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Summary
“Are you done. Haitham.” Kaveh snaps.
Knot in his brow. Warm. Solid. He smells so good Alhaitham wants to peel his skin open with his teeth. Nip where his muscle gets sweetest close to the bone. Lick the sweat from the fine-sculptured jut of his jaw and bite and Alhaitham should bite his own tongue off, actually, before he does what he’ll regret. There’s a low whine in the air around them, escaping from his chest, muffled into his hand.
“Off.” He tries. Slurs. “Kaveh. Get off.”
Sumeru's most rational and mild-mannered ghoul struggles. Kaveh (as he always has) doesn't help.
