[ Kalim's still frantically blacking out entire sections of his note margins when Jamil emerges into the lounge. He's even abandoned his hookah hose to his lap in deference to the cause! ]
﴾ of course he is. jamil glides into the lounge much sooner than he's promised, as is customary, gaze fixed like he means to strike. which he does, one quick-handed snap of that notebook out from under kalim's pen so that it can be held up to the light of a floating lantern for a thorough inspection. ﴿
Whaaaat? In the margins? What do you-- Ohhh, these? Hahaaa, just doodles! don't worry about it!
[ kalim is the worst liar. absolute worst. he's practically grimacing through his smile. and making a one-handed grab to snatch his notebook back. failing spectacularly (flailing spectacularly?), but it's a valiant effort regardless. ]
Definitely don't need to look at the next page either!
﴾ jamil is already dutifully tearing both pages out of the book — the second will have impressions left on it from the first, any assassin worth his own blade will know to check for those — but now he pauses to look it over. none of this attention-seeking flailing about will be rewarded with so much as a glance. ﴿
Why are you doing this? Do you not remember what I told you last time, Kalim?
[ Kalim's soul has collapsed in an ashen pile along with his notebook. ]
Aa--
[ Dead eyes. Absolutely no life behind them. ]
That had my class notes too.
[ And it's probably impolitic to point out that Jamil's a weakness, whether he wants to be or not. He was born Kalim's weakness, he'll die Kalim's weakness. Clearly nothing's going to change that. It's been tried and tested in the past, and it probably will be again some day. They'll manage. They always do.
Jamil's not exactly leaving room to argue right now though. So, cheeks puffed through a sigh, Kalim rolls to his feet, bag hefted over one shoulder to drag ass back to his room. ]
﴾ though jamil's unshakeable glare is boring into kalim's back and melting all the leftover scarabian witnesses into their respective seats, the burden of kalim's bag does not remain heavy, the weight draining mysteriously from it as jamil slides a steady hand over his shoulder. ﴿
Mind your posture, Kalim.
﴾ there's nothing... wrong with it, to be fair. it's simply grating for jamil to watch as kalim labors over anything without his intervention or guidance, and for the sake of maintaining this sterling mood he's in, he will fuss over this boy all the way to the door, swatting him away at the threshold in the event that he has even the tiniest ridiculous notion of opening it for himself. that is, of course, jamil's job to solemnly carry out, head bowed as if in respectful deference, bracelets ringing sonorously as he hurries the young master inside. ﴿
[ this is probably what's meant by a learning curve.
it's easy to let jamil do things for him -- carry all the heavier and more tedious weight -- because it's what he's always done. it's how they've always been. and it's not that kalim has ever thought less of jamil (because he's fantastic, he's talented, he's so smart, he's incredible and amazing and all these glowing adjectives that kalim insists on attaching to him every time he opens his mouth), he just never questioned it until it was too late. by then, the contempt had already bred, festered; the resentment ran too deep to mend with smiles or hugs, and it hurt so much to know that jamil had been carrying it around for so long.
but he had his reasons. his hands have always been bound to kalim against his will. so by kalim's figuring, he's gotta be the one to pick up the slack between them. in little ways and big ways, he's trying to pull them closer to even ground. it won't happen all at once. cooking for himself (or attempting to, when jamil will allow it) had been a harrowing first step, but things started falling in -- and falling off jamil's plate -- a little more easily after that.
a little. jamil's still defaulting to service, and kalim's still too quick to let him (or, at times, forget himself completely and drag jamil into service regardless). he does his best. but pushing back is harder, like-- ]
You don't have to do all that.
[ kalim's not expecting it of him. he never has, but he has no evidence to back that up when he allowed it to happen for so long. so what would he normally do here? pull jamil in by his lapels, back him against the closed door, smile bright and kiss him breathless...? that all sounds about right. it also gives jamil zero agency. instead, kalim drags his bag to the couch and sprawls out over the cushions with an audible sigh.
he'll have to borrow silver's notes tomorrow. great seven, why is he dwelling on that when he's finally alone with jamil again? ]
﴾ for all the years jamil dreamed of serving kalim more humility than he can chew, he'd never imagined it to be quite so irritating as this. the sighing, the hesitation — jamil does not bother with wandering very far away from the door at first, anticipating those grasping hands and smiling kisses that seem to always strike the second they are alone. he realizes he looks foolish, then, and hurries to make up for it, one hand spreading kalim's notebook across his desk as the other weaves spellchannels in the air that stir in those unmade sheets gathered in the center of his bed, twisting them into tidy order and sailing off to neaten up the next corner of the room.
kalim, obviously, won't have anything to worry about. jamil tucks his own notes into the gored center of kalim's book, hand-written and color-coded for easy reference, as always. whatever kalim thinks he knows about their situation, it's simply too late to abandon such duties and wildly grating that he even thinks to question them now. what's next, no more witching hour patrols for encroaching assassins? is kalim going to graduate from stirring pots to testing his own food for poison? the very notion makes jamil ill. ﴿
Ah? You think you know better than me, now, what I should or should not be doing?
﴾ this is what happens when jamil leaves kalim to his own devices: he always returns with silly ideas that jamil needs to exorcise from his mind before they begin to fester. it's a lesson learned that he needs to be more careful with outside influences, even more than he has been in the wake of octavinelle's little winter break stunt. he can begin by striding forth and seizing kalim's chin — and it's not lost on him that kalim is the only one who will meet his eye anymore, still, even after everything. his taloned grasp is secure, but not harmful, only as uncomfortable as kalim feels being pinned beneath such an intense stare and gently jostled until his senses return to him. ﴿
[ if their lives used to be sensible to jamil, then maybe it really is better to eschew it altogether. none of it was good for them, and jamil didn't deserve being saddled with the duty of coddling or serving a friend (or not a friend, as he's repeatedly insisted); not while he was so young, still had dreams of his own to fulfill outside of kalim's existence. here, on the other end of chaos, kalim's wondered how jamil manages, or what he would be like -- what they would be like, if anything at all -- if jamil were never compelled to be kalim's aide.
jamil can't jostle kalim back into a damn thing now that he's learned his lesson. as always, jamil taught him too well. ]
What? Me? You know I leave that to you!
[ firm as he tries to be, jamil's grip begs a sunny smile anyway. jade and floyd were right. he really is too nice. and he can't compromise his own nature, but jamil doesn't have to be around something (someone?) that irritates him so thoroughly either. not if he doesn't want to be.
kalim has to remind himself constantly. a person like him is nothing but a nuisance and a burden to a person like jamil. the notion feels like its own kind of poison; slow-creeping, insidious, until it punches him square in the chest and sets everything beneath his ribs to wither. he forgets so many things. forgives so many more. but that contempt burning in jamil's eyes? the venom that was dripping from his lips? jamil, his beloved; the man kalim adored and admired and trusted beyond any shadow of a doubt? how is kalim meant to forget that?
still, all smiles. but just in case jamil has any ideas about his touch being unwelcome, kalim reaches up to lightly rest a hand over his wrist. ]
I really mean it, though! You don't have to do all this. I appreciate it, but I can manage on my own.
﴾ jamil's gaze flicks heavenwards, but he's not forgotten himself enough to go for a full eye roll. no matter how rough things have gotten in the past few weeks, at least he has that — his mind is completely his own, not a single dark whisper or twisted compulsion left since his speedy recovery. (y'know, beyond the normal ones.) ﴿
A thousand thanks, but I do not believe you will be able to survive on occasionally-stirred soup alone.
﴾ over his dead body, in fact. jamil has his justifications, playing nice with someone who could effectively end his entire family's prospects by speaking even a single unfortunate word about what transpired over break, but they're flimsy. kalim didn't talk for jade, he won't for anyone else either. his loyalty ended up narcing jamil out just the same, but that's more of an excuse to be pissy than anything concrete.
and so jamil looks sour — but relieved — when kalim's fingers fall over his wrist. it brings him closer before he can mute the compulsion, just near enough to be a presence of scent and breath on kalim's skin. ﴿
My duties do not end when it is convenient for me. Neither do yours.
﴾ how unfortunate that all these barbs he's throwing have soft, silken edges, that every word he speaks betrays itself with the fondness in his tone. though that's not quite the word for it, either. there is something wicked curing in that smile that is pressed nearly up against kalim's lips, like the rattling of a snake's tail before it strikes. ﴿
[ ...my duties... jamil says, and even woven with gossamer, it slams fervently against the same tired note kalim's been strumming ad nauseum in his heart. kalim's never once allowed himself to wallow in an errant worry until now, never had any reason to tremble against those unshakable beliefs. yet here he is, lips shivering against the poised proximity of jamil's mouth, wavering on the precipice of capturing it, and chest fluttering with each slow inhale of jamil's own breath, as if it's the only air that can make kalim bloom.
it's cruel, isn't it? calling this his duty while pressed so damningly close? kalim should be furious, but he can't find it within himself. jamil tastes like home -- not the walls they grew up in, but the harbor he carries within him -- and so all he manages is a soul-deep ache. ]
You're so much more than duty. You always have been. You know that, right?
[ kalim's not making any progress toward that bed, either. he'll happily defy orders for just a bit longer, if it means driving home this particular point. that, coupled with the opportunity to push their foreheads together and nuzzle their noses fondly. ]
In so many ways. Your worth isn't measured by your ability to serve.
﴾ the kicker here, of course, is that jamil is just as vain and praise-oriented as everyone imagines him to be at first glance. those words feel good before he can tell them not to, especially from kalim, and the gravity between them is far too sound to deny. against all his best wishes, he falls for it — for just a half a second, one small and egregiously selfish moment of indulging the sweet warmth blossoming in his chest.
which is two moments too long, actually, because none of this means anything. jamil has already decided long ago that kalim will become his father in more than just name and estate, and it's important to keep in mind what that will mean for him. more of the same, that is, with the additional labor of seeing to so many wives and children, and jamil is already exhausted attempting to refocus his mind when his face is steaming like a furnace. ﴿
Shut up.
﴾ he means it to be biting, but it's spoken as his fingers fall tenderly upon the curve of kalim's cheek, his touch just as soft as his tongue. annoying. his brows adopt a far more serious tilt, and with a little more mental steeling, he even manages to push kalim away from him so that he can retreat a safe distance and groom himself like a miserable cat. ﴿
There's no reason to say such things. I don't need to hear them. We've wasted far too much time with this already; I have a thousand things that I must do and you have notes to memorize for your exam tomorrow. Focus, Kalim.
[ some things are just habit between them; hard as kalim tries to treat jamil as an equal in every way, that habit will always be the hardest thing to fight. like now, when jamil tries to put distance between them, and it's like muscle memory for kalim to catch his wrist and gently guide him back. forgetting himself, again. but his fingertips glide along the underside of jamil's arm, spidering up to cradle his elbow and anchor him in place with a gentle grip. ]
I don't tell you because you need to hear it. I tell you because it's how I feel.
[ but -- and the realization strikes him a beat too late, as usual -- his feelings may not be welcome here either. kalim is starting to suspect that they never had been welcome. but how true can that be, when jamil warmed to him so quickly? a split second of melting, of softness, before everything iced over again.
kalim lives for these moments. for little glimpses of the jamil that lives beneath all that crushing expectation. when his eyes are silk-spun, and his words are a melody, and his heart belongs to kalim alone. that glancing vulnerability is breathtaking. if only jamil could allow himself to linger within it -- just with kalim, just when they're alone -- kalim really would be the wealthiest man in all the world. ]
It's all right if you have better things to do. [ and still, he beckons jamil closer with that gentle grasp on his arm, fingers creeping higher on his tricep in inching steps. ] You can go. I promise I'll be good.
﴾ is the only argument jamil really has, and even then, it's the sole virtue kalim can actually lord above him. only one of them has broken a promise — in such a disastrous display that jamil was almost glad for azul's intervention and the prospect of not having to live with his own ineptitude much longer — and that person is not kalim. he's solid, when it comes to that at least.
in a lot of other ways, too. kalim can always be counted on for a smile, something jamil never even knew to appreciate in him before it went away. it turns out that the absence of all that sunshine is a far greater loss than he'd previously surmised; there's just this hint of sadness in his eyes now, a gloomy cast over that decadently-honeyed face, and oh but jamil can't fucking stand it. his eyes narrow viciously as kalim's touch snares and spreads. ﴿
I know perfectly well what I can and cannot do. I will be going nowhere until your work is complete and you are cleaned and tucked into bed.
﴾ and then he'll wait, as always, in the shadows of kalim's room for the same threat that never comes. it really doesn't matter if it does or does not become a reality; it's happened before, at home, and the only thing that jamil can control is that he will be here, more prepared than all the times before.
to speak of such a thing as if it is even an option cuts so much deeper than kalim will ever know. or maybe he has little hints here and there, in the way jamil's perfectly manicured claws snare him by the collar of his shirt and drag him closer still, maybe even by the proprietorial manner in which jamil dusts kalim's hair away from his face until it's perfectly arranged once more. he is bold enough now to look entirely pleased with himself too, his brow arched smugly as his fingers slither up the back of kalim's neck and seize the finer, shorter hairs at its nape. ﴿
And now you cannot make me, since you value my agency so much.
[ kalim can't deny it, especially not when his head is falling back to chase jamil's touch. it's something to be savored, and kalim is more intimately aware of that fact than he ever has been before. but he's becoming more familiar with a lot of alien concepts recently. self-doubt is chief among them. he never had any reason to doubt himself before. his confidence was unshakeable. because failure is inevitable, only an opportunity to learn, and his most ardent pillars of support could never flag under a little tremor like defeat.
jamil's pillar was always the thickest, the most central. steadfast, diamond and titanium, invisible but coveted above all things. he played his part so completely, so perfectly, that kalim never even saw the cracks. there was so much taken for granted; that jamil was as happy to be beside him as kalim was to have him, that he was there because he wanted to be, that he resented nothing and helped only because there was love between them. illusions unnumbered, and kalim believed every one. how could he ever think to question it, when it was all he ever knew?
for a single, terrifying moment, kalim was certain that jamil's treasured pillar had never been there at all. that everything he'd known about their lives had been a carefully-constructed and cleverly-maintained lie. that every win jamil ever let him have, that every note left in his satchel, that every touch and every kiss, had been nothing more than obligation. it's a seed of doubt that's blossomed into a choking vine, or into the poisoned pull of a marionette's strings, tugging every notion deep into the shadow of doubt before kalim can even attempt to dismiss it.
it crushed him, crippled him, to think that he would never feel this touch again, to imagine that it had never been wanted (or even granted willingly) in the first place. that is what he's still trying to find his way back from, and it's the labor of a million paces through a parched desert.
luckily, kalim is intimately acquainted with the rain. ]
I can't make you do anything. I never could.
[ a sound reminder, while kalim catches jamil's hand, and then tilts his head to press a soft kiss to his palm. ]
﴾ there's a hint of tension in jamil's fingers, but it is largely imperceptible and very much short-lived. what a scene it would make if kalim were to pick up on the fact that jamil knows, that all of this ache and torment is the only thing he sees anymore when he gazes upon his master. for all that has transpired between them, jamil has no idea what to do with the sickly twist in his gut, the unrest scraping beneath his skin when he is reminded that the one danger he has failed to protect kalim from is himself. it was never supposed to be this way.
but there is no changing the past now, not really. not for very long, at least — a hypnotic word here or there can ease the tension for an hour or two, but like all spellwords, they quickly burn away and leave behind the raw truth. it is a thing that jamil is still learning to deal with when lies were sovereign for as long as he can honestly remember, as awkward as a newborn fawn taking its first steps on uneven soil.
still — very tempting when he meets kalim's eyes, just to speak all his pain away and let them crash together like the tides, natural and imperative. instead, his fingers spread for the soft dusting of kalim's kisses, and close in on the last of them, framing the curve of his cheek in a gesture that would look loving if not for the wall of ice in jamil's gaze. ﴿
How refreshing to hear. I suppose you deserve a reward for your clarity.
﴾ his other hand is busy, burrowing beneath the collar of kalim's soft sweater, drifting over his shoulder to squeeze and stroke. his touch is as capable as the rest of him, divining the tiniest points of tension as easily as if they were calling to him personally. it is almost sweet until his fingers curl, grasping and inextricable as jamil pretends for a moment to deliberate and ultimately decides: ﴿
[ there is no correct path to take here. as with a bulk of kalim's choices lately, it's a no-win scenario. solidly lose-lose. ire in one hand, guilt in the other. and either way, jamil will come out hurt in the end.
the path to his left... it's so tempting to simply heed jamil's order. easy, to fall into something familiar and comforting, into the thing that still (inexplicably) works for them, beyond the veil of that carefulness that kalim's maintained. even if everything else is crumbling behind their eyes, they can still touch one another without fear, and that's a connection worth holding onto. so too would it slip a bit more of that agency back into jamil's capable grasp, hand him a modicum of the control he feels he lacks in every other aspect of their lives (and how untrue -- unfair -- that is, when kalim has only ever been at his mercy). except that now, kalim's absolutely suffering under the gravid doubt of jamil's actual intentions. does he want this? is this obligation? does he touch because it brings him pleasure, or does he touch out of fear?
and to his right... what he should do -- uphill climb of a dune through a sandstorm, but the responsible path -- is dissuade jamil. as if jamil is so easily discouraged. but he could do it if he tried; grasp jamil's wrists and guide his grip away, insist he'll study alone, usher jamil out of his room. lock him out, and then shake apart when he's gone. it won't last long. perhaps only long enough for kalim to temper his storm, before jamil will find some excuse to fit himself back into kalim's presence, sourer for the rebuke. or perhaps he'll appreciate it all the same; take any excuse he's given to not have to touch kalim or to bear his company, even for a short while. and how kalim aches sometimes, wishes jamil would just leave rather than linger in a place he loathes, bound by familiarity and duty alone.
there's no excuse for it, and kalim knows the path he should take. he's two metaphorical steps to the right when his gaze flickers up to meet jamil's, and all he sees is ice and frost.
kalim burns.
face and chest, soul and bone, he burns. he swiftly catches jamil's jaw in both hands, and his touch is like the surface of the sun, as if he could sear the shape of his fingers into jamil's skin if he only lingered long enough. he can melt that ice. he knows he can. he's done it before, and he'll do it again; a thousand times, a million times, as often as it takes for jamil to let him in. to embrace this, embrace him, embrace them. so it's a sharp veer left, and kalim is on his feet, pulling jamil hard and hot into his kiss. ]
﴾ and there he is, the kalim that jamil knows better than anyone else in the whole world, his greedy mouth and grasping hands and the way he fits against jamil like his servant was built to be his own personal harbor. another duty jamil is honored and obliged to fulfill; if kalim is made to fit nowhere else, then there is a power and security in it that is absolutely intoxicating, such a rush that jamil can hardly help burning in kind as his fingers claw impatiently at kalim's shoulder. thrilled as he is, kalim deserves a little attitude for making him wait, for disrupting their well-practiced choreography with what, insecurity? guilt? all useless habits for a wealthy man to develop and jamil must continue to discourage them at all costs.
for this, he's always been pleased to do the opposite. even more so now, not because it feels like a reassurance that kalim will not change his mind, certainly not because the exposed truth has also made it so that kalim has to reconfirm jamil as his choice every time their eager lips meet — but because it is his own meager act of retribution, of course, pressing close and loosening his top and letting it fall down around his shoulders knowing full well that he's captured kalim's eye better than anyone else will ever be able to. ﴿
Kalim—
﴾ it's fine enough if kalim swallows up his protests and steals his breath away; jamil has work to do in the interim, winding against him and out of the silken fall of his clothes, pausing only once in his dutiful ritual to pass a careful touch over the full shape of kalim's cheek. it isn't quite the arid draft wafting in through the window that puts a shiver in his bare shoulders as he forces them apart once more, not turning away, but luring kalim deeper into the only path that makes any sense to him. ﴿
[ kalim's whims are war-torn, frayed right down to the faded fibers. he wants to kiss jamil breathless and senseless, steal the very taste from his tongue and rob him of his scheming mind. he wants to break away and savor every inch of skin jamil is baring, let his gaze chase the fabric as it falls away, and drink in the perfection it's uncovering. he wants to touch, weave himself in -- his ardent adoration, his desperate devotion -- until jamil can feel him viscerally. he wants so much, too much; it's an addiction he can't tear himself from until jamil drifts away of his own accord, and brings kalim to heel with a single word.
there's a spark now, a fervent fire catching behind kalim's eyes and blazing mischief in his grin. somehow -- and it's a deep dig, nigh impossible despite that bottomless well of patience and goodwill -- kalim summons up the fortitude to even the playing field, at least a little. it's hard with so many layers and scarves, but he leaves a trail of shed garments in his wake, a flurried dervish that bares him down to his slacks (and his headwrap went with the hastily-shed shirt, but the rest of the adornments are too troublesome; the jewelry will have to stay, for now, clatter and ring though it may), before he's close enough to catch jamil around his waist and tip them toward the bed. ]
You're coming with me!
[ so stated, while kalim collapses over the bolsters and drags jamil over him. the bare skin is distracting enough, and every point of contact lights up kalim's every nerve, bathes him in pleasured warmth until he's dizzy and gasping from it. maybe it's only imagined, but kalim could swear this feels a hundred-thousand times more intense with the enormity of gratitude behind it. as if he's so thankful to have his hands on jamil that his very nerves are soaking in the sensation. jamil must be able to see it, radiating in kalim's smile while he bites his lip, fingers following every dip and rise over jamil's stomach, his chest, his neck, until they come to rest beneath his jaw and guide their gaze to meet again. ]
Here he is, my beloved. [ timbre so warm, eyes so soft. ] My heart, my soul.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Okay but give me a minute.
[ He just needs to dig out his notebook and scribble through all the margin doodles of ❤❤ Jamil Al-Asim ❤❤ and 💕 Kalim Viper 💘
Don't you judge him! ]
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You have ten seconds. Spend them wisely.
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Just a minute!
[ Kalim's still frantically blacking out entire sections of his note margins when Jamil emerges into the lounge. He's even abandoned his hookah hose to his lap in deference to the cause! ]
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What is this? In the margins, here?
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[ kalim is the worst liar. absolute worst. he's practically grimacing through his smile. and making a one-handed grab to snatch his notebook back. failing spectacularly (flailing spectacularly?), but it's a valiant effort regardless. ]
Definitely don't need to look at the next page either!
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Why are you doing this? Do you not remember what I told you last time, Kalim?
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[ No.
Okay but in his defense, Jamil says a lot, and it all seems important. Which parts are meant to stick?? ]
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﴾ it bears repeating either way. jamil snaps his fingers and the pages erupt into a neat pile of ash upon the flat of his palm. ﴿
Go to your room.
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Aa--
[ Dead eyes. Absolutely no life behind them. ]
That had my class notes too.
[ And it's probably impolitic to point out that Jamil's a weakness, whether he wants to be or not. He was born Kalim's weakness, he'll die Kalim's weakness. Clearly nothing's going to change that. It's been tried and tested in the past, and it probably will be again some day. They'll manage. They always do.
Jamil's not exactly leaving room to argue right now though. So, cheeks puffed through a sigh, Kalim rolls to his feet, bag hefted over one shoulder to drag ass back to his room. ]
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Mind your posture, Kalim.
﴾ there's nothing... wrong with it, to be fair. it's simply grating for jamil to watch as kalim labors over anything without his intervention or guidance, and for the sake of maintaining this sterling mood he's in, he will fuss over this boy all the way to the door, swatting him away at the threshold in the event that he has even the tiniest ridiculous notion of opening it for himself. that is, of course, jamil's job to solemnly carry out, head bowed as if in respectful deference, bracelets ringing sonorously as he hurries the young master inside. ﴿
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it's easy to let jamil do things for him -- carry all the heavier and more tedious weight -- because it's what he's always done. it's how they've always been. and it's not that kalim has ever thought less of jamil (because he's fantastic, he's talented, he's so smart, he's incredible and amazing and all these glowing adjectives that kalim insists on attaching to him every time he opens his mouth), he just never questioned it until it was too late. by then, the contempt had already bred, festered; the resentment ran too deep to mend with smiles or hugs, and it hurt so much to know that jamil had been carrying it around for so long.
but he had his reasons. his hands have always been bound to kalim against his will. so by kalim's figuring, he's gotta be the one to pick up the slack between them. in little ways and big ways, he's trying to pull them closer to even ground. it won't happen all at once. cooking for himself (or attempting to, when jamil will allow it) had been a harrowing first step, but things started falling in -- and falling off jamil's plate -- a little more easily after that.
a little. jamil's still defaulting to service, and kalim's still too quick to let him (or, at times, forget himself completely and drag jamil into service regardless). he does his best. but pushing back is harder, like-- ]
You don't have to do all that.
[ kalim's not expecting it of him. he never has, but he has no evidence to back that up when he allowed it to happen for so long. so what would he normally do here? pull jamil in by his lapels, back him against the closed door, smile bright and kiss him breathless...? that all sounds about right. it also gives jamil zero agency. instead, kalim drags his bag to the couch and sprawls out over the cushions with an audible sigh.
he'll have to borrow silver's notes tomorrow. great seven, why is he dwelling on that when he's finally alone with jamil again? ]
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kalim, obviously, won't have anything to worry about. jamil tucks his own notes into the gored center of kalim's book, hand-written and color-coded for easy reference, as always. whatever kalim thinks he knows about their situation, it's simply too late to abandon such duties and wildly grating that he even thinks to question them now. what's next, no more witching hour patrols for encroaching assassins? is kalim going to graduate from stirring pots to testing his own food for poison? the very notion makes jamil ill. ﴿
Ah? You think you know better than me, now, what I should or should not be doing?
﴾ this is what happens when jamil leaves kalim to his own devices: he always returns with silly ideas that jamil needs to exorcise from his mind before they begin to fester. it's a lesson learned that he needs to be more careful with outside influences, even more than he has been in the wake of octavinelle's little winter break stunt. he can begin by striding forth and seizing kalim's chin — and it's not lost on him that kalim is the only one who will meet his eye anymore, still, even after everything. his taloned grasp is secure, but not harmful, only as uncomfortable as kalim feels being pinned beneath such an intense stare and gently jostled until his senses return to him. ﴿
Stop thinking. It's unbecoming of your station.
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jamil can't jostle kalim back into a damn thing now that he's learned his lesson. as always, jamil taught him too well. ]
What? Me? You know I leave that to you!
[ firm as he tries to be, jamil's grip begs a sunny smile anyway. jade and floyd were right. he really is too nice. and he can't compromise his own nature, but jamil doesn't have to be around something (someone?) that irritates him so thoroughly either. not if he doesn't want to be.
kalim has to remind himself constantly. a person like him is nothing but a nuisance and a burden to a person like jamil. the notion feels like its own kind of poison; slow-creeping, insidious, until it punches him square in the chest and sets everything beneath his ribs to wither. he forgets so many things. forgives so many more. but that contempt burning in jamil's eyes? the venom that was dripping from his lips? jamil, his beloved; the man kalim adored and admired and trusted beyond any shadow of a doubt? how is kalim meant to forget that?
still, all smiles. but just in case jamil has any ideas about his touch being unwelcome, kalim reaches up to lightly rest a hand over his wrist. ]
I really mean it, though! You don't have to do all this. I appreciate it, but I can manage on my own.
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A thousand thanks, but I do not believe you will be able to survive on occasionally-stirred soup alone.
﴾ over his dead body, in fact. jamil has his justifications, playing nice with someone who could effectively end his entire family's prospects by speaking even a single unfortunate word about what transpired over break, but they're flimsy. kalim didn't talk for jade, he won't for anyone else either. his loyalty ended up narcing jamil out just the same, but that's more of an excuse to be pissy than anything concrete.
and so jamil looks sour — but relieved — when kalim's fingers fall over his wrist. it brings him closer before he can mute the compulsion, just near enough to be a presence of scent and breath on kalim's skin. ﴿
My duties do not end when it is convenient for me. Neither do yours.
﴾ how unfortunate that all these barbs he's throwing have soft, silken edges, that every word he speaks betrays itself with the fondness in his tone. though that's not quite the word for it, either. there is something wicked curing in that smile that is pressed nearly up against kalim's lips, like the rattling of a snake's tail before it strikes. ﴿
Come to bed.
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it's cruel, isn't it? calling this his duty while pressed so damningly close? kalim should be furious, but he can't find it within himself. jamil tastes like home -- not the walls they grew up in, but the harbor he carries within him -- and so all he manages is a soul-deep ache. ]
You're so much more than duty. You always have been. You know that, right?
[ kalim's not making any progress toward that bed, either. he'll happily defy orders for just a bit longer, if it means driving home this particular point. that, coupled with the opportunity to push their foreheads together and nuzzle their noses fondly. ]
In so many ways. Your worth isn't measured by your ability to serve.
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which is two moments too long, actually, because none of this means anything. jamil has already decided long ago that kalim will become his father in more than just name and estate, and it's important to keep in mind what that will mean for him. more of the same, that is, with the additional labor of seeing to so many wives and children, and jamil is already exhausted attempting to refocus his mind when his face is steaming like a furnace. ﴿
Shut up.
﴾ he means it to be biting, but it's spoken as his fingers fall tenderly upon the curve of kalim's cheek, his touch just as soft as his tongue. annoying. his brows adopt a far more serious tilt, and with a little more mental steeling, he even manages to push kalim away from him so that he can retreat a safe distance and groom himself like a miserable cat. ﴿
There's no reason to say such things. I don't need to hear them. We've wasted far too much time with this already; I have a thousand things that I must do and you have notes to memorize for your exam tomorrow. Focus, Kalim.
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I don't tell you because you need to hear it. I tell you because it's how I feel.
[ but -- and the realization strikes him a beat too late, as usual -- his feelings may not be welcome here either. kalim is starting to suspect that they never had been welcome. but how true can that be, when jamil warmed to him so quickly? a split second of melting, of softness, before everything iced over again.
kalim lives for these moments. for little glimpses of the jamil that lives beneath all that crushing expectation. when his eyes are silk-spun, and his words are a melody, and his heart belongs to kalim alone. that glancing vulnerability is breathtaking. if only jamil could allow himself to linger within it -- just with kalim, just when they're alone -- kalim really would be the wealthiest man in all the world. ]
It's all right if you have better things to do. [ and still, he beckons jamil closer with that gentle grasp on his arm, fingers creeping higher on his tricep in inching steps. ] You can go. I promise I'll be good.
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﴾ is the only argument jamil really has, and even then, it's the sole virtue kalim can actually lord above him. only one of them has broken a promise — in such a disastrous display that jamil was almost glad for azul's intervention and the prospect of not having to live with his own ineptitude much longer — and that person is not kalim. he's solid, when it comes to that at least.
in a lot of other ways, too. kalim can always be counted on for a smile, something jamil never even knew to appreciate in him before it went away. it turns out that the absence of all that sunshine is a far greater loss than he'd previously surmised; there's just this hint of sadness in his eyes now, a gloomy cast over that decadently-honeyed face, and oh but jamil can't fucking stand it. his eyes narrow viciously as kalim's touch snares and spreads. ﴿
I know perfectly well what I can and cannot do. I will be going nowhere until your work is complete and you are cleaned and tucked into bed.
﴾ and then he'll wait, as always, in the shadows of kalim's room for the same threat that never comes. it really doesn't matter if it does or does not become a reality; it's happened before, at home, and the only thing that jamil can control is that he will be here, more prepared than all the times before.
to speak of such a thing as if it is even an option cuts so much deeper than kalim will ever know. or maybe he has little hints here and there, in the way jamil's perfectly manicured claws snare him by the collar of his shirt and drag him closer still, maybe even by the proprietorial manner in which jamil dusts kalim's hair away from his face until it's perfectly arranged once more. he is bold enough now to look entirely pleased with himself too, his brow arched smugly as his fingers slither up the back of kalim's neck and seize the finer, shorter hairs at its nape. ﴿
And now you cannot make me, since you value my agency so much.
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[ kalim can't deny it, especially not when his head is falling back to chase jamil's touch. it's something to be savored, and kalim is more intimately aware of that fact than he ever has been before. but he's becoming more familiar with a lot of alien concepts recently. self-doubt is chief among them. he never had any reason to doubt himself before. his confidence was unshakeable. because failure is inevitable, only an opportunity to learn, and his most ardent pillars of support could never flag under a little tremor like defeat.
jamil's pillar was always the thickest, the most central. steadfast, diamond and titanium, invisible but coveted above all things. he played his part so completely, so perfectly, that kalim never even saw the cracks. there was so much taken for granted; that jamil was as happy to be beside him as kalim was to have him, that he was there because he wanted to be, that he resented nothing and helped only because there was love between them. illusions unnumbered, and kalim believed every one. how could he ever think to question it, when it was all he ever knew?
for a single, terrifying moment, kalim was certain that jamil's treasured pillar had never been there at all. that everything he'd known about their lives had been a carefully-constructed and cleverly-maintained lie. that every win jamil ever let him have, that every note left in his satchel, that every touch and every kiss, had been nothing more than obligation. it's a seed of doubt that's blossomed into a choking vine, or into the poisoned pull of a marionette's strings, tugging every notion deep into the shadow of doubt before kalim can even attempt to dismiss it.
it crushed him, crippled him, to think that he would never feel this touch again, to imagine that it had never been wanted (or even granted willingly) in the first place. that is what he's still trying to find his way back from, and it's the labor of a million paces through a parched desert.
luckily, kalim is intimately acquainted with the rain. ]
I can't make you do anything. I never could.
[ a sound reminder, while kalim catches jamil's hand, and then tilts his head to press a soft kiss to his palm. ]
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but there is no changing the past now, not really. not for very long, at least — a hypnotic word here or there can ease the tension for an hour or two, but like all spellwords, they quickly burn away and leave behind the raw truth. it is a thing that jamil is still learning to deal with when lies were sovereign for as long as he can honestly remember, as awkward as a newborn fawn taking its first steps on uneven soil.
still — very tempting when he meets kalim's eyes, just to speak all his pain away and let them crash together like the tides, natural and imperative. instead, his fingers spread for the soft dusting of kalim's kisses, and close in on the last of them, framing the curve of his cheek in a gesture that would look loving if not for the wall of ice in jamil's gaze. ﴿
How refreshing to hear. I suppose you deserve a reward for your clarity.
﴾ his other hand is busy, burrowing beneath the collar of kalim's soft sweater, drifting over his shoulder to squeeze and stroke. his touch is as capable as the rest of him, divining the tiniest points of tension as easily as if they were calling to him personally. it is almost sweet until his fingers curl, grasping and inextricable as jamil pretends for a moment to deliberate and ultimately decides: ﴿
You can stop talking and go to bed. Now, Kalim.
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the path to his left... it's so tempting to simply heed jamil's order. easy, to fall into something familiar and comforting, into the thing that still (inexplicably) works for them, beyond the veil of that carefulness that kalim's maintained. even if everything else is crumbling behind their eyes, they can still touch one another without fear, and that's a connection worth holding onto. so too would it slip a bit more of that agency back into jamil's capable grasp, hand him a modicum of the control he feels he lacks in every other aspect of their lives (and how untrue -- unfair -- that is, when kalim has only ever been at his mercy). except that now, kalim's absolutely suffering under the gravid doubt of jamil's actual intentions. does he want this? is this obligation? does he touch because it brings him pleasure, or does he touch out of fear?
and to his right... what he should do -- uphill climb of a dune through a sandstorm, but the responsible path -- is dissuade jamil. as if jamil is so easily discouraged. but he could do it if he tried; grasp jamil's wrists and guide his grip away, insist he'll study alone, usher jamil out of his room. lock him out, and then shake apart when he's gone. it won't last long. perhaps only long enough for kalim to temper his storm, before jamil will find some excuse to fit himself back into kalim's presence, sourer for the rebuke. or perhaps he'll appreciate it all the same; take any excuse he's given to not have to touch kalim or to bear his company, even for a short while. and how kalim aches sometimes, wishes jamil would just leave rather than linger in a place he loathes, bound by familiarity and duty alone.
there's no excuse for it, and kalim knows the path he should take. he's two metaphorical steps to the right when his gaze flickers up to meet jamil's, and all he sees is ice and frost.
kalim burns.
face and chest, soul and bone, he burns. he swiftly catches jamil's jaw in both hands, and his touch is like the surface of the sun, as if he could sear the shape of his fingers into jamil's skin if he only lingered long enough. he can melt that ice. he knows he can. he's done it before, and he'll do it again; a thousand times, a million times, as often as it takes for jamil to let him in. to embrace this, embrace him, embrace them. so it's a sharp veer left, and kalim is on his feet, pulling jamil hard and hot into his kiss. ]
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for this, he's always been pleased to do the opposite. even more so now, not because it feels like a reassurance that kalim will not change his mind, certainly not because the exposed truth has also made it so that kalim has to reconfirm jamil as his choice every time their eager lips meet — but because it is his own meager act of retribution, of course, pressing close and loosening his top and letting it fall down around his shoulders knowing full well that he's captured kalim's eye better than anyone else will ever be able to. ﴿
Kalim—
﴾ it's fine enough if kalim swallows up his protests and steals his breath away; jamil has work to do in the interim, winding against him and out of the silken fall of his clothes, pausing only once in his dutiful ritual to pass a careful touch over the full shape of kalim's cheek. it isn't quite the arid draft wafting in through the window that puts a shiver in his bare shoulders as he forces them apart once more, not turning away, but luring kalim deeper into the only path that makes any sense to him. ﴿
Bed.
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there's a spark now, a fervent fire catching behind kalim's eyes and blazing mischief in his grin. somehow -- and it's a deep dig, nigh impossible despite that bottomless well of patience and goodwill -- kalim summons up the fortitude to even the playing field, at least a little. it's hard with so many layers and scarves, but he leaves a trail of shed garments in his wake, a flurried dervish that bares him down to his slacks (and his headwrap went with the hastily-shed shirt, but the rest of the adornments are too troublesome; the jewelry will have to stay, for now, clatter and ring though it may), before he's close enough to catch jamil around his waist and tip them toward the bed. ]
You're coming with me!
[ so stated, while kalim collapses over the bolsters and drags jamil over him. the bare skin is distracting enough, and every point of contact lights up kalim's every nerve, bathes him in pleasured warmth until he's dizzy and gasping from it. maybe it's only imagined, but kalim could swear this feels a hundred-thousand times more intense with the enormity of gratitude behind it. as if he's so thankful to have his hands on jamil that his very nerves are soaking in the sensation. jamil must be able to see it, radiating in kalim's smile while he bites his lip, fingers following every dip and rise over jamil's stomach, his chest, his neck, until they come to rest beneath his jaw and guide their gaze to meet again. ]
Here he is, my beloved. [ timbre so warm, eyes so soft. ] My heart, my soul.
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