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Kaveh’s favorite part is coming home at the end of a long day.
Which—
It does make him wonder if he’s secretly a masochist, sometimes. Considering that Alhaitham is the one he’s coming home to. The one who calls him an idiot as soon as he crosses the threshold into their shared home for anything from forgetting to pick up milk on the way to the budget for his newest project, no matter how small or large it might be.
It used to bother Kaveh a whole lot, in the beginning. And for a while in the middle, too. And now, still, sometimes. The thought that he was the one stuck caring while Alhaitham kept his nose in a book and gave one-word answers perfunctorily.
But—
It’s not like that. Not really. Kaveh knows better now. As much as he loves his words and his etymology and semantics and morphology and all the rest, Alhaitham hates saying things when they matter. When they mean something. When they need to be said.
Kaveh’s got a handy dictionary by now.
For example—
“You’re late.”
I missed you.
Kaveh plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “I know,” he says, can’t help the twitch of his mouth. “Had to try really hard to get my funding approved. I wonder why, oh all-knowing Acting Grand Sage?”
“Perhaps your proposal was simply that lacking,” Alhaitham says.
“Oh, really?”
“That you find your own continuous mediocrity surprising at this stage of life astounds me, Kaveh.”
During their academia days, Kaveh would have wanted to punch him for that almost half as much as he wanted to kiss him. Now he just wants to kiss him. To pin Alhaitham against the kitchen counter and peck at his mouth until he starts thawing, stops pretending he doesn’t crave this part too. Because, sure, the arguing is fun. Good stress relief, sometimes. It’s who they are. It’s how they get to the next part. But sometimes—
Sometimes Kaveh just wants to come home and kiss the love of his life first thing. Think about all the rest later. Worry later. Fill up the empty space with Alhaitham, Alhaitham, Alhaitham. Because falling in love is a lot like Alhaitham himself in the sense that it doesn’t care at all what you want and it goes ahead and just. Happens to you anyway, rearranges your whole life to fit.
“Is that what I am?” Kaveh asks. “Mediocre?”
Alhaitham hums, considering. “In certain areas you could be considered adequate,” he says, and Kaveh—
Kaveh still really, really wants to kiss him. So he does. Steps closer and cups Alhaitham’s face and leans in slowly until their mouths are almost just barely but not quite brushing. “Yeah?” he asks, voice low. “Like what?”
Alhaitham shivers. “Like this,” he says, and closes the distance between them. “You’re rather good at this.”
Kaveh would argue it’s just the natural consequence of constant practice. That you can’t not be good at something when you’ve got someone like Alhaitham to impress. That any improvement came with selfish motivations, with the urge to get Alhaitham to shut up and make pretty sounds under him instead. With the silly, childish desire to win. To give them both what they want without dragging it out like Alhaitham would. To bring maximum efficiency to the delicate process of Loving Alhaitham.
“Am I?” Kaveh teases, tugging at Alhaitham’s bottom lip with teeth.
Alhaitham laughs. “Sometimes,” he says. “I find that kissing you is usually not a complete waste of my time. One could even call it pleasant.”
I like kissing you. I think about it when you’re gone.
Just for that, Kaveh shamelessly squeezes a handful of his ass. “Brat,” he says. “Respect your seniors.”
“Ah,” Alhaitham says, his face the slightest bit red. He always goes pliant like this. Just needs someone to remind him it’s okay. Needs someone he trusts to pull him apart all slow and soft so he can figure out the best way to put himself back together. Like a factory reset, but with—God, Cyno would most likely nod and find this actually funny, what has Kaveh’s life come to?—dick. “Do you really think that you can just—have your way with me?”
“Yes,” Kaveh says with no hesitation. “Because you like it when I do.”
“I most certainly do not.”
Yes, I’m just embarrassed about it.
Kaveh nips at his earlobe. “Are you sure?” he asks, pulling him closer by the waist. Alhaitham is all broad shoulders and strong muscles and sharp words, but he’s so—well. Soft, underneath it all. He’s had the same hand-knitted blanket that he takes out each cold season and meticulously cares for since they met. He feeds stray cats when he thinks Kaveh won’t notice. He picks on Kaveh because he’s just. Bad at asking. Bad at saying look at me. Look at me because I need it. Look at me because I want it. Look at me because I want you.
“You do,” Kaveh insists. “You like not having to lift a finger. You like it when I do all the work. When I make you come until you cry. I bet it feels nice. I’m good at that too, am I not? Making you come until it feels so good you can’t help but cry?”
Alhaitham is, admittedly, a pretty crier.
“I hate you.”
I don’t. I don’t, I lo—
Kaveh smiles. “I know,” he says. “You hate everyone.”
“You most,” Alhaitham says, and he’s pouting, and he’s such a brat, and Kaveh loves him so much, actually, doesn’t know what to do with himself because of it most of the time.
“Finally,” Kaveh says, but it’s too soft. “I’m first at something you care about.”
Alhaitham shakes his head. “I care about you.” He huffs like he’s genuinely offended. “You know that.”
Kaveh steps back without meaning to. This is—sudden. Different. Not bad. Just—unexpected. Kaveh’s an architect. He does best with meticulous planning, but he wouldn’t be good at his job if he couldn’t work with unexpected. He blinks. “You do?”
Alhaitham scoffs. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”
And—
And. Oh.
“I love you,” Kaveh blurts. “I think about you all the time. I hate being away from home because I miss—I miss your dumb backwards logic over why you refuse to do the dishes until the sink looks like a warzone. And I miss your face in the morning. And I miss when—when I take you by surprise and you’ve got nothing to say and you just. Let me do what I want without complaining about it.”
Alhaitham’s mouth purses. His eyes narrow, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he’s fighting an exhausting battle. Eventually, after what could very well have been only three and a half seconds but feels like a veritable eternity, Alhaitham sighs. “I love you too,” he says. “Now take me to bed, I’m tired and I hate that you’ll have to leave again at some point. That’s why your dumb funding requests annoy me so much. Because I know they’ll pull you somewhere far away again. And I—got used to you. I want you around, Kaveh. Forever, if that notion weren’t disgustingly irrational to deliberate on.”
Oh. That bit—
It doesn’t need a translation, actually.
Kaveh’s chest swells with happiness. With the knowledge that he could do anything, could accomplish anything, could conquer anything. But he only wants to do one thing, right now. “Come here,” he says, and then they’re kissing again, and thinking feels suddenly all too pointless, and all Kaveh wants, all Kaveh has ever wanted, is to lay Alhaitham out on a nice, soft bed and make him feel good. Make them both feel good. Drag his pleasure out of Alhaitham’s willing body even as he tries to hide behind his words.
But—
Kaveh loves those, too. Alhaitham and his words. His concerns with nuance and form and, especially, making them all melt away with a skillful tongue. Because Alhaitham likes his tongue. Alhaitham likes—wait, no, loves—him. All of him. And that’s the best part.
“Bed,” Alhaitham whines. “Bed, now.”
“Yeah,” Kaveh whispers, like a promise. “Yeah, sweetheart. Anything you want.”
Alhaitham doesn’t even protest the pet name. “You,” he says, like it’s obvious and Kaveh is once again being offensively slow. “Only you.”
Kaveh decides he could get used to this. This bit. The part where Alhaitham loves him.