[ 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.
That's it. That's all it takes. As completely as Kalim had fallen under this spell, the entire thing shatters just as easily. Barely a fracture before it bursts, fine as sand and slipping through his fingers. Maybe Jamil can see it; one agonizing moment that feels to Kalim like dragging his bare feet through broken glass. His grip on Jamil falters, falls slack along with the barest sink of his shoulders, and that twitch beneath his eyes is the closest he's ever seen to Kalim flinching away.
It hurts. It's not fair for Kalim to think so, and he knows that. But fair or not, it aches down to the deepest part of him. Not the rejection, nor the joke. Just that one word. Own. Even after everything, that's still how Jamil sees them.
Maybe he's reading too much into it. He can shelve it for now; take it out to examine in private. Leave it, until he can pick it apart without his face betraying that achy pain. Instead, his face lights up again through a huff, and then a full-bodied laugh, tucking his head down against Jamil's chest until he can compose himself again. ]
We did, didn't we?! I knew we could!
[ A kiss to Jamil's cheek -- incredibly chaste, relative to how they'd been moments before -- and Kalim turns away, two steps toward retrieving his abandoned stick. ]
Come on! We need to focus, or we'll never get this fire show choreographed.
[There's a second, a second's worth of hesitation, a fluttering heartbeat's worth of hesitation, and then the moment's broken, and-
And then he feels a strange sense of relief, like cool rain falling after a hot day. And then he feels guilt. And then Jamil doesn't know what he feels, and so he does what he usually does with feelings and promptly does his best to ignore them. He doesn't have feelings. He has too much to do and not enough time, he doesn't have time to feel, shut up, shut up, even if he felt what could he do with it?]
You're right.
[After all, they're in some (fake) ruins atop a possible (fake) tomb, which is the last place they should linger, probably. Even if it had been...sort of...his idea.]
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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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That's it. That's all it takes. As completely as Kalim had fallen under this spell, the entire thing shatters just as easily. Barely a fracture before it bursts, fine as sand and slipping through his fingers. Maybe Jamil can see it; one agonizing moment that feels to Kalim like dragging his bare feet through broken glass. His grip on Jamil falters, falls slack along with the barest sink of his shoulders, and that twitch beneath his eyes is the closest he's ever seen to Kalim flinching away.
It hurts. It's not fair for Kalim to think so, and he knows that. But fair or not, it aches down to the deepest part of him. Not the rejection, nor the joke. Just that one word. Own. Even after everything, that's still how Jamil sees them.
Maybe he's reading too much into it. He can shelve it for now; take it out to examine in private. Leave it, until he can pick it apart without his face betraying that achy pain. Instead, his face lights up again through a huff, and then a full-bodied laugh, tucking his head down against Jamil's chest until he can compose himself again. ]
We did, didn't we?! I knew we could!
[ A kiss to Jamil's cheek -- incredibly chaste, relative to how they'd been moments before -- and Kalim turns away, two steps toward retrieving his abandoned stick. ]
Come on! We need to focus, or we'll never get this fire show choreographed.
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And then he feels a strange sense of relief, like cool rain falling after a hot day. And then he feels guilt. And then Jamil doesn't know what he feels, and so he does what he usually does with feelings and promptly does his best to ignore them. He doesn't have feelings. He has too much to do and not enough time, he doesn't have time to feel, shut up, shut up, even if he felt what could he do with it?]
You're right.
[After all, they're in some (fake) ruins atop a possible (fake) tomb, which is the last place they should linger, probably. Even if it had been...sort of...his idea.]
So...what do you have in mind, Kalim?