[ Touching Jamil has never been a big deal. They've touched each other since they were small. These are simply the casual everyday things that happen between them. The million-and-one little things that had to happen -- for better or for worse -- simply to maintain their positions. They touch. Naturally. And neither of them has ever been starved for it.
But Jamil takes Kalim's hand, slips it beneath his own shirt, and it hits Kalim with all the force of a raging river ready to pull him under. Jarring, if he had to put a word to it. Easy pleasure in the the face of overwhelming terror. Kalim nearly snatches his hand back, certain -- for a fraction of a second -- that he can hear the familiar whispers of hypnotic hissing, slithering unnoticed through the back of his mind.
No. That's not going to happen again. It's frustrating that Kalim has to keep reminding himself of that when of should be water under the bridge, and never mind that Jamil probably catches every nuance of the panic behind Kalim's eyes. No. This is what he wants. It's apparently what they both want. Jamil's skin is soft, smooth, warm beneath Kalim's hand. And as if of its own volition, that touch presses farther afield.
How is Kalim meant to not take a mile, when this is the glorious inch he's already been given?
Kalim's hand is warm, soft, plying. His fingers ride easy over every curve while they climb Jamil's waist, ghost over his collar bone, growing surer and firmer with each inch they explore. And softly, carefully, Kalim noses gently along Jamil's jaw, coaxing him to tip his head to the side and bear his neck for the press of Kalim's lips. ]
drama! suspense!
But Jamil takes Kalim's hand, slips it beneath his own shirt, and it hits Kalim with all the force of a raging river ready to pull him under. Jarring, if he had to put a word to it. Easy pleasure in the the face of overwhelming terror. Kalim nearly snatches his hand back, certain -- for a fraction of a second -- that he can hear the familiar whispers of hypnotic hissing, slithering unnoticed through the back of his mind.
No. That's not going to happen again. It's frustrating that Kalim has to keep reminding himself of that when of should be water under the bridge, and never mind that Jamil probably catches every nuance of the panic behind Kalim's eyes. No. This is what he wants. It's apparently what they both want. Jamil's skin is soft, smooth, warm beneath Kalim's hand. And as if of its own volition, that touch presses farther afield.
How is Kalim meant to not take a mile, when this is the glorious inch he's already been given?
Kalim's hand is warm, soft, plying. His fingers ride easy over every curve while they climb Jamil's waist, ghost over his collar bone, growing surer and firmer with each inch they explore. And softly, carefully, Kalim noses gently along Jamil's jaw, coaxing him to tip his head to the side and bear his neck for the press of Kalim's lips. ]
Hmm... It feels good, to touch you like this.