[Kissing is something that's becoming easier and easier, something that feels more and more natural every single time it happens, and Jamil doesn't know if that thrills him or terrifies him, and that's why he doesn't think about it. Or at least tries not to. If he thinks about it, he'll think about: his father, his family, Kalim's father, Kalim's family, the weight of the Al-Asim name, Scarabia and the overblot and all that revealed about himself to himself, his promise to himself to be better and not hold himself back anymore, the fact he doesn't quite know what better is, everything, everything, everything.
And then Kalim, melting into his kiss the moment Jamil's feelings start to spiral, pulling him back into the moment. Jamil makes a noise, his hand fisting in Kalim's hair, leaning into the kiss, pushing forward into the kiss. Just as hungry, just as devouring. If Kalim wouldn't demand, that's fine, he'd demand for the both of them.
Jamil's other hand, loose around Kalim's waist. He doesn't think anything of it. He's used to Kalim touching him all the time. (And it's a strange paradox, being simultaneously touch starved and being so numb to being touched that he doesn't think anything of it: being touched by Kalim is the background radiation of his life, a thousand hugs bleeding together like watercolors. Being touched with meaning is different.)
And as he hears himself make a sound that was a...gaspy, surprised sound, Jamil pulls away just enough to break the kiss. Not too far. Barely any distance between them, but just enough because he could feel some tightly wound part of himself begin to unravel with that noise.
He still finds himself staring at Kalim's lips, breathing a little too heavily.]
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And then Kalim, melting into his kiss the moment Jamil's feelings start to spiral, pulling him back into the moment. Jamil makes a noise, his hand fisting in Kalim's hair, leaning into the kiss, pushing forward into the kiss. Just as hungry, just as devouring. If Kalim wouldn't demand, that's fine, he'd demand for the both of them.
Jamil's other hand, loose around Kalim's waist. He doesn't think anything of it. He's used to Kalim touching him all the time. (And it's a strange paradox, being simultaneously touch starved and being so numb to being touched that he doesn't think anything of it: being touched by Kalim is the background radiation of his life, a thousand hugs bleeding together like watercolors. Being touched with meaning is different.)
And as he hears himself make a sound that was a...gaspy, surprised sound, Jamil pulls away just enough to break the kiss. Not too far. Barely any distance between them, but just enough because he could feel some tightly wound part of himself begin to unravel with that noise.
He still finds himself staring at Kalim's lips, breathing a little too heavily.]