[...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.
[-and then there, there, fingers against his cheekbones, asking him to look up, stilling his thoughts. Not forcing, not demanding. A simple ask. He does.
Kalim's gaze is as warm as always, and it reminds Jamil of two things: the first, that from the moment he had been born, it had been decided that his life would revolve around Kalim's own. It was something that had made Jamil bitter, and something that would always make him bitter. It would always be something that he would resent, something that, even if he loved his parents in all other respects (and he does) he'd always hold against them. Just a little. Always, just a little.
But, the second and more important thing: that when he had the opportunity to choose, when all of his schemes were laid bare and Kalim knew just how much he resented...everything, that he had been holding things back, that he had been lying for years, when Azul had flung the doors of Octavinelle wide open and Kalim's money could make that transfer happen very easily, very quickly...he still had chosen Scarabia. Jamil still had chosen Kalim.
And this is why. Kalim could see him, terrified over a ridiculous reason. Of all the stupid reasons. Scared of something he had started. Him, someone who had said he'd never hold himself back again, scared of something he had started. And Kalim could see that, and ask him to look at him, and still look at him with warmth, all just to say that it's all right. And that he could keep going.
What does he say to that? What is he supposed to say to that?
He doesn't have the words. Instead: Jamil closes his eyes for a moment. He forces himself to breathe. He reminds himself that the world is nowhere near this place. It's just the two of them and a silent tomb, a replica of something that might not have ever existed.
Jamil opens his eyes again. He nearly nods, but, ah, they are so close. One wrong move of his head might result in him headbutting Kalim by accident, and he'd never forgive himself if he ruined the moment first by his idiot fear, and then second by headbutting Kalim Al-Asim.]
Mm.
[A soft noise.]
I know.
[And that's what terrifies him, that all of Kalim's reassurance just tells him something that, deep down, Jamil knows to be true. But he still kisses Kalim anyway, and in this kiss he pours all of his yearning. (What he yearns for he doesn't know, but Jamil knows that he wants, he wants.)]
[ It's funny, how much wanting can feel like needing when he's against Jamil's lips. Kalim never thought he was this kind of person; the kind who could go dizzy and foolish from a kiss, the kind who would trade the air he breathed for the touch on his skin. And then Jamil kissed him, touched him, and Kalim learned some hard truths about himself. Taught too well by Jamil's hand, as usual.
Kalim would give Jamil the world. Large or small; anything Jamil asks of him, Kalim would give without question. His wealth, his power, his blood, his flesh. His first and his last of everything. So long as he remains at Kalim's side, he can have the universe in his hands. He need only ask. He need only stay.
That's the plea behind Kalim's lips, consuming and desperate and plain as day to Jamil, who's always known how best to read him. Stay. Stay here against his mouth. Stay here as his aide and confidante. Stay here within his heart. And know that he possesses every part of it.
It's tempting to push for more, for deeper. It would be easy, and there's so much that he wants to touch and kiss now that the options seem available to him. A slip of his hand, a pull to bare more skin, an excuse to sink to his buckling knees. But Jamil has to lead in this. Jamil has to be the one to open each gate before Kalim will dare to flood him out. In this, he has all the power.
So Kalim only whimpers, the sound of it thick and wet between their mouths, and his hands curl back to sink into Jamil's hair, holding him fast into the devouring ruin of their kiss. ]
[There's a plea upon Kalim's lips, one that Jamil can't help but hear, but understand, but taste and touch and feel: stay. It's consuming. He doesn't know how to respond to it just yet, as he's starting to understand two things.
The first, that he needs his freedom as otherwise he'll die, metaphorically or literally. That things the way they had been would smother him, devour him, that something important would die inside of him, that he would wake up at fifty and realize that he had achieved nothing in his life if things continued the way they had been.
The second, however, is that freedom-as-he-had-envisioned-it would also kill something important inside of him. (Jamil had fantasized about it, about finally bending the knee and making a trade with Azul: something for the promise of going somewhere far away, where no one - the Al-Asims, Azul himself, even Malleus - could find him.) His fantasized idea of freedom? It would also kill him.
And so here he is, confronted by a plea, to stay, and he doesn't know how to answer it. He doesn't know what to say. Words had never been his forte, at least not when they actually mattered. He could charm and manipulate and deflect, he could bring order from chaos, but Jamil didn't know what to say when it actually mattered. Like now.
Fortunately- and it's funny, not that long ago he wouldn't have called a situation like this fortunate, but it's fortunate in this case. They're kissing. Jamil can't talk, and he doesn't want to talk. He can't answer Kalim's unvoiced plea, and he doesn't have to.
Instead, his fingers dig into Kalim's body (Later, he'd be embarrassed to remember where his left hand had ended up, but that would be later. For now, all he knows is that he wants to hold onto Kalim, fingers sinking in like he's some wild thing holding tight to his prey, and it doesn't matter if he's touching a thigh, a waist, a hip, or...something else.) Instead, he pulls Kalim close, holds him close, greedily keeping him from Scarabia, Night Raven College, the world. Greedy, selfish, and for one wild moment (Jamil groans, soft, muffled) he fantasizes about a future in which he bargains his everything with Azul in exchange for him and Kalim going somewhere far away, beyond the reach of the Al-Asims, Azul himself, Malleus, all the powers that would try to find Kalim, where he could keep Kalim for his own.
He couldn't, and he wouldn't, but he imagines that and his fingers curl into Kalim's body and squeeze as they kiss.]
[ Once, a long time ago, Kalim found an errant strike of whimsy and spent the day researching everything he could find about vipers. Every snake, he quickly learned, is carnivorous. They can eat anything from insects to baby hippos, depending on their size. But their hunting methods vary widely by species. Constrictors snare their prey and coil around them, squeezing and strangling until there's no life left in their victim. But vipers don't need to expend that kind of effort; they simply sink their teeth in and let their venom do the killing.
How is it that Jamil can manage to do both? How is he such a brutally efficient hunter? He curls and winds, grips so tightly -- so intimately -- Kalim suddenly loses his breath. And that would be enough to fell him, except that he swears he can feel Jamil inside of him, pulsing through his veins like his own lifeblood, singing in his heart, subtle venom that pushes through every part and leaves him weak in its wake. No one ever told him that poison could taste like honey on his tongue, that this venomous touch could feel like holy hands on his skin, that succumbing to its grip could feel like flying. No one ever warned him that love could feel like death.
Kalim's shaking, legs threatening to give way when Jamil kisses him deeper. This is new. They've kissed, but it's never felt like this before; like every touch is feeding into this cyclically agonizing desperation, and Kalim needs in a new and terrifying way. Moreover, he feels needed in turn, and that's only fuel to his fire. But this need... What does he need? What would be enough? He doesn't know how to ask for it, doesn't know what he's even asking for.
It surfaces as a deep moan, half desire and half frustration, hot between the air they're sharing. ]
Jamil...
[ Kalim clings to Jamil's hood, holds him captive and close even when he draws back enough to look him in the eye. And his own? Only a pair of questions beneath blazing fire rubies. ]
[That moan startles him, arouses him, and alarms him. It's a sound he thought Kalim never capable of making. It's a sound he couldn't ever imagine Kalim making. It's a sound that...confuses him, to put it politely. Jamil doesn't resist Kalim breaking the kiss, and he doesn't resist Kalim keeping him close, and, for once, he doesn't want to move away. In part because Jamil can't really move past the sound Kalim had just made and trying to figure out how he feels about it, but- hey.
It's at this point Jamil realizes where his left hand is, and he slowly releases his grip to something more...neutral, less...well, possessive and more...neutral, and moves it to Kalim's waist. While still the sort of thing that would give his father as well as the Al-Asims a heart attack, it wasn't anything new between the two of them.
He had enough to deal with. He had questions in Kalim's eyes, and a hope/wish/demand/need asked of him. If he had to deal with the consequences of his hand on Kalim's ass he'd probably bury his head in the sand and scream.]
You already own all of me.
[In fact, wasn't that somewhat the problem in the first place? Then again, Jamil's not so stupid to know what Kalim was actually getting at - the moan had implied so many things- he's not going to think about the moan. (He is going to think about that moan.)
Moving on. His fingers skirt across the cloth of Kalim's clothes. Back and forth.]
You want more of me...here?
[He's not actually against the idea and that's the worst part. Jamil hums, torn between, as always, giving Kalim everything and denying him everything.]
You know, Kalim. I didn't actually think we'd outdo the couple in the movie.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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Kalim's gaze is as warm as always, and it reminds Jamil of two things: the first, that from the moment he had been born, it had been decided that his life would revolve around Kalim's own. It was something that had made Jamil bitter, and something that would always make him bitter. It would always be something that he would resent, something that, even if he loved his parents in all other respects (and he does) he'd always hold against them. Just a little. Always, just a little.
But, the second and more important thing: that when he had the opportunity to choose, when all of his schemes were laid bare and Kalim knew just how much he resented...everything, that he had been holding things back, that he had been lying for years, when Azul had flung the doors of Octavinelle wide open and Kalim's money could make that transfer happen very easily, very quickly...he still had chosen Scarabia. Jamil still had chosen Kalim.
And this is why. Kalim could see him, terrified over a ridiculous reason. Of all the stupid reasons. Scared of something he had started. Him, someone who had said he'd never hold himself back again, scared of something he had started. And Kalim could see that, and ask him to look at him, and still look at him with warmth, all just to say that it's all right. And that he could keep going.
What does he say to that? What is he supposed to say to that?
He doesn't have the words. Instead: Jamil closes his eyes for a moment. He forces himself to breathe. He reminds himself that the world is nowhere near this place. It's just the two of them and a silent tomb, a replica of something that might not have ever existed.
Jamil opens his eyes again. He nearly nods, but, ah, they are so close. One wrong move of his head might result in him headbutting Kalim by accident, and he'd never forgive himself if he ruined the moment first by his idiot fear, and then second by headbutting Kalim Al-Asim.]
Mm.
[A soft noise.]
I know.
[And that's what terrifies him, that all of Kalim's reassurance just tells him something that, deep down, Jamil knows to be true. But he still kisses Kalim anyway, and in this kiss he pours all of his yearning. (What he yearns for he doesn't know, but Jamil knows that he wants, he wants.)]
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Kalim would give Jamil the world. Large or small; anything Jamil asks of him, Kalim would give without question. His wealth, his power, his blood, his flesh. His first and his last of everything. So long as he remains at Kalim's side, he can have the universe in his hands. He need only ask. He need only stay.
That's the plea behind Kalim's lips, consuming and desperate and plain as day to Jamil, who's always known how best to read him. Stay. Stay here against his mouth. Stay here as his aide and confidante. Stay here within his heart. And know that he possesses every part of it.
It's tempting to push for more, for deeper. It would be easy, and there's so much that he wants to touch and kiss now that the options seem available to him. A slip of his hand, a pull to bare more skin, an excuse to sink to his buckling knees. But Jamil has to lead in this. Jamil has to be the one to open each gate before Kalim will dare to flood him out. In this, he has all the power.
So Kalim only whimpers, the sound of it thick and wet between their mouths, and his hands curl back to sink into Jamil's hair, holding him fast into the devouring ruin of their kiss. ]
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The first, that he needs his freedom as otherwise he'll die, metaphorically or literally. That things the way they had been would smother him, devour him, that something important would die inside of him, that he would wake up at fifty and realize that he had achieved nothing in his life if things continued the way they had been.
The second, however, is that freedom-as-he-had-envisioned-it would also kill something important inside of him. (Jamil had fantasized about it, about finally bending the knee and making a trade with Azul: something for the promise of going somewhere far away, where no one - the Al-Asims, Azul himself, even Malleus - could find him.) His fantasized idea of freedom? It would also kill him.
And so here he is, confronted by a plea, to stay, and he doesn't know how to answer it. He doesn't know what to say. Words had never been his forte, at least not when they actually mattered. He could charm and manipulate and deflect, he could bring order from chaos, but Jamil didn't know what to say when it actually mattered. Like now.
Fortunately- and it's funny, not that long ago he wouldn't have called a situation like this fortunate, but it's fortunate in this case. They're kissing. Jamil can't talk, and he doesn't want to talk. He can't answer Kalim's unvoiced plea, and he doesn't have to.
Instead, his fingers dig into Kalim's body (Later, he'd be embarrassed to remember where his left hand had ended up, but that would be later. For now, all he knows is that he wants to hold onto Kalim, fingers sinking in like he's some wild thing holding tight to his prey, and it doesn't matter if he's touching a thigh, a waist, a hip, or...something else.) Instead, he pulls Kalim close, holds him close, greedily keeping him from Scarabia, Night Raven College, the world. Greedy, selfish, and for one wild moment (Jamil groans, soft, muffled) he fantasizes about a future in which he bargains his everything with Azul in exchange for him and Kalim going somewhere far away, beyond the reach of the Al-Asims, Azul himself, Malleus, all the powers that would try to find Kalim, where he could keep Kalim for his own.
He couldn't, and he wouldn't, but he imagines that and his fingers curl into Kalim's body and squeeze as they kiss.]
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How is it that Jamil can manage to do both? How is he such a brutally efficient hunter? He curls and winds, grips so tightly -- so intimately -- Kalim suddenly loses his breath. And that would be enough to fell him, except that he swears he can feel Jamil inside of him, pulsing through his veins like his own lifeblood, singing in his heart, subtle venom that pushes through every part and leaves him weak in its wake. No one ever told him that poison could taste like honey on his tongue, that this venomous touch could feel like holy hands on his skin, that succumbing to its grip could feel like flying. No one ever warned him that love could feel like death.
Kalim's shaking, legs threatening to give way when Jamil kisses him deeper. This is new. They've kissed, but it's never felt like this before; like every touch is feeding into this cyclically agonizing desperation, and Kalim needs in a new and terrifying way. Moreover, he feels needed in turn, and that's only fuel to his fire. But this need... What does he need? What would be enough? He doesn't know how to ask for it, doesn't know what he's even asking for.
It surfaces as a deep moan, half desire and half frustration, hot between the air they're sharing. ]
Jamil...
[ Kalim clings to Jamil's hood, holds him captive and close even when he draws back enough to look him in the eye. And his own? Only a pair of questions beneath blazing fire rubies. ]
I want more of you.
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It's at this point Jamil realizes where his left hand is, and he slowly releases his grip to something more...neutral, less...well, possessive and more...neutral, and moves it to Kalim's waist. While still the sort of thing that would give his father as well as the Al-Asims a heart attack, it wasn't anything new between the two of them.
He had enough to deal with. He had questions in Kalim's eyes, and a hope/wish/demand/need asked of him. If he had to deal with the consequences of his hand on Kalim's ass he'd probably bury his head in the sand and scream.]
You already own all of me.
[In fact, wasn't that somewhat the problem in the first place? Then again, Jamil's not so stupid to know what Kalim was actually getting at - the moan had implied so many things- he's not going to think about the moan. (He is going to think about that moan.)
Moving on. His fingers skirt across the cloth of Kalim's clothes. Back and forth.]
You want more of me...here?
[He's not actually against the idea and that's the worst part. Jamil hums, torn between, as always, giving Kalim everything and denying him everything.]
You know, Kalim. I didn't actually think we'd outdo the couple in the movie.
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