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This is a terrible idea.
Not, Jamil reflects as Kalim crowds him up against the wall, that that’s stopped them so far.
Sure, the little nook they’ve tucked themselves into is reasonably out of the way—most of the classrooms around here haven’t been used in years—but they’d be immediately spotted by anyone walking around the corner.
Jamil should really be the responsible one here. He should ignore his insatiable boyfriend’s pleading and tell him to wait until they’re back at Scarabia where they have rooms with beds and, more importantly, locks.
At the very least, they should wait until they have more than a short break between classes to go make out in a dark corner like the teenagers they are.
But Kalim is already sliding a hand into his hair and a leg between his thighs and Jamil thinks fuck it just like he has every other time before pulling him into a kiss.
They may or may not lose track of time.
In Jamil’s defense, Kalim is very good at this. He’s always been an attentive student when it comes to subjects he’s genuinely interested in, and Jamil is very much one of those subjects, especially now that they’ve started dating.
That, and they’ve been putting in plenty of practice.
Jamil is jarred out of his musings by a sharp nip to his bottom lip; he opens his eyes to see Kalim grinning up at him mischievously. In retaliation, he snakes a hand up the back of Kalim’s vest and rakes his nails down the soft skin there, smirking at the breathy yelp that gets him.
“Mean!” Kalim says, though his attempt at a pout is rather ruined by the smile he can’t quite suppress.
“You started it,” Jamil counters, fully aware of how childish it sounds. Kalim just brings it out of him.
“I did,” Kalim agrees easily, completely unrepentant, before leaning up to kiss him again. He sucks on Jamil’s bottom lip, laving his tongue over the bright spot of pain left by his bite. Jamil groans deep in his throat, grip tightening on Kalim’s hair and back to pull him closer.
Fuck. It hasn’t been that long since they've started and already they’re both breathing heavily and more than half-hard. Jamil should really put a stop to this before it gets out of hand, they do still have to be presentable for class after. And he will, really.
In a few more minutes.
Closing his eyes, Jamil melts back into the kiss, huffing at Kalim’s extremely self-satisfied hum. He drags his hand out from under the vest to smack Kalim gently on the hip—which earns him nothing more than an amused snicker—and then, in a stunning display of poor self control and bad decision making, uses his hold on Kalim’s hip to encourage him into a slow rock.
Kalim complies eagerly, muffling his moans in Jamil’s mouth, which does absolutely nothing to douse the heat building in Jamil’s veins.
He’s about one second from shoving Kalim away or unbuttoning their pants, he hasn’t decided which, when he hears them.
Footsteps. At least one pair, maybe more. Coming down the hallway adjacent to their hiding spot.
Jamil jerks back, eyes flying open and hands white-knuckling as a bolt of pure adrenaline runs through his body.
They haven’t been seen yet, might not be seen at all if the footsteps don’t turn their corner, and his thoughts are going a mile a minute trying to decide what to do. The nearest door is too far, they’d have to run for it and that would make too much noise. He could try hiding them with magic but his concentration is completely shot right now. Maybe they could—
Jamil slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his sudden cry. “Kalim!” he whispers furiously, glaring at the brat who had just pinched his nipple, what the fuck Kalim!
“It’s fine, we’re fine,” Kalim gasps quietly, pushing him further into the wall until there’s no space left between them.
His hand is gently nudged out of the way and replaced with Kalim’s tongue licking its way back into his mouth. Jamil should shove him off, but instead he finds himself clinging to the back of Kalim’s cardigan and shuddering as the kiss deepens. His other hand, he notes faintly, hasn’t left Kalim’s hip this entire time.
The footsteps are getting louder now, nothing but a single wall keeping them from being in full view of whoever is in the other hallway. Jamil tenses, pulse rabbiting in his chest. The footsteps pause right as Kalim begins effectively fucking his mouth with his tongue and Jamil bucks so hard he almost does shove him off, Jamil’s own grip the only thing keeping Kalim in place.
Kalim who, damn him, doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that they’re an inch away from getting caught.
After a long moment the footsteps finally start up again, and instead of backing off or slowing down, Kalim slips both of his hands down to grab Jamil’s ass and drag their hips together in an absolutely filthy grind.
The noise that leaves him is too loud by far, even half-smothered as it is by Kalim’s lips. He can’t help his entire body going rigid as he desperately tries to track the sounds of footsteps over the blood rushing in his ears. Are they still there? Is it someone they know? Did they hear him? Did they see—
Kalim giggles breathlessly against his lips, abruptly slamming Jamil’s attention back to him.
“Shh Jamil,” Kalim whispers, peppering kiss after kiss on his slack mouth. “You gotta be quiet. Unless you want everyone to see how pretty you look right now~.”
He’s joking, obviously, Jamil can feel the teasing grin pressed against him, but that doesn’t stop his frazzled mind from imagining it. Imagining the owner of the footsteps walking around the corner right now—perhaps one of their classmates, or even one of their friends—and just. Watching them. Watching him.
Jamil knows what he looks like right now: flushed and panting through kiss-swollen lips, hair half undone, hoodie rucked up around his chest from Kalim’s wandering hands. He looks like a mess. He looks exposed.
Jamil can almost feel the prickle of imaginary eyes traveling over his skin like a livewire.
Kalim grinds their hips together once more and it’s suddenly too fucking much.
He buries his face in Kalim’s shoulder, biting his lip hard as he feels his body flush hot—cold—hot—
Jamil comes so hard he almost forgets how to breathe. He hears Kalim gasp in surprise, but he recovers quickly and holds Jamil’s hips steady against his own, letting Jamil use him to work through his orgasm as he jerks and spasms in Kalim’s arms.
After what feels like an eternity, he slumps back against the wall, panting, as his body twitches through the last few aftershocks.
Feeling comes back to Jamil in stages. The solid wall at his back. A hand carding gently through his hair. The twinges of pain in his lips and hands. The line of heat that is Kalim, pressed against his front from head to toe.
Shifting around a bit to get his bearings gives him one more, significantly less pleasant sensation: that of the disgusting mess in his underwear.
He must wrinkle his nose or make some kind of noise at that, because the hand in his hair pauses for a moment, then drifts down to his chin. Kalim carefully tilts his head up so that their foreheads are pressed together and Jamil leans into it, sighing. He’s grateful that Kalim knows him well enough by now to give him a moment to process everything.
He’s learned something new about himself today and he’s not quite sure how to feel about it yet. He’ll have to save the freak out for later, though. They both still have a class to get to, and he needs to figure out a way to clean up somehow.
Jamil closes his eyes and sighs again. He’ll move in a minute.
Dimly, he registers that the footsteps are long gone.