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Cyno’s palm cups his cheek suddenly and he stirs looking up at the General who leans over his desk, peering down at him curiously.
“What’s wrong.” He asks when Cyno doesn’t remove his hand. Normally Alhaitham would swat it away since he’s not very partial to others touching him without his consent or touching him at all.
If it was anyone other than Cyno of course.
Somewhere along, among the many meetings, debates, document reviews, lunches, late coffees, drinks and card games and bad jokes he realized that he let Cyno in, so close, like no other person before.
The testament to that is the way Cyno can invade Haitham’s personal space like this without him perceiving his presence as something threatening but instead as a part of their natural state of being.
And even the touch, despite being gentle could turn lethal any moment. That hand cupping his cheek could slide down his throat and squeeze depriving him of breath if Cyno wished to, but it does not alarm him or causes discomfort for being touched like this.
If anything, it only startled him because Cyno’s hand is warm.
“You have an eyelash here.” He says finally, swiping his thumb over the high bone of his cheek.
“Ah.” Haitham says and closes his eyes, another display of trust and vulnerability, which surprises even him, given away so easily as if it means nothing.
“Can I?” Cyno asks and Haitham nods.
There’s another gentle brush, rough thumb tracing thin skin under his eye, the pad grazing the tips of his eyelashes.
Then he stops and just holds Haitham’s face in his hand.
“Is that all?” Haitham asks with a huff, eyes still closed as he arches an eyebrow.
The General shifts, moving closer, closer still. Their knees bump against each other and then Haitham feels warm breath on his face.
“No.” Cyno says against his lips. “It’s not.”