[This is different, and he's not so in denial that he can pretend otherwise. There's no way for him to pretend like this isn't different. Kalim never touched him like he was...he was...
He wasn't going to think about it. Jamil wasn't going to think about where Kalim was touching him, how Kalim was touching him, or why Kalim might want to touch him. He wasn't going to think about how Kalim thought he had sounded nice, and, worse, said just as much. He wasn't going to think about if he was going to make more noises like that, or when, or how Kalim might force them out of it, or if he wanted to say Kalim's name again, or say it again just like that.
Jamil wasn't going to think about what noises he could make Kalim make in return, the sorts of sounds he might conjure from his...whatever Kalim was to him. He wasn't going to think about any of that. He wasn't. He absolutely was not.
Instead of thinking about any of that, and he's not going to think, he's not going to think about what it might mean and what he wants, Jamil isn't going to think about it- instead. Instead, he half turns towards Kalim.]
Kalim.
[A bit firmer. Less plaintive. More decisive. (Not much, but more. Less tenuous.) He inhales, like he's about to do something drastic, and then- dark eyes watchful. Very watchful. Calm. (Not really; it's the same stillness of the ocean, with currents raging below.) And then-
Very slowly.
Jamil takes his hand and slides it under Kalim's shirt, and Kalim might notice the point in which Jamil's dark, calm eyes seem to light up and he inhales, as he realizes something, and it is this: Jamil actually finds that he...
...really...
...likes touching Kalim Al-Asim, and not just out of duty, this is nowhere near duty.]
no subject
He wasn't going to think about it. Jamil wasn't going to think about where Kalim was touching him, how Kalim was touching him, or why Kalim might want to touch him. He wasn't going to think about how Kalim thought he had sounded nice, and, worse, said just as much. He wasn't going to think about if he was going to make more noises like that, or when, or how Kalim might force them out of it, or if he wanted to say Kalim's name again, or say it again just like that.
Jamil wasn't going to think about what noises he could make Kalim make in return, the sorts of sounds he might conjure from his...whatever Kalim was to him. He wasn't going to think about any of that. He wasn't. He absolutely was not.
Instead of thinking about any of that, and he's not going to think, he's not going to think about what it might mean and what he wants, Jamil isn't going to think about it- instead. Instead, he half turns towards Kalim.]
Kalim.
[A bit firmer. Less plaintive. More decisive. (Not much, but more. Less tenuous.) He inhales, like he's about to do something drastic, and then- dark eyes watchful. Very watchful. Calm. (Not really; it's the same stillness of the ocean, with currents raging below.) And then-
Very slowly.
Jamil takes his hand and slides it under Kalim's shirt, and Kalim might notice the point in which Jamil's dark, calm eyes seem to light up and he inhales, as he realizes something, and it is this: Jamil actually finds that he...
...really...
...likes touching Kalim Al-Asim, and not just out of duty, this is nowhere near duty.]