You don't have to worry about that. Carpet would catch us.
[ Of that, Kalim is absolutely certain. Carpet likes them. Why would it let its friends plummet to their death?
It's hard not to notice how nice Jamil smells when they're curled this close to one another, harder still to escape the notice that his hair looks immaculately soft. Kalim's fingertips itch to touch, but his hand is slow to shift, creeping up Jamil's chest until he can curl his fore and middle fingers around a wayward bit of that silky hair. It is soft. And now he'll never want to stop touching it. ]
Is this okay?
[ Toying with Jamil's hair, he means. But if Jamil were to interpret it differently, no one would blame him. ]
[Hair, curling up like he's a cat, the fact that they're on carpet and Jamil's got the sinking suspicion that he's neither going to get around to drowning Kalim nor that they'll get around to studying...really? He's not sure what, specifically, Kalim is talking about, but...whatever Kalim's talking about is fine. For once.]
Unless Ace flies by on a broom solely to point and laugh, or something along those lines happens, I'm fine.
[ Which is strange in and of itself, now that Kalim stops to consider it. They know everything about each other, don't they? They've been together for so long, one would think it would've come up before now. But here's something new. Here, on the other side of complete chaos and a redefinition of everything they've ever meant to one another, suddenly there are new things to learn.
And Jamil only becomes more incredible with each new thing Kalim learns about him.
So, even though I'm fine is sometimes a double-edged sword, Kalim takes his chances. His fingers wind slowly up this little skein of Jamil's hair, until they're far enough over to comb through and bring more over his shoulder. An ample amount to delicately thread his fingers through, root to tip, like Kalim were petting a particularly ornery cat instead of his best friend's hair. ]
Does Najma ever play with your hair when you're home? I don't even have that much, and the little ones still like to stick bows in it.
[Usually being the important word there, usually being the word doing a bunch of heavy lifting in this sentence. Usually implying all sorts of things, most of which Jamil isn't going to talk about unless he's absolutely forced to, and not for the first time is he glad that Kalim doesn't have some kind of truth-compelling spell. Water magic doesn't demand honesty.]
And I try not to let Najma near my hair. When we were younger it was a different story. She liked to play with my hair, and I usually did her hair for her. But now...
[Now she's got the power to do his hair in a silly way, take pictures, and send it to Kalim, absolutely not.]
Well, just let me know if you want me to stop. I promise I'll be gentle!
[ To that end, he's only been gentle. Careful, in a way Kalim never used to be. Idly stroking Jamil's hair, drifting higher and higher, until Kalim's fingertips can sink themselves into slow circles over his scalp instead. ]
It always feels nice when you do this for me. It's only fair to return the favor, right?
[Jamil says, shifting his grip around Kalim to pull him in a little bit tighter, his eyes fluttering shut, a certain tension melting from his shoulders the more Kalim rubs, his head even leaning slightly into Kalim's touch. He supposes it might be just a little bit nice. Just a bit.]
But you don't need to return the favor, you know.
[Even if all signs point to Kalim having a tough time if he tries to wiggle loose.]
[ Kalim chirps this answer, as if that's not the casual admission that he just wants to touch Jamil. Just because. Not because he's obligated to, but because Jamil's hair is soft, and he deserves to feel good. That's all the reason he needs.
Never mind that it seems to have the incidental effect of Jamil holding him more tightly still. That's just an added bonus. ]
Just let me pet your hair before you drown me, okay?
[And just like that, the spell is...kind of...broken. His eyes open again. He stares at Kalim. He absolutely does nothing to stop Kalim from playing with his hair. There's no movement to keep him from playing with his hair. In the event Kalim moves his hand away, Jamil would even make a slightly offended noise. Not deliberately, but it would seep out before he can stop it.
But his eyes are open again.]
I was starting to think that you forgot about me drowning you.
[ They're-- Are they cuddling? The realization dawns on Kalim like a freight train collision, and his fingers tremble -- still, for a fraction of a second -- while his face flushes deep and hot. They're cuddling. On Carpet. Jamil is holding him, Kalim is laying on him, playing with his hair. This seems so... normal. Especially for them. After all the turmoil, here they are. ]
Thank you. This is really nice.
[ It comes out before Kalim can stop it. So as long as he's leaning into brutal honesty...
[Having been very comfortably not thinking too much about it, content to enjoy the wind and the air and the warmth of Kalim without thinking too much about what he was doing to have the warmth of Kalim so close, Jamil had been comfortable.
Had.
Past tense for a reason.
Because Kalim had to go and say that and his fingers tremble for a moment and Jamil can feel his face getting a bit hot and he has to take a moment and just focus on the air instead of Kalim, or Carpet instead of Kalim, or think about his history of magic paper that he still has to do.]
Of course.
[Please interpret that as 'of course it would feel nice, I am good at hugs as I excel in all things' instead of 'of course it's nice, I'm enjoying this too' as the former is less mortifying than the latter, even if...the latter is what's meant.]
[ Of course. That can mean so many things, but Kalim's interpretation, as it turns out, is that it's really more of a You're welcome. And oh, if that doesn't make him feel warm all over again.
Kalim could say a great many things right now. He could extoll Jamil's virtues in a bulletpoint format. He could fill this silence between them with words or with song. But sometimes, the quiet can speak volumes louder than his mouth ever could, and he's not about to ruin a perfect moment by talking too much.
No, why would he do that, when he can ruin the moment with one well-placed question? ]
Jamil. [ Kalim's fingers are wandering, trailing away from his hair and down his chest instead. ] Where else can I touch you?
it's sad because all of my inboxes have a last tagged date that's around the same time
[And it is at this point that Jamil doesn't...quite...sit up, but Kalim could feel him jerk. His attention is very firmly fixed on Kalim now, and he can't even pretend like he doesn't notice.
Jamil's mouth opens. It shuts again. It's even more firmly shut, more decisively shut, for a moment as he stares at Kalim like Kalim had just grown three heads and revealed he's Malleus' long lost second cousin. He opens it again.]
Where...?
[This is asked in a slightly hoarse voice, a quieter voice, before his mouth shuts again, and then remains decisively shut, as he bites his lip and-
And the sensible part of Jamil knows that he should keep his damn mouth shut.
He is not going to be sensible. He is going to ask the stupid question, knowing full well that it's a stupid question.]
Where do you want to...? [He can't say 'touch me' don't make him say 'touch me' there's places he's not prepared to go yet.]
[ There's so much left to interpretation with a statement like that. So much that it implies. But it's not a careless statement either. Kalim is too honest; he's never uttered a single word that wasn't firmly supported by his entire heart. So anywhere covers an awful lot of ground. All the ground, really. Every single step that still stretches out between them.
But the other part of that statement is just as important. Anywhere you'd let me. Kalim can make his own willingness known, but he'll never venture beyond the boundaries that Jamil sets for him. So his fingertips stall at Jamil's chest, weave circular patterns over the front of his tunic and catch occasionally on the hems. Waiting, to either be given leave to stray farther, or to return to their place in Jamil's hair. ]
Anywhere you want me to.
i picked that version for a reason, minor key adds tragedy and mystery to it
[Jamil Viper knew that he was (supposedly) clever, but at times like this he felt like an absolute fucking idiot. He stares at Kalim, his mind strangely blank as he processes what it is that Kalim had said, and also all the ways he likely misinterpreted what it was that Kalim said.
But, ah, there was the problem with such simplicity: too few words, too few places to take it. It was just two sentences, eight words. (Nine if he counted the compound word. Jamil didn't.) Simple and short.
He froze like a deer in headlights, or maybe like a performer poised to bow before the audience and simply waiting for the curtain call. His instincts told him: he should do as Kalim asked, he shouldn't do as Kalim asked. He should give him everything and he should give him nothing. He bites his lip for a moment, flight and fight, hesitating...
...and feeling disgusted with himself for that hesitation.
Then, after a moment, Jamil takes Kalim's hand in his own and...nearly plops it on his face, much to his surprise, he didn't think he'd want that but his mind said put Kalim's hand on your cheek and he went oh. Huh. (And makes a slightly thoughtful noise at the realization, one Kalim can hear, a soft hum.)
He doesn't. Jamil just stubbornly does what he intended in the first place, which is to take Kalim's hand and slide it under his shirt...just a little. Just a tiny little bit, his dark eyes watchful, seeing Kalim's reaction.]
[ Touching Jamil has never been a big deal. They've touched each other since they were small. These are simply the casual everyday things that happen between them. The million-and-one little things that had to happen -- for better or for worse -- simply to maintain their positions. They touch. Naturally. And neither of them has ever been starved for it.
But Jamil takes Kalim's hand, slips it beneath his own shirt, and it hits Kalim with all the force of a raging river ready to pull him under. Jarring, if he had to put a word to it. Easy pleasure in the the face of overwhelming terror. Kalim nearly snatches his hand back, certain -- for a fraction of a second -- that he can hear the familiar whispers of hypnotic hissing, slithering unnoticed through the back of his mind.
No. That's not going to happen again. It's frustrating that Kalim has to keep reminding himself of that when of should be water under the bridge, and never mind that Jamil probably catches every nuance of the panic behind Kalim's eyes. No. This is what he wants. It's apparently what they both want. Jamil's skin is soft, smooth, warm beneath Kalim's hand. And as if of its own volition, that touch presses farther afield.
How is Kalim meant to not take a mile, when this is the glorious inch he's already been given?
Kalim's hand is warm, soft, plying. His fingers ride easy over every curve while they climb Jamil's waist, ghost over his collar bone, growing surer and firmer with each inch they explore. And softly, carefully, Kalim noses gently along Jamil's jaw, coaxing him to tip his head to the side and bear his neck for the press of Kalim's lips. ]
[Kalim hesitates. Only for a moment, Kalim hesitates; Jamil can see why. It's across his face. It's as if it was written in blood. He can see panic, he can see fear. He doesn't want to, but he sees it, and Jamil's not sure what he hates more: the fact that Kalim is afraid of him, or the fact that he can see it, taste it, touch it. It's only for a moment, but his hand almost, almost moves Kalim's hand away. He has some indifferent line on his lips, some deflection, a reminder about studying, maybe? Some excuse to make it easier-
That is when Kalim's hand moves.
Jamil's eyes widen. His gaze is fixed on Kalim, he inhales sharp, once, as he feels Kalim's fingers trace his skin. He trembles as Kalim's fingers trace something-or-another, his hands clenching something-or-another of Kalim - Kalim's arm, his body, his hip, whatever it is - just in case Kalim got the wrong idea from that trembling.
By the time Kalim kisses his neck, Jamil sighs.]
Kalim...
[A quiet gasp, a little pleading...but only a little, as pleading had never gotten him anywhere in the past, so why start now?]
We touch each other all the time. [This is his attempt to keep himself from unspooling, unraveling. To keep what he can of his composure, as Kalim is, as always, tempting in all things.]
[ That's a reasonable read of the situation, and Kalim can only agree. They do touch all the time. Jamil is as dependably on-the-nose as ever. But-- ]
But not like this.
[ This is different, and they both know it. There's no way Jamil equates this to all the ways they've touched in the past. Not when he's gasping, not when his voice has taken on that plaintive edge. This couldn't be more different.
And Kalim has certainly never touched Jamil here, in this place. Careful fingertips spider along and wander down his sternum, blunt nails gently dragging over his stomach and hip. They almost push beneath the waistline of his pants, nearly dip down to touch him far more intimately, but that's another boundary Jamil's leave is needed to cross. So Kalim's hand slips away, and starts the cycle anew at Jamil's waist to trail upwards again. ]
Like this-- You sound nice like this. I never thought you could say my name like that.
[ Like that. It's got his stomach erupting in butterflies, and his heart in his throat. Along with... other things. New things that he doesn't entirely understand yet. But if he keeps focusing on Jamil's skin under his hand, he doesn't have to think about it. ]
[This is different, and he's not so in denial that he can pretend otherwise. There's no way for him to pretend like this isn't different. Kalim never touched him like he was...he was...
He wasn't going to think about it. Jamil wasn't going to think about where Kalim was touching him, how Kalim was touching him, or why Kalim might want to touch him. He wasn't going to think about how Kalim thought he had sounded nice, and, worse, said just as much. He wasn't going to think about if he was going to make more noises like that, or when, or how Kalim might force them out of it, or if he wanted to say Kalim's name again, or say it again just like that.
Jamil wasn't going to think about what noises he could make Kalim make in return, the sorts of sounds he might conjure from his...whatever Kalim was to him. He wasn't going to think about any of that. He wasn't. He absolutely was not.
Instead of thinking about any of that, and he's not going to think, he's not going to think about what it might mean and what he wants, Jamil isn't going to think about it- instead. Instead, he half turns towards Kalim.]
Kalim.
[A bit firmer. Less plaintive. More decisive. (Not much, but more. Less tenuous.) He inhales, like he's about to do something drastic, and then- dark eyes watchful. Very watchful. Calm. (Not really; it's the same stillness of the ocean, with currents raging below.) And then-
Very slowly.
Jamil takes his hand and slides it under Kalim's shirt, and Kalim might notice the point in which Jamil's dark, calm eyes seem to light up and he inhales, as he realizes something, and it is this: Jamil actually finds that he...
...really...
...likes touching Kalim Al-Asim, and not just out of duty, this is nowhere near duty.]
[ Duty, such as it is, is extremely overrated during situations like this.
Far away from duty -- physically as much as metaphorically, far away from Silk City, the dorms, and every role they've ever had to worry about fitting themselves into -- they can have moments like this. Moments when they're sprawled out and tangled up with one another. Moments when they can touch each other without fear of who might see and what they might do. Moments when Jamil doesn't have to pretend he's anything other than brilliant and superior, and Kalim doesn't have to pretend he has any agency over Jamil whatsoever.
That's always been a facade between them anyway. This, Kalim thinks while he melts under Jamil's touch, is how they were always meant to be.
They're so close like this. They have to be. It's simply a by-product of touching one another the way they are. Face-to-face and practically pressed flush, Kalim can fit himself into every negative space Jamil makes against him. So the words fall warm and breathy against Jamil's lips when Kalim speaks again, fingertips ghosting over one of Jamil's nipples: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Of that, Kalim is absolutely certain. Carpet likes them. Why would it let its friends plummet to their death?
It's hard not to notice how nice Jamil smells when they're curled this close to one another, harder still to escape the notice that his hair looks immaculately soft. Kalim's fingertips itch to touch, but his hand is slow to shift, creeping up Jamil's chest until he can curl his fore and middle fingers around a wayward bit of that silky hair. It is soft. And now he'll never want to stop touching it. ]
Is this okay?
[ Toying with Jamil's hair, he means. But if Jamil were to interpret it differently, no one would blame him. ]
no subject
[Hair, curling up like he's a cat, the fact that they're on carpet and Jamil's got the sinking suspicion that he's neither going to get around to drowning Kalim nor that they'll get around to studying...really? He's not sure what, specifically, Kalim is talking about, but...whatever Kalim's talking about is fine. For once.]
Unless Ace flies by on a broom solely to point and laugh, or something along those lines happens, I'm fine.
[Whatever...it is, but still.]
no subject
[ Which is strange in and of itself, now that Kalim stops to consider it. They know everything about each other, don't they? They've been together for so long, one would think it would've come up before now. But here's something new. Here, on the other side of complete chaos and a redefinition of everything they've ever meant to one another, suddenly there are new things to learn.
And Jamil only becomes more incredible with each new thing Kalim learns about him.
So, even though I'm fine is sometimes a double-edged sword, Kalim takes his chances. His fingers wind slowly up this little skein of Jamil's hair, until they're far enough over to comb through and bring more over his shoulder. An ample amount to delicately thread his fingers through, root to tip, like Kalim were petting a particularly ornery cat instead of his best friend's hair. ]
Does Najma ever play with your hair when you're home? I don't even have that much, and the little ones still like to stick bows in it.
no subject
[Usually being the important word there, usually being the word doing a bunch of heavy lifting in this sentence. Usually implying all sorts of things, most of which Jamil isn't going to talk about unless he's absolutely forced to, and not for the first time is he glad that Kalim doesn't have some kind of truth-compelling spell. Water magic doesn't demand honesty.]
And I try not to let Najma near my hair. When we were younger it was a different story. She liked to play with my hair, and I usually did her hair for her. But now...
[Now she's got the power to do his hair in a silly way, take pictures, and send it to Kalim, absolutely not.]
no subject
[ To that end, he's only been gentle. Careful, in a way Kalim never used to be. Idly stroking Jamil's hair, drifting higher and higher, until Kalim's fingertips can sink themselves into slow circles over his scalp instead. ]
It always feels nice when you do this for me. It's only fair to return the favor, right?
no subject
[Jamil says, shifting his grip around Kalim to pull him in a little bit tighter, his eyes fluttering shut, a certain tension melting from his shoulders the more Kalim rubs, his head even leaning slightly into Kalim's touch. He supposes it might be just a little bit nice. Just a bit.]
But you don't need to return the favor, you know.
[Even if all signs point to Kalim having a tough time if he tries to wiggle loose.]
no subject
[ Kalim chirps this answer, as if that's not the casual admission that he just wants to touch Jamil. Just because. Not because he's obligated to, but because Jamil's hair is soft, and he deserves to feel good. That's all the reason he needs.
Never mind that it seems to have the incidental effect of Jamil holding him more tightly still. That's just an added bonus. ]
Just let me pet your hair before you drown me, okay?
no subject
[And just like that, the spell is...kind of...broken. His eyes open again. He stares at Kalim. He absolutely does nothing to stop Kalim from playing with his hair. There's no movement to keep him from playing with his hair. In the event Kalim moves his hand away, Jamil would even make a slightly offended noise. Not deliberately, but it would seep out before he can stop it.
But his eyes are open again.]
I was starting to think that you forgot about me drowning you.
no subject
[ They're-- Are they cuddling? The realization dawns on Kalim like a freight train collision, and his fingers tremble -- still, for a fraction of a second -- while his face flushes deep and hot. They're cuddling. On Carpet. Jamil is holding him, Kalim is laying on him, playing with his hair. This seems so... normal. Especially for them. After all the turmoil, here they are. ]
Thank you. This is really nice.
[ It comes out before Kalim can stop it. So as long as he's leaning into brutal honesty...
It feels good, just to have you hold me.
no subject
Had.
Past tense for a reason.
Because Kalim had to go and say that and his fingers tremble for a moment and Jamil can feel his face getting a bit hot and he has to take a moment and just focus on the air instead of Kalim, or Carpet instead of Kalim, or think about his history of magic paper that he still has to do.]
Of course.
[Please interpret that as 'of course it would feel nice, I am good at hugs as I excel in all things' instead of 'of course it's nice, I'm enjoying this too' as the former is less mortifying than the latter, even if...the latter is what's meant.]
no subject
Kalim could say a great many things right now. He could extoll Jamil's virtues in a bulletpoint format. He could fill this silence between them with words or with song. But sometimes, the quiet can speak volumes louder than his mouth ever could, and he's not about to ruin a perfect moment by talking too much.
No, why would he do that, when he can ruin the moment with one well-placed question? ]
Jamil. [ Kalim's fingers are wandering, trailing away from his hair and down his chest instead. ] Where else can I touch you?
it's sad because all of my inboxes have a last tagged date that's around the same time
Jamil's mouth opens. It shuts again. It's even more firmly shut, more decisively shut, for a moment as he stares at Kalim like Kalim had just grown three heads and revealed he's Malleus' long lost second cousin. He opens it again.]
Where...?
[This is asked in a slightly hoarse voice, a quieter voice, before his mouth shuts again, and then remains decisively shut, as he bites his lip and-
And the sensible part of Jamil knows that he should keep his damn mouth shut.
He is not going to be sensible. He is going to ask the stupid question, knowing full well that it's a stupid question.]
Where do you want to...? [He can't say 'touch me' don't make him say 'touch me' there's places he's not prepared to go yet.]
ALAS
[ There's so much left to interpretation with a statement like that. So much that it implies. But it's not a careless statement either. Kalim is too honest; he's never uttered a single word that wasn't firmly supported by his entire heart. So anywhere covers an awful lot of ground. All the ground, really. Every single step that still stretches out between them.
But the other part of that statement is just as important. Anywhere you'd let me. Kalim can make his own willingness known, but he'll never venture beyond the boundaries that Jamil sets for him. So his fingertips stall at Jamil's chest, weave circular patterns over the front of his tunic and catch occasionally on the hems. Waiting, to either be given leave to stray farther, or to return to their place in Jamil's hair. ]
Anywhere you want me to.
i picked that version for a reason, minor key adds tragedy and mystery to it
But, ah, there was the problem with such simplicity: too few words, too few places to take it. It was just two sentences, eight words. (Nine if he counted the compound word. Jamil didn't.) Simple and short.
He froze like a deer in headlights, or maybe like a performer poised to bow before the audience and simply waiting for the curtain call. His instincts told him: he should do as Kalim asked, he shouldn't do as Kalim asked. He should give him everything and he should give him nothing. He bites his lip for a moment, flight and fight, hesitating...
...and feeling disgusted with himself for that hesitation.
Then, after a moment, Jamil takes Kalim's hand in his own and...nearly plops it on his face, much to his surprise, he didn't think he'd want that but his mind said put Kalim's hand on your cheek and he went oh. Huh. (And makes a slightly thoughtful noise at the realization, one Kalim can hear, a soft hum.)
He doesn't. Jamil just stubbornly does what he intended in the first place, which is to take Kalim's hand and slide it under his shirt...just a little. Just a tiny little bit, his dark eyes watchful, seeing Kalim's reaction.]
drama! suspense!
But Jamil takes Kalim's hand, slips it beneath his own shirt, and it hits Kalim with all the force of a raging river ready to pull him under. Jarring, if he had to put a word to it. Easy pleasure in the the face of overwhelming terror. Kalim nearly snatches his hand back, certain -- for a fraction of a second -- that he can hear the familiar whispers of hypnotic hissing, slithering unnoticed through the back of his mind.
No. That's not going to happen again. It's frustrating that Kalim has to keep reminding himself of that when of should be water under the bridge, and never mind that Jamil probably catches every nuance of the panic behind Kalim's eyes. No. This is what he wants. It's apparently what they both want. Jamil's skin is soft, smooth, warm beneath Kalim's hand. And as if of its own volition, that touch presses farther afield.
How is Kalim meant to not take a mile, when this is the glorious inch he's already been given?
Kalim's hand is warm, soft, plying. His fingers ride easy over every curve while they climb Jamil's waist, ghost over his collar bone, growing surer and firmer with each inch they explore. And softly, carefully, Kalim noses gently along Jamil's jaw, coaxing him to tip his head to the side and bear his neck for the press of Kalim's lips. ]
Hmm... It feels good, to touch you like this.
i am v. dramatic and v. suspenseful
That is when Kalim's hand moves.
Jamil's eyes widen. His gaze is fixed on Kalim, he inhales sharp, once, as he feels Kalim's fingers trace his skin. He trembles as Kalim's fingers trace something-or-another, his hands clenching something-or-another of Kalim - Kalim's arm, his body, his hip, whatever it is - just in case Kalim got the wrong idea from that trembling.
By the time Kalim kisses his neck, Jamil sighs.]
Kalim...
[A quiet gasp, a little pleading...but only a little, as pleading had never gotten him anywhere in the past, so why start now?]
We touch each other all the time. [This is his attempt to keep himself from unspooling, unraveling. To keep what he can of his composure, as Kalim is, as always, tempting in all things.]
no subject
[ That's a reasonable read of the situation, and Kalim can only agree. They do touch all the time. Jamil is as dependably on-the-nose as ever. But-- ]
But not like this.
[ This is different, and they both know it. There's no way Jamil equates this to all the ways they've touched in the past. Not when he's gasping, not when his voice has taken on that plaintive edge. This couldn't be more different.
And Kalim has certainly never touched Jamil here, in this place. Careful fingertips spider along and wander down his sternum, blunt nails gently dragging over his stomach and hip. They almost push beneath the waistline of his pants, nearly dip down to touch him far more intimately, but that's another boundary Jamil's leave is needed to cross. So Kalim's hand slips away, and starts the cycle anew at Jamil's waist to trail upwards again. ]
Like this-- You sound nice like this. I never thought you could say my name like that.
[ Like that. It's got his stomach erupting in butterflies, and his heart in his throat. Along with... other things. New things that he doesn't entirely understand yet. But if he keeps focusing on Jamil's skin under his hand, he doesn't have to think about it. ]
no subject
He wasn't going to think about it. Jamil wasn't going to think about where Kalim was touching him, how Kalim was touching him, or why Kalim might want to touch him. He wasn't going to think about how Kalim thought he had sounded nice, and, worse, said just as much. He wasn't going to think about if he was going to make more noises like that, or when, or how Kalim might force them out of it, or if he wanted to say Kalim's name again, or say it again just like that.
Jamil wasn't going to think about what noises he could make Kalim make in return, the sorts of sounds he might conjure from his...whatever Kalim was to him. He wasn't going to think about any of that. He wasn't. He absolutely was not.
Instead of thinking about any of that, and he's not going to think, he's not going to think about what it might mean and what he wants, Jamil isn't going to think about it- instead. Instead, he half turns towards Kalim.]
Kalim.
[A bit firmer. Less plaintive. More decisive. (Not much, but more. Less tenuous.) He inhales, like he's about to do something drastic, and then- dark eyes watchful. Very watchful. Calm. (Not really; it's the same stillness of the ocean, with currents raging below.) And then-
Very slowly.
Jamil takes his hand and slides it under Kalim's shirt, and Kalim might notice the point in which Jamil's dark, calm eyes seem to light up and he inhales, as he realizes something, and it is this: Jamil actually finds that he...
...really...
...likes touching Kalim Al-Asim, and not just out of duty, this is nowhere near duty.]
no subject
Far away from duty -- physically as much as metaphorically, far away from Silk City, the dorms, and every role they've ever had to worry about fitting themselves into -- they can have moments like this. Moments when they're sprawled out and tangled up with one another. Moments when they can touch each other without fear of who might see and what they might do. Moments when Jamil doesn't have to pretend he's anything other than brilliant and superior, and Kalim doesn't have to pretend he has any agency over Jamil whatsoever.
That's always been a facade between them anyway. This, Kalim thinks while he melts under Jamil's touch, is how they were always meant to be.
They're so close like this. They have to be. It's simply a by-product of touching one another the way they are. Face-to-face and practically pressed flush, Kalim can fit himself into every negative space Jamil makes against him. So the words fall warm and breathy against Jamil's lips when Kalim speaks again, fingertips ghosting over one of Jamil's nipples: ]
I like it when you touch me like this.