Jalil/David slash. 250 words exactly.
David is, by nature, curvy. He wouldn't like to hear it, but it is nevertheless true. Jalil has studied David's body enough to know it.
To begin with, there are the curves of David's face. The slant of cheekbones next to dark eyelashes, soft charcoal smudges when he sleeps. There is the line of his jaw, strong but not inflexible. Solid contours of his neck sloping to the more elusive hollows of his collarbones, nearly the only parts of David's body that seem delicate. His ribs stick out of his body, thick falcates in neat rows. Lying on his side David's back and spine become one long line. The flare of his hips and elongated arc of his thighs are just visible under the sheets. At the end of the bed one foots peeks out, instep subtly arched.
Of course, the word 'curve' implies something soft. Jalil feels he should point out that David is not soft. Anything but, in fact. Muscle and ligament and tendon bind those curves together.
Jalil thinks David is perfect, like a Caravaggio angel made flesh. He'd tell David so if he thought David would understand what he meant. But David doesn't know who Caravaggio is, and he'd bristle if Jalil called him an angel. Jalil simply fits his curves to David's and presses a kiss to the back of his neck, rests his hand on the camber of David's chest, watches it rise and fall with each breath, and waits for him to wake.
