Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/586056.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Magi:_The_Labyrinth_of_Magic
  Relationship:
      Sinbad/Judal
  Character:
      Sinbad_(Magi), Judal_(Magi), Ja'far_(Magi)
  Additional Tags:
      Shota, Age_Difference, Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-07 Words: 9415
****** La Fleur de la Jeunesse ******
by daphnerunning, Galiko
Summary
     When Sinbad and Ja'far pick up a confused, powerful young boy,
     neither of them know how it will change their lives--and how soon.
     AU: non-Al-Sarmen Judal
Judal is doing well.
At least, Sinbad thinks he’s doing well. It’s kind of hard to tell, with
children. He’s good with children, always was, back home in the place he
doesn’t like to talk about. Whether he liked being the one to watch the kids or
not, they’d always flocked to him, and Judal is no different. 
Of course, it’s a bit different in the way that he hangs upside down in the air
half the time, has hair that would float to the ground if he let it, and
summoned a dungeon right in front of them just to show off.
 
But those are little differences, that honestly make little difference in how
Sinbad sees him. He’s a kid, with those big wide eyes that follow Sinbad all
around whatever room he’s in, and the lightning-bright smile he wears not
nearly enough for Sinbad’s taste. There’s a sadness there, but he’d expected
that from a kid they’d found on the side of the road, collapsed from
dehydration with old bruises and dried blood on his arms and face. Sinbad
doubts he was a slave, not with how recent everything looked, and certainly not
when Judal wasn’t at all shy to trust him, to take his food, and within a day
was climbing all over him.
The road to Laem is a long one, but it had become pretty obvious in the last
year or so that no matter how much Sinbad and Ja’far know about magic, Judal
needs to know a lot more, if he’s going to be able to come back to Sindria and
not blow it up. Sindria—it’s a good name, and Sinbad can’t wait to tell all the
people back in the villages under his protection that he’s come up with a name
for them at last. When they get home, of course. For now, Judal needs him.
The road is too long to travel all in one go, so they stop to camp with a few
caravans, one of them headed into a big city for the night. Almost helplessly,
Sinbad endures a lecture from Ja’far and the beginning of a tantrum from Judal
before slipping out, relieved to be alone for once. Ja’far is good company,
speaking when he’s spoken to but never chattering just to hear the sound of his
own voice, but between his more-than-occasional cold spells and Judal’s fiery
temper…
Any man would seek out a brothel on a night like this, Sinbad tells himself.
It’s quiet in the city, somewhere in the nebulous time between midnight and
dawn before he makes his way back to the guest house one of his new friends had
lent them. He’d jumped in a reasonably clean horse trough an hour or so ago,
but he doesn’t doubt that he still smells a bit of wine and perfume no matter
how he’s washed and dried. Ja’far is folded up neatly in the corner of the
front room, and Sinbad winces at the idea of resting his sore muscles on a
pallet on the floor. He creeps quietly into the back of the house, rolling
Judal’s sprawled form to the side and stretching out on the only real bed,
sighing as he closes his eyes.
Sometimes, a man just needs relief.
Judal’s a heavy sleeper, but more importantly, Sinbad is big and warm
and there and he wants closer the moment he realizes it. He stirs, mumbling,
shifting, eventually rolling himself to the side and in one swift movement,
latches himself to Sinbad with his face buried firmly into his neck. 
His nose wrinkles almost immediately. “You smell like bad perfume.” More than
likely, it’s an echo of something Ja’far has grumbled in the past, because he
doesn’t mind that much. Judal much prefers the way Sinbad smells every other
time, though, not when he’s gone out to that place with a lot of naked women.
Why Sinbad won’t just stay here and play with him instead is something he
doesn’t quite understand.
Sinbad snorts at hearing Ja’far’s words come out of Judal’s mouth. He wriggles
around a bit until they’re more comfortable, fitted together with Judal clamped
onto him like the affectionate little barnacle he’s been lately. Sinbad would
mind it more if it weren’t so damned cute, and really, it’s not like it’s not
comfortable. Judal’s always curling around him, to the point that Sinbad gets
cold in his sleep if he tries to sleep alone. “What do you know about good
perfume and bad perfume? You’re a kid.”
Ugh. There’s that again.
“I know enough.” He knows the difference between what Sinbad comes back
smelling like and what he tries to wheedle into making Ja’far try on sometimes,
no matter the other boy’s protests and exasperation. “And I’m not a kid.”
“Hmph.” Out of habit, Sinbad undoes the last couple sections of Judal’s hair,
the ones that tend to get a little ragged at the edges, fingercombing them
gently. “What do you care what I smell like?”
“I like it when you smell like you.” Judal’s lip juts in a pout, and he
wriggles himself even closer, plastering himself against Sinbad’s chest as he
slings a leg over one hip. “You didn’t have to go out, you know.”
One corner of Sinbad’s lips curve up in a lazy half-grin. “You’ll understand
when you’re older,” he promises. Her name was Serena, and her friend’s name was
Adele, and neither of them had wanted anything from him but the coin in his
hand and the fact that he’s a lot of fun and doesn’t like to hit. “You’ll be
begging me to come with me, soon enough. I’d take you now, but Ja’far says
you’re too young.”
Judal is fairly certain he won’t understand. 
Women are pretty to look at and all, but there’s nothing appealingabout their
softness. Far better are Sinbad’s hard, lean muscles, the musky, masculine
scent of him, the way his hands are broad and rough with callouses… 
“I don’t want to go.” Judal shivers, nuzzling his face into Sinbad’s neck. “Why
couldn’t you stay with me instead? I could be just as fun.”
Judal is so cute when he’s put-out. Sinbad re-braids the end of his hair, tying
it securely before relaxing back, folding his hands behind his head. “You know
I like playing with you, but this is a grown-up kind of fun. Uh…ask Ja’far
about it, he says I’m not allowed to tell you.”
“I know what kind of fun it is.” 
Another roll, and Judal simply plops himself on top of Sinbad, straddling his
hips as he peers down at him. “I’m not stupid. You should listen to Ja’far
more, he knows I know what I’m talking about.”
Suddenly, the comforting closeness of Judal is a bit less comforting and a bit
more really close, with certain proportions lining up in a way that Sinbad
certainly hadn’t intended. Slowly, he reaches down, picking Judal up by the
waist and setting him down on the bed as he sits up. “You do? Who told you
about that kind of stuff?”
Judal hisses rather like a cat, swatting at Sinbad’s hands and squirming away
with a deep pout as he finds himself back on the bed again instead of close to
Sinbad like he wants. “I just know, okay? And I…” He huffs, looking to the side
to bite his lip before looking back up all the more earnestly. “Even if I’m not
as good as those girls at first, you can teach me. I’ll learn really fast, I
promise!”
Sinbad doesn’t want to know what Ja’far would say, if he could hear something
like this. He doesn’t want to know, but he can imagine all too well, and words
like molester and child-toucher spring far too readily to mind for his liking.
Not that he hasn’t bedded girls as young as Judal, but…well, they were girls,
old enough to marry, old enough to be whores, and for the most part he’d been
quite a bit younger at the time. 
And they hadn’t been Judal. They hadn’t looked up at him with those big earnest
eyes, hadn’t looked up to him like he fancies the boy does. He can’t deny that
Judal is pretty, with those soft pink lips and dark, dark eyes, with his smooth
skin and masses of long dark hair, but—
Sinbad swallows hard. “It’s not the kind of thing you can do with two men,” he
lies. “That’s why I go out with girls. You don’t have the right parts, it’s
nothing against you.”
“You’re lying.”
Judal’s head tilts, and his pout simply turns to a frown. “You do it with
Ja’far sometimes.” Maybe it’s not a matter of his age, or that he’s a boy.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to. That’s worrisome. 
“That’s—”
Damn, he’d thought they’d been more discreet than that. Certainly it hasn’t
been often, probably all of twice since they’d picked the boy up on their
travels in the East. “That’s kind of different,” he says helplessly. “And
Ja’far is older than you.”
“How is it different? And he’s not much older.” Well—he supposes Ja’far is a
bit older, something like 18, if Judal remembers correctly. But he’s certainly
not that much taller, or bigger, or anything. In a lot of ways, he’s skinnier
than Judal is, and definitely doesn’t look like a woman. Then, a thought occurs
to him. “Is it because of that jewelry he wears?” Judal asks, leaning in a
little closer. “I’d let you do something like that to me, if you wanted to. It
doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” 
Sinbad’s breath hitches, just a bit, at the thought. Would Judal make the same
little noises, the squeaks and pants and—
Damn it, Ja’far is right, he thinks far too much with parts of his anatomy that
aren’t on top of his shoulders. 
“You want to do it with a girl first,” he manages, just barely. “Everyone likes
doing it with a girl, girls are squishy and smell good.”
Judal’s nose wrinkles. “But I don’t like it when they’re squishy. I like the
way you feel. You’re warm and hard and strong,” he says, reaching out to lay a
hand against Sinbad’s chest. “And I like the way you smell, when
you don’t smell like girls.” 
Maybe if Sinbad can get to the bottom of this, he’ll be able to sway Judal’s
opinion, convince him somehow. He cups Judal’s chin, turning his face up
(pretty pretty face) to look at him. “What do you think about?” he asks gently.
No reason to give the boy cause to think it’s unnatural or disgusting, after
all. If he’s really that fond of men, the world will give him plenty of reason
to think that soon enough without Sinbad’s help. “When you think about…those
kind of games.”
Judal’s lips part with a soft, eager little exhale. Maybe, just maybe, Sinbad
does like him. If he’s asking, then that’s a start, isn’t it? “… You,” he
admits, his skin flushing even as he tips his head down to nuzzle it against
Sinbad’s hand. “Just you. Like—how strong you are, and how big your hands are…
I like it when you just pick me up like it’s so easy,and if you did that, and
maybe pushed me d-down into things, too…” 
Judal is so affectionate, so loving, so sweet for all his tantrums. Sinbad
smiles, picking Judal up again and settling him on his lap sideways. Just to
make sure he knows there’s no reason to be upset, he tells himself. Certainly
not because he likes giving in to Judal, likes the warm weight of him (more
weight than Ja’far already) on his lap, or because that makes it so easy to
nuzzle into his hair. “Did you see me push Ja’far down into something? Is that
why you’re asking?” Where does the boy come up with this stuff, anyway?
Judal snorts at that, and he squirms his way closer, burying himself against
Sinbad’s chest as his arms loop around his neck. “He alwaysknows if I’m
watching, so I don’t try. But I’ve seen you do it with girls, sometimes, and
they always seem to like it. That, and I’ve got a good imagination. Ja’far said
so.” He didn’t sound too happy about it when he said it, though.
“Yeah?” Sinbad murmurs, resting a hand on Judal’s back to keep him close,
fingers splaying out. Judal has grown since Sinbad had picked him up, grown
substantially; he’s right, he is taller than Ja’far now, and broader, even if
it’s still a slinky grace he has instead of a slight, willowy one, or instead
of a more traditional masculinity. “So you want me to push you down? That all?”
Something deep inside tells him he’s playing a dangerous game. Shut up, he
tells it. I’m just trying to find out where this is coming from, and what he
really wants.
It doesn’t believe him.
Saying it is a lot different than thinking it.
Judal shivers, and he squirms again, shifting to throw his legs properly over
Sinbad’s hips and straddle him rather than simply sprawl over his lap. “I wanna
do whatever it is you do with Ja’far,” he bluntly settles for. “You can push me
down into things, or play with my chest or… I know you put it in, sometimes.”
He flushes at the thought, and his forehead drops against Sinbad’s shoulder.
“That would be… good.”
This time, Sinbad is a lot slower to try and push Judal away—and he doesn’t
push very hard, more urging Judal back a few inches. “I,” he starts, and has to
stop to clear his throat. He has a few choice words forhimself now, and
Ja’far’s are just the tip of the iceberg.
Some other little voice reminds Sinbad that he was younger himself, that
he’d certainly known what he liked by Judal’s age, that he’s not thinking
about hurting the boy…
He clears his throat again. “You know it…” Ah god, what is he about to say?
“You know it can hurt sometimes. I’m an awful lot bigger than you. I’m…maybe
you should wait for a few years.”
“But I don’t want to wait!” Judal protests, and he’s quick to wriggle his way
back close—closer, even, with his hands grabbing for Sinbad’s shoulders to keep
himself there. “You’re an awful lot bigger than Ja’far, too, so you can’t use
that excuse. And even if it hurts, I can take it.” His lower lip trembles, just
a bit. “Besides, you won’t let it hurt for long, I know it. You’ve always taken
care of me.”
Sinbad is fairly certain that there are men in the world who aren’t tempted by
just about everything. He wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to be one
of them. 
He draws in a deep breath. Time to give him a last chance. He’s only human,
after all. Slowly, he leans close, running a hand down Judal’s chest and belly,
hovering for a second before brushing lower. “You understand that I’d be
touching you here, right? If that scares you, you can leave.”
Far from wanting to leave, Judal shivers, his hands pawing at Sinbad’s hair as
he squirms and clutches tight. “I know,” he breathes, and he nudges his nose
into Sinbad’s neck. “It doesn’t scare me, it’s you.” 
A few scattered remnants of protests hover on Sinbad’s lips. He doesn’t want
Judal to do this because he’s worried Sinbad will get sick of him, he doesn’t
want to scare him, he doesn’t want—
He does want to know what it would feel like to have Judal squirming against
him without all their clothes in the way. Certain parts of him want to know
that very badly indeed.
Slowly, he eases his robes off his shoulders, gathering Judal more firmly onto
his lap. “This is…a very big thing,” he says, trying not to let his breath
hitch quite so much. “If you want to stop, any time, that’s okay.”
“You talk a lot,” Judal grumbles, and his hands tighten in Sinbad’s hair as he
nuzzles closer, sighing at the way his legs splay over the other man’s lap, a
little too wide to be wholly comfortable. His lips part, and his teeth gently
catch on the hoop of one earring, an experimental tug to follow. “You don’t
talk so much with everyone else.” 
It’s hard to be very responsible for very long.
Judal is straddling him like one of the brothel girls, gently chiding and using
his teeth like one of them, and a big chunk of that hesitant worry evaporates.
He grins, hands on Judal’s waist, and picks him up just to dump him on his
back, looming over him. “You want me to push you down into things, hmm?” 
He bends his head, pushing up the little shirt the boy wears, and flicks over a
pert pink nipple with his tongue. “You want me to play with your chest?”
His breath leaves him in a rush. Now that he’s here, flat on his back with
Sinbad over him, as strong and insistent and so much bigger, just like he’s
always been, it’s a little hard to think. Judal manages a quick, eager little
nod, his hands grabbing for purchase again, wrapping up in Sinbad’s hair as he
arches up with a mindless sound—liking the wet, warm slickness of Sinbad’s
mouth on his chest even than he thought he would. “S… sorry I don’t have
anything—but I meant it, about the jewelry, if you wanted—”
Briefly, Sinbad wonders what Ja’far would think if he pierced Judal’s nipples,
not for some old village tradition, but to enjoy playing with the boy that much
more, sitting him on his lap and teasing the little rings until he squirmed and
begged and…
“Maybe,” he breathes, and bites gently, tugging with his teeth as his other
hand comes up to rub, softly pinching. “It’d feel like that, but a lot more.”
The squeak that escapes turns to a mewl in short order, and Judal doesthink to
lift a hand, biting into his own knuckles with a hard shudder. His eyes flutter
hard, and oh, that feels good. There’s an edge to it that just Sinbad’s mouth
doesn’t bring, and it makes him squirm, makes heat pool hot and low in his
belly, and makes his hips lurch up on their own accord, wanting something to
rub against as his thighs splay. “Good,” he whispers around his own hand. “Do
it again.” 
There’s something so brutally honest about Judal, and it translates into his
actions, his reactions, making every little squirm and shiver go straight to
Sinbad’s cock. He pinches harder, sucking and running his tongue over the
little nub, tugging again as he murmurs, “Do you do this to yourself? At night,
when you think we can’t hear you?”
He’s a growing boy, of course Sinbad has heard him at night, sometimes turning
away to stifle his heavy breathing into a pillow, but he’s never thought
anything of it before. Now, the idea makes him burn.
Every little pinch and bite goes straight to his cock now, and Judal can’t
remember a time that he’s been this hard. He nods frantically, biting down
harder into his hand as his breath escapes hot and fast from his nose. “I…”
He has to drop his hand away to really breathe, chest heaving as he fills his
lungs. “I wanted… you to do it, though.” 
Sinbad gives him a last hard suck, then pulls back onto his knees, letting
himself enjoy the sight sprawled out below him. “What else do you do?” he
breathes, a hand stealing down to squeeze himself through his pants, just to
alleviate a little of that tension snaking up his spine. “Show me. I want to
see you. Just for a minute, then I’ll touch you again.”
Judal’s face flushes at that, no matter how a hand already snakes southward.
It’s not fair, because he just wants Sinbad to touch him now. The touch of his
hands is a lot better, a lot nicer, and his mouth is even better, especially
when he bites…
The thought makes him shiver, and he squirms, letting his pants slink down his
hips as his fingertips slide over one lean hip and even further down, dragging
between his legs to palm his cock. He whines, then, low and desperate, and his
fingers tremble as he wraps them around himself for a slow squeeze. 
Ten seconds is close enough to just a minute for Sinbad.
In a flash, he covers Judal’s body with his own, sliding a big hand down to
cover Judal’s, feeling the pulse and swell of his hard cock. That goes a long
way to assuage what lingering guilt he’d felt; it’s not a child’s body he’s
touching, and soft curls brush against his hand at the base as he drags his
fingers up over soft, soft skin. He latches his mouth onto Judal’s neck,
murmuring, “Good, you look so good…”
God, that’s nearly enough on its own.
The press of Sinbad’s body, the slide of his hand, so much bigger than is—Judal
whimpers, hissing out a breath through his teeth as his pulse jumps underneath
Sinbad’s tongue and he lurches up, panting as his legs spread wider and all he
can think of is rutting against Sinbad’s hand. It’s nothing like touching
himself. Someone else’s hand there is so much better, so much warmer and
stronger and he can feel every little callous along Sinbad’s fingers with every
little squeeze—
He jerks, gasping as he suddenly comes, his heart pounding and body arching,
and he knows he’s never come harder in his life, with each shock making his
legs twitch, his toes curl, and more mindless, helpless little sounds pull from
his throat unhindered.
With that, Sinbad is lost. He’ll never be able to stop now, never be able to go
back to being a big brother to the kid, not now that he knows how sweet those
little noises are, knows the sudden, startling heat of him against his hand,
and his eyes are dark as he brings his palm to his mouth, flicking out his
tongue for just a taste, just to know it’s real and dark and the kind of wrong
that makes him so, so hard. 
He takes one of those soft little hands in his own, guiding it down between his
legs. “Touch me, come on, I know you want to.”
Judal’s fingers are still trembling and unsteady but so, so eager as they paw
at Sinbad’s pants, tugging at them so his hand can slide over the hard length
of Sinbad’s cock, and he shudders, biting his lip as he tries to curl his
fingers properly around it. “It’s…” He swallows hard, and his cock twitches,
the sensation almost painful, from how recently he’s spilled. “I-it’s a lot
bigger than mine.” Suddenly, the idea of it being inside him is a little scary,
but in a way, that makes it that much more alluring. “Are you… don’t you want
to put it in?” he asks, licking his lips as he squeezes. 
Every word that comes out of Judal’s mouth makes Sinbad ache, rutting forward
into his hand with short, urgent little thrusts. “In a minute,” he promises,
grabbing at Judal’s shoulders, burying his nose in the boy’s hair and inhaling
deeply. “Just—if I don’t first—want your first time to last more than ten
seconds,” he ends on a groan. Plus, there’s no way I’m in control enough to be
gentle right now. “Finish me off, and I’ll put it in you really soon.” Even
saying it makes him twitch.
He likes the sound of that. He really does, especially when coupled with how
eager Sinbad is, all because of him. Judal nods, shutting his eyes with a
ragged little breath, and his fingers grasp tighter—as much as he can manage,
at any rate, all to slide up to the head of Sinbad’s cock that leaks all over
his fingers, and makes the slide down that much slicker and easier. He really
is big—thick and heavy in his hand, and the thought of that going inside of
him, stretching him wider than he’s everdared to try himself with just a
finger… Judal swallows hard, shivering as he buries his own face into Sinbad’s
shoulder.
Sinbad should probably feel like a lecher with how he paws at the boy, rutting
forward into that soft hand as it works him better than it should be able to,
breathing hard and fast against Judal’s neck. “Just like that,” he breathes,
hands dragging up and down Judal’s sides, filling his hands with
smooth, untouched flesh, squeezing and pinching and rubbing and it’s all
too good.
He shuts his eyes as he comes, spilling over Judal’s hand with a jerk of his
hips, kind of liking the way one of Judal’s hands doesn’t reach all the way
around his cock. He reaches down, catching the boy’s wrist and bringing it up
between them, eyes glinting. “Taste it,” he urges, pulse skipping at just the
thought.
Judal’s pulse is already racing, and this makes it jump, makes his breath come
even faster and harder as he parts his lips to suck one of his fingers into his
mouth with a high, breathy noise. His brow knits, his eyes flutter, the taste
odd and bitter and musky, but it’s Sinbad, and that makes him moan. He squirms,
and lets that finger slide free from his mouth with a wet pop, tongue sucking
another into his mouth shortly after, and he shivers as he opens his eyes to
look up, pleading through his lashes. 
At this rate, Sinbad is going to be hard again in a matter of seconds. He
groans, having to shut his eyes for a moment, the sight coupled with the warm
wet tongue on his fingers just too much, and he sits back, shedding the rest of
his clothes before gathering the boy onto his lap. “I don’t have to put it in
you today,” he says, voice a bit hoarse, breath coming too fast. He strokes
down a smooth thigh with one hand, the other moving up and down Judal’s back.
“There are lots of things we can do that won’t hurt at all.”
But if you keep sucking on my fingers I’m going to shove my cock in your mouth.
Judal groans, and his hands grab tight to Sinbad’s wrist, not letting him pull
that hand away as he greedily sucks on another finger, nibbling at the tip of
it as he draws his head back with a panting exhale. “Why can’t we do all of
it?” he rasps, eyes dark as he peers up through his bangs, lips swollen from
his own biting and just sucking on Sinbad’s fingers for that long. “I like the
way you taste, too.” 
A twinge of conscience goes through Sinbad at that—Judal is so cute, a bitty
little thing that he lets ride on his shoulders when he gets tired of walking
or floating on long days. But…
He leans down, brushing a real kiss across Judal’s swollen lips. “We will.”
It’s a promise, and as long as Judal looks at him like that, it’s one he
intends to keep. “We don’t just have tonight, you know.” One of his hands
steals a little lower, squeezing the firm flesh of Judal’s ass, and he lets out
a pleased little exhale. His cock stirs, even as it protests that he’s just
a little too early.
Oh. Oh, that’s a nice thing to hear, that Sinbad likes this enough to want to
do it again, and Judal excitedly wriggles closer, shivering and arching his
back at the squeeze of that hand. “I definitely want you inside me, though,” he
breathes, and he grabs for Sinbad’s hair again, lurching up to kiss him again,
breath coming faster at how nice that feels. “Really want it. So please—”
Judal’s lips are hypnotic, as bad as his eyes, and Sinbad loses himself for a
few blissful minutes, nibbling and sucking at the full lower lip, harder until
they’re shiny and bruised when he pulls away. His cock twitches again, half-
hard, and his thumb edges closer, rubbing slightly over that tight little hole.
“You know this is where it goes, yeah?” he asks, more breathless than he wants
to be. He’s never had much of a thing for virgins, but somehow, with Judal
it’s different.
Judal jerks a bit, nodding with an anxious little squirm as his legs splay
wider over Sinbad’s lap. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, face hot as he buries it into
the man’s neck. “I… I’ve tried, once or twice before. Just with a finger,
though…” He bites his lip, worrying it, sort of entranced by how swollen it is.
“That’s not nearly as much as you.”
That mental image is enough to last Sinbad a week of cold nights, and he
groans, pulling Judal closer, close enough that his cock rubs against Judal’s,
and he has to take a second just from that contact alone. “Did you like that?”
he asks, one hand fumbling behind him, grabbing a little jar out of one of his
travelbags, slicking up his fingers without an ounce of shame. If he’s going to
do this, he’s going to do it right.
And he is going to do this. The way Judal is wriggling on his lap makes that a
foregone conclusion.
Judal huffs into Sinbad’s neck, clinging tightly to his shoulders. “It wasn’t…
really enough. I kept thinking of you, though, so that made it good.” 
That’s a better response than it felt weird or it kind of hurt. It wasn’t
enough is something Sinbad can work with, that’s for sure.
A slick finger trails down the cleft of Judal’s ass, fingertip teasing slowly
around the hole. Sinbad watches Judal’s face as he slides it in, less to
pretend like he could stop if Judal didn’t like it, more because he’s getting
drunk off of those expressions. “I’ll give you enough,” he promises. “More than
enough. I’ll fill you up until you can’t take anymore.”
Even Sinbad’s finger is more. Of course it would be—his hands are so much
bigger, and it makes Judal suck in a fast, harsh breath, thighs trembling as
they spread wider over Sinbad’s lap. “I… g-good,” he pants, his eyes squeezing
shut. It’s better when it’s so much slicker like this, too. Spit is one thing,
whatever Sinbad pulled from his bags is better, and Judal can’t help but
wriggle down, just a bit, a high, mindless whine pulling from his throat.
“That’s… I always think about that.”
“I bet you do,” Sinbad murmurs. He can see it now in Judal’s eyes, now that
he’s looking for it—that need, that raw hunger, something he’d never have
looked for in someone so young, but ah, he’s glad he sees it now. He adds
another finger—probably too fast for someone’s first time, but he has a feeling
Judal likes it that way. “I bet you can take all of it.” His voice lowers to
something like a purr as he says in Judal’s ear, “I want to be inside you when
you come.”
That makes his cock jump, and he ruts forward helplessly, whimpering as he
twists down against Sinbad’s fingers. Oh, it hurts—a slow, aching burn, though,
and that’s fine. He sort of likes it, especially with how slick and hot
everything is, and his lips part with a gasping breath before he bites into
Sinbad’s shoulder to muffle his next, desperate little sounds. “P… put it in me
already, then,” Judal begs. Sinbad’s cock is so much more than those fingers,
but he doesn’t care. The idea of it makes his cock that much harder, makes him
that much more eager, and god, ithurts, wanting this much. 
“Just a minute. I—slow down, I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s hard to think of
things like whether or not he’d hurt the boy when he’s this hard, this aching,
rubbing forward against Judal’s cock, both of them slick and hard and heavy as
he slides in another finger, spreading and twisting. Judal is tight around his
hand, but the way he wiggles and begs is…if he weren’t so young, so shamelessly
innocent, Sinbad would have to call itwanton.
Judal’s lips tremble, his mouth falling open with a wordless, gasping moan, and
he sags into Sinbad’s chest, hips jerking down helplessly onto Sinbad’s hand.
It’s too much. It doesn’t matter how he spreads his legs or wriggles or shifts,
it’s too much, pricking tears to his eyes and making him swallow hard, whining
and whimpering at the stretch. He’snever felt so full. Never, and he knows
there’s even more still. “I…” He can’t think. He can’t even form the words
right. “I c-can’t… wait much longer.” His hips twitch forward, groaning at the
slide of his cock against Sinbad’s. He’s leaking, dripping no matter how he’s
come before, and that hurts even more, being so over-sensitive and
yet needing to come again. 
Carefully, Sinbad pulls his fingers out, closing his hands around Judal’s waist
and holding him away, just for a few seconds until he catches his breath. Then,
he slicks his cock, hissing a little just at the touch of his own hand. The
thought comes to him that next time he could have Judal do it, tell him to make
him nice and slick and ready to fuck him with those soft hands, and that’s
really not a mental image he needs when he’s trying to maintain control. 
“Like this,” he says, turning the boy onto his hands and knees. “It’s easier
this way. Next time I’ll throw you down on your back, but…”
He ruts forward, rubbing the slick head down until it catches on Judal’s hole,
aching and leaking at the idea, never mind the heat of the boy. “Take a deep
breath.”
Judal pants into the sheets, burying his face into his own arms as he trembles,
toes curling just at the rub and slide of Sinbad’s cock against him. He can’t
even think of breathing normally, let alone deeply and slowly, but he tries,
really does, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath that makes him that much more
aware of how hard Sinbad is behind him, how big he is—
And how much he wants it.
“Please.” It’s definitely a whine now, high and needy and shamelessly wanting.
There are some things that are beyond a man. Saying no to Judal is one of those
for Sinbad.
As slow as he can (not slow enough), Sinbad sinks in, gritting his teeth at
the squeeze of it, lurching forward, pressing a mindless, sloppy kiss between
his shoulderblades as his hands tighten on Judal’s hips. Steady, he tries to
tell himself, but it’s hard when he’s so damnably worked up, when he’s
twitching and aching and groaning with every slick inch he stuffs inside the
boy, urging his knees wider apart on the bed. “God,” he groans, forehead
pressing down against Judal’s spine.
He can’t breathe.
He absolutely can’t, not with how full he is. Judal twists, squirms, tries to
hold still, tries to be good, but it’s so much that he doesn’t think his legs
will ever be able to close, so much that he can feel himself being spread open,
feel the cheeks of his ass pushed apart, even, and that makes him flush hotter
still as he buries his face into the sheets and bites down to stifle his
whimpering little moans. It feels even bigger than it looks. Hard shudders
sweep down his spine, and after a few moments he just gives up, sobbing into
the bed as Sinbad’s cock stuffs its way inside. 
Going slow, just for a few strokes, is the hardest thing Sinbad has ever done.
It takes everything he has not to just lose himself, and it only lasts a minute
anyway, slow deep breaths where he runs his hands over Judal’s chest, rubbing
and tugging at his nipples, one hand trailing down to cup his cock, stroking it
to full hardness as he slides in deep and long. “Want you to love it,” he
grunts, the next thrust a little faster, a little harder, the next one even
more so. “Want you to—want it—every day—”
He wants Judal to crave that fulness, that ache, the impossible stretch of
Sinbad’s hard, thick cock inside him, because there’s nothing Sinbad wants more
than to fuck him through the mattress every damn day from now on.
Judal’s mouth falls open at that first long, hard thrust inside of him, and
each one after that just makes him whimper, biting down into the sheets as his
hands flex helplessly into them. Can’t can’t can’t too much too big oh god that
feels good—there are a dozen things that he wants to say, wants to beg for, but
none of it matters when Sinbad is so deepinside of him, and there’s nothing
else he can think about.
It gets easier—a little, at least, when he figures out how to breathe again and
sucks in a deep breath each time he presses his hips back. Thatfeels good,
leaves him shuddering and clinging to the sheets all the more, and he nods
without thinking, wriggling back no matter how he trembles. “Want it,” he rasps
out, and oh, god, Sinbad pushes so deep that it makes his eyes nearly cross.
“It’s good—I—” 
There’s nothing Sinbad lives for more than fucking someone who lovesbeing
fucked. With the way Judal is clenching, trembling, wriggling around his cock,
Sinbad has no doubt that Judal is someone just like that.
It’s hard, impossible to hold back, and Sinbad lunges forward with a hard,
breathless grunt, hips slapping forward in a tight staccato rhythm as his world
narrows to sweet firm flesh under his hands, high breathy moans, and the tight
clench of Judal’s ass around him. Nothing else matters, nothing at all, save
for how good it feels and how much morehe wants.
It’s too much. Far, far too much, and there’s nothing Judal can do but sag
helplessly into the bed, his body a twitching, squirming thing, all on its own
accord. He can’t help the way that he rides back onto Sinbad’s cock, no more
than he can help the sobbing, hiccuping moans that pull from his throat, and he
feels soaked through, sweat beading on his forehead and tears streaming down
his face as he gasps and whimpers and begs somewhere in-between ragged
breaths. 
He can’t stand it.
It hurts because it’s too much, but what hurts more is how hard is cock is, how
he’s shaking too hard to touch himself, how he doesn’t evenneed to, he
realizes, when he just thinks about how spread open he is, how much of Sinbad
is inside of him. It doesn’t take long before he’s writhing and bucking and
sobbing harder still into the bed, coming so hard that his vision blurs, his
muscles feel like they’re melting out from underneath him, and his world spins
as Judal can no longer think. 
Sinbad doesn’t want to know what kind of noise he lets out, low and long and
bestial, biting down on Judal’s shoulder as his hips snap uptoo hard too deep
too much, knowing he’s got to be hurting the boy and unable to stop as he
comes, spilling deep inside with a long, hard shudder.
He’s a boneless, pathetic thing, panting harsh breaths out against Judal’s
back, blinking slowly at finding himself lying on top of the boy. He doesn’t
even remember sagging down to the bed, but apparently he had, and now his face
is buried in long, thick braided hair. He pants for breath, slowly
disentangling himself to lie behind Judal, spooning up against him. “Was that,”
he asks, gulping for air, “everything you wanted?”
Judal is sure that he passes out for a moment, and when he comes to, everything
is a shivery, achy mess, inside and out. He moans, tilting his head back to rub
against Sinbad, a mindless little whimper escaping his throat. “Really good.”
He thinks Sinbad asked something about if it was good or not. He can’t really
remember, but oh, god, by the way his nerves are singing, it was good. It was
everything he’d been thinking of for weeks now. “Can’t think,” he adds after a
moment of ragged little breaths. “Just… really good.”
Sinbad presses a kiss to Judal’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the boy,
slowly stroking down his arms and sides as he shivers. “Are you all right? Did
I hurt you too much?” It’s too much to ask for that he hadn’t hurt Judal at
all. At least he hopes it was manageable.
“It’s…” How to explain, when his mind is so fuzzy, and the bed is so warm and
Sinbad is really warm and ahh, he’s sleepy. “Not really hurt-y,” Judal mumbles,
his head flopping back down as his eyes flutter shut. “Feels weird. All achy
and everything… and my legs feel all wobbly…”
“Mmm.” That sounds like something that will hurt in the morning, but they can
afford to waste some time here so he can pamper the boy. “Just make sure you
tell Ja’far it was your idea. I don’t want him to cut my cock off.”
That wakes him up, and Judal lifts his head, staring back at Sinbad. “Why would
he do that? I’ll bite him.”
Sinbad shrugs. “I just have a feeling that he heard us.” It’s a fairly sound
feeling, given that Ja’far has been known to wake up when a fly landed
on Sinbad. “And that he would say I’m a terrible molesting lecherous kiddie-
diddler. And he has very sharp knives.”
“I tried to be quiet.” It’s petulant, sort of, though Judal doesn’t have the
strength to really whine. He flops back down with a huff. “I’ll still bite him.
He’s not allowed to hurt you, I pestered you until you gave in.” He wavers at
that thought, suddenly worried. “… You liked it, though, right? And we can do
it again?”
“Yes,” Sinbad says immediately, probably faster than he should. “That
was…beyond good.” And if Ja’far leaves him in one piece… “And we
can definitely do it again. There’s still a lot more I want to do with you.” In
for a draught, in for a queen.
“Oh, good,” Judal sighs, and he relaxes immediately, snuggling carefully back
against Sinbad. “Maybe tomorrow. After I sleep. And eat a lot of things.” 
The next morning, Ja’far contemplates murder.
He waits until Sinbad starts to rouse from his peaceful slumber, the disgusting
lecher. It’s more for the child’s benefit than Sinbad’s, at any rate, that he
lingers by the door, watching until Sinbad rolls away and starts to get out of
bed on his own. 
“So,” he says suddenly, well aware that he’s been blending with the wall and
it’s nice, sometimes, to scare the ever living daylights out of Sinbad by doing
that, “have a good night?” 
About to creep to the bathroom, Sinbad misses his step with the sudden sound,
going down to the floor in a twisted heap of limbs and a yelp. He straightens
as quickly as he can and ah, it would be bad form to literally run away,
wouldn’t it?
Wait, no, he’d done nothing wrong. He has to remember that. “I did nothing
wrong,” he says by way of a perfunctory protest, as if there isn’t a far-too-
young boy in his bed. “I—that is—ah—did you…yes I had a good night, did you
sleep well?”
Surely only a king could be so smooth.
“No.”
Sinbad is lucky that he is so sleep-deprived, because normally, Ja’far would
have enjoyed slinking up fast enough to shove his foot down into the man’s
chest and hold him to the ground. “You were noisy.” His eyes narrow. “Judal was
noisy.” 
Sinbad straightens up, smiling in what he hopes is a charmingly disarming
manner, possibly managing ‘pathetic wastrel’. “Sorry about that, I, ah…look, I
wasn’t expecting it, all right? It was his idea.”
“He’s twelve!” Ja’far lurches forward as he somehow manages to keep his voice
to a hushed, hissing thing, and he grabs Sinbad by the shoulders to give him a
firm shake. “Are you completely dense?! He’s a child, what were you thinking?”
Somewhere in the midst of things, Judal does end up waking, and it’s an odd
thing, feeling so wobbly and unsteady still. He settles for a slow roll to the
side of the bed instead of sitting up entirely, and one roll too far lands him
on the floor with a solid thump, thoroughly tangled up in blankets. 
Huh. Standing is still weird. 
He pouts, and slowly inches his way forward, wriggling across the floor and
drawing his knees up behind himself to scoot along. He probably looks like a
caterpillar. Or a worm. Something. “Siiiinbad,” he whines when he reaches the
man’s legs, and he tilts his head to promptly bite one ankle. 
“I—” All right, he hadn’t really been thinking so much as he had been feeling
and reacting, but Sinbad is pretty sure he’d had reasons, andgood ones. If only
he could remember what they were…
A dull scrape of pain flares on his ankle, and Sinbad slowly looks down.
Somehow, Judal seems to have lost the use of his arms and legs—hell, I couldn’t
have been that rough—and has rolled or inched his way forward enough to start
gnawing on his ankle. Weird kid.
Sinbad fakes a smile, heart sinking as he bends down to lift the boy. “Why
aren’t you walking?” he asks, hoping Judal will get the unsubtle hint.
“Ja’far is going to think it’s strange.”
Judal’s pout deepens, and he promptly snuggles his way into Sinbad’s hold, no
matter how his legs still feel all sorts of weird and wobbly. “My legs don’t
wanna work,” he huffs, and butts his head against Sinbad’s shoulder. “Just
carry me.”
Ja’far’s stare is unrelenting. 
A cold sweat rolls in across Sinbad’s brow, even as he shifts his weight to
hold the boy more comfortably. “Look, it’s not like I—he jumped me, I was
perfectly happy with the who—the girls,” he amends, darting a glance at
Judal. Come on, kid, back me up, he thinks desperately. “It’s not like
I hurt him…on purpose…”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Judal protests, flopping limply across Sinbad’s arms to let
his head loll back, his braid dangling nearly to the floor. “Just feels weird
and my legs are all… woogly.”
“Woogly,” Ja’far deadpans.
“Uh huh. But it was good, though. I’m sorry if I was loud, I tried to be quiet,
but—”
“Things I don’t need to know and are not appropriate for normal conversation.”
Judal pouts. “But it was good, and you shouldn’t be mad! I bothered him until
he did it.” 
On second thought, Sinbad isn’t so sure having Judal stick up for him was the
best idea at all. 
He gets a hand under Judal’s head, raising him up and burying it in Sinbad’s
shoulder. “It’s not that bad. He knew what he was asking for—hell, I was
younger than him my first time, and if he were a girl he’d have popped out a
brat of his own by now.” The argument holds slightly less weight when Judal is
squirming like a little worm in his arms, but he soldiers on. “I’m not that
kind of lecher, you know that.”
“You can’t be mad at him,” Judal adds as he twists his head away to unmuffle
his voice. “If you’re mad, he won’t do it again.”
“… I’m going to go get us breakfast.” It’s wise, very wise, to just step away
for now, lest he string up Sinbad from the ceiling and contemplate his
castration. 
“He’s mad,” Sinbad mutters under his breath, sinking down to the bed in
frustration. He’d thought he’d contemplated the outcome last night, but he
hadn’t, not really. He hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to see
that disappointment, that disgust in his dearest friend’s face, and it feels
like a punch to the gut.
“Whyyy?” Judal grumbles, flopping himself out again with a sigh. “I told him it
was good, he shouldn’t be upset.” 
Because he doesn’t like it when I give him a reason to think I’m trash.“Stay
here. I’ll be back.” Sinbad lurches to his feet, taking off after Ja’far. The
safety of his balls aside, he’s got to at least talk to the younger man.
“You should be taking care of your pet, not chasing after me,” Ja’far flatly
tosses over his shoulder as he tugs his cloak properly around his shoulders,
not sparing Sinbad a glance when he hears him coming.
For some reason, the sight of Ja’far pulling the cloak up strikes fear into
Sinbad’s heart. It looks too much like he’s leaving, and Sinbad walks faster,
catching his elbow. “Don’t—just listen to me damn it, I didn’t do anything
wrong!”
Exhale. Inhale. Don’t stab him between the eyes, it’s not becoming.Ja’far
blinks up at him impassively as he turns to dislodge his elbow. “You didn’t
believe me when I told you he was acting inappropriately towards you, and then
this happens.”
“It’s not like I planned it—yes, okay, you were right,” Sinbad concedes,
holding up his hands. “Yes, he wasn’t as innocent as I thought, but—but that’s
just the point! He’s a lot less innocent than I thought, you know? He knew
exactly what he was asking for.”
“He’s twelve.” Ja’far stares at him. “He’s still a child.” 
“I—” Sinbad breaks off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I
know! I tried to stop him, I just…he looked so sad, telling me he didn’t want
girls, he wants me to shove him into things and…”
He leans back against a stone wall, annoyed with himself, annoyed with Ja’far
for not understanding, annoyed more with himself for not being able to make
Ja’far understand. Quietly, almost forlornly, he says again, “I didn’t hurt
him. I never wanted to hurt him.” I’m just awful at saying no to things I want.
“You’re really awful at self-control.” 
Ja’far heaves a sigh, tugging his cloak tighter about himself once more with a
shake of his head. “Sin. I’m not an idiot. I can see he isn’t hurt and that you
meant him no harm, but you should still think of the consequences. He’s going
to be even more attached to you now, you know. What are you going to do about
that?”
Sinbad nearly sags to the ground in relief. That, at least, doesn’t sound like
Ja’far is leaving him behind. “I…” He shrugs. “How much more attached can he
get? He already rides on my back most of the time when we walk and throws
tantrums if I leave him behind.”
“… The kind of attached that gets jealous when you go out looking for a woman
or three, perhaps?” 
“Which he already had,” Sinbad points out. “The second I got in he started
whining at me about how he doesn’t want me to go out, he wants to, uh, play
with me instead.” His face grows hotter with the last words, and he ends on a
mumble.
Ah. Back to staring. “… You really are an insufferable pervert.”
Helplessly, Sinbad raises his hands. Now is not the time to ask Ja’far if he
knows of a good place to get Judal’s nipples pierced, probably. “I never
denied that.”
“Just…” Ja’far sighs, shaking his head. “Be careful with him, if you are going
to insist on this sort of relationship?”
Sinbad folds his arms, a little cold, a little sick, a little sad. “I want to
be careful with him,” he says quietly, looking down. “I…I’m not the most
careful of people. But…” He exhales hard, raking his hair back. “He’s
not that young, is he? He’s bigger than you. When I first bedded you, I didn’t
mess you up too much, did I?”
Ja’far tries very hard not to roll his eyes. “No, though I daresay our first
experience was not nearly as satisfying as the one I overheard last night.
Honestly, it’s less the physical part of it and more the emotional that I’m
concerned of—he’s infatuated with you already.” 
“Maybe he’ll grow out of it.” Sinbad shrugs. “Maybe he’ll get tired of me. You
always seem perfectly able to shove me out of bed.” The longer they talk, the
more sure he is that Ja’far doesn’t hate him, isn’t leaving him, and that
relief is so palpable he can feel something unclench in his chest. “I can’t
make him stop being infatuated with me, whether I touch him or not.”
“He’s already jealous of your girls,” Ja’far points out. “It’ll only get
worse.”
“I’ll deal with it.” Later. When it happens. No reason to deal with anything
before it happens, that way madness lies, probably. He steps forward, raising
an eyebrow. “I never asked. Do you get jealous of my girls?”
A scoff promptly follows. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 
“You couldn’t pretend?” Sinbad asks hopefully. “Just a little jealous, one of
these days?”
“But I’m not.” Ja’far stares up at him, perplexed. “Why does it matter, anyway?
I’m in your bed when I want to be—no more, no less. In the meantime, you’re
entertained and not obnoxiously pawing at me.” 
Sinbad decides, in the interest of diplomacy, to let the comment
aboutobnoxiously pawing go. “Normal men liked to be missed when they’re not
around. It’s nice to be wanted.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t miss you.” A bit of color rises to his face, and Ja’far
turns away again with a snort. “Just that I’m not jealous. I don’t mind it. It
serves a purpose, though I do wish you would use your time more wisely, all the
same.”
Any other day, Sinbad would push his luck, entranced by that shy little blush.
Today, it’s enough just to hear the words. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Look,
just…if you’re upset, take it out on me, don’t bother the boy about it. He’s
probably stressing himself into a ball right now thinking you hate us.”
“I—”
A loud thump interrupts whatever reply Ja’far thought of, followed by the tell-
tale scrape and scoot of limbs and blanket across the floor. “Siiiiin, I
don’t wanna be a worm!”
“Yes, he sounds terribly stressed,” Ja’far deadpans.
Sinbad can’t help but laugh, opening the door and hefting the boy up into his
arms. “Here, grab me and be a monkey instead,” he suggests. “Then we can go get
something to eat.”
Judal huffs, flopping his arms around Sinbad’s shoulders in defeat. “Fine. I’m
prettier than that, too, though.”
“You’re prettier than a worm too,” Sinbad says with a grin, tweaking Judal’s
nose. “And either way you don’t have to walk. Ja’far? Are you hungry?”
“At least worms turn into butterflies sometimes!”
“That’s caterpillars,” Ja’far corrects on a sigh. “And I was going to go to the
market and bring something back, you two should stay and get cleaned up.” He
decides not to mention how Judal looks like he was eaten alive.
Ah. Cleaned up. A quick glance at Judal brings the guilt back, especially
seeing the rather distinctive marks on the boy’s neck. “Ah…maybe that would be
a better idea. Do worms like baths, Judal?”
Judal peers up at him through his bangs. “If they get to take them with you.”
Right. He’s going now. “I’ll be back,” Ja’far dryly offers, heading to the
door.
“Bring some of those sticky peach buns,” Sinbad calls, now more than a little
of his brain occupied with the idea of taking a bath with Judal. “Uh…bring
a lot.”
I know how much he eats, probably better than you. Better not to deign it with
a response, honestly, and so Ja’far simply shuts the door behind himself
without a word.
 
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