﴾ jamil senses it like a thread of smoke, immediately and sourly. his low scowl, his muffled "no, kalim—" are gone with all the garments left to wrinkle on the ground, swept up in the same gilded maelstrom that spits him out the other side almost — very nearly — shaking with laughter. it's incredibly inconsiderate when jamil is obviously not in the mood for fun or whimsy in any measure, but the trouble is in the action of rebuking kalim for his transgressions when his heart is so full of warmth and delight.

because it does end so perfectly, credit is due for that. their dance is a lifetime in the making and kalim is nothing if not a capable partner, his hands in all the right places, every breath and touch as familiar to him as the home that they share. not that kalim ever misses an opportunity to knock him off his rhythm, revoltingly rude when he's already swept jamil off his feet in the most literal sense, freezing him in his own skin when he is only just beginning to enjoy this moment of shameless indulgence. his fingers still as they skate over kalim's chest and his face runs red with a deep flush.

if only there wasn't so much happening in kalim's eyes, perhaps jamil would have a better response. as it is, his mind blanks instead, and the hand that had been holding on to him moments before flattens against kalim's cheek and turns his face away instead. ﴿

Don't want to hear it.

﴾ if kalim keeps speaking — there's no way for jamil to know what will become of it, but he knows in that dependable, never, ever wrong part of himself that something terrible will happen. world-ending catastrophe levels of terrible. if he has to smother kalim a little as he rises up above him, if he has to pin him to the bed by his jaw and snap his hips cruelly, then kalim should be glad that jamil is doing this for the sake of them both. ﴿

You've such a restless mouth tonight. I wish you'd spend this energy more productively, Kalim.