. And his sharp features, perfectly composed, lips parted just slightly, eyes trained on Kaveh as he moves up and down.
He rides Kaveh beautifully, because he is strong, and smart, and beautiful, even if he is terrible to Kaveh, even if he will never properly love him.
And Kaveh doesn’t deserve this sliver of his attention. He doesn’t deserve to have someone like Alhaitham make him feel good this way.
“Stop thinking,” Alhaitham says, pressing his hands to Kaveh’s cheeks.
Kaveh blinks up at him. “Stop…?”
Shaking his head, Alhaitham continues to steadily move his hips, enveloping Kaveh in that soft warmth. Then he leans down and kisses Kaveh, his hands still firmly splayed against his face. He kisses him, and holds him there so that he can’t flinch away, even as that tenderness threatens to become overwhelming.
For a few moments, Kaveh floats and simply feels: the heat where their skin touches, the tight slide as Alhaitham moves, the soft yielding of his lips. Every sensation swirls into dizzying pleasure, and Kaveh suddenly finds himself surprisingly close to the edge.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and Alhaitham’s lips dwell for one last kiss before he pulls back. His hand cups the side of Kaveh’s neck, fingers curling in his hair, thumb stroking his jaw. “Beautiful,” he says, almost like it’s a command. “Determined, and—ah.” His head bows as Kaveh shifts his hips, sliding in at a new angle. “And—” Kaveh digs his nails into his ass, leans in to suck a mark just below his shoulder, and Alhaitham gasps. “Kaveh—”
“Don’t you dare say I’m strong,” Kaveh says, voice shaking. “I—I’m not, don’t lie, I told you not to lie, Alhaitham—”
Suddenly Alhaitham lifts himself off Kaveh’s cock, and Kaveh tenses at the abrupt absence of heat. He watches in confusion as Alhaitham swings his legs around and plants his feet on the mattress behind Kaveh, his thighs bracketing Kaveh’s torso, one of his knees brushing against his ribs.
Kaveh slides a hand up Alhaitham’s back, instinctively steadying him. “What are you…?”
With a hand braced against Kaveh’s shoulder, Alhaitham slowly lowers himself back onto Kaveh’s cock, until he’s fully seated between his legs. He folds his calves around Kaveh’s back, almost as if he’s sitting cross-legged—and then he rocks his hips shallowly, grinding down on Kaveh’s cock.
“Oh.” Kaveh’s eyes roll back from the sensation. “Oh, gods—Haitham—”
Alhaitham has completely entwined their bodies. He presses their chests together, erasing the space between them, and his legs encircle Kaveh’s hips, pinning Kaveh against him. Both his arms wrap around Kaveh’s back to hold him close, and one of his hands cradles Kaveh’s head, impossibly gentle.
“You are,” Alhaitham rasps, resting his forehead against Kaveh’s. “You are, you just…”
Instead of finishing his sentence, he tangles his fingers in Kaveh’s hair and pulls him into a kiss.
And Kaveh melts against Alhaitham. He throws his arms around him and kisses him back, matching each shift of Alhaitham’s hips with movements of his own, rocking into him at a slow, careful pace.
It’s easy to anticipate Alhaitham’s movements like this, when Kaveh can feel the slightest flex of his muscles—he’s so close, so warm, so perfect, and Kaveh doesn’t understand how this isn’t a dream, doesn’t understand how this can be real, when he knows that Alhaitham’s feelings don’t warrant this sort of devotion.
You don’t know what I think of you, Alhaitham had said.
But doesn’t he?
A tear slips down Kaveh’s cheek, and he kisses Alhaitham more insistently, tightening his embrace. Wrapped up in Alhaitham’s arms like this, Kaveh nearly has what he so desperately wants, what he wishes he had beyond the walls of this room: to always be cherished, whether it’s with Alhaitham’s hands or his words. To believe that he can have something good in his grasp and keep it—that it won’t slip through his fingers, that he won’t somehow ruin things.
“Gods, I wish I had you,” Kaveh breathes, and instantly wishes that he could take back the words. He gasps in a trembling breath, feeling new tears prick his eyes.
He didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t mean to confess that he wants Alhaitham.
Kaveh hopes that his words were unintelligible, that Alhaitham didn’t hear him properly, but he braces himself for rejection nonetheless, whether it’s with stone-faced words or frigid silence. He holds Alhaitham in a crushing grip, and feels a surge of misery at his own gesture—because isn’t it tragic, to latch onto the person who’s about to pickaxe his heart? Isn’t it pathetic, that the only person he can ask for comfort is the one who will cast him aside?
“You have me,” Alhaitham murmurs, stroking Kaveh’s hair.
Kaveh nearly sobs. Those aren’t the words he expected to hear, and he realizes that Alhaitham must not understand. He must think that Kaveh meant it literally, because he doesn’t comprehend how much Kaveh is hurting, or how much of that pain has been caused by Alhaitham’s indifference toward him.
You have me, he says—and it is a cruel thing to be so literal, when those words are false in every way that matters.
Kaveh has him, physically, in this moment. But there’s never any guarantee of future encounters. There’s never any indication that Kaveh has Alhaitham’s heart.
It’s always too little or too much, when it comes to Alhaitham. He spoils Kaveh in bed, giving him far more pleasure than he deserves—and then he turns around and gives Kaveh scraps of compassion, making him beg for a kind word or hint of praise. The two of them are incapable of equilibrium; Alhaitham can’t go a second without unbalancing Kaveh somehow.
And yet, despite the agonizing whiplash, Kaveh keeps ending up here: in bed with Alhaitham, skin to skin, all too eager to fall apart in his arms.
Kaveh shivers and buries his face against Alhaitham’s shoulder, pressing his lips to his skin. He inhales the sweet scent of cloves lingering in the air, and finally surrenders himself to Alhaitham’s warm embrace, to this one way that Kaveh is allowed to have him.
They maintain their rhythm together, until Kaveh feels a familiar tension coiling beneath his abdomen and starts struggling to match Alhaitham’s tempo. “Haitham,” he gasps. “Close, I—I’m—”
“Inside,” Alhaitham says, pulling Kaveh’s body impossibly closer. He trails kisses along Kaveh’s shoulders and throat. “Come inside me.”
“What—you—” Kaveh shudders, barely holding himself back. Alhaitham has never asked for that before. Kaveh worries that he’s misheard. “In…?”
“Inside,” Alhaitham repeats, and locks his arms around Kaveh, rolling his hips deliberately.
The tension uncoils all at once, and Kaveh moans into Alhaitham’s shoulder as he comes.
A shiver runs through Alhaitham, and he tenses, digging his nails into Kaveh’s back hard enough to sting. Then he exhales Kaveh’s name, again and again with each gasp for breath, as if it’s the only word he knows in any language—until the gasps give way to breathy moans, and Kaveh’s hips jolt at the sound.
“Haitham,” Kaveh whispers again, with a broken moan that verges on a sob.
It’s too much. This warmth, the way that Alhaitham keeps moving, the love aching in Kaveh’s chest—it’s all too much. Despite Alhaitham’s caution, Kaveh can’t help but fall apart.
Eventually, Alhaitham goes limp against him, and his head droops to rest on Kaveh’s shoulder. The two of them pant for breath in the dim quiet of the room, still tangled in each other’s arms.
After several deep breaths, Kaveh manages to collect himself. He hears Alhaitham’s breath hitch, and assumes that he’s still riding the last few waves of his climax—but then Alhaitham inhales more sharply, in a way that sounds closer to pain than pleasure.
Kaveh sits back and cups Alhaitham’s face in his hands, tilting it upward so that he can look at him properly.
Alhaitham’s sharp gaze is bright with unshed tears. Jaw clenched, he stares back at Kaveh, saying nothing, and Kaveh watches in stunned silence as one of the tears rolls down his cheek.
Alhaitham shuts his eyes tight, and his hands curl into fists against Kaveh’s back. As he takes deep breaths, Kaveh delicately wipes away the tear clinging to his cheek, then brushes a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.
After a few minutes, Alhaitham’s breathing returns to normal. He opens his eyes to stare at the far wall, his expression unreadable as he gingerly lifts himself off Kaveh’s cock.
“I…” Kaveh’s hands hover uselessly in the air between them. He doesn’t know what to offer. He doesn’t know what just happened.
Alhaitham disentangles himself from Kaveh, leaving his skin to feel cold without his touch. His hand rests against Kaveh’s shoulder for a moment, the weight almost reassuring—and then he shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the door.
Kaveh watches him disappear into the hallway, feeling dread and confusion twist in his chest.
He doesn’t know what any of that meant, but he does know that Alhaitham has left, which means that the night is over. Because even if Alhaitham abandoned Kaveh more abruptly than usual, this is how it always ends: with Alhaitham returning to his room, and with Kaveh burrowing into the lingering warmth of his sheets, wishing that Alhaitham had stayed to sleep alongside him.
Sometimes, Kaveh manages to drag himself to the bathroom and freshen up. Other times—like tonight—he doesn’t have the strength. Tonight, he will collapse in a heap on the covers, sweaty and tear-stained, and pray that he manages to fall asleep before the sun comes up.
He can never fall asleep quickly enough, though. Even now, despite his exhaustion, painful thoughts have already begun to creep into his mind, gnawing at his chest so that he’s wide awake.
Kaveh keeps mentally repeating all of the words Alhaitham called him—beautiful, strong, resolute, clever—and he makes himself feel worse with each repetition, because the praise rings so utterly false. Kaveh feels pathetic for thinking that he’d actually believe any of those things if Alhaitham said them convincingly enough. It’s such a hopeless game of make-believe.
And Kaveh cringes at the memory of how he’d broken down sobbing during sex. While he’s shed one or two tears in the past, those could easily be excused as side effects of overwhelming pleasure. But to blubber like a lost child? He knows exactly what Alhaitham must think: that Kaveh is overemotional, that he gets worked up over nothing, that he has no one to blame for his misery except himself.
It's true. Kaveh should just resign himself to the fact that he’s like this—incapable of pulling himself together, overly concerned about things he can’t change, unable to keep anyone close once they see him for who he really is. Kaveh’s life would be much easier if he simply accepted those indisputable truths.
Alhaitham and Kaveh were friends, once, but Kaveh couldn’t keep it that way. Now they’re near-strangers who occasionally fuck each other, and eventually Kaveh will lose that, too. Tonight very well might have been the breaking point, because why would Alhaitham bother with him after that? He has sex with Kaveh for purely carnal reasons, not because he wants to perform emotional labor. He doesn’t care about Kaveh that way. He only cares about things that personally benefit him.
Kaveh curls up on his side and hugs a pillow to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He feels the heat of fresh tears against his eyelids, and wonders how his body hasn’t tired from his uncontrollable sobbing earlier.
He just needs to get through this night, and then he needs to get through the remaining two days of the championship. And if he can win that diadem, then maybe, maybe he will stop feeling like he’s simply getting through things, and will start to feel like he’s actually living.
It’s a slim hope. As much as Kaveh blusters to others, he doesn’t really have faith that it will happen.
Kaveh peels his eyes open, trying to resist the heaviness of sleep. He should get up and close the bedroom door, since Alhaitham couldn’t be bothered to—and he should also put out those candles that Alhaitham lit, since they’re still flickering sweetly in the darkness.
It really is odd, that Alhaitham decided to burn scented candles.
But despite Kaveh’s best efforts, the exhaustion is too much. His eyes drift shut again, and he clings to his last threads of consciousness, floating on the precipice of sleep.
At some point, Kaveh thinks that he hears footsteps shuffling across the floor. Bit by bit, the light illuminating his closed eyelids dims, and Kaveh hazily realizes that Alhaitham must have returned to extinguish the candles.
Kaveh doesn’t open his eyes, though. He can’t bring himself to look at Alhaitham right now, so instead he keeps his breaths deep and steady, doing his best to feign sleep.
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham murmurs.
Kaveh doesn’t acknowledge him.
The mattress dips, and calloused hands gently unfold Kaveh’s legs so that they’re stretched out. Then Kaveh feels a damp cloth brush against his thighs and groin, carefully wiping his skin clean.
Oh.
Alhaitham didn’t just come back for the candles.
Kaveh’s lips wobble, and he bites down on his tongue, his body tensing. Alhaitham pauses, his fingertips resting lightly on Kaveh’s hipbone. “Kaveh?”
But even if Alhaitham can tell that Kaveh is awake, Kaveh refuses to admit it. He keeps his mouth shut and continues to pretend that he’s asleep, counting the seconds until Alhaitham leaves.
Alhaitham sighs, and the cloth disappears. Then the mattress shifts again, and Kaveh hears Alhaitham’s footsteps retreat into the hallway.
A minute later, Kaveh’s door clicks shut, and he exhales in relief. Keeping his eyes closed, he takes a trembling breath, feeling another sob build in his throat. Alone—he’s finally alone. He can cry in peace.
But the sound of footsteps startles him, and Kaveh’s eyes snap open. He stares at the moonlit window on the wall facing him, convinced that he’s imagining things. It must be an animal outside, or water rushing through pipes.
Except then Kaveh feels the unmistakable weight of a body settling onto the bed behind him. Gentle hands maneuver him under the covers, and Kaveh holds his breath when familiar arms wrap around his waist, tugging him back against a firm chest. A chin rests on his shoulder, and lips exhale warm puffs of breath against his skin.
And then, Alhaitham’s voice, close to Kaveh’s ear:
“You have me, Kaveh.”
Those few words make Kaveh sob all over again, trembling in Alhaitham’s arms. Alhaitham holds him as he gasps and hiccups and coughs, stroking Kaveh’s hair and murmuring I’m here. He holds him as his sobs fade to sniffles, his fingers wiping tears and snot from Kaveh’s face. He holds him as he goes limp with exhaustion, and drifts off to sleep at last.
And Alhaitham holds him when he wakes to the blue light of dawn, his throat sore from crying, his entire body heavy and weary. He presses a warm kiss to Kaveh’s shoulder and pulls him closer, tucking his face against his neck.
It is not Kaveh’s fantasy of waking to golden morning light with fond gazes and smiling kisses, loving fully and having no doubts that he is loved in return.
But there is honesty in Alhaitham’s touches, a quiet truth in this moment—and even if Kaveh doubts every word of praise, he holds onto those words, you have me, and thinks that perhaps they aren’t lies like he thought.