Log: Pari & Arabian Knight WHO: Nasser Jalili & Kinah Guthrie-Jalili WHAT: Nasser and Kinah finally have their first moments alone on their wedding night.
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Kinah had all of her things neatly packed in her room. It had been a ritual over the last few weeks, organizing her books and clothes and other items and tucking them into carefully-labeled boxes. They were stacked by her door and ready to move into Nasser’s room. Sebastian and Chess had eloped a couple months ago and only recently moved in together, but Kinah had kept track of all the little details. She and Nasser were going to be sharing their lives now.
Six months ago she never would have thought this was a possibility. Six months ago she had no idea who Nasser Jalili was. Sometimes Kinah wondered if she was crazy, that this was all too fast. She was the woman who waded gently into the pond rather than jumping in. She was careful and measured about her decisions.
When she thought about it, she really wouldn’t have it any other way.
Their guests had all gone back to their rooms or the local hotel. Dinner had been cleaned up, the lawn had been cleared of chairs and flowers. All of Kinah’s boxes were waiting quietly in her room, waiting to be brought in. They could wait.
Because now, for the first time, Kinah was alone in Nasser’s bedroom.
She followed him in, her fingers gently laced with his. Her wedding dress and hijab, last-minute though they were, was shades of ivory, mint green, and sage, delicately embroidered. It was elegant and simple, her shoes silk flats instead of uncomfortable heels.
Once she was inside, she closed the door behind her and gave Nasser a little smile. “So.”
This wasn’t how he expected “coming home” to be. Nasser had never been able to look further than the next week, but now he found himself planning the next few years. The places he wanted to go, a home to build, a farm to cultivate, and he contributed that desire of change to one person: Kinah Guthrie. Now Guthrie-Jalili, of course, or would be once documents were signed and so on.
No, these weren’t things to think about. It drew attention away from their slow and quiet walk down the hall, tender slips of fingers entwined with his. The soft feel of her skin as it rubbed in unison, whispers from her silk dress. His own, a uniform, not quite so traditional as either side would have enjoyed and yet respected it.
It would probably be the last time Nasser ever stepped into his ceremonial uniform; the ribbons on the left of his chest worn proudly, depicting different battles and achievements, the few medals he had hung on the right. Medals, buttons, all shone brightly, polished earlier by hand. He looked handsome, even with his now ear length hair neatly tucked back.
He wasn’t ready for this, or maybe he was. Nasser had taken the time to clean, move what little things he had around so that there was more than enough space for Kinah and the items they would acquire. As she turned towards him, a radiant beauty in the colors that complimented her so, he felt a flush rise to his cheeks, a shyness that had never been there before.
“So. Here we are.” A time that, yes, six months ago he wouldn’t have expected. To stand in front of his bride, his hands trembling slightly as he dropped his hat to the side, toes flexing inside his shined Oxfords. There was a new type of fear here that was so delightfully refreshing that Nasser welcomed it, and Kinah, with open arms.
Eyes flashing up, he nervously tugged in the bottom corner of his lip, taking a step forward to, hopefully maybe, push back the intricate border of her hijab. He was allowed to do this now, he reminded himself, and yet he still wanted her permission. Always, her permission.
Kinah felt her heart pounding in her ears. Most women here didn’t cover their hair. When she was in college, she hadn’t done it, either. She’d tossed it up in ponytails, let it hang loose and free, let other people see it and touch it and play with it. She had been taught by her mother and sisters that her hair was a part of her sexuality, but the decision to wear the veil was hers alone. Some of them wore it, some of them didn’t. Her mother still wore an abaya and niqab when she was out in public, covering most of her face as well as her hair.
Other people at the school had seen her hair. Her family, most of her friends, anyone who’d known her in her college years, Ian. But Nasser hadn’t grown up with her. Nasser hadn’t watched her struggle with her faith, trying to fit in with nonreligious friends before finding peace with her religion. For him, all of this was new.
“Here we are.” Kinah lifted her hands. Normally, Kinah’s hijab was informal, rebelliously showing just a little bit of hair and easy to unravel. Today it was intricately pinned and held in place and Kinah gently guided him to remove the pin and then carefully undo the rest.
Underneath, her dark hair was pulled back and held in place with a simple pearl comb. Kinah brought Nasser’s hand to it. He had permission to take it out. She released his hand so she could rest her own against his chest, thumb gently brushing over one of his buttons. Never in her life had she thought that she’d marry a soldier.
Nasser let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. Her hair was a wild thing, as was her soul, and he gently tugged out the comb. The pearls were warm from being so close to her. Nasser didn’t know where to put it so he reached past her, setting it down gently onto the small pine table by the door.
Brushing his fingers through her curls, he amused himself by remembering that he had predicted to her that it was this, this wild mess. It brought Nasser, running a finger down along her ear, the soft line of her cheek, to tip her face up so that he could meet her mouth with his.
They were not chaste kisses that followed, not after he felt her relax into him. None of their caution now, their respect to the rules and the guidelines that they had abided by.
Wrapping her tightly, he realized now it wasn’t so much about the sex as it was the union, being in a shared space, together, uninhibited by rules.
“Ya, allah,” he breathed into her hair, eyes closed as he brushed his cheek against the softness. “Would you call me a fool if I asked if you wanted some tea?”
Kinah’s hair tumbled in soft, thick curls over her shoulders and down her back. She was closer to him than she’d ever been, her body pressed against his, her arms draped over Nasser’s shoulders. She’d seemed perfectly content to kiss, to sift her fingers through her new husband’s hair, to let him touch wherever he pleased.
When he spoke, it jarred her out of a haze. “Tea?” She pulled back to look up at him, her eyes bright, and she tried not to laugh. “Are you kidding?”
Oh, how he touched. Nasser’s hands were roving wild, running over the cloth against parts he had only dreamed of touching. Areas still so close yet out of his reach, and here he was, laughing softly. “No, I don’t think I am. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”
They did, too. They had forever, as long as forever would be for them. There was no rush now, just patience and time and, yeah, a growing thirst to have her against him.
Kinah scrunched her nose, standing on her toes to nuzzle him lightly. “I want some tea,” she said softly, before leaning in for another kiss. “I want … more than tea, too, but we’ve got all night. We’ve got the rest of our lives, if all goes well, yeah? I can take time for tea.”
It was sweet, her voice as quiet as usual, but she was being polite. It was too nice a moment and too beautiful an evening to say what part of her was screaming, which was: Tea? No, screw it, I need to tear that uniform off you immediately before I go insane.
In their short time he had come realize he could read Kinah beyond her words. Such as now. A devil of a grin erupted and he moved to nuzzle her neck. Letting go, his mouth the only contact on her skin, Nasser undid his own buttons and swiftly slipped out of his jacket, letting it fly across the room with a light thud to the ground. It was disrespectful of the ribbons and medals but at this moment, he didn’t care.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he breathed into her ear, foregoing that tea for something more, well, satisfying. Kinah had no need to be polite around him, and he hoped---knew, on some level---that this was really what she would prefer first. Them, together.
Kinah’s breath hitched and her eyelids fluttered closed. It had been years since she’d had a man so close, since someone had whispered in her ear this way. It was intimate, warm, and soon the idea of politely having tea before romantically undressing one another seemed hilariously quaint.
She ran her fingertips down Nasser’s chest and stomach, feeling the contours of his muscles through his shirt. A little groan escaped her throat. She’d seen him shirtless. She knew what was waiting for her.
She threw her arms around his shoulders and jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Good.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, legs tightening around him. “Tea later, yeah?”