[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}
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.