It's too hot for Kaveh to be horny and dtf.

--

Kaveh is boiling alive, melting into a puddle of goo that someone could probably fry an egg in. He sighs dramatically, draped across his chair like a blanket, head tipped back to keep bits of hair off his neck. Curse his layered haircut. It'll look amazing, said Nilou that afternoon in the Bazaar. Frame your face nicely and then perhaps he'll notice.

Alhaitham hasn't noticed. Kaveh's gaze sweeps over to find him cool as a cucumber, one leg crossed at the ankle, a book held studiously in his hand. It has been a week and Alhaitham hasn't uttered a word about his change in appearance, as subtle as it may be.

Kaveh is no fool. Alhaitham knows. He must. He's no artist but he's annoyingly observant which only means that he's being purposefully obtuse.

Punishment for—

There is no way that Alhaitham knows that he knows that he—

Kaveh's gaze lingers on Alhaitham long enough for him to finally look. Alhaitham's gaze is questioning, one eyebrow raised. "Is there something the matter?" He turns a page without looking.

There are two things that are the matter: One, it is as hot as the Pyro Archon's asshole. Two, precisely two weeks, three days, and sixteen—no seventeen—hours ago, Kaveh was three fingers deep in his ass when he heard Alhaitham moan his name from the room next door. And since, it has been two horrifically long weeks full of dreams and fantasies, and fucking himself to the thought that Alhaitham, apparently, does pop an occasional boner.

Kaveh's throat is suddenly dry. It bobs as he swallows, thinking of an appropriate answer. Alhaitham just stares, watching him in that calculating way of his, head tipped to the side, eyes slightly narrowed. Like he sees right through him. Like he knows.

Wouldn't be the first time. It certainly won't be the last. There was that one time when Kaveh was a house guest of Tighnari's, and his hands wandered a little too much because he was stressed and needed release, and Tighnari had Cyno literally kick down the door to offer him a gag—

"Kaveh?"

Right. Kaveh blinks. Damn his wandering thoughts. Kaveh brushes back his bangs and looses a ragged breath. "Sorry, it's the heat. I can't think straight. Can't..."

Ignore how his cock fills out at the mere fucking thought of it, Alhaitham spread out in his bed, palming himself. Palming himself to the thought of him. Kaveh didn't imagine it which makes it worse. It's too damn hot to masturbate.

Kaveh lifts a leg, spreading them for space, hoping that his thigh is enough to hide his cock. "I can't work like this. I feel like I'm simmering in a pot. I'm a sweaty mess. My hair is on my neck. I—"

"In the future, then, perhaps you should consider the practicality of a haircut over the fashion of it. What use is looking halfway decent if you can't even clip it back? Seems like a hassle."

"You think I look halfway decent?" blurts Kaveh.

Alhaitham's face tips the same way that a raven does when it sees something shiny. "Would you rather I say you look halfway dismal? I'm more than willing to adhere to that request."

Kaveh scowls. "What? No, I'd—" Kaveh's gaze narrows when he sees the tiniest quirk of Alhaitham's mouth. "You insufferable lout. Even after all these years, you're still terrible at teasing."

"I assure you that I'm quite adept at teasing. I just save the best of the worst for you."

Kaveh groans—mostly because his cock aches in his trousers, annoyingly persistent in its bid to not go down. He drags a hand down his sweaty face, nostrils flaring as he tries to think about Alhaitham's grandmother. She was a nice lady, from what he remembers. Nurtured Alhaitham to be unapologetically himself which is, no doubt, why he's an absolute bastard ninety-five percent of the time.

The other five percent is what makes Kaveh's dick twitch.

"Kaveh, are you alright? You seem distracted."

Alhaitham's tone makes him freeze. He knows, he knows, he knows—

When Kaveh looks at him, Alhaitham blinks back slowly. There is nothing else in that look, be it worry or amusement. A blank slate. Suspicious. Alhaitham is one or the other, never neither—not with him, at least.

"The heat," says Kaveh. "It's the fucking heat. I have work to be done, and I can't—Whatareyoudoing?"

Alhaitham is halfway out of his shirt when Kaveh blurts the question, his words running together into an unintelligible mess. Alhaitham's skin-tight shirt is caught around his elbows as he looks up. "You are right," he says simply. "It's hot."

"And so you—" Kaveh gestures to him violently.

Alhaitham raises a brow. "It certainly isn't the first time I've been shirtless around you. Kaveh, we live together."

Oh, Kaveh knows. He fucking knows. Kaveh can't think of how many times his gaze has lingered, tracing those devilish abs, thinking about running his tongue over them before dipping low and—

"You're staring."

Ah, damn it to the gods. "And you're sweaty," is Kaveh's curt, incredibly ill-advised retort. And he is. And no, Kaveh cannot tear away his gaze, watching as a drop of sweat rolls drips from Alhaitham's collarbone, down his sternum. Kaveh wonders if it tastes like salt, or maybe that soap he likes to use. Would Alhaitham moan? Would he—

"Kaveh."

"I need—"

"You need?"

"Air. Gods, I need air. Celestia above, save me."

Alhaitham's gaze turns rueful as his shirt drops to the ground. "Typically, you blame Celestia for things like this. Are you that distracted?"

"With your shirt off, who wouldn't be?"

The wrong thing to say. Kaveh's foot has been firmly planted in his mouth. Alhaitham might not be good with people but he isn't unaware. Alhaitham settles back into his chair and cracks open that book as if his chest isn't hanging out. As if his rock-hard and annoyingly trim pecs aren't fully on display, or that his dusky nipples aren't pert and perfect, or that—

Two can play this game, Kaveh decides. He stands without a word, half-hard cock in his trousers be damned. He tugs his loose tunic over his head and throws it to the ground in a sweeping gesture meant to be a tease, but, because Kaveh isn't particularly graceful, he looks more like an awkward foal failing miserably at seduction.

Alhaitham, though, stares, his mouth slightly parted. The book goes forgotten on his knee, fingers pressed into the crease of the spine. His gaze drags the length of Kaveh's chest, eyes sweeping over every inch of his skin. The scrutiny isn't bad. The scrutiny is good, heat curling in the gut—and not the same blasted feeling coming from the sun.

This is the sort of heat he wants, the simmers in his belly, that makes his cock leak, and a gasp hang about in his throat.

"Kaveh." Alhaitham's voice is strangely raspy. He swallows once, twice, thrice without any other words.

"Have I rendered you speechless, then?" Kaveh feels haughty. He traces his collarbone with the pads of his fingers, showing off the sweeping line of it.

"I..." Alhaitham is so close to saying something stupid, Kaveh just knows it. And then: "I have a book to read," finishes Alhaitham, that honeyed gaze planting itself firmly in old, crinkled parchment instead.

Kaveh waits. He taps a foot, waiting for Alhaitham to make a move, to look back, to do something.

Alhaitham does not.

"You—" Infuriating. Even if it's too hot for an adequate fuck, it's the thought that counts. Kaveh sniffs, stranding straight and preening himself. "I'll be in my room."

That gets Alhaitham's attention. And that is the moment that Kaveh knows that he knows. Something about Alhaitham's gaze is too articulated, blazing in the way he watches Kaveh's next moves. Then, his gaze dips down, and down, settling at the front of Kaveh's trousers where he's still sporting what once was his shame. Now it's spite.

Alhaitham's special ability, though, is to effortlessly ruin things. "Use a pillow this time," he says. "Or, perhaps, a gag? Some of us are trying to read."

Kaveh should be embarrassed. Instead, he bristles, shoots him a rude gesture, and then leaves his door open a crack with the intent of being the loudest he can possibly be.

Which seems to work, judging by Alhaitham's red face later, when Kaveh reappears for a glass of water. His haphazard clothing, the awkward hang of his own trousers, as if hastily refastened. How he cannot meet Kaveh's gaze and excuses himself into his study with too-soft words and rapid breaths.

In the days to come, Kaveh will regret it, embarrassed beyond all reason. But, right then, it's a victory worth every fucking second.