[ 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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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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?