#Kaveh will pull on his glove and ask him to stay the night

[starcurtain]

Another Haikaveh Fanfic I Want to Read

It's a 5+1 compilation but it's just all the super soft, embarrassingly domestic moments Alhaitham is daydreaming will happen after he and Kaveh finally get together (he is certain this is going to happen someday)... Plus the timeskip where the best one actually comes true, of course!

[chickenparm]

Fidget Device (Alhaitham/afab!Reader) (2)

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Art inspired by this fic by @drawlypsy can be found here!

Alhaitham/afab!Reader

2,867 Words - NSFW

Blowjobs, allusions to m!Masturbation

---

Pleasant dreams aside, the reality upon your waking is startlingly mundane. 

Alhaitham doesn’t stay, he doesn’t look at you as he drops his coffee mug into the sink and turns to leave. There’s barely any acknowledgement at all beyond him calling a generic goodbye into the depths of the house that really only housed you at the moment - Kaveh was absent as often as possible, including this morning. 

Your own work beckons you, but it’s impossibly hard to focus when you’re entirely unsure if last night was a dream or the real thing. 

Chewing on the end of your pen - something Alhaitham would’ve scoffed at if he’d spent longer than 5 minutes in your presence - you mull over the possibilities. It had to have been a dream, that’s the only conclusion you can really come to. Even someone as composed as Alhaitham wouldn’t have been able to be so nonchalant in your presence. 

Nothing but a sweet dream, one that you immerse yourself in with your cheek in your palm and the sun coming through the stained glass window against your skin in shades of teal and olive. Even in the mornings, Sumeru’s sun shines bright enough to warm you pleasantly in the home that Alhaitham stubbornly keeps cold in all seasons. 

How he’d smelled, how even in your dreams he’d let you cling to him as he thoughtlessly toyed with you as if it were nothing. Even in your thoughts he doesn’t pay you any mind, even in the throes of your excitement, even as you grind down against his lap, against his hand. The fabric of his gloves dragging against the skin of your-

Chin nearly falling off its perch with enough force to sting, you sit upright and push back from your desk. Glove. Alhaitham wasn’t wearing his gloves when he left. Alhaitham didn’t particularly favor change, down to the very outfit he wears and the various accessories that come with it. Why would he forego wearing something he’s so attached to?

His bedroom is never locked. There’s no reason for it - Kaveh knows better to cross the line into messing with Alhaitham’s belongings, and there’s always been a quiet acceptance of your presence when you poke your head in to ask him something. Even so, it feels odd to cross the threshold and step inside when he isn’t present. 

Alhaitham’s room is filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, a large desk that serves to hold unsorted books rather than any sort of work, and a bed that sits unmade beneath the window facing the sun. It’s tactically placed for him to awaken when the light brushes over him. Stepping closer, your fingers reach for the divot in the bed that he seems to lay in, blankets thrown back as if he’d risen in a hurry. 

It’s far from being still warm with his body heat, long chilled despite his departure less than an hour ago. Pressing your palm to his pillow, you wonder what he might’ve looked like as he dozed. The sunlight feels thick as it comes through the window, dust motes lazily crossing the beam in little pinpricks of light. Absently, your thumb drags along the pillowcase, pretending for only a moment that the fabric could be substituted for the smoothness of his cheek. 

Would he hum in response? Smile in his sleep at your touch? More likely he would awaken the moment you entered the room, pushing himself into a sitting position and look at you as if you were nothing more than the very sparks of dust that cast impossibly small shadows against the back of your hand. 

Snatching your hand back, clutching it to your chest and turning on your heel, you remind yourself of the entire reason you entered in the first place. Alhaitham’s gloves - where would they be?

Easy enough. His laundry hamper sits in the corner, its wicker lid pulled shut to hide what’s inside. Without as much shame as you should have for going through a grown man’s laundry, you lift the lid with a single finger and find your answer sitting right on the top. Black fabric that has an unmistakable stain as if it’d been hurriedly used to-

The lid snaps back down and you take two measured steps back to the middle of the room. There’s no misinterpreting any of that - from the evidence of what he’d done to you that’d seeped into the base of the glove’s fingerless portion, to the remains of his own pleasure smeared along what would’ve been the palm if he were wearing it. 

“Not a dream, then.”

Your quiet murmur feels deafening in the silence of Alhaitham’s bedroom. The sun still moves across the sky, his bed still sits unmade, the dust dances before your eyes as you stare at the wicker basket and try to piece together the simple truth. Everything he’d done last night truly happened, and he still left so quickly in the morning that you’re beginning to think he might have regretted it. 

Perhaps he was fearful of your reaction; he hadn’t necessarily given you room to say no, but neither did you want to. Certainly if you tried he would have, Alhaitham isn’t like that. So what caused him to run?

Shame. It had to be shame, judging by the evidence left behind. Alhaitham isn’t necessarily the neatest person in the world. Often you’ve entered this room where his jacket has been tossed across the back of his chair, or one boot sits by the door while the other is across the room. Even his bed is often only made to the point of laying the duvet flat and the pillows aligned, the sheet still mussed under the covers. 

Alhaitham put his gloves there to hide them. On purpose. 

—

This is a stupid idea. But it’s the only one you have, and that has to count for something. 

If there’s anything about Alhaitham that you know for certain, it’s that he’s punctual down to leaving his work at exactly five o’ clock without deviation. Then the short walk home, reinforced by the way the front door shuts and a little slower than usual he makes his way to the kitchen where you’re just serving up a portion of the soup you’ve made that you know he detests.

Just one portion. 

Keeping your back to him, you stare into the earthenware dish before you and ask, “How was work?”

“It was work. How was…” Alhaitham trails off, as if just now coming to the realization he had no clue what your plans were for the day because he didn’t bother to say anything to you before leaving that morning. 

Maybe you’re a little too satisfied that he’s come across this blunder in your presence, but you don’t let him flounder for too long. “My day was enlightening. Lots of new thoughts, I’m sure you understand.”

And oh does the sound of his sharp inhale make your heart race in anticipation. Elaboration isn’t needed; this conversation could be left right here and Alhaitham would know exactly what you’re referring to. But he calls your bluff, stepping closer as if his proximity would cause you distress. “I’d understand better if you shared them.”

“After dinner.” You promise, turning to hold the bowl out to him with hands outstretched, your chin jerking toward the table that oft goes unused. Angular eyes narrow in suspicion - first at the bowl in your hands, then to the table that’s been set with a single placemat, cup, and utensils. Everything tonight has its purpose, including the absence of your own seat.

But without a history of malice, Alhaitham can’t truly deny you this. His ungloved fingers pass across your own as he takes what you’re offering, skin burning against skin for the briefest moment before the exchange is made. When he’s seated, staring listlessly down at the food you’ve made, you busy yourself with extinguishing the oven’s flame and cracking the door to let the heat seep out. 

And then, your own dinner portion. 

Alhaitham has made it through a few bites, that damn book laid flat on the table as he multitasks. For once, you’re thankful for his utter distraction. It lets you sink to your knees unbothered, it allows you the freedom to crawl across the floor beneath the table until you can slot yourself rather neatly between his parted knees. 

The chair shoots back enough for him to look down at you, eyes wide and pupils visibly dilating at the sight of you on your knees, apron pooled around you, hands barely ghosting across the tops of his thighs. “What are you doing?”

A simple question, one that arguably fits his definition of needless, but you’re not here to split hairs over things like that. Letting go of him, you reach for the legs of his chair and tug him back toward you forcefully to emphasize your reasoning. “Having dinner, obviously. Don’t mind me.”

Alhaitham looks at you with undisguised wonder as your fingers creep higher, tracing the inner seam until you can cup your palm against him. Not completely hard, but he’s well on his way, and you remember quite vividly how he’d felt against you last night. Burning hot, insistent, begging you to do something about it if he’d only allowed you to.

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, anticipation for giving him exactly what he deserves proving to be a little too close to ambrosia for you to resist it. He’s grown hard enough beneath your fingers that you can feel the outline of him clearly, and you drag the pads of your fingertips hard enough that he jolts in his chair. Alhaitham’s knees press into your shoulders, and you tsk up at him in admonishment. 

“Eat your dinner. Quit squirming.”

And you’ll eat, too. Fingers tugging at the hem of his pants, just enough for him to bob free, you take a single moment to admire him. It’s a shame he kept this to himself last night - he’s rather pretty.

Saltiness blooms on your tongue as you press it against the head of his cock, first dragging then dipping the tip into the slit at the very tip. Above you, the spoon clatters against the table in response, but rather than chide him you instead fill your mouth with his hardness instead of your words. 

Alhaitham fills your mouth easily, pressing your tongue down as you take him further. The undulation of your tongue along the bottom of his cock make him jerk against you, your swallowing around him must feel far more interesting than whatever he’s reading up there. But he was so interested in it last night…

With a wet pop, you pull back and speak with your lips pressed against the head of his cock, threatening to take him in again, “Having trouble focusing? Do you need me in your lap again?”

Audibly he inhales, certainly prepared to give you a piece of his mind that he must be dying to share, but you cut him off by taking him as far as you can once more. The sound in his throat turns from something coherent to a choked groan as your lips reach the base of his cock briefly, then again, starting a slow pace that’s entirely at your leisure. 

Not his, despite how he rocks toward you in encouragement. Hooking your elbows over his thighs, you leave no room for him to chase after you. Just as he’d locked you in his grasp, you ensnare him just as solidly. At your mercy, he can only lean back in the chair and grip at the armrests with bare fingers and nails digging in audibly. 

The tip of your tongue presses against the prominent vein beneath, relishing in the feel of his racing heartbeat. It’s concrete proof that he isn’t as aloof as he tries to be, though his unfocused eyes on you are just as telling. Now he gives you his attention, undivided and blazing with complete focus. 

It should feel empowering, flattering even. Instead you only feel annoyed, and raise one hand to knock at the bottom of the table above your head. Focus elsewhere, you wordlessly tell him with your cheek bulging around the mass of him, pay me no mind.

Or you’ll stop. You’re not above that, even if you’re getting as much enjoyment out of this as he is. Intuitive even when you’re sucking on him hard enough to veer toward pain, Alhaitham’s hands shake as he reaches to the table, paper rustling enough to tell you he’s at least trying.

But the pages don’t turn, his eyes don’t move as he stares somewhere off in the middle distance. This is how he should’ve looked last night, rather than unaffected and bored. Without a doubt, he’s much easier on the eyes when his jaw is slack and his entire body is full of tension that’s threatening to snap.

The muscles of his abdomen clench, threatening an apex that you’re well aware is looming quickly. His throat bobs with a thick swallow, the exhale through his nose catching on the motion before he rasps, “You’re going to… I’m-”

The words can’t form, not while you drag your tongue on the ridge of his tip, against the vein beneath, along his length with no small amount of self-indulgence. Alhaitham throbs in your mouth, a clear warning for what he’s trying to tell you, and it’s one that you promptly disregard. 

He’s salty on your tongue, between your teeth and cheeks, his release hitting you with force that he can’t use on you himself. Paper crinkles above with his tension, and you’re treated to the sweetest sound of his appreciative moan from low in his chest. Alhaitham’s knees have locked you in, keeping you from pulling back even as he grows soft in your mouth as you swallow his release. 

With his clear refusal to let you go just yet, you gauge his expression from your lower vantage point. Blushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, chest heaving despite so little exertion - Alhaitham paints a pretty picture, one that you wish you could’ve been allowed to see earlier if he’d been just a little more forthcoming. 

With a thud, his back hits the chair once more and he stares up at the ceiling, cutting off your view of whatever expression he wears. Having lost your patience now that he’s obstructed your sight, you wiggle your way from his grasp and awkwardly shimmy from beneath the table. Lips swollen, you sweep at the corners with your thumb and pointedly turn back to the stove to actually get your dinner. 

Alhaitham can worry about dinner cleanup - you’re rather happy to lock yourself in your room and have a quiet evening alone. Maybe some more of those pleasant dreams are on the table, now that you’ve given yourself more fuel for the fire. 

—

His book has long since closed itself under the pressure of its own binding, but the sound can’t drag him from the half-aware, meandering reverie he directs toward the rafters of the ceiling. Steam that once rose from the bowl of soup is no more, leaving it to congeal in the bowl with only a single spoonful having been taken out of it. 

A tacky clock on the wall - one bought for the purpose of driving Kaveh insane - ticks steadily, ensuring that time is passing. He can’t make heads nor tails of it. Alhaitham doesn’t even try.

Somewhere deeper in the house, Alhaitham hears you moving around. The shower starts with a squeak of turning knobs and water moving through pipes. Images of you flicker behind his eyelids as he closes them, ones that include you undressed under the falling water, humming some tune to yourself that you seem to favor with its simplicity. 

How long has he been sitting here, unable to pull himself together? Slouched in the chair until his back aches, mind whirling with thoughts that are too ephemeral for him to dig his fingers into, openly indecent with his pants down for anyone to see if they were to come into the room. 

Archons the house is cold, he feels it along the backs of his limp hands, on the sweat across his forehead. Even on his dick that you hadn’t bothered to put away when you were finished with him. You’d left rather unceremoniously; at least he’d had the decency to put you to bed.

Cracking his eyes open once more, he turns them to the hallway that would lead directly to you and tries to imagine the exact amount of footsteps it would take to cross the distance to the bathroom. Or from the bathroom. 

Maybe if he called for you-

Alhaitham sits up at the mere thought, fingers digging into the arm rests as leverage. No, he’s not doing that. The chair clatters to the floor as he stands, first tipping to two legs and then all the way back under the pressure of his sudden movements. With still-trembling hands, he reaches to his waistband to put himself away, grimacing at the stickiness. 

It might just be in his best interest to shower as well.

[archonssun]

I'm Staying

---

Ayaka was quiet as she snuck up on Kaveh. He had been slumped over his desk for hours, only snacking lightly at the little food he had on his desk from his last session.

"My love," she hums, hugging him. She was careful not to inhibit his movements, letting him continue his sketching. Even then, Kaveh had stopped drawing, sighing as he leaned back against her.

"What is it, frostflake?" he mutters, sounding more tired than he let on. A hand came up to hold her arm, thumb stroking her wrist before his lips pressed a soft kiss to her pulse. A shy smile tugs at her lips at his actions, and she kisses his hair.

"You've been working for ages, my love. It's nearly midnight." Her voice is soft, words comforting. "Isn't it time you came to bed with me?"

"But there's so much to be done--" he whines, pouting up at her. Ayaka brushed his bangs aside to leave another kiss to his forehead, chuckling.

"Baby, there's always tomorrow. You need to sleep." She's doing her best at being convincing, spoiling him with soft touches and even softer words. Fingers nimbly undoing his hair clips and setting them on his desk. She litters his face in kisses as she takes the feather from his hair next, watching him melt in her touch. "Please? Come sleep with me tonight? No funny business, no seduction. Just rest."

Kaveh sighs gently, his eyes fluttering shut. Finally, after all his hair ornaments had been taken care of, he stands. Taking Ayaka into his arms, he picks her up bridal style and makes his way to their room.

"Frostflake, you're always so tempting~" he coos, nuzzling against her cheek. He decides to return the favor, leaving kisses all over her face as they walk down the hall towards their bedroom.

Kaveh sets Ayaka on her feet as they enter, going to take off his gloves when she stops him.

"Let me?" she asks, holding his hands gently. She waits for him to give her a nod before gently ridding him of his gloves and cape. Leaving kisses to his collarbone as she unclasps his necklace. She was about to pull him to bed when he stops her, pulling her back against him to whisper in her ear.

"Now let me return to favor~" Kaveh mimics her gentleness as he does much the same as she had, pulling off her gloves all while leaving kisses to her cheeks. Followed shortly is her jacket and her own hair ornaments, leaving her hair down. What a sight it was, his hand cupping her cheek as he looks down at her. Such a shame their goal was just to rest -- if it hadn't been, perhaps he would have had even more fun stripping the nightgown from her frame.

"A goddess, you are. The woman I devote my heart to..." he brings her hand up to his lips, a kiss pressed to her knuckles.

"And you, the man I have devoted my life to..." Ayaka pulls him close, hugging him softly. She could feel the exhaustion in his body melting away as she held him, starting to move towards the bed. She only lets him go for a few moments, enough time to situate herself on the bed before tugging at his hand. He gave way with no resistance, his head landing softly on her chest. It drew out a small laugh from her, her fingers back to playing with his hair. She traces slow circles on his back, lulling him to sleep. Just one more kiss to his forehead as he sinks against her, sighing as all those days and nights of work caught up with him.

"Promise you'll stay with me?" he whispers, his arms wrapping around her back and keeping her close.

"Of course I'm staying, Kaveh. There's no where I'd rather be than with you..."

---

AN: does it make sense? absolutely not. but these two are my babies