"It's not fair," Ali says, when Khalifa tries to kiss him again.
He wants to kiss Khalifa. So, so, so much it's all he can think about, really. He dreams about it. Every night when he closes his eyes (the only time he thinks he can escape his thoughts) and drifts to sleep, he sees Khalifa, and he sees himself, and they're always tangled in each other like their limbs are made of thin branches that stem from the same tree.
"What's not fair?" Khalifa's smiling, gently. He pushes at Ali's chest, forces his back to press against the passenger side of his car. He's taken it again, willingly defying his mother's rules. Ali doesn't want him to be grounded again, but he'd needed a ride to grab a few last-minute supplies for his project, and nobody else was free.
Ali thinks of what his father would say, if he knew that Khalifa's lips were inches away, and Ali wanted to lean forward. What would his mother say? Or Alia?
It's easier, to push Khalifa away, when he has those reminders at the top of his head. He can reach for them, like a shield or a prayer to chase his desires away. This is shaytan's fault, for finding his way inside Ali's head. Maybe Ali should have prayed this morning when he woke up, instead of wasting time curled up in his bed and dreading another day (another day of looking at Khalifa, and knowing now what he tastes like, what he feels like. Ignorance really, truly is bliss in this case).
"This," Ali says, and his fingers are splayed, spread out across Khalifa's chest. He can feel his heart pulse beneath his fingertips, and it does nothing but make him want.
"What's that?"
"I'm not going to spell it out for you, asshole."
Khalifa's smiling at him still. "You don't have to. I can read your mind. You think you don't want to kiss me but it's all you've been thinking of since I picked you up."
"No."
"You don't mean that."
"I do, though. I need you to leave me alone. I can't think."
"It's boring to think," Khalifa says, leaning in, like he's going to kiss Ali again. "Thinking is overrated."
"It's haram."
Khalifa rolls his eyes and pushes himself away. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Ali.
"So, yeah," Ali says, looking away. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? What the fuck are you sorry about?"
"Kissing you back," Ali runs his fingers through his hair. "I guess. I shouldn't have done that."
"Because it's haram."
Ali's cheeks flush. "It's just not fair, okay? It's hypocritical to tell Alia that she can't talk to boys and we're...And we've kissed."
"Okay, then we won't kiss."
"We...what?"
"I won't kiss you again. Things will go back to the way they were before. Isn't that what you want?"
Ali remembers the kiss, the way he felt before, during, and after. He draws it in his head, a rollercoaster graph.
"Yes."
"Okay."
Khalifa leans forward and presses their lips together, gently, so when he pulls back two seconds later Ali's swaying towards him. It's uncomfortable, like this, in the car. They're parked somewhere deserted, and Ali can't remember where they are.
"What the fuck?"
"I just wanted to get one more. Before you push me away."
One more. Ali leans in, seatbelt digging into his shoulder just to press another kiss against Khalifa's lips. Someone could see them, he thinks, and it's this alarm that goes off in his head but he can ignore it now, when Khalifa's long fingers work their way through his hair, and it feels so good. But they're parked off to the side, surrounded by sand, and the car's windows are tinted to about 99% percent of the way.
