Weren't a lot of the ruins back home just tombs? What if there's a secret passageway somewhere? Like we have to find the right floor tile to trigger the trap door to the staircase, and we'll find a genie lamp if we follow it down far enough! But if we hit the wrong floor tile, it'll trigger a trap and we'll narrowly avoid plunging to our deaths when Carpet darts out last second to save the day...
[ Kalim is hopping onto likely-looking floor tiles anyway. ]
You have terrible reception out here.
[ While they're pointing out the obvious, might as well throw that one out there. Why is Kalim pulling his own phone out to check his reception? They're on the same plan, it's not like his signal will magically be better. ]
Wow, this really is the middle of nowhere, huh? Do you think you're going to have any luck loading that?
[ That is an extraordinarily polite way of expressing doubt, in case Jamil was having any difficulty reading it as such. ]
Why don't you show me instead? We've both done enough dance and choreo! I'll pick it up in no time!
[And there it was, just for a second, a slight twitch of Jamil's lips as he listens to Kalim...and then it was tempered to a thoughtful frown. And then it became an actual frown. Not angry, just thoughtful, because if this was a replication of a tomb (plausible...likely, even, as Kalim was right: a lot of the ruins were tombs and this looked like much the same as those tombs) from the Scalding Sands, how far did the replication go?
Or to put it another way, if this was a fake tomb, were there...fake bones buried deep within this fake tomb?]
...
[Yeah, okay, he's not going to think about that.]
Me showing you would require me knowing how to do the dance in the first place. I only watched a video a few times.
[He says, while putting away his phone and looking around for- ah. Well. Sticks aren't exactly the most glamorous replacement for fans on fire, but they're in the middle of nowhere and don't have much besides their magical pens, and their dorm uniforms, and Carpet to work with.]
The idea is that we'd be dancing while holding something on fire. I've seen dancers with fans, knives, or a version in which the dancers hold a-
[Fuck, he's blanking on the name of the...things. Fire thing on fire attached to chain that person holds things.]
Lanterns on fire, I suppose, connected by chains - the dancer holds the chain and spins the lantern around them. [Not knowing the name of it is going to bother him, because he's supposed to provide excellence and yet here he is, badly describing the thing.] You know the thing I'm talking about, correct? Well, it probably doesn't matter if you don't, as fans would be the easiest for us to manage given the circumstances.
[ Kalim's many siblings have just as many hobbies. He can only summon the term from his recollection by virtue of how often he'd whacked himself in the face when his sister tried to teach him. Thankfully, the things weren't on fire at the time, or he might be a tad less good-natured about it. Maybe. His penchant for forgiveness is seemingly limitless. ]
Let's not do the poi one. But flaming swords sounds fun! We don't even need a video for that. We can just choreograph it ourselves and set the swords on fire when we've got it worked out.
I'm excited! I didn't think we'd get to dance together tonight! This was a great idea, Jamil!
[...there was a great deal wrong with what Kalim had just said, so much wrong, so many wrong things, a mountain of wrong things. Jamil didn't even know where to begin with Kalim's ocean of wrong things that he had just said.]
Of course. Did you really think I would come out into the middle of the desert with you if I couldn't think of a way for us to dance together?
[All of this was said with the airy self confidence of a boy who didn't accidentally reveal that he might have maybe kind of wanted to possibly dance with Kalim and explicitly went out into the middle of nowhere with him just to maybe be alone with him for a while, and also with the breezy self confidence of a boy who wasn't turning away to find more sticks to use as 'swords' so Kalim couldn't see the ever so slight blush which may or may not exist on his face. But Jamil could feel it. Even if he wasn't actually flushed, he could feel himself wanting to blush, and Schrodinger's Blush was worse than actually knowing he was blushing.
So, instead, a distraction.]
If this is a replica of a tomb, how much do you think they took the time to copy?
He'd probably have an answer for Jamil's second question, if the first hadn't shorted out his brain altogether. It's not what Jamil meant, he knows. It can't be. But he's making it sound like the sole purpose of this outing was -- truly -- to dance with one another. And as soon as the suggestion is made, Kalim is envisioning it; spinning one another around his stage, kicking up sand in their path like a pair of dervishes, changing the lead every other turn, and drawing closer, closer, closer--
Replica of a tomb. Right. Get it together, Kalim! ]
I must've stepped on at least half these tiles, and I haven't triggered a trap or a door. So probably not much! Unless the entrance is somewhere else? Mm... Where do they usually put tomb doors?
[...okay, Jamil feels composed, he feels like he can face Kalim without feeling the visceral need to slither into the nearest shadows and hide, he found a decent sized stick that could be a decent enough sword (at least for the sake of choreography), and Kalim bit upon the subject change and they could segue away from why they're in this desert together.]
Not really?
[He turns, and offers the large stick for Kalim's consideration. Decently sword-like? No? The balance is wrong but they still need things of the right length to practice with.]
I think we've been to a tomb once or twice, but it isn't as if there was any reason for us to linger near one. As kids, there were always better places for us to play.
[ There must have been other ruins they played around as well, but there was never much reason for them to leave the house outside of special occasions. It truly would have been few and far between; even less reason for Kalim to remember them. (And it's natural to second-guess gaps in his own recollection after the ordeal over winter break, but the less said of that, the better.)
Kalim takes the stick and turns it over in his hand a few times, gauging the weight. It doesn't feel like a sword at all. They've practiced sword fighting, mostly out of formality, and even their wooden practice swords were more expertly balanced than this. But beggars can't be choosy. ]
Are we actually sparring with the swords, or are they more like props?
[He hadn't actually gotten that far in figuring out this hypothetical fire show sword dance, and choreography would be a challenge, and if they wanted to dance to music they'd have to use whatever songs they had downloaded to their respective phones and hope for the best.
Still, there was only one answer to that.]
Props.
[Obviously, and in case Kalim didn't get why?]
They'll be on fire, otherwise this won't be much of a fire show. I'm not letting you hit me with anything on fire, nor am I going to try hitting you with something on fire while hoping you dodge like we practiced.
But Mirah told me that if you're practicing good fire safety, it won't matter too too much if the flame touches you for a moment. So don't worry too much! Plus, if one of us catches fire, I can put us out.
[ But an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of whatever, so Kalim twirls his stick at his side -- wide circles with a twist of his wrist -- while he mentally paces out some choreo. ]
[The choices are limited. His signal's shit and he doesn't have a lot of playlists downloaded to his phone. He tries a few songs. There's a bit of what sounds like hip-hop, a bit of angry death metal maybe...? Jamil's eyes widened and his nose wrinkled as he saw, of all things, the Twisted Wonderland's equivalent to Taylor Swift's latest hit on his phone. He doesn't play that. He just is going to wonder who's responsible for that. Najma? Ace trying to pull some kind of esoteric prank?
He settles on some inoffensive Bollywoodesque dance music with an inoffensive beat, something neutral that...doesn't say much about who Jamil is as a person, something easy to choreograph to, and easy to switch out.]
Oh! I like this one! I memorized the dance for this scene!
[ Inoffensive, sure, if one neglects to consider the context of the film scene it's taken from. It was a popular film a few years ago in the Sands, and this was the climax. The leading man confesses his love to the heroine in the middle of a crowded shopping plaza, so of course it inspired a slew of flash mobs, and the choreo was easy enough to follow.
For a moment, Kalim forgets about the fire show (and the stick in his hand). ]
Do you remember all those Magicam clips of people dancing to it in the Camel Bazaar?
[ Kalim shuffles through the first few steps of the choreo. ]
And then it was like--
[ Kalim sidles up to slip an arm around Jamil's waist. Absolutely not intentional; he's only emulating the film. Ahem. ]
Of course I remember. I got caught up in one of those mobs.
[And not by choice. He was just there, it happened, he got swept up into it.
Jamil also might be continuing the choreo, dancing the heroine's part, because, unfortunately, his relationship to Kalim is such that Kalim could start dancing a tango, a square dance, a waltz, and he's compelled to dance with him. This is more of the same.
...don't ask him how he knows the part or why he's going along with it in general or why he's not flipping the script or why he's not forcing them into something else just yet. The second Kalim falters, he will. Until then, they're dancing this stupid scene the whole way through.]
I once had a nightmare about this scene. Or, rather, the flash mobs that came about because of this scene. We were in the Camel Bazaar, shopping for some fruit. The vendors started dancing, then, the tourists started dancing, one thing led to another, and I had to take you and dive into one of the canals to escape. Downright silly.
If that really had happened you'd just get them all to dance with you, one way or another.
[ Kalim laughs. Full, warm, stretching the entire breadth of the ruins and out into the night air. He laughs in that unfettered way that he can only manage with Jamil, grinning so widely he can barely see, and winds Jamil closer through the first turn in the dance. ]
Everyone would have to join in! There'd be no escape for anyone, not even you.
[ It doesn't sound like a threat. Not when Kalim has his hand on Jamil's lower back through a twirl, and certainly not when he leans into a small dip. One they quickly come out of in favor of a shuffle.
It's easy to focus on the choreography, easier still to laugh about what Jamil calls a nightmare and Kalim calls a dream. Better than focusing on how sweetly the warmth blooms in his chest when they touch, or how expertly they move around each other -- with each other -- the boon of a lifetime of dancing hand in hand and knowing one another like no one else ever will. Dancing comes to them as naturally as breathing, and it's the one time when everything feels right, no matter what else is transpiring outside of whatever they've chosen as their dancefloor. ]
We should do this every night! We used to. Why don't we anymore?
[There were a lot of answers he could give to that question. Some bitter. Some tired. Some that would deflate the mood like a needle to a balloon, swift and effective, he had plenty of those, sour answers that pointed out their respective stations in life, their positions.
But...Kalim knew those now, at least he hoped. Kalim seemed to know. There was no reason to rub his nose in those truths unless he wanted to be cruel, and, as Kalim had yet to falter, Jamil didn't feel like being cruel. No. As long as Kalim was steadfast and moved with conviction, he'd be steadfast with him.
Jamil felt like being honest.
So, he rolled around the question in his head as they danced like they knew each other, truly understood each other, Kalim's hand right where it was supposed to be when the music demanded it, Jamil twisting to meet Kalim's footsteps, and finally came at the most basic, elemental, blunt truth, something even Kalim couldn't deny.]
We get a lot of homework.
[And other types of work too, but mostly the homework and surprise exams are a big deal, and those cut into dancing hours.
What.
Look, it's the most elemental, undeniable truth that won't destroy the mood, okay.]
[ It is true, and that's precisely why Kalim bursts into laughter. ]
Is that why! What a tricky way to get me to study.
[ The song winds down to the finale, a few dramatic turns, arms wound tighter and tighter around one another while Kalim's hands slide up to Jamil's shoulders. This scene won some kind of teen choice award for best kiss, and Kalim does remember that. Vaguely. But it's nestled so comfortably in the back of his mind, it doesn't even occur to him until their foreheads are pressed together, and then--
Then the song ends. And Kalim is frozen, so close he can taste Jamil's breath on his lips. It's a razor's edge, this thread of tension thrumming between them; the slightest shift could cut them to the quick, or else send them falling. For the life of him, Kalim can't imagine which he'd rather. ]
[They dance, a few dramatic turns, arms moving tighter and tighter around each other, the world and the music further and further away from Jamil's notice. The only thing he notices is, as always, Kalim. If Kalim was the sun he would be his moon. If Kalim was the moon, he'd be the ocean, his restless tides at the mercy of Kalim's whims. If Jamil tried to fly away (and he knew that he had, and that he would, again and again) he'd still find himself always returning to Kalim's side at the end. Again and again.
They danced, they drew closer and closer together, Kalim's hands sliding up to his shoulders, foreheads pressed together, he could almost taste Kalim's breath on his lips, and then-
And then Kalim faltered, in the end.
Jamil smiles, one of those merciless ones that- no, not like that. Not cruel, not exactly, but Kalim faltered, which meant that it was his turn to take the lead and make Kalim fight for it.]
You didn't forget how this dance ended, did you?
[Here he is, ignoring the question about choreography.]
[ But Jamil has to be the one to do it. Jamil has to initiate. It still feels wrong otherwise, like Kalim is taking advantage of something that Jamil never wanted in the first place. Again.
There are no crickets in the Scalding Sands. At night, it's startlingly quiet; only whistling wind and a gentle rustle of the shifting sand. Quiet. Serene, in a way. But that's why this silence between them seems to stretch on for ages. And here, again, Kalim is confronted by an unfortunate truth about himself:
He's not fearless. He's not careless. What he fears and cares about -- above all else -- is never doing anything to drive Jamil away again. And yet here's the sinking suspicion that he's building a wall between them through inaction instead.
Kalim's hands are soft, smooth as the silks that clothe him, and when he reaches up to stroke Jamil's cheek -- fingertips playing across his cheek bone, thumbpad brushing over his lips -- Jamil might catch the faint scent of jasmine between them. ]
[Kalim is smooth and soft and inviting, as his fingertips brush his lips Jamil inhales - sharp, crisp, it feels like a shout for how quiet the desert is around them - and there's a part of him that wants nothing more than to take the moment and dive into it. But, at the same time, it doesn't feel like it's his moment, it's Kalim's moment, extended.
Jamil smells jasmine. He brushes a bit of hair from Kalim's forehead - it isn't as if he has much of anything to brush away, it's touching for the sake of touching. The night is still, and they've never done anything right, ever, not unless-
-and he takes Kalim's hand and pulls him into another dance, a simple box-step waltz, at least at first, him counting out the steps until Kalim knows well enough to follow as there's no music, just instinct and Jamil's voice, counting-]
One, two three, one, two, three-
[And once he's confident in Kalim following his lead.]
I think you forgot. I only remembered because Najma was excited when it that one award. Some teen's choice award?
[ Kalim doesn't falter though. He's every bit as willing to follow as he is to lead, and just as adept. Leading, following; they each fall into step just as well, as long as they're dancing with one another. It never seems to come as naturally with anyone else. And given that Jamil snatched the lead up as quickly as Kalim dropped it? That says something too. Something about balance, two halves of a whole, completeness...
There's no attempt made to make headway toward their actual objective, and Jamil doesn't seem to care. Which is good. Unusual, but good. Kalim can't quite wrap his head around why that may be, because assuming that Jamil simply wants to dance with him is too good to be true.
So it's easier to focus on the rhythm, on Jamil's voice. One-two, three. Easier to focus on his the arm around his waist and the hand in his hand. Easier to believe this is practice. One-two, three. Because that's all it's ever been to Jamil, isn't it? Not leisure. Not pleasure.
Kalim doesn't try to take back the lead. But he adjusts his footwork to wind them closer. Waltzing is too far a distance when they'd been a breath away from kissing only moments ago, and Kalim can't bear it. ]
[Oh, Jamil says, in a sharper, more...interested way, in the same way that a predator might be interested in noticing that his prey had just let down his guard and seemed to be in no hurry to raise it again. That sort of interest. If he was a beastman, something canine or feline, perhaps, his ears would be pricked forward, interested, focused.
Jamil's a human, not a beastman: his ears remained where they were. He just politely waltzed, letting Kalim pull closer, leading them through turns as they danced.]
Maybe you're right. [Hmm. Look at him thoughtfully thinking about this, hmmmmm.] That said, I don't particularly remember the specifics; I remember the dance, and I remember some of the songs, and I remember Najma talking to me about the movie. If you want us to do better, Kalim, you'll have to refresh me on what happened. What was their kiss like?
[ That's the thing about cinematic kisses. They're for entertainment. They lack sincerity. ]
But the actors had good chemistry. Their characters were written really well, so you were rooting for them the entire film. So I think it was more about that, you know? It was the payoff of a really satisfying lead-up.
[ One-two, three. Maybe they'd already outlived the climax of their story, though. This has all been so alien since Jamil's overblot. Hot and cold, shades of grey that never existed before. Kalim is familiar with some parts, and others are strange to him. One-two, three.
Case in point, Kalim can't wrap his head around why Jamil is asking. Sometimes he just can't read between the lines. What was their kiss like? Why does he want to know? ]
But at the end of the song, he lifted her up. He was holding her legs so that her head was a little higher than his, and then she leaned down to kiss him while he still held her. And there were flower petals everywhere.
[He adds in a few more turns, a slip pivot, a natural turn, as they are dancers, yes? They can do more than just a box step in place. Nothing too elaborate, just enough to keep the movement flowing between them.]
Well, it does make sense. A movie is a story, stories consist of more than just one moment. Moments are memorable not just for what happens in that moment, but for what leads up to it and what follows afterwards.
[They danced to no music, and it's quiet and the air is sharp - not unpleasantly so, but it had a sharpness to it that made Jamil feel like he could do anything - and they're dancing atop a tomb. A replica of one, but still a tomb. And Jamil huffs, not quite a laugh, an amused noise.]
I have no flowers. I probably should have put on a new song. And I don't feel like lifting you up, so we won't be doing better than them tonight, Kalim.
[But he still kisses him. Jamil still pulls Kalim in close, and kisses him, soft but insistent, a little demanding, his bracelets cool against the nape of Kalim's neck as he holds him there and he kisses him. His fingers lightly trace Kalim's skin and he kisses him. It's not for entertainment, and whether or not it's sincere is only something Kalim can judge. But it's not short.]
[ It's almost poetic, the way Jamil talks about moments and what follows afterwards. Like he's weaving symmetry out of Kalim's disjointed and mismatched thoughts, like he's pulling them out of Kalim's head and making perfect sense of them. Maybe that shouldn't surprise Kalim. They've known each other all their lives, grown together. It stands to reason that Jamil should read his mind.
The kiss, however? That surprises Kalim.
Kissing is like dancing for them. It comes more and more naturally every time it happens, and now -- perhaps simply because it's in the wake of dancing -- it's flowing in a way it never has before. Kalim melts to it without question, all-in the moment Jamil's lips are upon him. Undemanding but hungry, pulling at Jamil's mouth with lips and teeth and tongue. It could be called devouring. And now that Jamil's started this, he'll have to be the one to end it too. ]
[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.]
[ It feels like threads are weaving tightly between them, tangling and twisting until they're bound to snap. It builds and builds, curls into Kalim's soul just as surely as Jamil's fingers in his hair, and Kalim swears he's going to fall. Vertigo. Like standing on the edge of a fathomless cliff and knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that he's just about to plummet.
Kalim's hands scramble to find the front of Jamil's shirt. His fingers slip beneath the sleeves, rings cool against the bare skin of Jamil's collarbone. And softly, faintly, there's an answering whimper on Kalim's lips, just as Jamil eases away. Why did he stop? Why is he--
Jamil looks terrified. That's the only thing Kalim can make out when his eyes flutter open again. Terrified, and maybe -- just a little bit -- like he wants to destroy Kalim, and he hasn't quite decided on the best way to do it. Kalim's smile is soft, and his gaze is impossibly warm. His hands drift up to cradle Jamil's jaw, thumbpads softly brushing his cheekbones, coaxing him to look up, look at Kalim, see him eye-to-eye. ]
It's all right. [ The words are a ghosting breath over Jamil's lips, warm and hushed. ] You can keep going.
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no subject
[ Kalim is hopping onto likely-looking floor tiles anyway. ]
You have terrible reception out here.
[ While they're pointing out the obvious, might as well throw that one out there. Why is Kalim pulling his own phone out to check his reception? They're on the same plan, it's not like his signal will magically be better. ]
Wow, this really is the middle of nowhere, huh? Do you think you're going to have any luck loading that?
[ That is an extraordinarily polite way of expressing doubt, in case Jamil was having any difficulty reading it as such. ]
Why don't you show me instead? We've both done enough dance and choreo! I'll pick it up in no time!
no subject
Or to put it another way, if this was a fake tomb, were there...fake bones buried deep within this fake tomb?]
...
[Yeah, okay, he's not going to think about that.]
Me showing you would require me knowing how to do the dance in the first place. I only watched a video a few times.
[He says, while putting away his phone and looking around for- ah. Well. Sticks aren't exactly the most glamorous replacement for fans on fire, but they're in the middle of nowhere and don't have much besides their magical pens, and their dorm uniforms, and Carpet to work with.]
The idea is that we'd be dancing while holding something on fire. I've seen dancers with fans, knives, or a version in which the dancers hold a-
[Fuck, he's blanking on the name of the...things. Fire thing on fire attached to chain that person holds things.]
Lanterns on fire, I suppose, connected by chains - the dancer holds the chain and spins the lantern around them. [Not knowing the name of it is going to bother him, because he's supposed to provide excellence and yet here he is, badly describing the thing.] You know the thing I'm talking about, correct? Well, it probably doesn't matter if you don't, as fans would be the easiest for us to manage given the circumstances.
no subject
[ Kalim's many siblings have just as many hobbies. He can only summon the term from his recollection by virtue of how often he'd whacked himself in the face when his sister tried to teach him. Thankfully, the things weren't on fire at the time, or he might be a tad less good-natured about it. Maybe. His penchant for forgiveness is seemingly limitless. ]
Let's not do the poi one. But flaming swords sounds fun! We don't even need a video for that. We can just choreograph it ourselves and set the swords on fire when we've got it worked out.
I'm excited! I didn't think we'd get to dance together tonight! This was a great idea, Jamil!
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Of course. Did you really think I would come out into the middle of the desert with you if I couldn't think of a way for us to dance together?
[All of this was said with the airy self confidence of a boy who didn't accidentally reveal that he might have maybe kind of wanted to possibly dance with Kalim and explicitly went out into the middle of nowhere with him just to maybe be alone with him for a while, and also with the breezy self confidence of a boy who wasn't turning away to find more sticks to use as 'swords' so Kalim couldn't see the ever so slight blush which may or may not exist on his face. But Jamil could feel it. Even if he wasn't actually flushed, he could feel himself wanting to blush, and Schrodinger's Blush was worse than actually knowing he was blushing.
So, instead, a distraction.]
If this is a replica of a tomb, how much do you think they took the time to copy?
no subject
He'd probably have an answer for Jamil's second question, if the first hadn't shorted out his brain altogether. It's not what Jamil meant, he knows. It can't be. But he's making it sound like the sole purpose of this outing was -- truly -- to dance with one another. And as soon as the suggestion is made, Kalim is envisioning it; spinning one another around his stage, kicking up sand in their path like a pair of dervishes, changing the lead every other turn, and drawing closer, closer, closer--
Replica of a tomb. Right. Get it together, Kalim! ]
I must've stepped on at least half these tiles, and I haven't triggered a trap or a door. So probably not much! Unless the entrance is somewhere else? Mm... Where do they usually put tomb doors?
[ Kalim squints up at the stars. ]
Jamil, have we ever even been to a tomb?
no subject
Not really?
[He turns, and offers the large stick for Kalim's consideration. Decently sword-like? No? The balance is wrong but they still need things of the right length to practice with.]
I think we've been to a tomb once or twice, but it isn't as if there was any reason for us to linger near one. As kids, there were always better places for us to play.
no subject
[ There must have been other ruins they played around as well, but there was never much reason for them to leave the house outside of special occasions. It truly would have been few and far between; even less reason for Kalim to remember them. (And it's natural to second-guess gaps in his own recollection after the ordeal over winter break, but the less said of that, the better.)
Kalim takes the stick and turns it over in his hand a few times, gauging the weight. It doesn't feel like a sword at all. They've practiced sword fighting, mostly out of formality, and even their wooden practice swords were more expertly balanced than this. But beggars can't be choosy. ]
Are we actually sparring with the swords, or are they more like props?
no subject
Still, there was only one answer to that.]
Props.
[Obviously, and in case Kalim didn't get why?]
They'll be on fire, otherwise this won't be much of a fire show. I'm not letting you hit me with anything on fire, nor am I going to try hitting you with something on fire while hoping you dodge like we practiced.
no subject
[ And yet-- ]
But Mirah told me that if you're practicing good fire safety, it won't matter too too much if the flame touches you for a moment. So don't worry too much! Plus, if one of us catches fire, I can put us out.
[ But an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of whatever, so Kalim twirls his stick at his side -- wide circles with a twist of his wrist -- while he mentally paces out some choreo. ]
We need music! You pick something, please.
no subject
He settles on some inoffensive Bollywoodesque dance music with an inoffensive beat, something neutral that...doesn't say much about who Jamil is as a person, something easy to choreograph to, and easy to switch out.]
There. [Nice and neutral and plain. Average.]
no subject
[ Inoffensive, sure, if one neglects to consider the context of the film scene it's taken from. It was a popular film a few years ago in the Sands, and this was the climax. The leading man confesses his love to the heroine in the middle of a crowded shopping plaza, so of course it inspired a slew of flash mobs, and the choreo was easy enough to follow.
For a moment, Kalim forgets about the fire show (and the stick in his hand). ]
Do you remember all those Magicam clips of people dancing to it in the Camel Bazaar?
[ Kalim shuffles through the first few steps of the choreo. ]
And then it was like--
[ Kalim sidles up to slip an arm around Jamil's waist. Absolutely not intentional; he's only emulating the film. Ahem. ]
Right?
no subject
[And not by choice. He was just there, it happened, he got swept up into it.
Jamil also might be continuing the choreo, dancing the heroine's part, because, unfortunately, his relationship to Kalim is such that Kalim could start dancing a tango, a square dance, a waltz, and he's compelled to dance with him. This is more of the same.
...don't ask him how he knows the part or why he's going along with it in general or why he's not flipping the script or why he's not forcing them into something else just yet. The second Kalim falters, he will. Until then, they're dancing this stupid scene the whole way through.]
I once had a nightmare about this scene. Or, rather, the flash mobs that came about because of this scene. We were in the Camel Bazaar, shopping for some fruit. The vendors started dancing, then, the tourists started dancing, one thing led to another, and I had to take you and dive into one of the canals to escape. Downright silly.
If that really had happened you'd just get them all to dance with you, one way or another.
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Everyone would have to join in! There'd be no escape for anyone, not even you.
[ It doesn't sound like a threat. Not when Kalim has his hand on Jamil's lower back through a twirl, and certainly not when he leans into a small dip. One they quickly come out of in favor of a shuffle.
It's easy to focus on the choreography, easier still to laugh about what Jamil calls a nightmare and Kalim calls a dream. Better than focusing on how sweetly the warmth blooms in his chest when they touch, or how expertly they move around each other -- with each other -- the boon of a lifetime of dancing hand in hand and knowing one another like no one else ever will. Dancing comes to them as naturally as breathing, and it's the one time when everything feels right, no matter what else is transpiring outside of whatever they've chosen as their dancefloor. ]
We should do this every night! We used to. Why don't we anymore?
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But...Kalim knew those now, at least he hoped. Kalim seemed to know. There was no reason to rub his nose in those truths unless he wanted to be cruel, and, as Kalim had yet to falter, Jamil didn't feel like being cruel. No. As long as Kalim was steadfast and moved with conviction, he'd be steadfast with him.
Jamil felt like being honest.
So, he rolled around the question in his head as they danced like they knew each other, truly understood each other, Kalim's hand right where it was supposed to be when the music demanded it, Jamil twisting to meet Kalim's footsteps, and finally came at the most basic, elemental, blunt truth, something even Kalim couldn't deny.]
We get a lot of homework.
[And other types of work too, but mostly the homework and surprise exams are a big deal, and those cut into dancing hours.
What.
Look, it's the most elemental, undeniable truth that won't destroy the mood, okay.]
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Is that why! What a tricky way to get me to study.
[ The song winds down to the finale, a few dramatic turns, arms wound tighter and tighter around one another while Kalim's hands slide up to Jamil's shoulders. This scene won some kind of teen choice award for best kiss, and Kalim does remember that. Vaguely. But it's nestled so comfortably in the back of his mind, it doesn't even occur to him until their foreheads are pressed together, and then--
Then the song ends. And Kalim is frozen, so close he can taste Jamil's breath on his lips. It's a razor's edge, this thread of tension thrumming between them; the slightest shift could cut them to the quick, or else send them falling. For the life of him, Kalim can't imagine which he'd rather. ]
We didn't choreograph anything at all, did we?
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They danced, they drew closer and closer together, Kalim's hands sliding up to his shoulders, foreheads pressed together, he could almost taste Kalim's breath on his lips, and then-
And then Kalim faltered, in the end.
Jamil smiles, one of those merciless ones that- no, not like that. Not cruel, not exactly, but Kalim faltered, which meant that it was his turn to take the lead and make Kalim fight for it.]
You didn't forget how this dance ended, did you?
[Here he is, ignoring the question about choreography.]
I didn't.
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[ But Jamil has to be the one to do it. Jamil has to initiate. It still feels wrong otherwise, like Kalim is taking advantage of something that Jamil never wanted in the first place. Again.
There are no crickets in the Scalding Sands. At night, it's startlingly quiet; only whistling wind and a gentle rustle of the shifting sand. Quiet. Serene, in a way. But that's why this silence between them seems to stretch on for ages. And here, again, Kalim is confronted by an unfortunate truth about himself:
He's not fearless. He's not careless. What he fears and cares about -- above all else -- is never doing anything to drive Jamil away again. And yet here's the sinking suspicion that he's building a wall between them through inaction instead.
Kalim's hands are soft, smooth as the silks that clothe him, and when he reaches up to stroke Jamil's cheek -- fingertips playing across his cheek bone, thumbpad brushing over his lips -- Jamil might catch the faint scent of jasmine between them. ]
Maybe you'd better finish it off.
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Jamil smells jasmine. He brushes a bit of hair from Kalim's forehead - it isn't as if he has much of anything to brush away, it's touching for the sake of touching. The night is still, and they've never done anything right, ever, not unless-
-and he takes Kalim's hand and pulls him into another dance, a simple box-step waltz, at least at first, him counting out the steps until Kalim knows well enough to follow as there's no music, just instinct and Jamil's voice, counting-]
One, two three, one, two, three-
[And once he's confident in Kalim following his lead.]
I think you forgot. I only remembered because Najma was excited when it that one award. Some teen's choice award?
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[ Kalim doesn't falter though. He's every bit as willing to follow as he is to lead, and just as adept. Leading, following; they each fall into step just as well, as long as they're dancing with one another. It never seems to come as naturally with anyone else. And given that Jamil snatched the lead up as quickly as Kalim dropped it? That says something too. Something about balance, two halves of a whole, completeness...
There's no attempt made to make headway toward their actual objective, and Jamil doesn't seem to care. Which is good. Unusual, but good. Kalim can't quite wrap his head around why that may be, because assuming that Jamil simply wants to dance with him is too good to be true.
So it's easier to focus on the rhythm, on Jamil's voice. One-two, three. Easier to focus on his the arm around his waist and the hand in his hand. Easier to believe this is practice. One-two, three. Because that's all it's ever been to Jamil, isn't it? Not leisure. Not pleasure.
Kalim doesn't try to take back the lead. But he adjusts his footwork to wind them closer. Waltzing is too far a distance when they'd been a breath away from kissing only moments ago, and Kalim can't bear it. ]
I bet we could give them a run for their money.
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[Oh, Jamil says, in a sharper, more...interested way, in the same way that a predator might be interested in noticing that his prey had just let down his guard and seemed to be in no hurry to raise it again. That sort of interest. If he was a beastman, something canine or feline, perhaps, his ears would be pricked forward, interested, focused.
Jamil's a human, not a beastman: his ears remained where they were. He just politely waltzed, letting Kalim pull closer, leading them through turns as they danced.]
Maybe you're right. [Hmm. Look at him thoughtfully thinking about this, hmmmmm.] That said, I don't particularly remember the specifics; I remember the dance, and I remember some of the songs, and I remember Najma talking to me about the movie. If you want us to do better, Kalim, you'll have to refresh me on what happened. What was their kiss like?
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[ That's the thing about cinematic kisses. They're for entertainment. They lack sincerity. ]
But the actors had good chemistry. Their characters were written really well, so you were rooting for them the entire film. So I think it was more about that, you know? It was the payoff of a really satisfying lead-up.
[ One-two, three. Maybe they'd already outlived the climax of their story, though. This has all been so alien since Jamil's overblot. Hot and cold, shades of grey that never existed before. Kalim is familiar with some parts, and others are strange to him. One-two, three.
Case in point, Kalim can't wrap his head around why Jamil is asking. Sometimes he just can't read between the lines. What was their kiss like? Why does he want to know? ]
But at the end of the song, he lifted her up. He was holding her legs so that her head was a little higher than his, and then she leaned down to kiss him while he still held her. And there were flower petals everywhere.
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Well, it does make sense. A movie is a story, stories consist of more than just one moment. Moments are memorable not just for what happens in that moment, but for what leads up to it and what follows afterwards.
[They danced to no music, and it's quiet and the air is sharp - not unpleasantly so, but it had a sharpness to it that made Jamil feel like he could do anything - and they're dancing atop a tomb. A replica of one, but still a tomb. And Jamil huffs, not quite a laugh, an amused noise.]
I have no flowers. I probably should have put on a new song. And I don't feel like lifting you up, so we won't be doing better than them tonight, Kalim.
[But he still kisses him. Jamil still pulls Kalim in close, and kisses him, soft but insistent, a little demanding, his bracelets cool against the nape of Kalim's neck as he holds him there and he kisses him. His fingers lightly trace Kalim's skin and he kisses him. It's not for entertainment, and whether or not it's sincere is only something Kalim can judge. But it's not short.]
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The kiss, however? That surprises Kalim.
Kissing is like dancing for them. It comes more and more naturally every time it happens, and now -- perhaps simply because it's in the wake of dancing -- it's flowing in a way it never has before. Kalim melts to it without question, all-in the moment Jamil's lips are upon him. Undemanding but hungry, pulling at Jamil's mouth with lips and teeth and tongue. It could be called devouring. And now that Jamil's started this, he'll have to be the one to end it too. ]
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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.]
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Kalim's hands scramble to find the front of Jamil's shirt. His fingers slip beneath the sleeves, rings cool against the bare skin of Jamil's collarbone. And softly, faintly, there's an answering whimper on Kalim's lips, just as Jamil eases away. Why did he stop? Why is he--
Jamil looks terrified. That's the only thing Kalim can make out when his eyes flutter open again. Terrified, and maybe -- just a little bit -- like he wants to destroy Kalim, and he hasn't quite decided on the best way to do it. Kalim's smile is soft, and his gaze is impossibly warm. His hands drift up to cradle Jamil's jaw, thumbpads softly brushing his cheekbones, coaxing him to look up, look at Kalim, see him eye-to-eye. ]
It's all right. [ The words are a ghosting breath over Jamil's lips, warm and hushed. ] You can keep going.
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