A deep orange bleeds across the sky, illuminating the faraway structures of desert dwellings and abandoned ruins. Alhaitham observes the shifting clouds above from the window in his office. It’s been three days since Kaveh left for a new construction project in the desert, but he can still clearly hear the sound of his voice, high-pitched with excitement.
“Look! Did you see that cloud? It looks like a dusk bird!” he would say, pulling at Alhaitham’s arm to get his attention. Maybe he’d take a photo to use as a base for a new painting later on. He’s done both on several occasions.
Alhaitham has another hour of work left before he can head home, but he stays by the window for another moment, thinking of his husband. He wonders if he’s looking at the spectacle in the sky, too.
He’s undoubtedly still at work, shouting directions at the construction workers or clambering around on the scaffolding around the growing building himself, to get a better feel for things, as he always claims. Alhaitham has berated him for his carelessness countless times (and treated minor injuries he sustained on site as well), but Kaveh never listens. Kaveh makes fun of him sometimes for acting like they’ll never see each other again every time Kaveh leaves for longer trips, but it’s not that simple to Alhaitham. He fully trusts Kaveh when it comes to his skill, and he’s been working on trusting Kaveh’s judgment more as well. It’s the people around him he doesn’t trust to step in and tell Kaveh to get some rest when he clearly needs it.
He hopes Kaveh is eating properly.
A faint knock against his door catches Alhaitham’s attention, prompting him to turn away from the bleeding sky.
“Yes?” he calls, returning to his desk just in time for the door to open and a familiar figure to appear in front of him. “Panah,” Alhaitham says. “What is it?” He takes a seat, beckoning the Mahamata inside. Panah steps into the room, closing the door behind himself.
“Scribe Alhaitham. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but a letter addressed to you just arrived.”
“Why didn’t you just drop it into my letter box outside the office?” Alhaitham asks, not bothering to mask the tinge of annoyance coloring his voice.
Panah has worked with him for years now, he should know better than to come to him with non-essential matters like this. He has a letter box for a reason.
Panah scratches his beard nervously. “I thought you might want to read it sooner rather than later,” he says, stepping closer to pass Alhaitham the offending letter. “Please excuse me for overstepping, but I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been more irritable these past few days. I did suspect it might have to do with Mister Kaveh’s absence from Sumeru City, so I hope this letter will ease your worries.”
Frowning, Alhaitham accepts the letter. He perks up immediately at the sight of familiar lettering in bright red ink—it’s from Kaveh.
He strokes the pad of his index finger across the smooth surface of the envelope, fingertips itching to open it immediately. Kaveh must have written to him as soon as he got there. “It’s always a little too quiet when he isn’t here, isn’t it?” Panah says gently.
“It’s better for my sanity when he’s gone, that’s for sure,” Alhaitham quips. He looks up from the envelope to see Panah’s eyebrows raised in shock. It looks like his little joke went over his head.
“It’s application season, so my workload has virtually doubled. I don’t need him distracting me on top of everything.” The tension lifts visibly from Panah’s shoulders. He’s been a first hand witness to Kaveh and Alhaitham’s disputes.
“Well, at any rate, I hope he gets back soon. Please don’t think badly of me for saying this, but I think he’s very good for you. You seem happier when he’s around.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Alhaitham says. “I think he’s very good for me, too. You might just be right about this, as well,” he adds, holding up the letter. “I appreciate your consideration.”
Panah averts his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he says, fiddling with his robe.
Alhaitham can’t be too sure from this distance, but he thinks he can see a faint shimmer of red on Panah’s cheeks. He’ll never understand why he is so invested in his relationship with Kaveh.
“If there’s nothing else I can assist you with, I will excuse myself,” Panah continues, shooting a longing gaze at the door. What a strange man.
“Please go ahead.”
Without further ado, Panah scurries back outside, leaving Alhaitham behind in the quiet of his office once more.
Alhaitham’s eyes return to Kaveh’s letter, and he wonders if it is really that obvious that he worries for him when he’s gone. He retrieves his letter opener from the drawer he keeps it in and slashes the paper of the envelope with ease.
The piece of parchment he then pulls free immediately surrounds him with the enticing fragrance of Kaveh’s perfume.
The letter continues for another page and a half, and Alhaitham reads all of it carefully, letting Kaveh’s voice narrate it for him in his head.
Once he’s done he returns to the top of it, skimming over the first paragraph again. If only Kaveh knew. Alhaitham thinks of him not only when he watches the sunset, but he thinks of him in the morning when he wakes and at night before he goes to bed.
He thinks of him when he visits the markets and spots a piece of furniture Kaveh would absolutely despise. He thinks of him when he brews coffee for one instead of two, and when he trips over a pile of books he’d forgotten to tidy away even though Kaveh told him he’d eventually regret putting them on the floor. All of that barely scratches the surface of how much room Kaveh really occupies in Alhaitham’s mind. Maybe he shouldn’t be concerned for Panah, he thinks, amused by himself.
Maybe it’s him who is the strange one after all.
Humming to himself, Alhaitham pulls out a fresh stack of paper and starts writing his reply.
did you delete your fic “blue room”? i tried to go back and reread it but it’s gone from ao3
Hi, thank you for reaching out! ☻
The short answer is no, I have not deleted the fic.
The long answer is that I moved it to a private collection at the beginning of the year since I no longer felt comfortable leaving it up the way it was. I did intend to make it public again after some editing a while ago, but I haven't yet gotten around to it. I received some unsavory comments on that fic that made me question the decisions I made while writing it, which makes it hard for me to approach the editing process with an unoccupied mind. I apologize for the inconvenience and I feel very flattered you would go out of your way to reread my work! I will make a public announcement once I unprivate the fic. Thank you for your patience and understanding! ♡
***Bonus scene that takes place after Chapter 5 of the fic hard-edged, hard-earned, which you can read on AO3 here.
Tags: Top/Bottom Versatile Alhaitham/Kaveh, Dom/sub, Dom Alhaitham, Sub Kaveh, BDSM, Collars, Verbal Degradation, Sexual Objectification, Dumbification, Sluttification, Spanking, Intercrural Sex
NOTES:
Normally I wouldn’t post an “exclusive” smut fic on Tumblr—but I currently can’t commit to writing out this whole concept, and I don’t want to post this segment on AO3 when I might not get around to writing the additional scenes I envisioned. (Also, I didn't spend nearly as much time writing/editing this scene as I usually do for my AO3 fics.)
This is a bonus scene that takes place a couple weeks after the end of my fic hard-edged, hard-earned, so if you haven’t read that fic yet, this bonus scene will not make sense. It will probably also feel like the sexual dynamic comes out of left field, since Alhaitham and Kaveh jump straight into a degradation kink that was established in that fic. Make sure you check out the full fic before you read this bonus!
*The Chapter 5 notes about verbal degradation apply to the content in this bonus scene. Also, this fic series contains trans male Kaveh, but that factor isn’t really mentioned during this particular scene.
◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈
“I have something for you,” Alhaitham says, stepping into the study.
Across the room, Kaveh sits perched on his custom-made ergonomic chair, poring over diagrams and documents strewn across his desk, fidgeting with a pencil poised between his fingers. The adjustable desk surface isn’t angled for drafting, which means that he likely finished his client’s blueprints a while ago, and is now overanalyzing work that has already been adequately completed. “Hm?” He belatedly glances up at Alhaitham, not even turning his body to face him. “Sorry—what did you say?”
Alhaitham holds up the box in his hand. It’s fairly flat, and roughly the size of a dessert plate. “I got something for you.”
Kaveh hums curiously, setting down his pencil and twisting toward Alhaitham. “That could be either good or bad. Is this something I’m going to like, or something that will end with you sleeping on one of our couches tonight?”
“Sleeping on a couch would be unnecessary, when we have a spare bed.”
“Hmph. Well, maybe Mehrak and I will make that extra bed mysteriously disappear, like that trick you pulled with the coffee table last month.”
Urgh. That. Alhaitham may have slightly miscalculated with that trick, because after they had sex, Kaveh then exploited his post-coital pliancy and coaxed him into agreeing to replace that table with an aesthetically superior one. Now the two of them are just waiting for the carpenter they commissioned to finish crafting that entirely unnecessary purchase.
“The thing I bought is something we’ve previously discussed,” Alhaitham says.
“Well, that’s somewhat reassuring,” Kaveh says. “But did we discuss it in the context of me telling you to never buy such an atrocity, or was it a purchase that we were mutually interested in?”
Alhaitham snorts. Kaveh really is quite paranoid when it comes to Alhaitham’s surprise gifts and favors—not that Alhaitham can blame him. He does rather enjoy riling up his senior. “The latter, more or less. I hope it’s something you’ll like, but if you don’t, we can find a way to repurpose it.”
“Alright, that sounds promising.” Kaveh’s eyes flit to the box in Alhaitham’s hand, one of his legs bouncing up and down with restless energy. “Can I see it, then?”
“Sure, if you say please.”
“Wha—why do I have to say ‘please’ for a gift you got me?!”
“Because you want me to walk across the room to give it to you, when you could get up from your seat and come over here to get it.”
“Ugh!” Kaveh springs to his feet and stomps over to the doorway of the study. “Fine,” he says, sharply presenting a hand. “Give it here.”
Alhaitham presses the box onto Kaveh’s palm, holding back a smirk. Some people might feel bad for riling up their partner before giving them a present—but, well, Alhaitham finds it incredibly amusing.
Kaveh delicately removes the lid of the box, and his eyes widen when he sees the contents. “You…” He looks up at Alhaitham, a surprised smile tugging at his lips. “Is this…?”
“I didn’t want to risk giving it to you in the middle of a scene. Hopefully this occasion isn’t too lackluster.”
Kaveh scoffs. “I’m not worried about that. And I agree—it’s better to gift something like this in a normal environment.”
He carefully lifts the item to regard it, and Alhaitham takes the box back so that Kaveh can examine the gift with both hands.
It’s a leather collar, which isn’t necessarily remarkable on its own—but two features distinguish this one from the existing collars in their collection of toys and accessories.
First, the leather is dyed pink. While Alhaitham originally planned to select a noisy, bright, obnoxious shade—the kind of blaring, insistent color that offends Kaveh’s eyes—he ultimately decided on a subtler, paler shade of pink, one that will look nice against Kaveh’s skin. As fun as it is to torment Kaveh, Alhaitham typically prefers seeing him in clothes that complement his features. If he’s going to decorate Kaveh like a doll, he’d rather not do a hideous job of it.
While outsiders wouldn’t understand why the collar’s color matters, both Alhaitham and Kaveh understand the significance. This pink collar specifically comes from a fantasy Kaveh had shared with Alhaitham last month, in which Alhaitham forcibly collared Kaveh and degraded him, taming him into a stupid, “slutty” toy.
They’ve already roleplayed the general concept of Kaveh being a stupid slut, reduced to a toy for Alhaitham’s cock—but until now, they hadn’t owned the collar that Kaveh envisioned (which, incidentally, was the nauseous shade of pink that Alhaitham had been considering). And although Kaveh has wanted to revisit that submissive headspace since then, lately he’s been too fixated on his never-ending workload to let himself indulge.
And as for the collar’s second feature…
“I also got a pendant that can be attached to it,” Alhaitham says. “We don’t have to use that if you aren’t comfortable with it, though.”
Kaveh pauses in his reverent inspection of the collar, fingers resting on the metal buckle. “Let’s see it.”
Alhaitham reaches into his pocket and produces a heart-shaped pendant, presenting it in his palm for Kaveh to read the engraved text, one word atop the other:
DUMB SLUT
“Oh,” Kaveh murmurs, his lips parted in awe. “Oh, my god.” He reaches out with a hand and runs his fingertip over the letters. “Wait, you—this looks like your handwriting. Did you engrave this, or…?”
Alhaitham’s face heats slightly. “I did, yes.” He hadn’t been sure if the extra effort was necessary, but he thought the personalization might make the gift more effective.
Kaveh curses quietly, his finger slowly tracing the S of SLUT.
“I had an idea for how we could use this collar,” Alhaitham says, “if you’re open to it.”
Kaveh’s bright eyes dart up to meet Alhaitham’s. “Extremely open. What’s the idea?”
“I was thinking we could do a roleplay involving mind control. Whenever you put on this collar, you instantly turn into an empty-headed slut for cock, and you’re stuck acting that way until the collar comes off.”
Ever since a few weeks ago, Alhaitham has admittedly had many, many fantasies about the sluttified version of his senior. He quite enjoys when Kaveh is dominant and sensual, of course—but there’s something to be said for seeing Kaveh’s ingenious mind go utterly empty, his eager mouth drooling and dumb, so desperate for Alhaitham’s cock that he’ll debase himself with all manner of filthy words and deeds. In that headspace, Kaveh finally stops constantly questioning whether he can let himself pleasure, and instead accepts everything Alhaitham gives him.
And Alhaitham enjoys helping Kaveh let go of his worries that way, for Kaveh’s benefit…but he also enjoys it for himself, too.
The problem, though, is that he isn’t sure if it’s selfish or intrusive of him to have his own ideas for that sort of roleplay. For instance, the other day, he imagined Kaveh nagging him about something or other—perhaps yet another piece of furniture that he considers to be unsightly—only for Alhaitham to pin him against the wall and slip that pink collar around his throat, cutting him off mid-tirade and transforming him into a dumb, drooling thing, whimpering and whining for its owner's cock.
But can that sort of fantasy be Alhaitham’s, too? He’s wary of imposing anything on Kaveh, when he knows how vulnerable submission can make him feel. He doesn’t want to accidentally take a safe fantasy away from Kaveh and turn it into something that isn’t his anymore.
Alhaitham had only meant pretend mind control. He knows that erotic hypnosis exists, obviously—he and Kaveh have come across mentions of it, a few times. But they’ve never attempted something like that themselves, and short of involving some third-party stranger in their sex life, Alhaitham doesn’t see a way for him and Kaveh to easily implement that activity.
“I was just thinking of a roleplay,” Alhaitham says. “I figured the pretense might help you slip into the headspace more easily, and it could also create some opportunities for us to act out coercive scenarios. But I’m open to exploring actual hypnosis, too, if you want. We’d need to do a lot of research, though, which would run counter to the idea of using this collar to make you stop overworking your brain.”
“Mm.” Kaveh nods. “Honestly, since I already felt like I was in some sort of trance when I was in that headspace, the roleplay on its own should suffice. And, I admit, I am intrigued by the idea of using hypnotic suggestions to facilitate that dynamic, so I don’t want to completely shelve that possibility…but like you said, involving actual mind control—or an approximation of it, anyway—would require us to invest much more time and effort. So, let’s just revisit that idea sometime in the future, maybe.”
And now Alhaitham’s thoughts are drifting toward that concept: the idea of intentionally, carefully guiding Kaveh into a submissive headspace, and training his mind to associate that collar with total obedience; watching his eyes become hazy with bliss as he becomes pliant and suggestible, ready to accept Alhaitham’s words and orders without hesitation…
“Can you put the collar on me?” Kaveh asks.
Alhaitham blinks, pulling himself away from that line of thought. “Right this moment? You want to try the roleplay now?”
“Yes. I mean, we’ve done this sort of thing before, haven’t we? I don’t think there’s much we need to discuss ahead of time. And I’ll safeword if I need to stop, obviously.” Kaveh hands the collar to Alhaitham and reaches back to lift his mane of hair from his neck, standing expectantly.
Alhaitham sets the box aside and attaches the pendant to the collar, then circles around Kaveh to stand behind him. “When I put this collar on you,” he says, “you’re going to be my stupid slut.”
Kaveh hums in agreement.
“You’ll be a mindless toy for me,” Alhaitham continues. It’s easy to find the right words, here, when he’s practically memorized the treatise on sluttiness that Kaveh wrote last time. “You’ll only exist to be fucked by my cock. Your desires won’t matter, because you’ll be nothing more than two holes for me to fill. You’ll serve as my stupid cocksleeve until I’m done playing with you.” He unclasps the collar. “My fuckdoll,” he murmurs in Kaveh’s ear, trailing the metal pendant down his bare nape. “My fucktoy. My empty-headed whore.”
A visible shiver goes through Kaveh. “Are you sure you didn’t already hypnotize me, last time? It feels like my brain just melted into mush.”
“Hm. Maybe you just secretly love my cock that much.”
Kaveh scoffs. “I like your cock plenty, but not enough to lose my mind.”
A small smile tugs at Alhaitham’s lips. “Will you still say that once you’re wearing this collar?” he asks. “Once you lose your ability to think, and your entire existence revolves around worshipping my cock?”
Kaveh sucks in a sharp breath, and Alhaitham feels a rush of confidence at that response. He suspects it will be all too easy to dominate Kaveh, now, with the collar involved.
“Relax,” Alhaitham says, lighting pressing down on Kaveh’s shoulders. He strokes Kaveh’s throat with a thumb. “Inhale deeply, then breathe out. Don’t anticipate—just feel the collar against your skin, and let it do its job.”
Alhaitham takes a brief moment to mentally prepare himself—although he suspects that nothing will really prepare him for the transformation that’s about to occur, if last time is anything to go by—and then he delicately loops the collar around Kaveh’s throat and fastens it.
“How does that feel?” Alhaitham asks, slipping a finger beneath the leather. “Not too tight?”
Kaveh shakes his head.
Alhaitham reaches around to press the heart-shaped pendant against Kaveh’s skin, feeling his throat jump with a swallow. “And what are you, now?”
“A dumb slut,” Kaveh answers.
He doesn’t move or say anything else for the next few moments, and Alhaitham wonders if he’s struggling to reach that headspace from before. Did Kaveh really mean it when he said that he’s a dumb slut, just now, or was he simply saying what he’s supposed to be? From the reserved tone of his voice, it sounds like he might not have managed to slip back into that role.
And that wouldn’t be too surprising—after all, when they did this before, Kaveh’s sense of submission had gradually mounted over the course of an entire weekend, culminating in one of the deepest headspaces he’s ever experienced. It makes sense that simply putting on a collar wouldn’t have the same effect.
Kaveh suddenly lets out a syrupy whine and throws his hips backwards, grinding against Alhaitham’s crotch. “Cock,” he simpers, “want your cock, please—stick your cock in me, use your stupid filthy slut—”
Oh. Never mind. Really, what does Kaveh even need hypnosis for, if he can slip under this easily? Apparently he just needed a few seconds for this headspace to kick in—as if he said the words out loud, heard his own voice, and then spoke his stupid sluttiness into existence.
It’s showtime.
Alhaitham slaps Kaveh’s ass, feeling his cock twitch when Kaveh lets out a delighted little yelp. “Clothes off,” he says. “You should only wear things I’ve given you.”
Kaveh eagerly strips off his clothes, fingers fumbling to remove everything as quickly as possible. He tosses the garments aside in a pile and then stands with his back to Alhaitham, showing off the tan skin of his lean thighs, plump ass, and toned back. The clips in his hair sit askew from his hasty disrobing, allowing untamed strands of gold to escape containment.
“That includes these,” Alhaitham says, plucking at one of the rogue hair clips. He carefully removes the remaining ones from Kaveh’s hair and tosses them onto his desk, then steps back to regard his subjugated senior. He’s quite the sight, naked in the middle of the study where he was just working a few minutes ago—but he looks too naked, with his hair covering the collar Alhaitham gave him. “Wait here—I’ll find something to tie back your hair. If any thoughts enter your head while I’m gone, open your mouth and drool them out.”
Alhaitham briefly ducks out of the room to retrieve a ribbon for Kaveh’s hair, and returns to find Kaveh with his mouth dumbly hanging open, a string of drool slipping down his chin.
“Good slut,” Alhaitham says, approaching him. He shoves two fingers in Kaveh’s mouth and starts thrusting, and Kaveh dutifully closes his lips around them, sucking with a blissed-out look in his eyes. “You’re nice and stupid now, aren’t you?” Kaveh hums agreeably. “Dumb fuckslut. Just a toy for me to fuck.”
He pulls his fingers out and moves behind Kaveh, quickly tying his hair back in a ponytail. Now the pink collar is perfectly visible, clearly displaying that Kaveh is owned.
Alhaitham fists the tail of hair and tugs firmly. “Bend over.”
Kaveh instantly complies, hands braced against his knees, round ass looming in Alhaitham’s vision.
SMACK!
Alhaitham’s palm connects with the fat of Kaveh’s ass, and it jiggles at the impact, begging to be disciplined more.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“You were sitting at that desk doing work,” Alhaitham says, over the sound of Kaveh’s subdued moans. “Why is that? Did you forget your place, already?”
“I—I’m sorry,” Kaveh says, followed by an ecstatic cry when Alhaitham’s hand whacks his rear again. “I forgot, I—I’m stupid, I’m a naughty slut—oh!”
He jerks at a particularly hard strike—and when Alhaitham slides his fingers down to feel Kaveh’s cock, he sees that there’s already precum gathering below the tip.
Tch. Predictable. Any amount of pain or pleasure will turn Kaveh on, when he’s like this. It’s almost impossible to make his dick go soft.
“You were trying to be smart again,” Alhaitham observes, massaging Kaveh’s flushed ass. “But you aren’t. You’re just a stupid pair of holes for me to fuck.”
He remembers a line from Kaveh’s essay, last time—your slut has a slutty mouth hole and a very slutty ass hole, with a coquettishly-drawn heart next to the words—and feels his trousers tighten, his cock hardening at an embarrassing speed. Alhaitham has always admired Kaveh’s eloquence and wit, of course, ever since they first met as students…but when Kaveh suddenly starts talking like an airheaded whore, it goes straight to Alhaitham’s dick.
It can’t be helped. Everyone has their kinks, and apparently watching a smart man turn stupid is one of Alhaitham’s.
“I am,” Kaveh says, “I’m a cocksleeve, a fucktoy, a—a stupid pet, a…”
Alhaitham roughly grabs Kaveh by his biceps and steers him over to the empty desk on the other side of the room. “Hands on the desk,” he orders, and Kaveh obeys, jutting his ass out like an invitation. “Do you see any work on my desk, here?”
“No,” Kaveh says. “I…I don’t think…?”
“Correct,” Alhaitham says. “There isn’t any work on this desk. And that’s right—you don’t think. You’re too stupid for that.”
Of course, that isn’t what Kaveh meant, when he said that second part—but that’s part of the fun, when he’s submitting like this. Alhaitham can play with his words and trip him into an even deeper submission, and Kaveh is too stupidly spaced-out to challenge him.
“This,” Alhaitham continues, indicating the desk with his hand, “is how much work you’re capable of doing. And it’s what the desk should look like when you’re using it: completely empty, just like your slutty head. You only need to use a desk when you’re being spanked or fucked on one—and the only time you should be in this room is when I’m using you as my toy.” He lightly smacks Kaveh’s ass. “Am I understood? If you see a desk with work on it, that isn’t for you. You’re too stupid for that sort of thing.”
“Stupid,” Kaveh repeats. “Yes, I—I’m a stupid slut, too stupid, I know.”
“Do you?” Alhaitham cracks his palm against Kaveh’s ass, hard, and a pained sound bursts from Kaveh’s lips. “You told me last time that you’d learned your place, and you promised that you wouldn’t pretend to be smart anymore. So why did I find you fully clothed, sitting at a desk full of work?”
“I’m stupid,” Kaveh whines, which is essentially the only way he’ll respond to anything Alhaitham says. “I’m a dumb slut, I forgot, I didn’t mean to—ah!” He flinches at the strike of Alhaitham’s palm, exhaling shakily as Alhaitham gently rubs the sore skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m a stupid sorry slut.”
“It’s alright,” Alhaitham says. He gives Kaveh’s ass a gentle pat. “I know that stupid sluts can’t help doing stupid things, so I forgive you for misbehaving. I do have to punish you, though. Ten strikes for going somewhere you shouldn’t have, and ten for forgetting your place. I’ll count for you, since you’re too stupid to do that on your own.”
“I can count!” Kaveh protests—and that piques Alhaitham’s interest. The last time they did this roleplay, Kaveh had abandoned all arithmetical inclinations once he slipped into this headspace, and would only respond to mathematics problems with stupid, slutty answers that had nothing to do with numbers.
“Hm. Is that so?”
“I—I can count my slutty holes,” Kaveh says. “There are two.”
“Oh? Well, I stand corrected. That’s quite impressive, for a stupid slut.” Alhaitham hopes the derision in his voice is clear—but sometimes he sounds condescending without meaning to be, so he isn’t entirely sure whether he can summon that tone on command. “Tell me, how many times would you need to count to two, for the twenty spanks you’re getting?”
Kaveh hesitates, idly swaying his ass back and forth. “Uh…”
Ha. Obviously the real Kaveh knows the answer—but a stupid slut wouldn’t, so Kaveh has to bite his tongue. “Alright, then,” Alhaitham says. “Since you’re so good at counting, you can count in twos. You’d better stop at twenty, though, or else I’ll just keep going.”
He’s already decided: If Kaveh miraculously stops right at twenty, then Alhaitham will lie and tell him that he’s wrong, just to give him a few more—and if Kaveh accidentally goes past twenty, well…Alhaitham will step in and stop him. Eventually.
“Bend over more, with your chest flat against the desk,” Alhaitham says. Kaveh does as he’s told, offering an even better view of his ass, and Alhaitham reaches between his legs to slap the inside of a thigh. “And spread your legs wider. Sluts don’t stand with their legs closed.”
“Yes, sir,” Kaveh mumbles, and Alhaitham’s cock stupidly twitches at that title. Sir—that’s another new one, from last time. And for someone who doesn’t care about rank or authority in his everyday life, Alhaitham is embarrassingly aroused by hearing Kaveh address him that way.
Kaveh spreads his legs farther apart, and Alhaitham takes a moment to admire the sight of his naked senior bent over the desk, plump reddened ass arched in the air for a spanking, a slutty pink collar encircling his throat. Then he softly rests a hand against Kaveh’s rear, smoothing his palm along the curve. “Why are you getting spanked, Kaveh?”
“Because I’m a stupid slut, sir,” Kaveh says, with his head lowered toward the desk.
That’s right. He is.
“Count,” Alhaitham orders.
He winds back his hand and cracks it against Kaveh’s ass, savoring the loud smack. “One,” Kaveh says, and Alhaitham strikes him again. “Two.” Another spank. “One.” Another. “Two…”
The back-and-forth continues, and Kaveh’s count soars all the way to thirty-two. Alhaitham finally halts and grabs Kaveh’s reddened rear with both hands, kneading the sore flesh. “Good slut,” he says, as Kaveh yelps and squirms at his touch. “That was nowhere close to twenty, but I don’t mind—I like seeing your ass red and sore. I almost wish I hadn’t stopped you, just to see how long you would have kept going.”
Kaveh whines quietly, and Alhaitham has to remind himself that the man bent over the desk isn’t actually a stupid, helpless pet—because Kaveh really does seem quite pitiful when he’s whimpering like this, the soft flesh of his ass inflamed by his inability to count to twenty.
It’s easy to dominate him, at times like this.
It’s also far too easy to coddle and spoil him—so Alhaitham will need to keep himself in check, if he’s going to properly play the part of a stupid slut’s owner.
He grabs Kaveh’s waist and flips him over, then hefts his ass up onto the desk so that he’s perched on the edge. “Sit here,” he says. “And spread your legs wider.”
Kaveh parts his legs, and Alhaitham can see his dick flushed and swollen between his thighs, jutting out from shortly trimmed hairs. Alhaitham reaches down and runs a finger from the underside to the tip, feeling the slickness of precum leaking from Kaveh’s cock. “You’re excited,” he notes. “Of course. Stupid sluts get turned on by obeying their owners, after all.”
He circles around the desk to retrieve a jar of oil from one of the drawers—and it occurs to him that they really must have sex in this room often, if they’re routinely keeping lubricant stored in the desk. (Of course, if that weren’t enough evidence on its own, there’s also the fact that Kaveh installed glass doors on all of the bookshelves, to protect them from fluids.)
Alhaitham returns to where Kaveh is seated, and slaps the inside of his thigh. “Lie back,” he says, and Kaveh instantly complies. His mindless obedience makes Alhaitham’s cock throb impatiently, the tip already dripping precum into his underwear. “Good slut,” he says, unscrewing the lid of the jar. “Now hold your legs up, and spread them as far apart as you can.”
Kaveh lifts his legs into that position, and—oh, he’s quite the sight. Lying on his back, hands holding his splayed legs, abdomen tensed to hold the position. His cock is stiff and needy between his thighs, and he’s craning his neck to keep his eyes on Alhaitham, with that pink collar on full display. It’s utterly clear that he’s on that desk for one reason, waiting to be used for Alhaitham’s pleasure.
Setting the jar aside, Alhaitham leans down toward Kaveh and pinches the heart-shaped pendant between his thumb and forefinger. “I know you forgot this time,” he says, as Kaveh pants up at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed dark. “But eventually you won’t have any trouble remembering that you’re a dumb slut.” He runs his thumb over the engraved text. “My dumb slut. You serve my cock, and no one else’s.”
Kaveh whines quietly in response, still holding his legs wide, his diaphragm rising and falling with each shaky breath.
Alhaitham moves his hand to grip Kaveh’s chin and rubs his thumb along those spit-slick lips, watching as Kaveh instinctively starts to suckle on his fingertip. “Though I know you’d love to be passed around a room full of men,” he adds, “bouncing on their cocks and taking their cum, hearing them all tell you what a slut you are. Too bad—it’s just me and my cock. You’ll have to make do with that.”
Kaveh squeezes his eyes shut, his brows drawn together in desperate arousal. Oh, yes—Alhaitham hasn’t forgotten about his senior’s exhibitionist fantasies, all those obscene things Kaveh likes to imagine with no actual intention of enacting them. The light of Kshahrewar has an impressively perverted mind, when he unleashes his creativity.
“If you’re good, though,” Alhaitham says, “I can stuff you full of my toys. We can keep you filled with a dildo or plug whenever you aren’t being used by my cock.” With his free hand, he delicately tucks a loose strand of hair behind Kaveh’s ear, while Kaveh’s tongue continues to swirl around his thumb. “Such a pretty fuck-thing. It’s a waste when you’re empty.”
Alhaitham withdraws his thumb from Kaveh’s mouth, then reaches down to unfasten his trousers and tug down his underwear, freeing his leaking cock from confinement. The tip is visibly slick and wet, betraying his excitement—but fortunately Kaveh can’t tease him for that right now, because this headspace makes it nearly impossible for him to act like a brat. Kaveh’s sole purpose right now is to serve Alhaitham’s cock, and mouthing off doesn’t play a part in that. Instead, he hazily regards Alhaitham’s cock and wets his lips, waiting while Alhaitham retrieves the opened jar of oil and dips his fingers into it.
“Close your legs,” Alhaitham says, “but keep holding them up.”
Kaveh presses his legs together, his hands moving to grip just above his knees. Alhaitham reaches down and begins slicking the inside of Kaveh’s upper thighs, not bothering to explain what he’s doing—because a toy doesn’t need an explanation, and Kaveh can easily figure out where this is going, regardless.
Kaveh jerks as Alhaitham massages the sensitive spots near his groin, and then Alhaitham moves his hand lower, grazing the rim of Kaveh’s ass. “Flex your hole for me,” Alhaitham says—and watches as Kaveh obeys, tightening the pucker among neatly-trimmed hairs. Alhaitham nudges his fingertip just slightly inside, teasing, and feels Kaveh’s hole twitch against his finger. “I’ll make sure I use this slutty hole, next time.”
Alhaitham grabs Kaveh’s ankles to keep his legs straight, and lines up the tip of his cock with the opening between Kaveh’s thighs. Kaveh’s legs are too lean to create a tight seal on their own, at first—but then Kaveh reaches down and pushes the fat beneath his thighs together, forming a tight little gap right above his crotch.
“Good slut,” Alhaitham says. He slides his fingers through the snug opening. “Look at that nice hole you’ve made for me. That means you have three holes, not two—but you must have forgotten about this one, since you can’t count that high.” He moves his hands back to Kaveh’s ankles, keeping his legs aloft. “Keep your eyes on that hole. I want you to watch my big cock thrusting between your slutty thighs, and see it rub against your needy prick.”
Alhaitham rocks his hips forward, carefully pressing his cock between Kaveh’s tight, slick thighs. His length rubs against Kaveh’s dick as he slowly thrusts, and he groans. It’s just the right amount of friction, the perfect soft warmth—he isn’t going to last long. Especially not with the sight of Kaveh’s toned thighs creating a makeshift fleshlight, and the knowledge that Alhaitham is maneuvering Kaveh’s body so that it can be used as a toy. The act is so impersonal, and Kaveh is so mindlessly pliant while he’s being used; it lights up a profane part of Alhaitham’s mind, and his dick very nearly overtakes his ability to think.
“Dumb slut,” Alhaitham says, squeezing his cock between Kaveh’s thighs. “Stupid fuckhole.” The words feel vulgar on his tongue, too derogatory and filthy—but they have the same effect as praise, whenever Kaveh is in this headspace. “A pretty cocksleeve, and a brainless fuckdoll. You’re the perfect toy for my cock.”
He almost feels like a lazy plagiarist, since most of what he says is simply repeating things Kaveh previously called himself, but that’s how Alhaitham knows these terms will have the desired effect. And Kaveh doesn’t seem to mind one bit—he’s moaning gleefully as Alhaitham fucks his thighs and degrades him, his restrained legs twitching and jerking with pleasure.
“How does my cock look?” Alhaitham asks, squeezing Kaveh’s ankles tighter.
“Big,” Kaveh whines beneath him. “So big, and thick—it’s leaking so much, fucking my slutty thighs, dripping on my stomach—hngh—feels so good against my stupid cock—fuck my thigh hole, come all over my slutty body, please—”
And that mental image of Alhaitham’s precum slicking Kaveh’s stomach, spilling onto his belly button, making a messy slut of him—
Alhaitham gasps. “Fuck—coming—” He belatedly realizes that he doesn’t need to warn a toy that he’s about to come, but it’s a force of habit. “Stupid slut. You love being covered in your owner’s cum. Filthy little pet—a dumb, dirty cumslut—”
Kaveh interrupts him with a desperate cry, thighs tensing tight as he comes, and then Alhaitham topples after him with a moan, shooting his release onto Kaveh’s stomach. He wrenches Kaveh’s legs apart for a better view, and sees streaks of white on Kaveh’s abdomen, droplets of cum clinging to the bronze hairs there, gathering in the dip of his belly button—and his cock spurts the remainder of its load onto the mess, unable to help itself.
Alhaitham groans and carefully lowers Kaveh’s legs, panting for breath while Kaveh lazes on the desk with his lips parted dumbly and his eyes barely open. After that orgasm, Alhaitham feels sated and a bit stupid, himself, fumbling to remember what he’s supposed to do next.
“I’m taking off the collar, now,” Alhaitham tells Kaveh. He reaches behind Kaveh’s neck and unfastens the collar, then sets it aside and leans down to press his lips against Kaveh’s temple. “How do you feel?”
Kaveh responds with a pleased hum, his lips curved in a dazed smile. “Good. That was good.” He sits up with a grunt, arching his back in a stretch. “My ass hurts a bit, but that’s to be expected.”
“Good,” Alhaitham says. “Do you need anything from me?”
Kaveh yawns and shakes his head. “I just need a nap. You’re welcome to join me, if you want.” He peers down at his stomach with a wrinkled nose, and trails a finger through the slick mess of cum on his skin. “After I wipe myself off, that is.”
“Sure.” It’s nearly the time of day when Alhaitham tends to do that on his own, anyway, so he doesn’t see a reason to decline. “I’ll get some lotion for your ass, and meet you in the bedroom.”
Nodding, Kaveh hops off the desk and pecks Alhaitham on the cheek, then heads straight toward the doorway of the study. He doesn’t so much as glance at his desk full of work as he leaves, and Alhaitham follows him out of the room with a warm sense of satisfaction, closing the door behind them.
He thinks he might need to start using that collar regularly, for his workaholic partner’s sake.
some of tin's fav haikavetham fics (fic rec list!)🍓🍓
hello all i've always wanted to make a fic rec list and i feel like i've collected enough hkvh fics to make one now LOL most definitely i am forgetting to include a lot but here are a few of my faves!
notes:
check tags before reading👍
most if not all are sfw bc that is my vibe
sorted from least recent -> most recent
was gonna add little comments to each but i'm now realizing that would take up a huge amt of space so. just know that all of these changed the trajectory of my life. thank u fic authors for all u do🫶
then who? by heartslogos (T, 27k)
“Let me,” Kaveh would say with his eyes, his head, his hands. Let him what? Let him in, let him speak, let him stay, let him touch and see and listen —
All of the above.
Has it not always been so, the two of them like this, Kaveh and Al-Haitham?
Kaveh: not quite asking, not quite taking. Al-Haitham: not quite answering, not quite offering.
-
Al-Haitham has been confined to bed-rest for a month. Kaveh assists. Al-Haitham recovers, they both do.
Asked and Answered by heartslogos (T, 55k)
It begins in the House of Daena, or at least, Kaveh thinks that that’s where it should begin. If one were to trace the flow of events backwards, it would lead to this moment. If Kaveh were Al-Haitham, he would insist on going further back. Further. Further. Further. All the way back, to the literal beginning of all of time and creation, possibly. But Kaveh’s brain only has enough room for so many creations at any given moment, and the works of others — while inspiring — historically don’t get students passing grades. Or even grades at all.
When thinking about one’s relationship with their soulmate, it seems natural to think to a first meeting. A first introduction. Well. This can be said for any relationship. It all begins with that first brush — a name, given; a silhouette, glanced; a voice, heard.
the truest forms of love by heartslogos (T, 29k)
“Nahida said that the moment you touch the seeds is the moment you must stop speaking,” the Traveler says to him, standing between Al-Haitham and the door of the simple, small hut that is to become his and Kaveh’s for the foreseeable future. “Is there anything else you want to say?”
The beak of the swan is foreign, cool and strange. Al-Haitham struggles not to flinch away from it as it slides along the side of his jaw, his cheek — imploring and fretful. One last and ineffective plea.
Al-Haitham feels the warm weight of solid muscle around his neck, his shoulders — the fidget of wings, the beat of a heart. Al-Haitham’s fingers sink into soft feathers and the bones and muscles of a bird shift against his hands as he holds Kaveh close.
What is there to say? Why bother to say something to someone who cannot say anything back?
“Stand aside,” Al-Haitham says, slowly lowering Kaveh to the ground. “The sooner I begin, the sooner it ends.”
-
A story loosely based on the fairy tale of "The Six Swans".
house of cards by luminvies (T, 21k)
There is a scrap of parchment he'd created and abandoned all the way back when the two had been attending the Akademiya together. Sometime between then and the first month he has to move in with Al-Haitham, the list gets crossed out, scribbled over, crumpled up, carefully unfolded again, and revised. The working title for his tireless troubles: Ten Reasons You Cannot, Under Any Circumstances, Fall In Love With Al-Haitham.
…And how Kaveh falls anyway.
through the grapevine by katarasvevo (G, 3.8k)
Theories are passed around in the form of whispers: Professor Alhaitham probably said something that angered Professor Kaveh. Professor Kaveh, unable to let the insult slide, decided to take revenge by interrupting his precious class time.
A prediction goes around that in less than ten seconds, Professor Alhaitham will proceed to offend Professor Kaveh even more with a tactless comment, which will lead to Professor Kaveh and Professor Alhaitham murdering each other. The whole class will walk out today without needing to write the test, having been traumatized by the tragic demise of the two professors.
It is not a very pleasant line of thought, but it is sadly the only logical outcome.
In which everyone is convinced Professor Alhaitham and Professor Kaveh are sworn enemies, unaware that their relationship isn’t at all what it seems.
the kübler-ross model on romance by luminvies (T, 10.8k)
Kaveh smiles up at the stranger. "Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet."
What.
"Wait, what did you mean by that?" Al-Haitham asks faintly.
"Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you."
"But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort."
Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way."
"It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence."
"You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular."
So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.
Cue the five stages of grief.
The Fall by heartslogos (M, 131k)
In the third generation of Lord Sangemah Bays when all is but a dream, Lord Kusanali, from their divine seat in the Sanctuary of Surasthana stirs and reaches their hands to the sky. They arrange their fingers to capture a square of sky, humming and singing to themselves as they put the patch of star and moon and cloud through the divine calculus before they translate it into the tongues of men to be made knowable, and perhaps even understandable — and with great fortune, actionable.
“Summon the court,” Lord Kusanali says, “The Third Face of God has spoken. Hear the Word through me and make your peace. For the God Kings only ever speak thrice on any given subject.”
The court of Sumeru crowds the Sanctuary of Surasthana.
“That which waits in the Palace of Alcazarzaray can only be absolved through a union of souls and an exchange of hearts, a lifelong journey that ends only in death.” Lord Kusanali translates. And then, beatific, “What you need is a wedding.”
set alight by celestialfics (T, 2.3k)
Since he was young, Alhaitham has followed a self-imposed, unspoken rule not to touch other people unless strictly necessary. Over the years, there have been two exceptions.
One was his grandmother, whose side he would cling to as she read him books on the living room couch. She would pet his hair, and he’d lean into the touch, not unlike a kitten blissfully being groomed by its mother.
The other exception was an Akademiya upperclassman named Kaveh.
transparent night by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 9.4k)
“Sir, kindly do not obstruct us,” says the matra sharply. “We are in the midst of carrying out an arrest.”
“An arrest?” repeats Kaveh, incredulously. “You’re arresting him? You’re arresting him? Why, what in Teyvat has he done?”
The Archon Rescue Operation is going as smoothly as it possibly can — that is, until Kaveh returns prematurely from his desert trip, and runs into Alhaitham at the absolute worst possible moment.
Of course he would.
this is what happens in the absence of small-talk by pencanze (T, 17k)
Haitham and Kaveh, whose travels are leading them in opposite directions, meet as strangers in a caravanserai—a travelers’ guest house. Because even opposite directions have a point of intersection or overlap, don’t they? Some might even call that point a headfirst collision.
And another thing about opposite directions: they still run in parallel, even long after they’ve crossed.
trishna by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 8.2k)
Down the seventh-floor passage in Vahumana, past the statue of the sage Zolfikar, and behind the third door from the left; inside a small, abandoned seminar room in the Sumeru Akademiya is a mirror cursed to show the viewer their heart’s deepest desire.
Kaveh’s father smiles at him, slowly, so Kaveh can see it happen; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He’s moving, alive.
Kaveh hasn’t seen his father smile – not the expression itself, preserved in an old Kamera shot he kept in his sketchbook, but the very action of smiling – in almost ten years.
An Alhaitham/Kaveh X Mirror of Erised AU
if they ask my gain from this world’s harvest by patchy (T, 16k)
In the silence that follows, Alhaitham seems to interpret the end of the conversation. He takes a step back into his bedroom and starts to shut the door.
“I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Kaveh forces out, his voice cracking embarrassingly.
The door pauses in its trajectory. Kaveh takes a deep breath.
“But this is the last time,” he continues in a lower voice. “I’ll be out of your space by the end of the month.”
Alhaitham pushes open the door.
The House, The Home, You and Me by sonotfine (G, 11.9k)
Alhaitham's books-hoarding situation continued to grow out of control. Kaveh magnanimously decided to offer to build a new house for him, with enough space for his ego and the books too.
This was fine by Alhaitham. And, of course, he wanted it to be a house for two.
--
On moving out of the old, moving on to the new, and moving forward together.
what it means to point true by luminvies (T, 9.8k)
It is biologically impossible for a man to replicate technological functions. As much as Kaveh (and colleagues) like calling Al-Haitham an index of niche and generally insignificant information on legs, he will never quite live up to the title.
Here's a novel one: people must have taken to thinking of him as a human compass because they always seem to come to him when they're looking for Kaveh.
is that what I look like? by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 3,8k)
Alhaitham grows a beard. Why? Who knows.
Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate by Bgtea (T, 28.7k)
The truth of the matter is, Kaveh has no idea how to read Alhaitham. He prides himself on being an expert at understanding people, his empathetic heart lending him the capacity to relate deeply with those around him (oftentimes to his detriment). But with Alhaitham, there is nothing for him to read; no clues from his cool expression for him to grasp. The man appears stoic all the time even during their petty bickering.
Honestly, when was the last time Kaveh has seen the man do anything except smirk or frown? Does Alhaitham feel happiness? Has he ever seen the man laugh?
Kaveh's mind is drawing a blank on the latter and it...bothers him deeply.
--
Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.
in weal and in woe by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 26.7k)
“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”
“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?”
“That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
Kaveh is a single man. That's about it, really.
or: the one in which Kaveh gets married, but not to whom you think.
the hypothetical shore by heartslogos (T, 10k)
When Al-Haitham was still a student in the Akademiya he wore his hair long. As long as Kaveh’s is now, perhaps a little longer than that, even. But unlike Kaveh's, Al-Haitham’s hair was just as quiet as he was, just as cool — like a stream of silver water, fresh from the mountain pass.
To this day Kaveh remembers the exact moment he thought he might be falling in love with Al-Haitham and that, perhaps, it might not be such a terrible thing.
de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)
Kaveh and Alhaitham live together. Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever hurts. But sometimes, when Kaveh watches Nahida idly finish her homework, he gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something important.
Kaveh must have fallen asleep at his desk again, the morning light hitting his eyes like a slap. He blinked at the soft green blanket over his shoulders. When he stumbled into the hall, Alhaitham was sitting in the living quarters with his back to him, soundproof earpieces alit.
He had a stupid moment where he wanted to call out to Alhaitham. What would he even say? ‘I’m having some trouble.’ ‘Is the blanket yours?’ ‘You were right, I’m in over my head.’ ‘Can you hear me out?’ ‘Help me. Please, help me.’
Stupid. He yawned and went to stumble his way to the kitchen. From his periphery, he thought he saw Alhaitham turn towards him with a look like he wanted to say something. But that, too, surely was just a very nice dream.
The Importance of Interruption by theSealby (T, 8.6k)
Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended.
“How would you like to come home?”
✥
Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).
To Dream in Shades of Green by Intensely_Reading (T, 55k)
“There are three suitors who you can romance in this game. You must complete all your requirements with one of them."
“Who are the three potential suitors?” Kaveh asks warily.
“Your three suitors are Tighnari, the blunt Palace Chamberlain; Cyno, the standoffish Captain of the Royal Guard; and Al-Haitham, the acerbic Duke of Vultur Volans.”
There's a new invention from the Yae Publishing House that turns a user's dreams into light novel stories. Kaveh has the (un)fortunate pleasure of being one of its first users.
Too bad it dumped him in a romance game.
The Theorem of Narrow Interests by lumielle (M, 36k)
Kaveh clicks his tongue. “Well, I hope you are also aware that with all these requirements, you don’t get a set (A+B), or even (A+B+C). Yours is a set comprised of the entire Sumerian alphabet!”
Kaveh has had enough of Alhaitham always loitering around the house. In an attempt to get Alhaitham to go out more often, he jokingly tells him to start dating someone. Much to Kaveh’s shock, Alhaitham agrees—and promptly assigns him as his personal matchmaker. And even though Alhaitham’s requirements for his ideal partner are annoyingly specific, Kaveh refuses to back down from a good challenge. He’s confident in his abilities—that is, until his own feelings start getting in the way…
Precipice by viiparyas (M, 37k)
Lately, his heart staggers at a precipice, just one breath from toppling over. Into what, he doesn’t know. After everything, after everything… He can’t help but melt easily into the intimacy between them, whether it’s by his design or not.
Kaveh has won fame and renown through Sumeru, witnessed the dissolution of a corrupt government, traveled from the trenches of homelessness to the pinnacles of a fairytale paradise. And yet something deep between his ribs screams, more, more, more.
or, Kaveh discovering what he truly wants and finally reaching for it. (Spoiler alert: it's Alhaitham)
nazar by pencanze (T, 13k)
It’s like they’re in a globed world of their own, trapped within a glazed bead. Shatterproof, soundproof, impregnable and unbreakable to anyone else—anyone besides themselves.
(On superstitions, friendships, and other things that shatter.)
case study of the scribe by Jazer (T, 25.5k)
"The consequences of obtaining knowledge is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. "
In which Alhaitham realizes that a peaceful existence does not have to mean a lonely one.
People keep coming to Al-Haitham when they want to know where Kaveh is. Al-Haitham would be lying if he said he didn't know why.
silviculture by sunsmasher (T, 13k)
Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks.
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”
spitefully yours by luminvies (T, 6k)
Dear Al-Haitham,
I propose that we meet this Friday at sundown on the southeast edge of the city bordering Avidya Forest. This is a marital engagement. Please come prepared with your sword at the ready.
With spite,
Kaveh
Al-Haitham sets down the letter, letting out a long sigh. After all, isn’t the answer to dealing with domestic disputes not marriage? Isn’t that entirely contradictory to the issue?
Kaveh sends Al-Haitham martial summons to sort out their issues. Unfortunately, he makes a small error in the letter.
The Art of Misunderstanding by Anonymous (M, 7k)
"Kaveh didn't consider himself to be vain. Yet he was becoming increasingly, upsettingly aware that most associates would disagree.
Vanity, by definition, refers to an inflated sense of self-importance and pride in oneself. A vain person may believe themselves to be the best in the room. They may find it absurd that all eyes do not fall on them the instant they make themselves known. A vain person may put themselves on a pedestal, believing themselves objectively skilled in their field. And though Kaveh had trust and confidence in himself as an artist, he was caught entirely off-guard to hear that others thought of him as vain."
------
AKA, Kaveh misunderstands when he overhears an upsetting conversation between old classmates. His assumption is that they are attacking his character and commenting on his personality. In reality, they're talking about his looks. Everyone picks up on it, save for Kaveh himself.
Illness, Drowning, and Other Minor Inconveniences by EulerIHKH (G, 11k)
Faced with a uniquely difficult client, Kaveh is reluctantly forced to look for help in the one architect he considers more capable than himself: his mother. But soon enough, the turmoil of Kaveh's personal life begins to seep into their professional correspondence, forcing him to reevaluate his career, relationships, and identity.
love haitham and kaveh....love these fics....so many talented writers...thank you authors <33 def missing a bunch bc my organization on ao3 is horrendous but i can update this or make another list at some point....also i would highly appreciate any recs tyy🙏
( + bonus not rec but self promo of a hkvh fic i tried my hand at writing last summer but never shared oops. here she is if you're intrigued
Kaveh is burning up. Everything is blazing hot: From the blasted summer heat streaming in freely from the open window to the fabric of the sheets rubbing against his naked body, from Alhaitham’s breath stirring the hair on Kaveh’s neck to the searing sensation of his hand sliding down low over the swell of his ass. Kaveh feels like pure pyro essence is circulating through his system.
Alhaitham drags his lips along Kaveh’s shoulder, leaving wet kisses in his wake. His hand, which had finally, finally come close to where Kaveh desperately wanted it, instead of dipping between his cheeks, slides around to his front, fingers trailing through the coarse hair below his navel. Kaveh bites out a low groan.
“Haitham, it’s been half an hour. Can we get on with it already? Please?”
He usually holds the word ‘please’ back until he absolutely needs to use it, knowing full well how much Alhaitham likes it when he begs, but he’s not about to put himself through another thirty minutes of painfully drawn-out foreplay—not when he’s so hard it’s starting to get uncomfortable, and definitely not when he can clearly feel Alhaitham’s erection digging into his hip, precome smeared across the small of Kaveh’s back.
“Patience is a virtue,” Alhaitham murmurs, the scrape of his teeth against Kaveh’s skin electrifying. “You should know that, senior. Besides, we’ve both got tomorrow off, so I want to take my time today.”
Kaveh holds back a moan when Alhaitham’s hand dips lower, teasing along the inside of his thigh. “I’d like to see your face next time you’re the one begging for me to just fuck you and all I’ll do is tease you for an hour,” he bites out.
He feels Alhaitham’s chest vibrate against his back as he lets out a breathy moan. “What an enticing…proposal. Though I’m afraid you wouldn’t last,” he says against Kaveh’s sweaty skin while he grinds against him from behind.
Kaveh scoffs. “Don’t project your own issues onto me. I have plenty of stamina, which you know better than anyone else, but it’s not about that. Doesn’t it—” Kaveh shivers when Alhaitham’s fingers start to travel again, inching towards his entrance. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you that I’m telling you I want you inside me right now?” Kaveh grinds back against Alhaitham to drive his point home, which elicits another delicious moan.
“Well, what about me? Does it mean nothing to you that I want to make it last?” Alhaitham counters. It makes Kaveh’s skin crawl in the best way possible.
“We can just go multiple rounds if it’s about that. Please?” Kaveh tries again, craning his neck back to look at Alhaitham. Curls of Alhaitham’s silver hair stick to his sweaty forehead, making him look just as wrecked as Kaveh feels. His eyes are dark, his lips parted. Kaveh doubts he truly means to drag this out any longer, because he looks like he’s on the brink of losing control over himself.
“Haitham, please,” Kaveh pleads, and he can tell he’s finally gotten through to him, because after this it takes only a second for his eyes to flutter shut and a groan to leave Alhaitham’s mouth—and then he’s kissing him.
It’s a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, but Kaveh drinks it all in, knowing he’s won. A string of spit keeps them connected for a split second when they part.
Kaveh wipes his mouth, listening intently to the rustle of the sheets as Alhaitham finally twists his body to retrieve the oil from the nightstand. He hears the telltale sound of the lid being unscrewed, and then Alhaitham is back, a wall of heat against Kaveh’s back.
“I’m going to touch you now,” Alhaitham says quietly, as if Kaveh needed the heads-up. Kaveh nods wordlessly, wiggling his hips as a sign for him to get on with it. When Alhaitham finally circles a finger around Kaveh’s hole Kaveh jumps—the oil is hot to the touch.
Or, well, it’s not really hot, but it’s not the cool sensation Kaveh expected either. It’s warm, but the longer he stays in contact with it the more the warmth seems to spread. “You—you grabbed the warming jelly,” he gasps.
They’d bought it a while back, so Kaveh had almost forgotten they had it at all. He doesn’t remember it feeling this intense.
“Is it uncomfortable?” Alhaitham asks, his finger stilling.
“N-no, keep going,” Kaveh says. “It’s good.”
Alhaitham presses a kiss to Kaveh’s shoulder and continues. When he slowly presses a finger inside, Kaveh thinks he’s going to burst. He must be overheating, because it definitely didn’t feel this good the first time they used it. It makes him feel like his insides are on fire, but it’s not the stinging sort of heat one might expect. It’s velvety somehow, and it makes him crave more.
Alhaitham adds a second finger, gently stretching him open before starting up a leisurely rhythm of in-and-out. He breathes harshly against Kaveh’s neck while he fingers him, stoking heat in Kaveh’s gut. The damned jelly is making everything feel so intense.
“H-hurry up,” Kaveh gasps, pushing himself down onto Alhaitham’s fingers, forcing them deeper. “At this rate I’m really not gonna last—oh, yes—” Alhaitham’s fingers brush against Kaveh’s prostate, sending intense pleasure through his lower half. Flames coil in Kaveh’s belly, heat mounting, sweat seeping into the sheets as he writhes in his lover’s embrace.
“How does it feel?” Alhaitham’s voice comes out breathless and raspy, but his fingers keep stroking along Kaveh’s most sensitive spot with scary accuracy. Kaveh isn’t sure he ever answers the question; he doesn’t have words to describe the way everything feels hot to the touch when he shouldn’t be feeling it this intensely with the high temperatures surrounding them already. He cries out Alhaitham’s name and then half an attempt at something that should have been a warning, but it’s too late. Kaveh comes with a choked moan, come shooting off the edge of the bed and onto the floor.
Alhaitham works him through it for another few strokes before pulling his fingers out. He’s breathing heavily into the crook of Kaveh’s neck, and it isn’t until some of the fog muddling Kaveh’s brain lifts that he notices something sticky and hot running down his back.
“Did you…” he starts, but Alhaitham cuts him off with a sloppy kiss.
Kaveh's head spins, a laugh working its way up his throat. “What was that,” he starts, “about making it last?”
Alhaitham groans, face smushed against Kaveh’s shoulder blade. He mumbles something into his skin, but it’s unintelligible.
“What was that?”
“I said,” Alhaitham huffs, leaning up over Kaveh’s shoulder to look him in the eye, “I wasn’t done with you yet.”
“I’ll hold you to that, then,” Kaveh replies. He pushes Alhaitham back into the sheets and rolls on top of him, careful not to rub against him while he’s still sensitive.
“Give me five minutes,” Alhaitham says with a lopsided smile on his lips, his hands settling on Kaveh’s back.
“Mh.”
Alhaitham kisses him—slowly, sweetly this time. A different sort of heat spreads throughout Kaveh’s body when Alhaitham kisses him like this—like he’ll never let him go again.
The humid heat of the Sumeran summer fades into the background as they start to fan the flames of passion for a second time that night.
Kaveh asks him this question unprompted. Their conversation had just lapsed into comfortable silence, the previous topic done. He blinks at Alhaitham, then his eyes flick back to his glass, red wine swirling around it as he twirls it between his fingers.
“Inspired?” Alhaitham asks. Kaveh’s question is too open, leaving too much room for interpretation.
Kaveh seems to dislike receiving answers that deviate from the intended meaning of his questions, though he hasn’t learned to phrase them accordingly, so Alhaitham struggles to find fault within his own way of interpreting these questions.
“You know, like when you read a really nicely worded paper and it makes you want to add to the discussion,” Kaveh says.
So it’s that kind of question.
Alhaitham supposes that he does feel inspired sometimes. A lot of times, actually. It started, if he remembers correctly, right around the time he and Kaveh met on that fateful day in the House of Daena. Up until that point he’d preferred to keep to himself, taking little interest in what other students had to contribute to class discussions. Even most of the professors failed to pique his interest, which was one of the reasons he stayed homeschooled and self-taught for the better part of his youth. He never felt inclined to engage in prolonged debates with his peers. They seemed to be living a different reality, and the resulting disconnect was too great for Alhaitham to want to bridge that invisible gap.
Kaveh crashed into his life full force—he was loud, passionate and intelligent. He still is, even though life has been unkind to him. Alhaitham knew immediately that Kaveh was different. He was like him in ways the other students his age weren’t.
It didn’t take long before he found himself scribbling away furiously in an attempt to refute a claim Kaveh had made in one of his homework assignments. He had written critiques of published authors’ works many times before that, but this time his heart was in it. There was something happening inside of him, a flame of need flickering incessantly where muted nothingness had been before, his pen sliding across parchment without care for all the smudged ink on his hand or the balance of his lettering. He needed to write. Nothing else mattered.
Kaveh had brought out a side of him Alhaitham hadn’t been aware of himself. His desire to interact with Kaveh’s thoughts, both in person and on paper, only grew over time. Where he was apathetic at best during most of his classes, he raised his hand eagerly in classes he shared with his favorite senior, and if only to nitpick tiny details in his presentations or statements.
After things went downhill between the two of them, Alhaitham found himself bereaved of all drive. Freshly graduated, he should have been actively seeking employment, but he barely managed to get himself out of bed some days. Even though he hadn’t felt like anything was amiss before he met Kaveh, it seemed that the spark of life, the curiosity Kaveh had inspired in him had left him in the same way Kaveh had left his life.
It wasn’t until he started noticing several postings across the notice boards around the city on his infrequent trips to the market to restock on groceries that the flame that had lain dormant inside of him was rekindled. The postings were anonymous and eclectic in terms of content, but Alhaitham knew who was leaving them. He could tell from the way their author phrased certain ideas, and he would recognize that looping handwriting anywhere.
Before he knew it, Alhaitham had pulled a pen out of his belt pouch and started scribbling his answer to Kaveh’s posting.
When he returned the next day to find a disgruntled reply, he couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his lips. He felt like, in a way, Kaveh had allowed him to step back into his life, even if it was unclear whether Kaveh had realized it was him or not.
If he were to be entirely honest, he would have to admit that Kaveh was indirectly responsible for a good chunk of Alhaitham’s early scholarly work. If he were to be honest, he’d tell him that he inspires him every day, just by being himself—even though Alhaitham doesn’t share his ideals, he respects the way he never strays from them. But Kaveh doesn’t take kindly to Alhaitham’s honesty; he has an uncanny knack for interpreting ill intent into his actions, or maybe a learned inability to take words of affection for what they are, specifically when they come from Alhaitham.
So, looking back at Kaveh over the rim of his own glass, Alhaitham says, “Funny you should ask. I suppose that recently, I’ve been feeling more inspired than I have in a long time.”
For as long as Kaveh can remember, Alhaitham has always had a knack for showing affection through his cooking.
At first, he didn’t realize what he was doing. The very first time Alhaitham cooked for him, Kaveh poked at the food with his fork, contemplating the probability of it being poisoned. It was something Alhaitham called ‘an improved version of sabz meat stew’, but it was beyond recognizable. The flat, pizza-like substance had very few similarities with the sort of stews Kaveh was familiar with, not to mention the addition of an actual word written on it in herb sauce.
“Just try it,” Alhaitham had said, so Kaveh hesitantly took a small bite. It was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before.
To his complete and utter shock, it was delicious.
After that first time, Kaveh gained a little more trust in Alhaitham’s cooking, though the message Alhaitham was trying to convey kept flying over Kaveh’s head for a while. At first, there was ‘Contemplation’, written on what Kaveh eventually helped Alhaitham rename ‘Ideal Circumstance’.
More dishes followed, each decorated with a singular word: Observation, Companionship, and right about the time Alhaitham was about to lose patience, as he later told Kaveh, Adoration.
Kaveh thought about that last one for a good while, even after he finished eating the meal Alhaitham prepared for him that day. He couldn’t fathom what Alhaitham’s understanding of adoration might encompass, much less who or what might even elicit such an emotion from him—after all, in the realm of Kaveh’s imagination, the only thing he could envision Alhaitham adoring was books, and he was positive he felt no need to remind Kaveh of that fact. It was also possible Alhaitham wasn’t talking about himself at all. For all Kaveh knew, he could have been practicing his calligraphy using random words (and sauce).
“There is a saying in Mondstadt,” Alhaitham told him when Kaveh finally confronted him about the cryptic messages he’d been leaving all over Kaveh’s dinner. “They say that love goes through the stomach. I hope that answers your questions.”
Kaveh mulled over Alhaitham’s words; he even consulted a couple of dictionaries for usage examples of the saying, but ultimately felt like he was interpreting too much into it. After all, there was no way it was that simple, right? It wasn’t like Alhaitham to try and tell Kaveh that he had feelings for him in such a roundabout way.
And still, Kaveh couldn’t shake the thought once it had been planted in his head—and for a while he was convinced that he was losing his sanity, because Alhaitham’s runic dinner embellishments didn’t stop. In fact, they were starting to get more direct every day.
Kaveh thought about how to best broach the topic with Alhaitham, how to convey how these little gestures were making him feel. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but as days bled into weeks, he knew he could no longer brush his own feelings aside. The simplest dishes started feeling like scrumptious feasts to Kaveh, and not only because they tasted good. He felt like each bite he took warmed his insides, each word consumed unraveling into unspoken confessions.
In the end, Kaveh felt like there was only one way to go about it. He decided to try and emulate Alhaitham’s strange way of communicating with him—so one night, after Alhaitham had taken a seat at the table, Kaveh served him a portion of omelet rice, the word ‘Trust’ carefully written in ketchup standing out vibrantly against the gold of the omelet. It took him a good chunk of courage to write it out, but it felt right—just as Alhaitham had been giving him all these little hints about how he was feeling, Kaveh wanted to give something back. Something he hadn’t been able to give Alhaitham for a long time. He was willing to try again.
Kaveh sat across from Alhaitham with his own plate of food (sans ketchup-lettering), nervously waiting for Alhaitham to comment on Kaveh’s creation.
And comment Alhaitham did, but not until he had polished off his entire dinner. Kaveh almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all, but when he walked around the table to collect Kaveh’s empty plate, he felt Alhaitham’s hand brushing against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, the corners of his mouth upturned. “It means a lot to me.” Then he stepped away from the table to do the dishes as if nothing had happened, leaving a red-faced Kaveh behind, his heart hammering in his chest.
After that night, writing messages on each other’s meals became a common occurrence in their shared household. Even after Kaveh plucked up all his courage and confessed his feelings to Alhaitham properly, the tradition stuck.
Today, too, Kaveh finds himself smiling down at the dinner Alhaitham brought him to his work desk. Written in tomato sauce, mild as Kaveh likes it, four letters complete the dish: ‘Love’.
In a small cubic jewel case, Alhaitham keeps his favorite memories.
The gold paint on the outside started peeling several years ago, but he hasn’t found a good enough reason to switch it out for a newer one. He supposes, in a way, the case has become part of the memory. And even though Alhaitham is not a sentimental person, over the years he has come to find comfort and joy in revisiting memories of times bygone. In the jewel case, he keeps a single memory disk.
He sits on one of the couches one rainy afternoon, studying the slideshow of digitized Kamera pictures projected onto the opposite wall. If he thinks about it, this sort of technology has already given way to newer, more advanced successors, but he likes the simplicity of old-fashioned crystal ore disks. They don’t easily break, and even though their storage capacity isn’t great, they get the job done.
He listens to his husband tinkering with the coffee maker in the kitchen while his eyes linger on a snapshot of the two of them captured on their wedding day. Alhaitham’s eyes are glassy and bloodshot from crying. Kaveh’s holding a tissue, laughing and crying at the same time, wiping Alhaitham’s face. It’s one of Alhaitham’s favorite pictures of them even though he looks horrible in it.
The next picture was shot at the Akademiya. It shows Kaveh, cradling an enormous bouquet in his arms, beaming from ear to ear. Fifteen years ago, Kaveh received his first permanent teaching position at the Akademiya, which he took as his chance to revive Kshahrewar’s former renown. Alhaitham remembers him voicing concerns about juggling teaching and managing his design studio, but in the end he figured out how to make it work, succeeding spectacularly in both fields.
“Looking at old photos again?” comes Kaveh’s voice, not from the kitchen, but right next to Alhaitham. He looks up to find his husband standing by the couch, holding two steaming cups of coffee. “You’ve become soft, Haitham.”
Alhaitham accepts his cup of coffee, making room for Kaveh to sit next to him. “You must have rubbed off on me,” Alhaitham says simply, switching to the next photo.
Kaveh harrumphs but doesn’t move away. He lets out a wistful sigh at the picture on display. It’s a portrait of Alhaitham that Kaveh shot, just for the fun of it.
“You never wore your hair like that again after this,” Kaveh says, eyeing Alhaitham over his coffee. “It looked so much better than the unkempt mess you called a hairstyle when we were in our early twenties.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the needed amount of hair left to recreate that style now,” Alhaitham retorts.
“Liar,” Kaveh says. He’s seen the bundles of silver hair clogging the drain in the bath—complained about them, too—and yet he’s never made fun of him for it. “If you’d just let me do your hair, you’d see that a little bit of hair loss isn’t a problem at all. At any rate, you look better now than you did back then,” he says, his hand coming to rest on Alhaitham’s thigh.
“Even with all of these wrinkles?” Alhaitham quips, pointing at his own face.
“Especially with the wrinkles. They make you look human.” Kaveh’s thumb strokes gentle circles into Ahaitham’s thigh. Alhaitham hums, taking a sip from his coffee. It sends warmth spreading through his chest.
They watch the remainder of the slideshow together. When they are done, Kaveh helps him tidy the space. He extracts the memory disk from the projector and hands it to Alhaitham, who returns it to the safety of the jewel case. He hopes that when the time comes for him to take it out again, Kaveh will be joining him then, too. He is a central part of these memories, so for as long as life will allow it, he will always prefer to have Kaveh right there next to him.
(Of course, Alhaitham intends to use the memory disk not only for revisiting the past. Their thirtieth anniversary is coming up, so chances are they will be adding more photos to the collection soon.)
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I’m a busy businessperson and my barista keeps misspelling my name in increasingly disrespectful ways, honestly, who does this person think they are AU
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I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and and you laughed at my taste and called me a nerd so I shoved you into a table of nonfiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky community bookstore AU
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Shouting match over the last Thanksgiving turkey at the grocery store AU
