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“He’s very nice to you, you know,” Kaveh says.
Cyno doesn’t bother to ask who he’s talking about. Kaveh only spoke when Alhaitham left their table to ask the bartender for another drink.
Cyno raises an eyebrow. “I should hope so,” he says, sweeping his Genius Invokation dice into a cup. “I would not endure his company otherwise.”
“Well, yes, but—” Kaveh leans in closer, as if Alhaitham might hear them over the din of the rest of the tavern. “He is particularly nice to you. Do you understand?”
“No,” Cyno says flatly. “Are you going to roll your dice, or?”
“Ever with your eyes on the prize,” Kaveh sighs, but follows through with rolling his own dice in his tray. “Surely you’ve noticed that Alhaitham is not… an affable fellow. That is a fair assessment, wouldn’t you say?”
“He doesn’t coddle people,” Cyno says. He draws two new cards from his deck, looks at his dice. Good, enough to play this artifact and support card, and set himself up for some summons in the next round.
“Neither would one describe him as particularly gracious, either. Archons know it’s difficult enough getting him to do some basic housekeeping—“
“If you have a point, Kaveh, you’d better make it fast.” Cyno nods towards the bar, where the bartender is sliding two glasses to Alhaitham.
“What I’m saying is—” Kaveh lowers his voice, “—Alhaitham does anything you say. No one else. Just you.”
“That’s not true.” Cyno frowns.
“Think about it. Can you recall anyone else he’s so accommodating with?”
“I’m not wasting my time with this.”
It’s at that moment that Alhaitham returns to the table, wine in hand.
Kaveh turns to him and says, loudly, “Alhaitham! You’ve returned!”
Alhaitham raises a single eyebrow. “What nonsense have you been telling him now?”
“Nonsense? How rude! I’ll have you know I was telling Cyno what an admirable job he was doing at this game. Of course, that isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t make the praise any less deserved. It doesn’t hurt to point out the obvious every once in a while, especially in regards to friends’ talents—”
“Gods, do you ever cease your chattering,” Alhaitham mutters, then takes his seat. He places one glass in front of him and the other in front of Cyno.
Cyno blinks. “For me?”
“Your glass was running low,” Alhaitham says simply. He pulls a book from his belt and cracks it open.
Cyno’s lips part, stuck on a response. He locks eyes with Kaveh, who gives him a pointed look.
Fine. Cyno will bite. He takes a breath.
He knocks one of his dice off the table.
“Ah,” he says, trying not to wince as he watches it skitter away on the floor. That’s one of his custom-made dice that he only rolls in his velvet-lined dice tray. But he has data to collect. He’ll lament the buffs and scratches later.
“Alhaitham,” Cyno says. “Could you grab that for me?”
The die landed between the both of them. It’s even closer to Cyno than Alhaitham.
There’s no hesitation before Alhaitham bends down and plucks the die up from the ground, then deposits it into Cyno’s waiting hand.
“Thank you,” Cyno says faintly, surprised.
Alhaitham responds with a nod, then returns to his book.
Kaveh makes an I told you so expression at Cyno. Then he clears his throat and says, “You know what, I could use another napkin. Alhaitham, I don’t suppose you could go to the bar and—”
“You’ve working legs, don’t you? Get it yourself.” Alhaitham doesn’t even look away from his book.
Kaveh bristles, then takes a breath to calm himself. “Yes, but we’re in the middle of a game—”
Alhaitham turns the noise-canceling dial on his earpiece all the way up.
Kaveh throws his hands in the air. “Bah!”
There are other reasons why Alhaitham could have refused—the bar is much further away, Kaveh’s need for a napkin is not dire, and there’s the fact that Alhaitham is unresponsive to Kaveh’s requests in general—but Cyno thinks there may be something here to unravel.
Before he can linger on it, Tighnari bursts through the tavern’s door and makes for their table. He doesn’t look happy.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness,” he says, ears twitching with irritation. “There were some travelers in Avidya Forest who thought it would be fun to traipse through some colorful shrubbery, without knowing, of course, that said shrubbery is poisonous—”
Cyno lets the point go. For now.
Here is what Kaveh does not know: Alhaitham and Cyno have been seeing each other for months.
Cyno can’t say exactly when it started. It always felt like some kind of winch was winding up between them, tightening the rope that bound them. It grew more taut with every lingering stare, every charged debate, every brush of Alhaitham’s hand against the small of Cyno’s back.
They had to do something to ease the tension before the rope snapped.
Cyno didn’t expect that something to be kissing breathlessly atop Alhaitham’s desk after hours. But it worked, so he had no complaints—except that his report on his recent expedition to Aaru Village had to be rewritten. Lying on papers did not help their legibility, it seemed.
Eventually kisses in Alhaitham’s office became kisses in the shadows of Razan Garden became kisses over dinner became… well.
They’ve never given it a name. Cyno’s not sure it’s a thing that needs naming. But it is a possible reason for Alhaitham’s uncharacteristically obliging nature. The least he could do after coming in Cyno’s mouth is grant him a request or two.
“Shit,” Alhaitham curses, breathing heavily, looking down at Cyno with glassy eyes. His hair is askew, a flush high on his cheeks. Cyno never tires of seeing him like this.
Cyno drags the back of his hand over his mouth. The taste of Alhaitham is still thick on his tongue, in his throat. He never tires of that, either.
He rises from where he was kneeling in front of Alhaitham’s ornate chair. The Grand Sage’s office is empty, the work day winding down to a close, and still they couldn’t find it in themselves to be patient. Cyno walked in on Alhaitham without his cape, removed in a bout of warm weather. It should be embarrassing, maybe, that that’s all it takes to prompt Cyno to pin Alhaitham in his chair and kiss him filthily. Alhaitham simply has a way of spurring Cyno to action.
“This isn’t about the budget request for the matra is it?” Alhaitham says wryly, settling a hand on Cyno’s hip.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Cyno mutters. He starts to tug Alhaitham’s pants back in order.
Alhaitham huffs. “The timing is uncanny, you have to admit.”
“The matra’s request for an additional assistant is far from unreasonable. Poor Shohre has her hands full already. It benefits everyone if the matra are better equipped to handle a growing student body.”
“A fair point, General.” Alhaitham places his hand on Cyno’s other hip, then gently pulls him in. Cyno exhales, his palms landing on Alhaitham’s broad shoulders. “But you could try convincing me more.”
He smells like ink and flowers. And sex. His cheeks are still flushed, his bottom lip red from where he bit it while Cyno sucked him off.
Cyno regards him silently. From his seated position, Alhaitham is much lower in Cyno’s line of sight than usual. It’s nice.
Cyno leans in, so Alhaitham has to tilt his head back even further to look at him.
“Why should I?” Cyno says, and ghosts his fingers over Alhaitham’s bared neck. “You mean you won’t do everything I ask?”
The next breath through Alhaitham’s throat is a shaky one. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You’ll have to tell me what you’re asking for.”
Cyno takes in Alhaitham’s hooded eyes, his messy hair. Thinks about curling a hand into it and yanking it back. Thinks about Alhaitham’s clever mouth parting on a gasp.
Cyno says, “I—”
The lift to the Grand Sage’s office dings.
Cyno drops beneath Alhaitham’s desk just before the lift slides open and in walks a clerk.
“Acting Grand Sage,” the clerk says, footsteps hitting the floor with rapid speed. Cyno hears the crinkle of paper in their hands. “I’ve brought you the latest correspondence from your mailbox.”
“Have you?” Alhaitham says, clearing his throat at the raspiness of his voice. “Kindly leave them on my desk, thank you—”
“Oh, and Sage Naphis wanted me to forward a message to you. There has been a new research project in Amurta regarding a strain of fungi whose spores are remarkably hallucinogenic. They have been making efforts to collect those spores and isolate the hallucinogenic compounds—”
Alhaitham sighs, seeming to give up on getting the clerk to leave swiftly. His foot taps beneath the table. Cyno refrains from smiling. Alhaitham can be so impatient.
But Cyno laments the interruption, too. He likes having Alhaitham wherever and however he wants. To have Alhaitham pliant in his hands like clay to be molded.
An idea unfolds in Cyno’s head. He remembers Kaveh’s words from that night in the tavern, an innocuous conversation that was nearly lost in the pace of the days that came after.
Alhaitham does anything you say. No one else. Just you.
The clerk drones on. Alhaitham opens his mouth to say, Cyno can only assume, another attempt to encourage the clerk to leave.
Beneath the desk, Cyno leans forward and mouths at the seam of Alhaitham’s pants.
Alhaitham’s mouth shuts so quickly his teeth click.
He shoots a look down at Cyno. Cyno looks up at him.
He smirks and raises a single finger to his mouth in a shushing motion. Then he unfastens Alhaitham’s pants.
Alhaitham makes a choking sound.
“Acting Grand Sage?” the clerk says.
Alhaitham clears his throat, and says steadily, “Excuse me. You were saying?”
The clerk pauses, then continues, “Well there have been a number of pharmaceutical businesses that have reached out to Amurta expressing their interest in this research, but of course those requests are being screened by the matra first—”
Cyno uses one hand to undo Alhaitham’s pants and the other to rub along the crease of Alhaitham’s clothed thigh, giving a strong squeeze to the muscle there. Alhaitham’s stomach rises and falls as he breathes, more deeply and quickly than before. Cyno presses a kiss to Alhaitham’s cock, through his undergarments. Alhaitham sucks in a breath.
Cyno has no idea what the clerk is talking about anymore. He’s sure it’s the same for Alhaitham. Cyno drifts his hand to the waistband of Alhaitham’s underwear and tugs it down, enough to free his cock. Not fully hard yet, but that’s to be expected. He took it down his throat not that long ago. It’s still wet with his spit. It makes a thrill simmer deep in Cyno’s gut.
“—after recent events, Sage Naphis is understandably… hesitant about any collaboration with outside interests—”
Cyno gives Alhaitham’s cock a few experimental strokes. Alhaitham’s hips twitch, as if to follow the movement. He starts to thicken in Cyno’s hand. Cyno internally tuts. So eager.
He opens his mouth and lays the head on the flat of his tongue.
Alhaitham clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle an inhale.
The clerk pauses again. “Are you sure you’re alright, Acting Grand Sage?”
“Yes,” Alhaitham all but wheezes. He drops the hand that was over his mouth, then risks a glance down at Cyno. Cyno raises his eyebrows and gives a small jerk of his head, trying to convey get on with it.
Alhaitham squares his shoulders and looks at the clerk. “Please, spare no detail about Naphis’s concerns. His perspective is invaluable.”
“Oh! Gladly!” The clerk’s voice seems to have brightened. “He would like to meet with you to discuss options about how this sort of research sponsorship may go moving forward. The vetting process might need to be overhauled considering, er, the events with the past sages. Of course we don’t want to deny all grant opportunities outright—”
Satisfied that there’s more conversation to go, Cyno licks at the head of Alhaitham’s cock, gliding his tongue over the slit. Alhaitham’s hips shift forward, and the hand Cyno has on Alhaitham’s thigh squeezes.
An order. Don’t move.
Cyno gives the head a kiss. Alhaitham breathes in, but faithfully does not move his hips. He stays still as Cyno drifts his mouth and fingers along the length, kissing it, touching it, with never more than the lightest pressure. A fine tremor breaks out in Alhaitham’s thighs.
“Goodness, I’ve been prattling on. My apologies, Acting Grand Sage. I believe that is all I have to report, so I can take my leave now.”
“Uh-huh,” Alhaitham says dumbly. Cyno gives him another nudge. Do better. Alhaitham clears his throat again. “I thank you for your detailed explanation,” he amends. Admirably steady. Cyno rewards him with a soft suck on Alhaitham’s cockhead. Alhaitham swallows hard. “L-Let Sage Naphis know my secretary will be in touch to schedule a one on one soon.”
“Excellent! I’ll be sure to pass your words on.” The clerk turns with a swish of their clothes, then starts to walk out of the room.
Alhaitham breathes a sigh of relief.
Cyno is in the middle of licking a stripe along Alhaitham’s cock when the clerk’s footsteps stop, and they say, “You know, someone mentioned they last saw the General Mahamatra come up here.”
They both freeze.
Alhaitham does not look beneath his desk.
“I was worried I’d catch you in the middle of a meeting, but lo, the General was nowhere to be found.”
Alhaitham breathes in once, twice.
Cyno, feeling devious, takes Alhaitham into the wet cavern of his mouth. Through half-lidded eyes, he sees Alhaitham’s hand latch onto his own thigh, fingers digging in as if to ground himself. But he doesn’t move, just as Cyno asked.
Finally, Alhaitham says to the clerk, “Oh, him? He left some time ago. You know the General, always brief when it comes to business, and he’s fast on his feet too. He must’ve slipped out without anyone noticing.”
A moment passes, one that feels like an eternity. Cyno calmly swallows around Alhaitham’s cock. Alhaitham’s feet twitch beneath the table.
Finally, the clerk laughs and says flippantly, “Ah yes, you’re right. He is a fast one. Well, wherever he’s gone, I’ve mail for him too so I’d best get started looking for him.”
“Yes,” Alhaitham says quickly, and Cyno can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. “Best of luck.”
Finally, by the grace of the Seven, the clerk enters the lift and leaves.
Only once the doors shut and the lift begins its descent does Alhaitham release a heavy breath, like he was holding it this entire time. He slumps back in his chair to glare down at Cyno.
Cyno still has his cock in his mouth.
“Are you trying to get me fired?” Alhaitham hisses. His pupils are blown, the blush on his face splotchy and bright.
Cyno pulls off. He says while Alhaitham shudders, “You did very well.”
Alhaitham drags a hand through his hair, cursing quietly. “Cyno,” he says, “you may very well be the death of me.”
“I just wanted to see what you’d do.” Cyno leans his head against Alhaitham’s thigh, peering up at him. “If you did not like it, you can tell me so.”
Alhaitham, one hand over his face, looks down at him through his fingers. The hand falls away. Alhaitham’s blush has only worsened. His chest heaves with his breathing.
“Now I didn’t say that,” he murmurs.
Cyno nearly smiles. His stomach clenches with an aching, burning affection.
He crawls out from beneath the desk, rising to stand in front of Alhaitham. He leans over him, steadying himself with one hand on the backrest and one of his knees between Alhaitham’s spread legs, boxing Alhaitham in. With his free hand, he takes Alhaitham’s cock again, as if it were a toy for Cyno to play with. Alhaitham gasps and lifts his hips into Cyno’s touch. Perhaps Alhaitham wouldn’t mind being that—Cyno’s plaything.
Anything you say. No one else. Just you.
“You’ve been very patient,” Cyno says lightly, dragging one calloused thumb over Alhaitham’s cockhead. Alhaitham bites against a whine. “I’m going to ask you to be patient a little longer.”
Alhaitham looks at him with a pained expression. “What?”
“Can you do that?” Cyno says calmly. “Wait?”
“Cyno, I—”
“Be good for me.” Cyno wraps his hand around the base of Alhaitham’s cock and squeezes. He murmurs his next words into Alhaitham’s temple. “I’ll give you what you need. I promise.”
Alhaitham’s head lolls back against the chair. “What is happening—”
“Alhaitham,” Cyno says. “Yes or no.”
Alhaitham’s gaze is hazy, his lips parted and shiny. He looks like a delicious mess. And they’re only just getting started.
Finally, he says, “Yes.”
Cyno’s fingers squeeze again. “Yes…?”
“Yes, Cyno,” Alhaitham gasps. “I’ll be good for you.”
This time, Cyno does smile. “Good.” He kisses the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth, then releases him. “I’ll see you around.”
He steps away. The air feels cold now that they’re apart.
Alhaitham blinks as if coming out of a trance. “I— What?”
Cyno dusts himself off, righting his uniform where it went askew during their activities. “What do you mean ‘what?’”
“That’s it?” Alhaitham blurts. It’s a rare thing for him to lose his composure. Cyno lets himself feel smug about that. “You’re going to walk out and leave me like th— Wait, are you going out the window?”
Cyno, one leg hanging out the window sill, raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you not remember the lie you just fed that clerk? What if they see me come out of the lift after them? I’m not taking my chances against the Akademiya rumor mill.”
Alhaitham looks very confused. That’s funny. Cyno thinks he understands everything quite well.
Alhaitham drags a hand over his face. “Cyno…”
“Remember what I said.” Cyno waits until Alhaitham meets his eyes. “Be patient. And I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”
Alhaitham is silent. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“I’ll be waiting, then,” he says.
Cyno wants to kiss him breathless, wants to bite him, devour him.
Instead, he slips out the window and makes his swift way down the Divine Tree.
It’s only when he gets home later, much later, that he shoves a hand down his shorts and pulls himself off, quickly, messily, biting into the meat of his hand to stifle his groans. He thinks about Alhaitham’s lust-blown eyes, how he trembled beneath Cyno’s touch. The way his lips shaped the words I’ll be good for you.
Afterwards, standing on shaky legs, Cyno stares at the mess in his hand. The ache in his gut has eased, but only barely.
Gods grant them both patience.
Truthfully, Cyno doesn’t mean to let Alhaitham wait long. He’s eager himself, obviously.
But his curiosity’s been piqued. Curiosity doesn’t bode well in Cyno’s line of work, not when it festers in the Akademiya’s more ambitious scholars. But then again, Alhaitham is not ambitious. And this is not work.
This is personal. And truthfully, this is unfamiliar territory for Cyno. Not the idea of messing with Alhaitham—that is, in fact, one of Cyno’s favorite pastimes—but knowing that he can have such an effect on him. He just wants to test the waters, to approach this nameless thing between them with a new perspective, and a new intent.
This morning, he finds Alhaitham in a secluded section of the House of Daena. Alhaitham is examining a book on a high shelf and reaching for it with the long, sinuous line of his body. Cyno takes a moment to admire the taper of his waist, then silently approaches Alhaitham from behind.
He settles his hands on Alhaitham’s hips.
Alhaitham immediately stiffens in surprise, but does not turn around.
He says slowly, “Cyno. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Cyno says. “You’re here early.”
“Proud of me?” Alhaitham says wryly, giving Cyno a look from over his shoulder.
Cyno smiles, just slightly. “A little.”
He leans in, pressing his body against Alhaitham’s own. He doesn’t have the height to hook his chin over Alhaitham’s shoulder, but his voice can reach the shell of Alhaitham’s ear well enough.
“Being good?” he whispers.
He can feel the shudder that runs up Alhaitham’s back.
Alhaitham breathes in, then says, “Have I given you reason to think otherwise?”
“No.” Cyno moves forward and presses Alhaitham further up against the shelves. “I just wanted to check on you.”
He hears Alhaitham swallow. He says, “We are in the library.”
Cyno hums. He presses impossibly closer, nosing at the nape of Alhaitham’s neck.
Alhaitham’s voice is unsteady this time. “Cyno…”
“Alhaitham.” Cyno brings his voice lower. “Fetch me that book.”
“What?”
“The one with the blue spine. On Ancient Elixirs of Lower Setekh.”
A beat passes in silence. Whether it’s Alhaitham finding the book or debating whether to listen to Cyno’s command, Cyno can’t tell from his position. Regardless, Alhaitham pulls the book down. He presents it to Cyno without turning around, instead holding it over his shoulder for him to take.
Cyno takes it with one hand. With the other, he pulls Alhaitham back so his ass meets Cyno’s hips. Alhaitham chokes on a breath.
“Thank you,” Cyno says with a hint of teeth against Alhaitham’s neck.
He steps away.
Alhaitham gasps like a man surfacing from underwater, catching himself on the shelves in front of him.
Cyno walks away, flipping through the pages while Alhaitham curses and reorders his clothes.
Maybe that was a little mean. But Cyno can’t deny how fun it is to rile him up. The times that their schedules align are few and far between, but he finds his moments when he can. It’s not just for fun—Cyno is learning more about Alhaitham’s tastes, what makes him tick. It’s a learning experience. And the Akademiya is an institution for learning.
One thing Cyno learns is that Alhaitham responds well to praise. The following day, when they’re alone in Alhaitham’s office going over reports from the Darshans, Alhaitham presents a rebuttal he wrote to one of the proposals from Rtawahist, some extravagant expenditure that Alhaitham argues gives back to the Darshan managers more than it does the students.
After hearing it, Cyno looks Alhaitham in the eyes and says, “I’m impressed. Well done.”
It is genuine, of course. And he has given Alhaitham such praise before. But what he doesn’t expect is the color that comes to Alhaitham’s face, how he glances away and clears his throat before moving on.
Interesting. Cyno will remember this.
He considers the possibility of Alhaitham having an affinity for Cyno’s voice in general. Sometimes at the end of a long day, Alhaitham asks Cyno to read reports out loud for him. And while Cyno at first attributed this to Alhaitham’s unrepentant laziness, he must acknowledge that Alhaitham can probably read much faster than Cyno can out loud. Alhaitham wouldn’t ask him to do this unless he wanted it.
It comes up the next day, when Alhaitham holds a report out to him and Cyno asks, “Again?”
He eyes it with a raised brow—it’s his own report that he finished penning this afternoon, after his trip to Pardis Dhyai earlier in the day.
“Yes,” Alhaitham says, then seems to hesitate. “If you have the time, that is.” He starts to lower the report.
Cyno grabs it.
“If this is a comment on my penmanship, I’m offended,” he says flatly as he settles in a chair.
Alhaitham scoffs. “You haven’t known messy penmanship until you’ve seen Naphis’s.”
“I have, in fact. Continuing the tradition of doctors with messy handwriting.”
“It’s a tradition that will endure yet,” Alhaitham says, mouth curling with amusement. “Anyway, if you truly don’t mind…”
Cyno, for a lack of something to do, taps the bottom edge of the report against his lap to straighten the pages. “I just don’t see why you'd bother,” he mumbles. “You’re the fastest reader I know.”
Alhaitham is quiet, and he leans back in his chair, watching Cyno intently. He shrugs a shoulder. “I like hearing the words from you,” he says.
Cyno could ask more, but sometimes, that’s all the reason you need. When someone wants, you oblige. Cyno has been learning a lot about that lately.
“Okay,” he says. Alhaitham’s shoulders relax. Cyno takes a breath. “I arrived at Pardis Dhyai at ten in the morning, and was greeted by Tighnari…”
Time passes like this in unhurried increments. Alhaitham occasionally interjects with questions, but for the most part, he closes his eyes and listens intently. Light falls through the window as the evening winds down. Alhaitham’s tea, half-finished, loses some of its steam, forgotten on the corner of Alhaitham’s desk.
“... and he showed me the most recent changes to the Forest Ranger’s patrols, now that the Withering has slowed down. We may want to take this into account when updating the patrol routes for the Corps of Thirty stationed at Pardis Dhyai.”
Silence from Alhaitham. His eyes are still closed, his hands laced together in front of him.
Cyno pauses. “Have I bored you to sleep?”
Alhaitham hums. “Not at all.” His eyelashes flutter open. He inhales, slowly, his chest rising with the movement. “Have you finished?”
Cyno regards him. He leans forward and sets the report down.
“For now,” he says. “Why? You want more?”
A charge seems to sing through the air. Alhaitham sucks in another breath. His eyes take on the slightest shadow. “Always,” he says. “But I’m patient.”
Cyno gives a small smile. “Yes. You’ve been very patient.”
Alhaitham swallows, uncrosses and recrosses his legs.
Cyno leans his elbows on the desk and beckons Alhaitham to come forward. Alhaitham leans in to meet him. Cyno’s hand finds its place beneath his jaw and holds him there.
“How about I meet you at home? Reward you for your patience?” Cyno murmurs, watching Alhaitham’s lips part on a ragged exhale. “You’d better tell Kaveh to find some place to busy himself.”
“I always find some excuse,” Alhaitham says, voice strained.
“Good.” Cyno settles his thumb against Alhaitham’s bottom lip, tugs at it. Alhaitham’s mouth opens obediently.
Very good. He really is so sweet.
Cyno releases him. He hears the tiniest sound of discontent slip from Alhaitham’s throat.
“See you tonight,” Cyno says blithely, rising from his chair. He resists smiling at Alhaitham’s dazed expression.
“Have mercy, Cyno,” he groans, slumping over his desk.
Cyno allows himself one grin as he takes the lift down from the Grand Sage’s office. The scholar waiting for the lift at the bottom startles upon seeing him, thrown by the sight of the General Mahamatra’s mirth.
Cyno clears his throat and hides the smile behind his fist, willing the warmth to leave his face.
Alhaitham’s home has become a familiar place. Cyno couldn’t say when it happened, but it did. He knows what it smells like, how it sounds to walk on the wooden floors, what angle the shadows fall when Alhaitham lights the lamps.
More often than not, Cyno drops by at night when Kaveh is locked up in his room working, or out of the house entirely for a job or a night of drinking. It’s not like Cyno and Alhaitham are trying to keep their meetings a secret, necessarily—they just both appreciate a level of discretion. Still, it’s a wonder Kaveh hasn’t figured it out yet.
“He has to catch on this time,” Alhaitham says, dropping his cape over the back of a divan. Cyno resists a tut. No wonder Kaveh complains about Alhaitham’s manners. “I rushed him out. Surely even he must notice the proverbial sock on the door.”
“He’s a man with many things on his plate,” Cyno says, padding over to Alhaitham.
“Don’t give him excuses,” Alhaitham drawls. “But we are lucky for it, I’ll admit.”
Once he’s close enough, Cyno reaches up and brushes Alhaitham’s hair away from his forehead. Alhaitham’s lashes flutter, then close, and he leans into Cyno’s touch. Cyno takes Alhaitham’s face in both hands, tugs him down so they can breathe the same air. Then he rests his fingers against the earpieces.
He waits until Alhaitham nods, then removes them. He places them gently in Alhaitham’s hands.
“Just listen to my voice,” Cyno murmurs. “Nothing else.”
Alhaitham swallows. “I always do,” he says.
Cyno smiles. “Good. Now go to the bedroom, take your clothes off, and wait for me.”
That makes Alhaitham jolt. But he doesn’t speak, just inclines his head to excuse himself, then makes for the familiar door of his bedroom. He doesn’t close it behind him, but he disappears to the side where Cyno can’t see him.
Cyno takes a moment to breathe. His heart is racing. He left his headpiece and cloak at home, tied his hair up into a loose ponytail. None of these are uncommon, but he somehow feels more bare than usual, with heat simmering just beneath the skin.
He unties his hair, lets it fall freely around his shoulders. Then he strides to the bedroom.
When he enters, Alhaitham’s back is turned to him. He’s naked, his clothes a pile on the floor by his feet. He looks over his shoulder when Cyno walks through the door. There’s only one lamp lit, the one Alhaitham keeps on his desk. His favorite for reading, Cyno knows. The light paints Alhaitham’s skin a gentle, warm gold.
Cyno enters the room fully and stands at the foot of the bed. He beckons with a finger for Alhaitham to come closer.
Alhaitham turns and comes. If he’s self-conscious about standing completely bare in front of Cyno, he doesn’t show it. Cyno’s gaze roves over a chiseled stomach and smooth skin, dotted with the occasional mole and freckle. A fine trail of hair leads down Alhaitham’s chest and navel.
He is a sight. Desire thrums in Cyno’s chest, and he reaches out to touch, knowing that he can. When his palm lands on Alhaitham’s stomach, Alhaitham sighs like he was waiting for it.
Cyno drifts his hand up, brushing over a nipple and relishing the slight intake of breath it evokes. His fingers stop at Alhaitham’s throat, and he watches the way it bobs with a swallow.
“Beautiful,” Cyno mumbles, unbidden. Alhaitham shivers when the word leaves Cyno’s mouth. “Oh. You like that?”
“Cyno…” Alhaitham says, not a warning, not a plea. His name is unmade and put together as something new. It tugs at the heat deep in Cyno’s gut.
Cyno’s hand moves to the hair at Alhaitham’s nape, curling into a gentle fist and easing Alhaitham’s head back. Cyno leans in to mouth at the junction of Alhaitham’s neck and shoulder and breathes into the skin, “Beautiful. And all mine.”
Alhaitham shivers harder this time, a full-bodied thing.
“Do something for me,” Cyno says.
Alhaitham says, “A-Anything.”
“Lie on your back.”
Alhaitham starts to move to the bed.
“Not there,” Cyno says. He lifts one foot to tap it against the rug they’re both standing on. “Here.”
A blush comes to his cheeks. He isn’t sure how Alhaitham will take to this idea, but the image is in his mind and Cyno is loath to let it go.
Judging by the way Alhaitham’s eyes darken, he isn’t opposed at all.
He drops to his knees first, in front of Cyno. This already has Cyno feeling breathless. Then Cyno steps back to give Alhaitham more room—he is a damnably tall man—and Alhaitham lies fully on his back, long legs outstretched, his hands at his sides. His eyes stay glued to Cyno’s, waiting for his next instruction. Obedient.
Cyno goes to stand over him, planting his feet on the ground to either side of Alhaitham’s hips. He doesn’t touch Alhaitham even the slightest, but Alhaitham breathes in a small gasp. Cyno is so turned on he nearly lets go of the self-restraint he’s been so carefully holding.
“This is different, isn’t it,” Cyno says conversationally. His eyes rove over Alhaitham again, seeing the flush on his face deepen and spread down his neck and chest. He’s half-hard. Cute.
Alhaitham makes a small sound of assent.
“You look good like this,” Cyno goes on. “Open and waiting. Just for me.”
Alhaitham closes his eyes and turns his face to the side. He’s blushing so hard the tips of his ears are pink.
“You know, I thought about giving you a plug.” Alhaitham’s eyes fly open and he looks at Cyno incredulously. “To get you loose and ready for me. So you’d wear it through all your meetings and presentations, and whenever you’d move and push it in just a little—” Alhaitham whines, “—you’d feel it, and think of me.”
Alhaitham squirms, pressing his thighs together, hips twitching like he’s eager for something, anything.
“Maybe next time,” Cyno muses. His mouth is literally watering, saliva pooling beneath his tongue as he watches Alhaitham twitch and wriggle.
Alhaitham lifts a hand to cover his mouth, and Cyno says, “No. I want to hear you.”
Alhaitham hesitates for a moment, then drops his arm to the side. His hands curl and uncurl restlessly.
“I—“ he says, voice hoarse, “Cyno, I need—“
“I know what you need,” Cyno says. “Remember? I said I would give it to you.”
Alhaitham makes a small noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. “That feels like forever ago.”
“Only a few days. I’m sure it felt longer for you.” He watches the rise and fall of Alhaitham’s chest, the minute movements of his body. “I wonder if you could come just like this.”
Alhaitham furrows his brow. His lips part as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Thinking about it, maybe.
“If I asked you to,” Cyno elaborates, and the blush on Alhaitham’s face darkens. “And I just stood here, watching. I wouldn’t even need to touch you, I think.”
Alhaitham’s back arches just slightly. His eyes go glassy.
Cyno runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Maybe all you need is my voice.”
Alhaitham keens, turning away again as if to bury the noise into the rug. Ah, sometimes he’s so cute Cyno wants to eat him up.
“I’ll be nice today,” Cyno murmurs, and carefully lowers himself to sit on Alhaitham’s hips, pressing his clothed cock against Alhaitham’s naked one. Alhaitham exhales a punched-out moan. “Oh, you’re so wet already. Are you that eager for me?”
Cyno rolls his hips, grinding against Alhaitham’s now fully erect cock. Alhaitham’s fingers dig into the rug under him.
“C-Cyno,” Alhaitham gasps. “Please.”
Cyno grinds down again. “You want me to fuck you?” he says, and the words are molten, searing his mouth on their way out. “Want me to—to fuck your pussy like it was made for me?”
Archons, where did that come from, somewhere in the pitch blackness of his desire. He fumbled the landing, but Alhaitham moans, throwing his head back.
“Please,” he says. “Please, please, please—”
Cyno’s lust is an all-consuming blaze, licking at his insides. He ruts against Alhaitham, chasing his own pleasure.
“Like this first,” Cyno says. He leans forward and steadies himself with two hands on Alhaitham’s chest. He grinds down hard, and Alhaitham cries out again. “Come for me, Alhaitham.”
“I can’t, I need—”
“Yes you can. Come on.”
Alhaitham bucks his hips up against Cyno. “I’m— I—”
Cyno closes in on the last few inches of space between them and seals their mouths together.
It’s a hungry, claiming kiss. Cyno swallows down Alhaitham’s cry, feels him shudder all over. Alhaitham arches into him, gasping, his hands clutching Cyno’s hips to keep him in place, hips working as his orgasm runs its course. Cyno kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, drunk on Alhaitham’s voice and the heat of his mouth.
Alhaitham is trembling, but Cyno’s not done with him yet.
“Should I have you here?” Cyno asks, teeth nipping Alhaitham’s bottom lip.
It takes a moment for Alhaitham to recover the ability to speak. “You can have me however you want me,” he says weakly, “but my back would appreciate the bed.”
Cyno contemplates it. “You know, my knees would too.”
Decided, he takes Alhaitham’s arms and drapes them over his shoulders, prompting Alhaitham to hold tight.
Alhaitham starts to say, “What are you do—gah!”
Cyno hoists him up, standing and carrying him easily with two hands under Alhaitham’s thighs. Alhaitham’s breath gusts out of him, and his legs wrap around Cyno’s hips instinctively.
“Cyno—” he says, only to be interrupted by another kiss.
It quickly turns open-mouthed and filthy. Alhaitham’s come is a sticky mess between their stomachs, but Cyno can feel Alhaitham’s cock stir again. Cyno himself is still hard and aching in his shorts, and he grinds against the seam of Alhaitham’s ass. Alhaitham gasps and arches against him.
Oh how he’d love to fuck Alhaitham just like this, in his arms, bouncing him on Cyno’s cock with nothing but Cyno’s strength holding him up. But, there’s no sense wasting the bed while it’s right there.
They fall into it, Alhaitham on his back with his legs still wrapped around Cyno. Their mouths haven’t separated once. Even now, Alhaitham breathes his words into Cyno’s mouth when he paws at the top of Cyno’s shorts and mutters, “Need you. Now.”
Cyno chuckles. “Easy, I got you.”
Alhaitham tugs again at the shorts. “I can’t believe you’ve been wearing these the whole time.”
“Hm, and here I thought you liked my outfit.”
“It would look better on the floor.”
Cyno pauses and pulls away. “Since when did you get so smooth?” he says, with an air of surprise.
Alhaitham lightly smacks him on the shoulder. “Quit being facetious and fuck me.”
“Ah, ah.” Cyno trails his fingers up Alhaitham’s abdomen, his chest, then takes Alhaitham’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “I thought I told you to be good for me.”
He gives the nubs a quick pinch. Alhaitham gasps and bucks his hips. “I-I am,” he says.
“You were. Now I’m not so sure.” Another pinch, longer this time, and harder. Alhaitham turns to bury his face against a pillow. “Tell me again.”
Alhaitham opens his mouth around a gasp, then says, “I’ll be good.”
Cyno pinches him again, and this time brings the smallest spark of electro to his fingertips. Alhaitham keens and writhes. “One more time,” Cyno says.
“I’ll be good,” Alhaitham says, nearly a sob. “I promise.”
Cyno smiles. “There. Was that so hard?”
Alhaitham makes a vague noise between a moan and a sigh. Perhaps he’s been tortured long enough. Besides, Cyno’s cock is getting very uncomfortable in his shorts.
“Stay there,” he says, “and don’t touch yourself.”
It takes some wriggling, but he gets out of his shorts and fetches the lube Alhaitham keeps in his room, Cyno well familiar with where it is. When he returns to Alhaitham and situates himself between his spread legs, Alhaitham’s cock is flushed and tall between his thighs, and wet at the head with precome. His hands are curled hard into the pillow beneath his head. Looking at him knocks the breath out of Cyno’s lungs.
“Good girl,” Cyno rasps.
Alhaitham doesn’t even speak, just arches his back like the words themselves sent pleasure up his spine.
Cyno coats his fingers with lube. His hands are shaking. When he slides two fingers into Alhaitham’s ass, Alhaitham moans openly. Cyno takes a moment to enjoy it just like this, finger fucking Alhaitham with slow, easy thrusts. When he presses in on just the right spot, Alhaitham throws his head back, his legs tensing where they hold Cyno close. Cyno wraps his free hand around Alhaitham’s cock and starts stroking.
“N-no,” Alhaitham says, even as his hips follow Cyno’s movements. “I wanted to— to come on your— ah—”
“Who says I won’t fuck you right after this?” Cyno says. He speeds up the strokes on Alhaitham’s cock and presses his fingers mercilessly against Alhaitham’s prostate. Alhaitham moans louder, and more precome leaks from his cock, dribbling down and making the slide that much easier.
“I can’t— again—” Alhaitham can’t even speak in full sentences. Who else has ever witnessed it? No one, Cyno hopes.
He tries not to focus on the voice deeper in his mind that says and no one else ever will.
“You can,” Cyno says. “For me.”
Alhaitham whines, nearing his peak. Cyno keeps his fingers at Alhaitham’s prostate, only moving enough to nudge it. Alhaitham twitches with every touch, and his breath comes out in jagged little gasps.
Cyno leans down and licks a stripe up the underside of Alhaitham’s cock, then takes the head into the heat of his mouth. Alhaitham cries out.
Cyno’s throat fills with a familiar, salty warmth. That was fast. Cyno would smile if he could. As it is, he swallows and sucks Alhaitham through it until Alhaitham is a trembling, mewling mess.
“C-Cyno,” he says, “please—”
He grabs blindly at whatever part of Cyno he can reach, which ends up being Cyno’s hair, then his face when Cyno pulls off of his cock. He tugs Cyno up towards him, and Cyno expects another complaint but instead finds the softness of Alhaitham’s mouth meeting his.
Sweet. So sweet.
Cyno will die if he doesn’t fuck him now.
Cyno keeps their lips locked even as he adjusts Alhaitham’s legs, positioning him so Cyno’s cock kisses his wet and waiting hole.
Alhaitham gasps and says, “W-Wait—“
“Now you want to wait?” Cyno says amusedly, nipping at Alhaitham’s bottom lip.
“Let a man breathe, won’t you?” Alhaitham groans as Cyno’s mouth trails down to his neck.
“Hm. I think I’d rather not.”
Cyno says it lightly, but he rubs his palm along Alhaitham’s side in a reassuring gesture. Alhaitham responds with a kiss against Cyno’s temple.
Cyno might love him.
He anchors himself with two hands on Alhaitham’s hips, then sinks in.
“Oh,” Cyno says, voice trembling in his throat. “I missed this.”
Alhaitham doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth has fallen open, eyes shut, face tilted towards the ceiling in supplication. Cyno starts slowly, savoring the heat, the way Alhaitham’s body welcomes him like a missing piece of itself. Then he readjusts his grip and yanks Alhaitham towards him at the same moment he rolls his hips forward, sliding home in one smooth motion.
Alhaitham wails and clutches at Cyno’s shoulders.
“Fuck,” Cyno groans. “You’re so tight.”
Alhaitham is fighting for breath. His head is lolling back, lost in the haze. Cyno reaches out and takes Alhaitham’s chin in his hand, gently guiding Alhaitham to look at him.
“You with me?” Cyno murmurs. Alhaitham nods wordlessly. He strokes Alhaitham’s jaw with his thumb, and Alhaitham’s eyelids flutter. Cyno pulls back a little then pushes in again, just one slow, sweet grind.
Alhaitham sobs and arches against him. “Cyno,” he says, voice hiccuping in the middle.
“I know. I got you, remember?”
Cyno thrusts into him again, harder this time. Alhaitham’s fingers turn into claws, digging into the skin of Cyno’s shoulders. Cyno loves it.
He fucks Alhaitham in earnest, keeping a rough but steady pace. The warm, wet clutch of Alhaitham’s body is so addictive, so perfect around his cock. Alhaitham’s unsteady moans are like honey in his ears. Cyno wishes he could bottle it up, save it for whenever he wants it. But then again, maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe Alhaitham will let him do this whenever he wants, wherever he wants, like an instrument for Cyno to covet and play at his leisure. The thought makes Cyno fuck him that much harder, desperate to claim Alhaitham as his own.
“You’re so good,” Cyno moans into the base of Alhaitham’s throat. “So, so good. So perfect. Like you were made for me.”
Alhaitham whimpers, body shuddering, begging for more.
“I don’t want anyone else,” Cyno goes on, babbling now. The pleasure is mounting inside him, lava-hot and seething. “Just you. Only you.”
Alhaitham swallows down a cry, and his bottom lip wobbles when he says in a broken voice, “Only yours.”
Cyno growls and takes Alhaitham’s mouth in a kiss. He reaches for Alhaitham’s cock and strokes it messily, fucking him all the while, rhythm lost in the race to the finish. Alhaitham tenses and cries out. His lashes are wet with tears.
He comes again, shaking, clutching Cyno with only the barest vestiges of strength. He’s still trembling when Cyno comes inside, breathing a moan against Alhaitham’s ear. The force of his orgasm stuns him, like a wave crashing over and over, and he rocks into Alhaitham’s used hole through it. Alhaitham whimpers, his thighs twitching feebly.
Finally, the white noise fades and they’re left alone with their breathing. Alhaitham is boneless against the pillows. Cyno thinks he can hear both their pulses in the sudden stillness of the room.
He pulls out as slowly and carefully as he can. Alhaitham makes a soft, vulnerable noise when Cyno’s cock is free and his come leaks from Alhaitham’s ass. Cyno watches it, entranced. Part of him wants to push it back in with his fingers, let Alhaitham keep it.
Perhaps next time. Right now, he needs to make sure Alhaitham is alive.
“I didn’t kill you, did I?” Cyno says, shifting to lie beside Alhaitham. He brushes Alhaitham’s bangs off of his sweat-drenched skin.
“Depends,” Alhaitham says hoarsely. He manages to crack one eye open to look at Cyno. “Does it count if you killed me but revived me afterwards?”
Cyno grins. “Which part revived you?”
Alhaitham scoffs. “You can’t ask me these questions while my brain is mush.”
“Fair enough.” Cyno drifts his fingers over Alhaitham’s cheek, skirting beneath the delicate skin beneath Alhaitham’s eyes. “You enjoyed it, then?”
He can’t stop uncertainty from spilling into his voice. For all that Alhaitham enjoys being praised, Cyno himself also needs the occasional reassurance that he hasn’t misstepped somehow.
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow, glances down at the come—several instances of it—painting his stomach. “I thought that was clear.”
Cyno flushes. “Yes, but… Mostly I meant when I said… And when you…”
Just you. Only you.
Only yours.
It takes Alhaitham a moment to recall it, but recognition unfolds on his face.
“Oh,” he says. “Oh. Well, yes. Obviously.”
“Obviously?” Cyno asks.
“Cyno. I’ve been seeing you and only you for months now. You’re the only one I let into my bed—the only one I want to let into my bed.”
Cyno stares, uncertain what to say. “Oh. I— Okay. I’m… glad.”
Alhaitham smiles, tired, exasperated, but fond. He looks beautiful like this. He always does.
“I thought you would leave the overthinking to me,” he says, reaching out to touch Cyno’s cheek.
“Well, clearly you enjoy handing me the reins—”
Alhaitham coughs, blushing. “That’s something else entirely.”
“Hm, I’m not so sure.”
The night moves on like this, with quiet conversations in the familiar warmth of a room Cyno might call his own soon. And there are kisses, touches, cleaning up and, eventually, sleep. Alhaitham has an arm thrown heavily over Cyno’s middle, keeping him close, and Cyno thinks if this is what the rest of his nights might be like, then he has no complaints at all.