Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/647121.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Magi:_The_Labyrinth_of_Magic
  Relationship:
      Sinbad/Judal, Sinbad/Ja'far, Koumei/Kouha
  Character:
      Sinbad_(Magi), Judal, Ja'far_(Magi), Ren_Kouen, Ren_Kouha, Ren_Koumei
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Kink, AU, UST, Modern_AU, Incest, Consensual_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-20 Updated: 2013-03-16 Chapters: 11/? Words: 85483
****** Scandaleux ******
by daphnerunning, Galiko
Summary
     Sindria Studios has blossomed into one hell of a pornography studio
     over the years--the problem is, they need someone special. Kou
     Studios, of course, has the perfect star, young and fresh no matter
     what he does, and Sinbad would give an arm and a leg to get his hands
     on Judal, just for one film--or barring that, get his cute secretary
     in his bed with the camera rolling... Modern AU for laughs and kicks,
     unestablished Sinja for once!
***** Chapter 1 *****
There’s something missing.
 
Sinbad watches the video back over again, brows furrowed in consternation. No,
everything certainly looks good--the performers had been on their game, the
lighting was perfect, the sound work...satisfactory. 
 
But there could be more.
 
Irritably, he hits play on the DVD player, watching the young man shimmy up a
thick cock, eyes half-closed in what is either unfeigned pleasure or the best
damned acting Sinbad’s ever seen, whining when he’s pulled off to have his face
shoved on another man’s dick. That’s what we’re missing. And his keeper is
hardly going to let him out of the playpen, he thinks in annoyance, flicking a
disgusted glare at the Kou Studios logo on the back of the case.
 
If only Sindria could get their hands on someone like that, someone genuine and
naturally sexy, someone with some proper meat on them in all the right places,
someone who stayed fresh and new no matter how many times he appeared…
 
Sinbad casts a glance at Ja’far, then waves a hand. “Come up with me to the
roof? I’m dying for a smoke.”
 
Ja'far isn't a smoker. He tells himself this, no matter how the word smoke
makes him lift his head, fingers pausing in their ceaseless typing. No, it's
stress relief only, he tells himself. It isn't as if he ever buys cigarettes,
anyway. 
 
He just borrows Sinbad's.
 
"Fine. When we get back, there's quite a bit for you to sign." Ja'far pushes up
from his chair, brushing off imaginary dust from the oversized sweater that
keeps off the relative chill of the office--and deters one too many wandering
eyes that seem to exist, for one reason or another. A useful thing, when one
simply does the books for a pornography (sorry, modeling,wasn't that the more
PC term?) studio. "You need to stop watching those videos over and over again
to procrastinate." 
 
“Not procrastinating. Just...looking.” Sinbad shakes his hair back, an old
ingrained habit by now, and tries to think the whole elevator ride up to the
roof. At least it’s light late at night now, or maybe the sky over such a
polluted city always glows orange. He’s never really noticed the difference. He
lights up a cigarette, letting it dangle from his fingers, and takes a long
drag. It’s probably the last one he’ll get, he knows.
 
"The separation from work and pleasure never has occurred to you, has it?"
Ja'far reaches out, swiftly plucking the lit cigarette from Sinbad's hold. "Let
it go, Sin. The longer you stare at him, the longer that kid is never going to
drop the idea of you." 
 
“I want him. I know, I know, I’ve heard he’s hell on studios, but you can’t
deny he has draw. Hell, you know how easy it is for me to forget a new face,”
he admits without a shred of shame. “But I can’t get him out of my head. Have
you heard back from Kouen about whether he’ll agree to an exemption?”
 
"I don't watch his videos, I wouldn't know," is Ja'far's dry retort. "All I
know is that he's a pain to keep, and far more interested in having sex with
you than actually doing it on camera for you. Do you really want to deal with
that? No, of course you do, don't answer that." He takes a long, shaky drag
from the cigarette before exhaling slowly. "And no, Kouen ignores every e-mail,
every call."
 
“I’ll never understand,” Sinbad mutters, snatching the cigarette back for a
long drag, “how you can work in this industry for the better part of a decade
and still not have the slightest bit of curiosity about it. If I didn’t know
better, I’d think you still didn’t have any idea what sex was all about.”
 
Ja'far offers him a bland stare. "Sex doesn't interest me. That should be a
good thing, considering it allows me to have a clear mind while dealing with
all of your ridiculous bookkeeping." 
 
“I don’t see what makes it any more ridiculous than the bookkeeping in any
other line of work. Besides,” he adds, “one of these days I’ll figure out when
you have time for a personal life. You have to get out some time.”
 
"No. I don't. Now give that back," Ja'far orders. "Or at least light me a new
one." 
 
Sinbad flicks the butt off the roof, pulling out a new cigarette and lighting
it. “You smoke too fast,” he says around the filter, then plucks it from his
mouth and holds it against Ja’far’s lips. “You’ve got to slow down, learn to
enjoy things more.”
 
"I'm not doing this for my health," is the low, annoyed mutter to follow,
Ja'far's lips closing around the cigarette to inhale slowly as he lifts his
hand to pluck it from Sinbad's grasp entirely. "I enjoy having things done on
time, unlike you." 
 
“Don’t think of your health, think how much cigarettes cost,” Sinbad mutters.
His hand closes around Ja’far’s, thumb stroking slowly over the back of his
hand. “You know being elusive only makes me want you more.”
 
"I never buy them," Ja'far rather smugly points out, and he bats Sinbad's hand
away without another thought. "Why that's the case, I will ever understand. I
blend in with your furniture, go enjoy yourself with any number of blonde
supermodels that like stroking your muscles in public."
 
“I do. What I don’t understand is why you seem to think that sating my urges
for blonde supermodels is going to sate my lust for you.” Sinbad snatches the
cigarette back for a drag, then hands it back. “Like trying to appease a sweet
tooth with pizza.”
 
Ja'far rolls his eyes skyward, and promptly exhales smoke into Sinbad's face.
"Appease your sweet tooth with someone else. What is with you and wanting
things that you cannot have?" 
 
Sinbad smiles through the smoke. “I’m accustomed to getting the things I cannot
have,” he says simply. “It’s something of a talent I’ve always had. A studio of
my own, for example--or you to work for me.”
 
"But not Kouen's new favorite star." 
 
Now the smile turns to a scowl, and Sinbad grunts out, “So far. You should know
me better than to think I’ve given up. Besides,” he adds, giving up and
lighting himself a cigarette, despairing of ever getting the other one out of
Ja’far’s nimble hands, “he’ll come around. Unless he’s stupid, anyone can see
working for me is better than working for him.”
 
Ja'far shrugs, flicking away ash with a twitch of his fingers. "Just as long as
your attention isn't wholly focused on him. All you've been doing lately is
watching his videos over and over. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you
had a crush on him." 
 
“He would be an asset,” Sinbad says slowly, and wonders why he’s even bothering
to deny it. Because it isn’t a crush, maybe. Or at least, it isn’t just that.
“Doesn’t he look...lonely to you? More than usual in this business, I mean.
Never mind, you’re just going to say it’s all an act.”
 
"You just like anything young that looks like you can take it home and put it
in your pocket."
 
“Yes,” Sinbad admits without hesitation. “But….oh, forget it.” He stabs out the
butt of his cigarette, flicking it off the roof, and turns. “Let’s go take care
of the rest of that paperwork to get my mind off things I can’t have.”
 
"… If you want him that badly, why not try to get ahold of him directly again?"
Ja'far exasperatedly replies, flicking away his own cigarette butt with a shake
of his head. "I know how you are, you'll never concentrate until you get this
out of your mind." 
 
“His contract prohibits him from going out of studio, and Kouen won’t make an
exception. And if I know Kouen, he’ll have put lots of stuff in that contract
to keep him away from me--you know what I mean, people like me, poachers.” His
mouth twists for a moment, then he says, “I’m half-tempted to put you on the
case and ask you to find a loophole there to get him out. I’m sure I could
convince him if you did.”
 
"It doesn't say anything about you calling him up and asking him out on a date-
-you know, outside of studio work." Ja'far shrugs lightly. "Not that I've
already looked or anything on the possibility I'll have to have a suggestion to
keep you from going insane." 
 
Sinbad grabs at his pocket. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”
 
"Left front of your jacket," Ja'far mildly points out. "Give me another
cigarette for my trouble."
 
Sinbad closes his fingers around his phone in relief, then lights another
cigarette, plucking it from his lips and handing it over. “That should last you
another ten seconds. Wish I could get you to smoke on camera, you look damn
sexy when you do.”
 
"You need glasses," Ja'far sighs at him, taking the cigarette gratefully
nonetheless. "Do you have his number still? You call him while I go and get
back to work, I want no part in this." 
 
Already dialing. Sinbad nods his head. “Yeah, go on. I’ll come down to sexually
harass you later.” He dials, and holds the phone to his ear, leaning over the
edge of the roof.
 
The look Ja'far offers him is decidedly put out, though he doesn't comment save
for a shake of his head as he walks away. 
 
It takes but a ring for the other end of the line to pick up. "Sinbad? Is that
you?" And the voice is very, very excited about it. "Hey, you reeeeally
shouldn't have your secretary-thing call anymore, they said they're gonna set a
new voicemail message and start being dicks to you guys if he does." 
 
Sinbad sighs, but even that much of Judal’s voice is enough to put him in a
better mood. “Hey, kid. Forget about my secretary calling you guys, I’ll call
him off. Say, you want to have dinner with me tonight?”
 
There's a pause on the other end of the line. "If this is about doing a video
for you," is Judal's unhappily slow response, "you know I can't. Kouen pointed
out like, fifteen different points in the contract today where it says I can't,
so…"
 
“Yeah, I’ve heard. Damn shame, you’d be my star in a heartbeat, it would
humiliate the boys I’ve got now.” Sorry, boys. “But this is just about dinner.
You, me, a restaurant? Or here, we can picnic or something. Does Kouen let you
eat?”
 
"He lets me eat! I'll go anywhere you want!" It's nearly audible how he all but
bounces. "Though--um, can you pick me up? It'd be a little too obvious what I
was doing, if I waited for a cab all this time or something--"
 
Sinbad can’t help the smile curling his lips. Goddamn, but Judal is cute. Not
his usual type, not at all, but there’s something magnetic about the boy. “I’ll
pick you up,” he promises, starting down the stairs. “Be outside the back door,
I’ll come for you in fifteen.”
 
"Okay!" 
 
There's no stopping him from feeling giddy. Never mind that he's barely been
able to spend any time with the man, there's something about Sinbad that makes
Judal want. It takes a few minutes to grab his coat and sneak out, avoiding the
vast majority of the staff in the process, and he slips out the back door,
sighing as he tries to fix his hair and thumb away a bit of smudged eyeliner
while he waits. 
 
If Sinbad had called any other time, maybe he could have gotten dressed up and
maybe they could go somewhere nice. But not too nice, nothing like the stuffy
places Kouen tries to drag him from time to time. Nice like somewhere fun.
That's probably what it is, Judal decides. Sinbad actually seems like he'd be
fun. Minus the bitchy secretary, at any rate.
 
Sinbad narrowly dodges a couple pressing matters on the way out--leave Ja’far
to point out the obvious errors in the Saluja kid’s fake ID, that’s not
something he wants to personally deal with--and ten minutes later, a sleek
black car pulls up behind the Kou Studios lot. Damn, Judal is so cute, all
bundled up against the cold like an overstuffed marshmallow.
 
Even if he wants to get out and open up the door for Judal, he wouldn’t put it
past Kouen to have cameras back here, and it’s safer behind the tinted glass.
He waves at Judal, clicking the door unlocked.
 
Immediately, Judal leaps forward, sparing a last, wary glance back to make sure
no one is following before he jumps into the car, settling down into the
leather seat with a pointed little shiver. "It's cold and that was definitely
longer than fifteen!" he whines, pouting over at Sinbad from over his tightly
wound scarf. 
 
“It was barely twelve.” Sinbad can’t resist the urge to reach out, ruffling a
hand through the short, flyaway strands at the top of Judal’s head. “Do you
always look this cute, or just when you know I’m coming to see you?” He pulls
smoothly into traffic, barely resisting the urge to reach over and put an arm
around Judal.
 
Judal beams. "You think I'm cute? Kouen says I look like I'm 10 when I'm
dressed like this, not sexy." It's really, really hard not to lean over and
nuzzle his face into Sinbad's shoulder, especially when he can tell the man
smells really nice and maybe a little smoky from cigarettes. "Hey, I bet you've
got a nice place. We could go there, you don't have to take me out anywhere."
Probably better if you don't, they'll find out a lot easier.
 
“You don’t look ten. I’ve seen too many of your videos to think you’re ten.”
Sinbad starts to drive downtown, and swerves before the turn, heading uptown
instead. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take you to my place. I can actually cook, believe
it or not. Sort of.”
 
"You actually watched a lot of them?" Now he really can't help but beam,
leaning over closer. "What'd you think? Good, huh? Kouen says I'm the best he's
had in awhile, I'm gonna make his studio reeeaally popular."
 
“A while?” Sinbad snorts. “You’re the best he’s ever had. You’re the best that
whole studio’s ever had, come to think of it. I’ve read your contract, he’s not
paying you half of what you’re worth. You’re making what stars made ten years
ago."
 
Judal's face falls at that, and he sits back with a huff. "I'm still making
good money," he insists, loosening his scarf as he starts to unthaw. "Kouen
treats me well, he always has shoots for me, it's good."
 
“Of course he treats you well, you’re the best star he’s ever had.” Sinbad
grins, reaching over to tug on the end of Judal’s scarf. “Don’t mind me, I’m
just jealous he found you first.”
 
"You make him really mad," Judal admits, unable to stop a grin of his own from
creeping back. "Especially because you keep asking about me." 
 
“I can’t stop watching your videos.” Sinbad turns off the highway, pulling into
his parking space. “You’ve got that extra...something. I can’t look away when
you’re performing, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that about
someone.”
 
That's an invitation if Judal's ever heard one. The second the car turns off,
he crawls his way over, slinging a leg over Sinbad's lap to straddle him,
sitting back on his thighs. A bit of a tight fit, considering the car, but that
makes it sort of better as he wriggles. "Can't stop watching, huh? I told you,
you know, that I couldn't make anything official with you," he says, plucking a
little at the front of Sinbad's coat. "But maybe a little private show…"
 
"You're impatient. I like that." Sinbad's mind tracks immediately to how easy
it would be to work with this kid, how famous he could make him, how many
videos he could sell and what nice costars he could get, but tries hard to let
that go. It's easy to focus instead on sliding his hands to Judal's waist,
wriggling them up inside his coat. "You sure you wouldn't rather do this on my
bed? I've got a big one."
 
"Who says we have to do it just once?" Judal breathes, eagerly reaching up to
loosen the fastenings of his own coat, shrugging it off in short order and
wriggling deeper into Sinbad's lap with a happy little sound. "Your hands are
so big." 
 
Sinbad's hands close over Judal's ass, squeezing and kneading as he leans up to
barely, softly brush his lips against Judal's. "I've been imagining what this
ass would feel like in them for a while," he murmurs. "My imagination didn't do
it justice."
 
Another breathy, eager sound pulls from Judal's lips, and he arches his back,
eyes fluttering at the press of Sinbad's fingers. "You can grab it all you
want," he all but croons, whining low in his throat as his hips jut forward,
his cock so hard already that it hurts rubbing against the front of his jeans.
"God, you're so hot. Why did you ever retire, you'd make so much money--" 
 
Sinbad nips slightly at Judal's bottom lip, squeezing harder and yanking Judal
towards him, letting him feel the press of his hard cock through the front of
his pants. "Mmm, you make me want to come out of retirement. I'd do one last
shoot with you, that's for sure. Would you like that?"
 
A quick nod follows, and Judal's lips part, a ragged pant escaping as he sucks
Sinbad's lower lip into his mouth. "Yeah, really want that." His fingers shake
as he paws at the front of Sinbad's pants, thumb popping open the button. "You
can fuck me any way you want. Fuck," he adds on a whisper, mouth dry as his
hand wriggles inside to palm over Sinbad's cock. "You really are big." 
 
Sinbad can't help but chuckle at that, hips twitching up against Judal's palm.
"Did you think it was all camera tricks or something? I know you don't use
them, I've seen your old web videos."
 
He leans down, dragging his teeth over Judal's earlobe, whispering in a husk of
a voice, "You look way too young now to be the age Kouen says you are."
 
Judal probably shouldn't be shuddering when there's a chance he could get in
really, really big trouble. "I… w-what age does he even say I am, I don't
remember," he laughs, ignorance a far better thing to feign when Sinbad's so
hot and hard against his hand, and his fingers are so eager to curl around him
and stroke. Jesus. He's so thick, it's enough to make him squirm with the idea
of that cock going inside of him. 
 
I knew it. Kouen, you lying bastard.
 
"That doesn't matter right now," he assures Judal, and palms the kid through
his jeans before pulling them down, freeing his cock to better stroke and slide
down the length of it. Skilled fingers bring them closer together, one big hand
closing over Judal's, closing it over both shafts rubbing sticky and slippery
against each other. Even now, the old words want to spill from his lips, and he
fastens his mouth to Judal's neck instead, trying, tryingto be careful. "God,
it's not easy not to bite and suck on you."
 
A hard shudder rakes down his spine, and Judal's hips jerk forward, grinding
desperately into the warm, calloused slide of Sinbad's palm, against that big,
hard cock. "Do it anyway," he begs, burying his own face into the side of
Sinbad's neck, breath escaping raggedly as his hands scrabble up to grab for
Sinbad's hair. "W-want you to bite, mark me up, wanna feel like I'm yours--"
 
Sinbad's hand closes over both of them in a slow squeeze. "You're going to get
me in trouble," he growls, but there's something enticing, alluring about the
words. He gives in, nibbling sharp, tiny bites over Judal's neck, covering each
one with his lips and licking, sucking on the skin until he raises harsh red
marks. God, he's close, closer than he should be after just this, but he wants
Judal so badly, has ever since he saw that first video--
 
"Come for me," he whispers in Judal's ear, sucking hard on the skin just under
it. "Come all over me," he groans as his hips snap up into his grip, tightening
as he spills hot and slick, covering their cocks and his hand and part of
Judal's shirt.
 
A dozen little things want to escape from his lips--I'll blame it on someone
else, you won't get in trouble, just bite bite bite--but it's not necessary
because Sinbad does it anyway,leaves him gasping and shuddering with every suck
and every nibble and god, that feels good--
 
He whimpers as he looks down, watching Sinbad spill, the sight making his cock
throb even harder, and it's with a whiny, desperate little gasp that he jerks
forward, coming hard, slick and messy between them, his nails digging into the
back of Sinbad's neck as he clings. 
 
Sinbad nuzzles forward, gathering Judal up into his arms--he's seen the videos,
he knows how Judal goes all relaxed and dreamy after he comes, like an
affectionate pet. He's wanted, wanted so badly to be the one to hold him up
after that, and revels in the feeling now, even as he uses one hand to tuck
them both into their pants. "Let me get you up to my bedroom," he murmurs,
brushing his lips across one raised bite, "and really treat you right."
 
Judal manages a hazy little nod, all but purring as he wriggles his way against
Sinbad's chest, sighing into his neck as he nibbles into the crook of his
shoulder like an overstimulated cat. "You feel really good," he sighs out, eyes
fluttering as he paws at Sinbad's hair. "So warm. Ahh, my legs feel all
wiggly…"
 
"You're so fucking cute." Sinbad is careful as he opens the door, scooping
Judal up easily in his arms as he carries the kid inside. "Maybe I should just
feed you and let you sleep it off, you look like you don't get enough sleep."
 
"I get enough sleep," Judal mumbles, butting his head into Sinbad's shoulder.
He lifts his eyes just long enough to look around the place--geez, this is a
lot better than any complex he's ever seen--before burying his face back into
Sinbad's neck. "Hungry, though. I like food. When I'm horny, I get really
hungry, too."
 
"Oh, yeah? What do you like to eat?" He deposits Judal with a lingering kiss on
one of his overstuffed armchairs, handing him a blanket to curl up with as he
heads to the kitchen. "I've got some leftovers, a pizza, I could make
spaghetti...I'd offer you wine or a beer, but I'm not sure you're old enough to
drink."
 
"Pizza's good." Judal promptly wriggles his way down into the blanket, wrapping
himself up in a rather convincing portrait of a burrito. "And I drink. Whatever
you like best is good." 
 
There's a long moment spent looking at the wine cabinet, thinking about dates
and years and going with his favorite standby anyway, pouring a couple glasses
with all the ease of a sommelier. "This goes well with Italian. Is there
anything you don't eat? Meat, veggies--just don't tell me you don't eat carbs,
I'm not making a pizza on lettuce."
 
Judal hisses rather like a cat at the mention of vegetables--and lettuce. "No
veggies. Gross, don't want." He burrows himself further down into the blanket,
peering up over the edge of it. "I eat lots of carbs, though, I like food a
loot." 
 
Sinbad has to laugh at that, pulling a pizza out of the freezer and setting the
oven high. "I don't know where you put it all, there isn't an ounce of fat on
you. Not that I'm complaining, I know how most of your audience likes skinny
boys. You don't throw it up afterward, do you?" It's not exactly something he'd
put past Kouen to make him do.
 
At that, Judal makes a face. "Why would I do that? I like food, want it to
stay. I just work it off, sex burns a lot of calories anyway and I work out and
stuff, too." He wriggles his way down into the chair, pouting a little. "Aren't
you gonna come cuddle while it cooks?" 
 
One flick of the oven timer and Sinbad leaves the kitchen, simply scooping
Judal up into his arms before sitting down, arranging the boy on his lap. He
hooks his chin over Judal's shoulder, nuzzling into the side of his neck. "I
feel like we haven't had a proper conversation yet, just me pawing at you and
trying to get you away from Kouen every chance I get."
 
"Mmn," Judal agrees, settling back with a content little sound, sagging back
into the broad, sturdy warmth of Sinbad's chest with a sigh. "But I like it
when you paw at me. Also, Kouen's not so bad. He's just really strict, makes
lots of rules and stuff."
 
"Been wanting to paw at you since I saw that first video," Sinbad admits. "I
haven't had a reaction like that to a model in years, you know. Hell, you make
me want to perform again, and as my assistants keep reminding me, it's been
quite a while."
 
"We could make a video." Judal squirms, twisting himself around to straddle
Sinbad's lap with a grin, his arms draping over the back of the chair. "You
know, just for fun. No one even has to know. Then you can watch it all the
time," he breathes, and shivers as he leans in close, teething the curve of
Sinbad's ear and pulling on an earring, "and I can think about how I had that
big cock of yours inside of me." 
 
The breath catches in Sinbad's chest, and he settles Judal on top of him, eyes
dark with promise. "After we eat," he breathes, "I'll get everything set up, I
still have enough stuff here to make it look good. You want to do it realtime?"
God, he can't even remember the last time he'd had actual realtime sex on
camera.
 
Judal groans, eyes fluttering as he squirms his way down into Sinbad's lap, the
urge to bite at him again too strong to resist. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good,"
he murmurs, teeth scraping against the curve of his shoulder as he rocks
himself forward, arching his back to slowly rub down. "Dunno if I can wait for
you to film it, though." 
 
"Later." Sinbad moves, getting both of them down onto the soft plush carpet,
settling himself between Judal's legs as he nuzzles against his ear. "We can do
it again later, when you're satisfied. I'll keep fucking you until you have to
leave, okay?"If I even let you leave.
 
That's a promise that Judal likes, and he wriggles up with another moan, his
arms immediately thrown around Sinbad's shoulders to yank him down closer.
"Watched your videos, too," he admits, eyes dark as he bucks his hips up.
"Just… you've got such a nice cock, I've thought about it a lot of times on my
own. Does my stuff make you do that?" he breathlessly asks, splaying his legs
wider. "Do you think about me when you jerk off?" 
 
"Lots of times. Thought about how pretty you'd look sucking on it," Sinbad
murmurs, pulling back just long enough to shuck his clothes, then forward again
to cover Judal with his body. "Or if you'd whine when I shoved it into you."
 
Judal whines at that, his hands pawing their way down, eagerly grabbing for
Sinbad's cock even as he tries to work open the fastenings of his own jeans.
"You can fuck my mouth first, if you want." He tries not to sound too desperate
for it, but it's hard when his own cock is throbbing at just the thought, no
matter how soon he's come already. "Bet I can take all of you," he adds,
swallowing hard at the thought of it. "Not many people could." 
 
“You’re right about that,” Sinbad mutters. “At least, not many out of the
business.” He rests his hands on Judal’s shoulders, pressing him down to the
ground, leaning down to nip and bite at one of the same spots again, knowing
full well how the bruises look layered and wanting to see it on Judal more than
anyone. He grinds down, rubbing down hard against Judal’s cock, grinning as he
feels it as hard as his own. “And not many people can keep up with me like
this, either. I have a feeling you’re really something special.”
 
The praise makes him shudder, no matter how he hears it a dozen different ways
day in and day out. From Sinbad, it's different, and they aren't on a set
besides. Judal groans and lurches up, splaying his legs wider as he arches his
back, desperate to feel more of Sinbad's hard cock pressing against him. "Bite
me harder," he pants out, letting his head loll back as he says it. "Wanna look
like someone ate me alive."
 
Sinbad’s voice is low, urgent as he murmurs, “You’re playing a dangerous game,
boy. Haven’t you heard how dangerous I am?” 
 
His hands are rough as he yanks Judal’s pants off, tossing them carelessly to
the side, running the palms up and down over the inside of Judal’s thighs. “I
know there are rumors,” he rumbles, with another hard bite to one of Judal’s
shoulders.
 
Judal whines, low and needy, his thighs quivering underneath Sinbad's touch as
his toes curl. "Y-yeah. Turns me on, makes me hotter," he breathlessly admits,
his eyes falling half-shut. "I'm gonna get in so much trouble tomorrow anyway,"
he adds on a little, hitching laugh. "Might as well do it all the way."
 
God, and don’t I just know this type.At least, Sinbad thinks he does. The funny
thing about Judal is that no matter how well Sinbad thinks he’s got the boy
figured out, there’s always something surprising about him nonetheless. Maybe
that’s what draws me to him so much. I hate being bored.He leans down, nipping
and biting until he draws a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling
there too. “Surprised Kouen didn’t make you pierce these. He seems like the
type.”
 
There's no helping that mindless lurch upward, groaning into the slick, wet
heat of Sinbad's mouth. "T…too sensitive," Judal manages with a shudder, a hand
clawing up through Sinbad's hair nonetheless to hold his mouth down as he
squirms, his hard cock rutting up against Sinbad's hip. "If… if they were
pierced… probably wouldn't be able to stop myself from coming too fast." 
 
A slow grin spreads across Sinbad’s face. “Is that so?” Later, he promises
himself. There will be time later. He grabs Judal’s legs, hoisting them up over
his head. “Nice and flexible. Good, that’s not just camera tricks.” It’s a
second’s work to grab a condom and lube off a table, nuzzling against the
inside of one thigh as he puts the condom on, then slicks the outside even
further. “You want me to take it slow, ease you into it?” he asks, knowing damn
well what the answer will be, wanting to hear it anyway.
 
"No, god," is the whining little reply, Judal's throat bobbing in a hard
swallow as he squirms, trying his best to wriggle down and press against
Sinbad's cock no matter how he's bent and helpless. His body twitches at the
very thought of Sinbad's cock inside of him, and he pants out a ragged breath,
trying to reach a hand down to grab for him and guide him inside. "Please,
please, put it in--"
 
Sinbad presses a long, hard kiss to Judal’s mouth, sucking his bottom lip
inside and tugging on it with his teeth as he slides slowly in, gasping as the
head spreads Judal wide. Judal is never quite the same twice--he looks nothing
now like he had any time Sinbad had ever seen him onscreen, face twisted in
pleasure, body tense with the intrusion. The old words try to make an
appearance again, and he swallows them down, biting Judal’s neck again instead,
marking up the other side so there will be no hiding.
 
"Fuck," is the gasping little exhale that Judal manages, his thighs trembling
as they splay even wider in an attempt to make it easier. It doesn't work.
Sinbad's thick, really long, too, and every inch that pushes inside of him
makes his legs shake, makes his chest heave from the effort of taking him, and
his mouth falls open as Sinbad presses so deep that he starts to ache places
that he didn't know he could. 
 
"T…that's… f-fuck, really good," he rasps out, eyes rolling back as he manages
a tense little wriggle down, groaning at how his body reflexively squeezes
tighter around Sinbad's cock. "Knew you'd fill me up just right--"
 
“Knew you’d take it so well,” Sinbad groans, sliding in as deep as he can,
hands coming under to lift Judal’s hips up, pulling him close. He spares a
little grin, breath coming short at the squeeze of the boy, and murmurs, “It’s
better this way, isn’t it? Without having to wait to get another angle, or make
sure everyone can see my cock going into you? Just you and me, kid.” The last
ends in a shudder, and Sinbad tangles a hand in Judal’s hair, pulling tight as
he rocks slowly down. “Just you and me.”
 
God, that's not fair.
 
Judal mewls, knows he sounds like some base whore, maybe more like a cat in
heat than anything, but all the better for it when Sinbad's cock feels so
damned good stuffing him full. The pull on his hair goes straight to his cock,
and he pants hard, rutting down against Sinbad, biting his lip at the slick,
tense slide of it, the way even just a little wriggle makes him feel that much
more over-full. "Really good," he mindlessly, weakly agrees, lips parting in a
ragged, breathless sound. "Fuck me hard, I'll be a good boy for you, please--"
 
God, what is wrong with Kouen? Sinbad can see instantly that this boy doesn’t
get properly fucked nearly as often as he needs it, and damned if he’s not
going to remedy that now. “Want to keep you stuffed full,” he grunts, hips
slapping in hard, the hand in his hair yanking Judal’s head back, exposing the
pale column of his neck that Sinbad can’t resist a single part of. “I can’t see
you without wanting to be in you, god, you’re a good boy for me, aren’t you?”
He’d been wrong to avoid the old words. Somehow, even they have meaning again,
go to his cock again, when he’s with Judal. “Be a good boy and take all my
cock, begging for more, huh?”
 
Judal yelps with the yank on his hair, humping down eager and hard against
Sinbad's cock, his breath stolen in a desperate, hot rush as his own cock
throbs. "Wanna be a good boy for you," he nearly sobs, eyes fluttering
desperately as he squirms himself down, brow furrowing and his mouth falling
open when Sinbad presses so deep that he forgets how to breathe. "P-please,
don't stop, need you fucking me all the time, Daddy, your big cock feels so
good--"
 
With anyone else, that would turn him off, being reminded of his age, and words
that are so porny besides.
 
With Judal...damn, but it only makes him harder. He grips tight, rolling his
hips up as he fists Judal’s hair with one hand, curling the other around the
boy’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip and smearing the clear fluid. “Such
a good boy,” he breathes, pounding in hard, wanting Judal to feel every bit of
him inside. “You want to come for Daddy, huh? Show me just what a good boy you
are.”
 
He aches. Sinbad's hand on him isn't fair, an added over-stimulation that makes
breathy whines and whimpers fall from his lips as easily as breathing, and
every thrust hurts now, goes straight to his cock and makes his eyes roll back
with how hard he is. Tension makes him twitch, makes him quiver and squirm, the
carpet giving his elbows a sharp, burning rub when he tries to lurch upward and
wriggle for even more of that big, thick cock that fills him up so perfectly,
but in the end, Judal just gives up with a sob, lying back and letting himself
take it. 
 
Judal spills with a breathy, desperate sound, struggling to keep his eyes open
and look at the mess he makes over Sinbad's hand and his own stomach, slick and
sticky. 
 
That slick tightness is more than Sinbad can bear, and he allows himself the
luxury of biting too hard, shoving Judal down into the rug as if he’s nothing
but a rag doll, taking him as hard and as swift as he wants, stomach dragging
against Judal’s softening cock, and it feels so damned good to feel Judal come
around his cock. “There’s a good boy,” he groans, and with a last lurch forward
he comes, hands digging into Judal’s shoulders, snapping his hips up so hard
he’s sure it must hurt, unable to stop himself nonetheless--not that Judal’s
complaining.
 
He allows himself a few deep, shuddering breaths before pulling out, sliding
off the condom and tossing it into the trash. “You,” he breathes, flopping down
onto his back on the floor, “are a thousand times better than I expected, and I
expected you to be amazing.”
 
Judal sags back with a long, weary huff. "Can you just fuck me all day?" he
blearily asks, never mind that it's kind of hard to keep his eyes open and he's
still shivering. "Oh. Hey, I think your oven's beeping at you." 
 
Sinbad stumbles to his feet, grabbing the blanket from the chair and tossing it
down at Judal on his way to the kitchen. “You just lay there and look cute, I’m
going to feed you.” If I can remember how to make my limbs work.
 
Burrito roll recommence, then. Judal does have the mind to lurch up and steal a
tissue to wipe himself clean first, at least, before rolling himself back up
into the blanket with a little sigh. A shaky hand reaches up to yank the tie
out of his now thoroughly mussed hair, letting it spill loose and long
everywhere. "I'm good at being cute. And I like food. And you," he adds more
quietly, stuffing his face down into the blanket.
 
Sinbad spares a glance over his shoulder, and almost trips over nothing but his
own feet. Judal isn’t kidding when he says he’s cute, the kind of cute that
makes Sinbad’s chest twist and his breath catch. Sinbad swallows hard, leaning
down to pull the pizza out of the oven and slice it up. “You know,” he says
casually, rolling the slicer through and cutting geometrically, “if Kouen is
ever a dick to you--or if you think you’re not safe, or you’re in trouble for
any reason--come to me. No matter what it is, I’ll take care of you.”
 
Judal's mouth twists a little at that. Heard that before, is on the tip of his
tongue, but he doesn't say it, not when it's really easy to believe someone
like Sinbad. Then again, who is he kidding? He barely knows the guy--but ugh,
he's a good fuck…
 
"Yeah. Thanks. I'm fine, though." A slow roll onto his stomach, and Judal finds
where his jeans went off to, fishing for his cellphone in the pocket of them to
make sure Kouen hasn't been blowing up his phone. Judal lifts his gaze, then,
actually glancing around the apartment. "You've got a really nice place. Kinda
expected you to have a girlfriend or something, though, this is a lot of space
for one guy." 
 
“Don’t really want one.” Sinbad shrugs. “I mean, I like girls well enough, and
I’ve got a regular thing going with a few of them, but I’m not really boyfriend
material. Besides, the job keeps me busy.” He serves up a couple plates,
balancing them on one arm, and lifts two glasses of wine in the other hand,
bringing them all to camp out in a little picnic on the carpet. “I could make a
salad to go--oh, never mind, you don’t like vegetables, right?”
 
Judal's nose wrinkles at the mention of salad. "No, really gross." He blows a
sweaty strand of hair out of his face, grabbing for his plate before Sinbad
even sets it down. "No boyfriends either, then, huh." A bite out of his piping
hot pizza, and he doesn't even look fazed as he wolfs it down. "Me either."
 
“None?” Sinbad raises his eyebrows. “Same as me? Or are you not supposed to
date? I’ve heard things about those Kou Studios contracts.” He blows on his own
pizza, taking a bite before washing it down with a sip of wine. “Draconian.”
 
"… Well," Judal amends after a short pause, "I sort of had a thing going with
this one girl. But, uh. It was Kouen's sister. That… yeah, he didn't like
that," he says with a snort, reaching for his own glass of wine. Ah. Lots
stronger than what he's used to. He takes a bigger sip. "It was just a friends-
with-benefits thing, anyway, but they're really rich and everything, you know?
Picky about who she goes out with, whatever."
 
“Old money,” Sinbad agrees with significantly more disgust. “Yeah, I know them
from a long time ago.” He takes a longer sip of wine, drowning the bitter taste
the Rens always leave in his mouth. “So, why’d you go with Kou? Not to mix
business with pleasure, but I thought I sent a pretty enticing offer, and I
know it’s better than what Kouen’s paying you.”
 
Judal blinks up at him, his brow furrowing. "I never got anything official from
you--by the time I signed on with Kou, it was just calls and stuff and your
secretary pissing Kouen off a lot." He grabs another slice of pizza. "Besides,
I've known them for a long time, and they house me and take care of me and
everything, so the money's kinda secondary at this point." 
 
Damn you, Kouen. What did you do with the contracts I sent him? Burned them?
Not before laughing with your repulsive little family, I’ll bet. Outwardly, he
just shrugs. “They must have gotten lost on the way. No pressure, I just wanted
to offer again. If you’re happy with Kou, then it’s none of my business.” He
lifts a glass, holding it up to Judal. “To a night of being ourselves.”
 
"… I probably would've picked you."
 
His glass clinks against Sinbad's a little tiredly. "I can't exactly leave,you
know. Not just--out of the blue like that. I mean, not that I'm not happy,"
Judal is quick to amend. "Just--you seem a lot more fun. You guys should do a
joint thing or something, then I can work with you."
 
“I’ve offered.” Sinbad shrugs, taking a long drink, trying not to imagine too
hard how nice it would have been to have Judal on his team. “I try to keep my
performers happy, when I can. It goes beyond the contract, you know? It’s not
all pay and benefits, some of it’s just...making sure they have fun, letting
them mostly choose their own projects, making sure they know they can talk to
me if they’re upset about something...there’s more to being the head of a
studio than having an eye for talent. At least, there should be.”
 
"I have fun." He probably says it too fast, and Judal tries to remedy that by
biting into his pizza again with a scowl. "I just--ugh, whatever. It's not like
I'd be fucking you on camera if I signed on, anyway, so it doesn't matter.
Kouen picks the stuff that sells the best, so that's fine."
 
Sinbad laughs. “I’d definitely come out of retirement if you were part of the
picture,” he remarks with a grin. “Though I think my old clientele would be
rather...confused at the sudden change in venue.”
 
"I can top," is Judal's immediate insistence, obviously knowing exactly what
Sinbad refers to. "Kouen just--well, he says with the way I look, it wouldn't
sell. He's probably right," he grumbles, downing back another gulp of wine.
"And anyway, I like your cock a lot, so you can just keep putting it in me,
people could get over it." 
 
“To tell you the truth, I’ve always preferred topping,” Sinbad says with a
shrug. “When I was starting out, the money wasn’t right. It’s always easier to
start out bottoming, then you can work with bigger stars without ego getting in
the way. Which is your favorite, when it comes down to it?”
 
"Oh, I definitely like bottoming the most, so I guess that works out, huh?"
Judal sets his now empty wine glass down, laying his head down onto his arms.
"You have such a nice cock," he laments. "It's gonna be so boring going back to
work." 
 
Sinbad snorts. “You and me both.” He drains his glass, then stretches out next
to Judal, throwing an arm over his waist. “You’re adorable. You sure I can’t
keep you? No one takes my cock like you.”
 
Judal purrs at that, rolling himself out of the blanket to wriggle closer. "I
want you to keep me. Kouen's already gonna be mad, though," he sighs, lifting a
hand to trail his fingers over his neck, knowing without looking that it's
mottled with bites. "And… actually," he admits with a grimace, "I'm not really
supposed to be having sex before a shoot. But… oh well."
 
Sinbad rolls his eyes. “That’s just another way for him to keep his performers
in line. If he doesn’t have makeup people that can hide all of that, he should
fire them. As for the rest…” He shrugs. “I could check for you. Want to show me
the damage?”
 
"No damage, I'm not gonna break just from one fuck--even if you are really
big." Judal shimmies his way closer nonetheless, setting his teeth to Sinbad's
shoulder for a light nibble. "Maybe if you fucked me again or something…"
 
Sinbad’s laugh is a low, rich thing as he rolls them slowly, settling on his
back with Judal’s comforting warm weight on top of him. “Why, do you want me to
break you or something?”
 
"Maaaybe. Then I can call in sick or something." Judal wriggles down against
him, sighing as he stretches, dragging his fingers down Sinbad's chest slowly.
"Hey, I'm clean, you know. We can do it without a condom, when's the last time
you got to fill someone up right, hmm?" 
 
The idea is so sudden, so tempting, that Sinbad’s hips twitch up, breath
hitching in his chest. Then he sighs, hands sliding down Judal’s sides to rest
on his hips. “How do you know I’m clean? You shouldn’t go around offering that,
you know. You’ll get hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.”
 
Judal's eyes roll as he huffs. "Please, like you're not. I don't offer that to
just anyone, I'm not that dumb." He frowns, sitting back a bit. "Unless you
don't want to."
 
Sinbad looks up at him through lidded eyes, closing a hand over Judal’s and
dragging it down his own chest, to where his cock is hardening between his
legs. “Does that feel like I don’t want to?”
 
A shiver rakes down Judal's spine, his fingers immediately curling around to
squeeze. "No," he breathlessly replies. "But--should let me suck you first, at
least for a bit, you can have my mouth however you want it--then you can fuck
me again. Just… just make me into your pet, I'll be good." 
 
“You drive a hard bargain,” Sinbad says with a laugh, folding his hands behind
his head as he lays back. “Show me what you like to do with a man’s cock, given
the opportunity. If I want something different, believe me, I’ll let you know.
Don’t show off, just have fun.”
 
What's the difference Judal almost asks, though bites his tongue in favor of
wriggling his way down, too excited about the idea of it to bother with words.
He nuzzles his way up Sinbad's thighs, then against his hardening cock,
mouthing along the side of it with a hot, shuddering huff of breath before his
tongue flicks out to taste, swiping long and slick over the tip of him.
 
Sinbad’s eyes close, then open again almost immediately, unable to look away
from the alluring sight. Judal’s sucking on him like he loves it, and Sinbad
usually prides himself on being able to tell performance from reality. With
Judal, maybe nothing is certain, nothing except the sinful wet warmth sliding
over him, and Sinbad lets his thighs spread to give Judal more room to work. “I
have a feeling,” he breathes, “that telling you not to perform is like telling
rain not to be wet. You can’t help it, can you? You always look good. God, look
how hard you’ve got me.”
 
Judal's eyes flutter, the praise enough to go straight to his own cock, and he
eagerly parts his lips, breath escaping fast and ragged through his nose as he
sucks the head of Sinbad's cock into his mouth, his tongue an insistent wriggle
against him. He lifts a hand to shove his hair back and out of the way as he
bobs his head, groaning in the back of his throat as Sinbad slides hot and
thick and heavy over his tongue, thick enough to make his jaw already ache as
he works to swallow him down. 
 
A low, whimpering sound muffles in Judal's throat as he soon finds his nose
nuzzling into the short, dark hairs at the base of Sinbad's cock, and he pulls
back just enough to look up through his lashes, eyes wet as he mindlessly grabs
for one of those big, strong hands, urging it to grab at his hair. Use
me,fuckme.
 
Sinbad lets out a groan as his hand fists in Judal’s hair, shoving him further
down, eyes alight at the sight. “Just like that,” he murmurs, blunt nails
scratching gently against Judal’s scalp. “Your mouth is so perfect. Go on,
further, you want to be really full, don’t you?” He’s close already, and even
realizing how close he is makes him harder, throbbing against Judal’s tongue.
He bucks up, forcing Judal’s head down farther, until he feels Judal’s nose
against his belly. “There’s a good boy, taking all of me. You like sucking my
cock?”
 
Judal nods, or tries to--easier said than done, when his mouth is so full of
cock and he can barely breathe. His eyes lid, glazed and dark as he moans
around Sinbad's cock, gagging when he's shoved down harder and Sinbad's cock
sides even deeper down his throat, and he swallows hard, breath escaping
frantic, desperate from his nose as his eyes tear up further. Yes yes yes, I
love it, fuck my mouth, just use me like a hole--
 
With a growl of satisfaction so intense it’s almost frustration, Sinbad
wrenches Judal off of him, chest heaving as he pants. The noises, the sight,
the feeling of Judal’s mouth are too much, and he beckons urgently, using that
lovely hair as a handle to yank Judal up. “You sure you want me raw? I need to
be in you or I’m going to come too soon.”
 
A too-fast nod follows, one shaky hand lifting to wipe his mouth as he pants
hard for a full breath. "Need it," Judal groans, wriggling his way up and
nearly sobbing as he slides back to let Sinbad's cock just slide up the cleft
of his ass. "G-god… where's the lube, need you in me so bad--"
 
Sinbad fumbles with the pump, grabbing Judal’s hand and giving him a generous
dollop.  “Use a lot, or you’ll tear,” he warns. God, it’s hard to sound
anything but eager when it’s been so long since he’s gone bareback, especially
just for the fun of it and not for extra pay. “And go slow, I don’t want to
hurt you, I just want it to feel really good for both of us.”
 
"I know how to do it, shut up," is the breathy mumble to follow as Judal's hand
slides back to grab Sinbad's cock, biting his lip just at the feel of him in
his hand again, hard and so slick. His fingers squeeze, and Judal sucks in a
steadying breath, whimpering at just the press of the head of Sinbad's cock
against his hole, still sore from earlier, but god, that makes it even better
with that initial stretch, thighs tense and body trembling as he sinks down.
His hands curl their way against Sinbad's chest, head bowed as he wriggles his
way down, whining at the sensation of that thick cock stuffing him so full,
pressing so deep at this angle that it's hard to do anything but writhe. 
 
God, it’s been so long for Sinbad that he fists his hands in the blanket,
unable to do anything but groan at the first tense, slick slide in, biting his
own lip when it’s just too much, when Judal is so tight and perfect around him
that it doesn’t matter he’s had Judal twice today already, he could still
explode at any moment. Everything is sharper, the tiniest bit grittier, more
real this way, and when he sees how Judal is close to collapsing on top of him,
he reaches his hands up, unable to stop himself from squeezing too tight,
knowing there will be bruises on Judal’s waist tomorrow and, god help him,
liking it. “That feel good inside you, baby? Is that where you like my cock?”
 
Judal sobs as he nods, chest heaving with each hiccuping breath. The squeeze of
Sinbad's hands makes it feel that much tighter, and god help him, he can't help
but squirm his way down harder onto Sinbad's cock, no matter how it's far, far
too much, and every slick, aching rock of his hips makes him whine and twist
and want to fuck himself on it even harder. "Love it," he gasps out, arms
trembling in their attempt to keep himself upright as he digs his knees in,
thighs quivering from the effort it takes to push himself. He rocks up far
enough that Sinbad slides out, all for the chance to reach back, to rub that
thick, dripping head over his twitching hole again before he sinks back down
with a deep, grateful moan as his body stretches wide around him once more.
"You feel so good, Daddy, fuck me hard--"
 
“Daddy’s gonna fuck you hard, baby,” Sinbad promises, and his cock twitches,
throbs inside Judal. He runs his hands up that sculpted abdomen, fingers
dragging over the soft skin, and pinches Judal’s nipples, tugging on them with
his fingers, hard enough to make Judal bend forward over him. “You like it when
your Daddy plays with you, don’t you, baby? You like making me happy, riding my
cock like that? What a good boy. Squeeze down tight for me.”
 
He's going to pass out from how hard his own cock is, the rush of blood leaving
his chest heaving as he bends into Sinbad's hands, muscles drawing tight and
tense and shivery all on their own accord as he shoves himself down, head
rolling forward with another, shuddering groan. "Love it, love it so much--god,
your cock feels so good in me like this--" Judal's breath catches and he
whines, face flushing a dark red. "Tell me… t-tell me I'm being a good girl,
Daddy, wanna feel you come inside me so bad--"
 
Sinbad’s brain shorts out. 
 
Everything is reduced to hot sweet slick young tight hot yes, fingers digging
in too hard, and with the breadth of his hands Sinbad swears he can feel his
cock inside Judal, thick and aching and so, so ready. “You want me to fill you
up, baby?” he asks, eyes alight and voice a catching, breathy husk. “What a
good girl you are, riding your Daddy’s cock.”
 
He fists a hand in Judal’s hair again, dragging him down. “Here it comes, baby.
Good girls--ah--get what they--deserve--” he grunts, and then everything goes
white, far more intense than the last time, shaking him to his core as he yanks
Judal down brutally hard, coming slick and hot inside him.
 
Judal thinks he manages a breathy, mindless little squeak, his voice caught in
his throat when Sinbad spills inside of him, slick and hot and god, that's just
obscene, enough to make him moan and wriggle down harder, no matter how he
shakes and shivers and hurts. That's all it takes for his own control to snap,
chest heaving in a ragged sob as he spills, everything aching from how spent he
is, how overstimulated and fucked and ah, god, he can't breathe from how hard
he pants. He mewls as he flops down, face burying into the side of Sinbad's
neck, biting his lip at the sensation of being so full that he's dripping. 
 
Sinbad lets one arm curl around Judal’s back, eyes sliding shut as he strokes
mindlessly up and down his spine. He thinks he murmurs something soothing, but
most of his energy and effort are put into making sure he doesn’t just fall
asleep on the middle of his living room floor. “You,” he starts, and has to
stop and breathe before he starts again. “You want to move to the bedroom?
Comfy bed.”
 
"Want." Judal butts his head into Sinbad's shoulder. "Can't move though. All
wobbly. Legs feel like squiggles." 
 
Sinbad groans--why does he always have to be the strong one? He likes being
floppy--and struggles manfully upright, lifting Judal in his arms with a last
gasp of strength. “You’d better not snore,” he murmurs, somehow getting them
into his bedroom, curling up in his bed. “Not when I went through all that
trouble.”
 
"If I do," Judal mumbles, burying himself against Sinbad's side, "wake me up
and shove my face on your cock or something, I don't care." 
 
“That sounds like a fair trade,” Sinbad agrees, and promptly pulls the blanket
over both of them, snuggling down against the warm nice-smelling bundle in his
arm and going to sleep.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
 
Judal isn't an early riser, but his phone sort of prompts him to be. 
 
He winces at the name flashing on it--ah, yep, Kouen's going to kill him. He's
late, extremely late, and biting his lip, he wonders if he even wants to show
up at all.
 
Maybe he'll fire me. Maybe then Sinbad can pick me up and I can work for him
instead.
 
A stupid idea, definitely, but one that sort of makes him sneak out of bed,
tiptoe over to the sliding glass door of the balcony, and let his phone sit out
there to ring indefinitely for a long, long time. 
 
He makes himself at home, stealing one of Sinbad's button-downs to wrap around
himself as he sneaks out to the kitchen. Slim pickings in the man's fridge, but
whatever--a couple of peaches later and he feels less like he wants to die,
though the urge to rummage is a little impossible, considering his appetite. 
 
Sinbad doesn’t get nearly enough sleep.
 
That’s pretty much par for the course, though, and he doesn’t usually have
someone as enticing as Judal to wake up to like he does now. He stretches
slowly, not bothering with clothing beyond a pair of boxers as he makes his way
to the living room, following the noise coming from the kitchen. 
 
He leans over the counter on his elbows, enjoying the hell out of the view of
Judal’s ass. “I can make you some eggs or pancakes if you’d prefer it to cold
fruit,” he offers mildly, with an appreciative grin.
 
Judal perks up immediately at that, swallowing a mouthful of a peach as he
turns around and shuts the fridge. "Really? You'd cook for me again?" 
 
Sinbad laughs, entering the kitchen to give Judal’s hair an affectionate tug.
“Last night was hardly cooking, just putting a frozen pizza in the oven. Take a
seat, do you want eggs or bacon or pancakes or all three?”
 
Judal does a rather accurate imitation of a cat, minus the ears to flick and
tail to slowly swish. "All three would be really good," he breathes, his cheek
rubbing against Sinbad's shoulder as he briefly latches to his arm. "Do you
have to go into work today?" 
 
“I was supposed to be there already,” Sinbad admits. He nuzzles a kiss into
Judal’s hair before turning to the pantry, pulling down his ingredients and
getting a couple burners going. “They can handle things without me for one day.
You?”
 
"Well, I haven't heard my phone ringing, so they must be okay without me…"
Judal lies, prying himself away to let Sinbad cook and hefting himself up onto
a barstool, half-draping himself over the counter. "Maybe I can just not go
into work forever."
 
Sinbad laughs, dumping an eyeballed amount of pancake mix and egg and milk into
a bowl--still not really cooking, but it’ll do. “A boy after my own heart. How
do you like your eggs?”
 
"Mnnn, scrambled, this morning." Judal flops forward a bit more. "You're
spoiling me, Kouen always makes comments about how he's not running a BBW
company when I wanna eat a lot of stuff like this. I don't get fat, I have a
really fast metabolism!" 
 
“You’re an adult,” Sinbad says simply. “If you want to eat a hundred eggs, you
eat a hundred eggs. And if you always fuck like you did last night, I’m
surprised you’re not skin and bones.” He beats a few eggs into a bowl, then
leans over and confides, “Ja’far is the same way. He always tells me I’m
getting wrinkles and gray hair.”
 
"I don't always fuck like last night, but…" Judal trails off, nose scrunching
up as he rolls his eyes. "You don't have wrinkles. And if you got grey hairs,
you'd still look sexy."
 
Sinbad shudders at the thought. He combs his hair back into a ponytail,
twisting it up to keep it out of his face as he gets the bacon going in a third
pan, rendering out the fat. “Either way, you shouldn’t feel guilty about doing
something you love, eating or fucking or shooting videos. What made you get
started, anyway?”
 
"Nothing better to do. Needed the money." He slowly drums his fingers against
the countertop, looking down at his nails. "Easier money than anything else,
and everyone told me I was pretty, so I figured it was a win-win situation." 
 
Sinbad nods slowly. “That’s probably the best case scenario, you know. Do you
like it? Not sex, specifically, but performing. If you don’t, you’re very good
at hiding it.”
 
"Oh, yeah. I like it, though sometimes I get bored doing the same stuff over
and over," Judal sighs, tilting his head to the side. "Whatever, I guess what
sells is worth it. I just get sick of the same boring guys and being that
typecast femmy slut all the time. Just because I like cock doesn't mean I'm not
still a guy. I mean," he amends, thinking quickly to the night prior, "in
certain situations it's really fun, but…" 
 
“Preaching to the choir.” Sinbad pours the first pancake into the pan, flipping
the bacon. “I probably wouldn’t have retired if there were more variety. That’s
why I started my own studio, you know? I know this business. I understand it.
There’s so much potential, and if you do it right it’s a bulletproof industry.
Bacon limp or crispy?”
 
"Limp--you were never that girly, though," Judal protests, his chin coming to
rest in his hands. "It's different. Speaking of which, I was supposed to have a
cross dressing shoot or something, uh--this afternoon." More like right now.
"Kinda glad I'm gonna skip out on that today, not sure if I can rock the thigh
highs and heels thing."
 
“Nah, they could tell trying to make me look feminine was sort of a lost
cause,” Sinbad agrees. “They tried to get me to do a crossdressing shoot a
couple times, but we all decided it looked ridiculous.” He pours himself a
glass of orange juice, offering one to Judal as well. “You’re lucky you’re
around now. Ten years ago, there wasn’t any such thing as a switch in the
industry.”
 
"… It's your eyebrows," Judal says with a squint as he takes the glass,
wrapping both hands around it. "You can't look like a girl with a really strong
brow like that. That's a good thing, by the way. It's sexy. And Kouen doesn't
wanna market me as a switch," he adds on a grumble. "So whatever."
 
Sinbad sighs. “What a waste. Ah, well, at least you’re happy.” He plops a few
pancakes down onto a plate, then scowls at them. “That was stupid, I should
have put in chocolate or bananas. Here, I’ll take those, you can have the next
batch. Which do you prefer?”
 
Does happy mean really, really bored and never gets to have any good sex like I
did last night?"It's really fine as long as you've got syrup, but… chocolate's
always good." Like hell he's gonna turn down anything really sweet first thing
in the morning. "We forgot to film last night, you know," Judal suddenly says
with a pout.
 
Several chocolate chips find their way into the next batch of pancake batter.
“There’s always today,” Sinbad points out. “Unless you want to run off that
soon. I’ve got a whole lighting kit and everything, it’s easy to turn one of my
guest rooms into a studio. Or my bedroom, I guess, but the lights don’t fit as
well in there.” He dumps a pile of eggs onto Judal’s plate, wordlessly passing
over salt, pepper and paprika.
 
"So long as Kouen doesn't call, I don't have to go anywhere!" Yeah, that phone
is staying outside for awhile. Immediately, Judal douses a generous amount of
spice over his eggs before digging in like a man starved. "No one ever cooks
for me, I'm keeping you." 
 
“I find that hard to believe.” Sinbad reaches over, brushing a thumb over
Judal’s cheek before serving himself, picking up several strips of bacon with
the tongs and heaping them on Judal’s plate. “Do they know how cute you are
when you eat? I’d cook for you all day.”
 
"Kouen just thinks it's annoying," Judal complains, snagging a piece of bacon
before it barely even hits his plate. "Ugh. I probably make him sound like he's
really awful, don't I? He's not, he's just…" he sighs, thoughtfully chewing for
a moment. "He's just really straight. Like. Really boringly straight. About
everything, not just sex. Everything always has to be done a certain way or at
a certain time and it's not my fault that I get hungry at weird times." 
 
“You do make me want to steal you away from him,” Sinbad admits, “but I’m not
sure that’s a bad thing. Just...I’ll try not to try too hard, but I really do
think you’d like Sindria Studios more. We’re a lot more flexible, and I listen
to my performers’ needs whenever I can. Kouen’s never worked in front of the
camera a day in his life,” he adds, letting a little of that old enmity show
through.
 
"Well, that's obvious," the younger man sniffs, inhaling his next piece of
bacon. "I told you, though, I can't just pick up and leave. I don't… they pay
for everything, it's not like I can get another job on top of this and get an
apartment and stuff in the middle of the city."
 
Sinbad waves a hand at that. “Don’t make it about money. Take for granted that
I’d give you what he’s giving you. If you want to stay with Kou that’s fine,
and I’d love to keep meeting like this, but it isn’t about money. I’ll pay for
your apartment, your stuff, your food, and double your paycheck besides.”
 
Judal eyeballs him, immediately skeptical in spite of how he wants to jump at
the mere idea. "You don't even know me. What's the catch?" 
 
“Catch?” Sinbad cocks his head. “I’ve seen your videos. I’d love to have you as
my star, and I pay top dollar for talent like yours. No catch. Ask my other
stars if you want to know what working for me is like.”
 
"That's not it. It's…" Judal sighs, shaking his head with a frown. "A lot of
people tell me that, you know. I mean, I don't let any of them take me home or
fuck me, but--still. Kouen says guys like you are just poachers."
 
Three more chocolate-chip filled pancakes hit Judal’s plate, and Sinbad finally
pulls up a stool. “No pressure. No bullying. Just letting you know I’d be
thrilled to have you. Want anything else to drink?”
 
"Ah… no, I'm good." Would a poacher just stop like that? Ugh. Sinbad doesn't
seem like all of those other guys. Never has, and that's why Judal went home
with him in the first place. He pokes at his pancakes a bit before starting in
on them, albeit a little more slowly than before. "You're really nice to me,
it's weird sometimes."
 
Sinbad sets down his fork. “It shouldn’t be weird to be nice, especially not
with what we do. We get looked down on enough by the outside world, we should
at least extend a helping hand to each other. That’s what I think. Also, on an
unrelated note, I definitely make it a point to be nice to boys that are as
cute as you.”
 
Judal opens his mouth, then shuts again, but not before stuffing a generous
amount of pancakes into it and taking the time to chew and swallow. "'m 23," he
finally says, swallowing. "Shouldn't call me a boy. Well, outside the bedroom."
 
And I’m a magical pink unicorn. “Right, twenty-three. Men as cute as you, then.
What year were you born, again?”
 
"That's really not nice," is the growl to follow.
 
Sinbad leans forward on his elbows, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Neither is lying. Come on, I’m not going to give you grief as long as you’re
at least eighteen.” And even if you aren’t I’ll probably just keep that to
myself.
 
Judal scowls, poking at his pancakes a bit more before deciding eating is more
fun than being annoyed. "… I turned 18 a few months ago," he admits. "I don't
look that young, do I?" 
 
“You sure as hell don’t look twenty-three,” Sinbad says with some amusement.
“Not to me, anyway. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Unless Kouen
tries to hurt you, in which case this will be highly convenient to use against
him.
 
"Well, you don't look 28, and no one says anything about that," Judal protests
with a little huff. "You're a jerk, if you try to use this as blackmail, I'll
bite you." 
 
“Don’t be silly,” Sinbad says with a grin. “What possible reason could I have
to do something like that? You’re far too cute to blackmail.”
 
"I dunno, people are just jerks, you never know," he grumbles, stabbing an
escaped chocolate chip before simply popping it into his mouth. "You know,
there are a lot of rumors about you floating around lately." 
 
“Oh?” That’s not news, but it’s been a while since Sinbad has heard the rumors
coming from other studios. “What do they say about me?”
 
"That you and your secretary are fucking," Judal bluntly offers, scraping the
last bit of his eggs off the plate to leave it looking rather licked clean.
"That's kinda cliche, huh? I've never seen much of him, is he hot?"
 
Sinbad bursts out laughing at that. “I’m flattered. Yes, he’s hot, but he’ll
have none of that. If that’s the worst they say, I’m losing my touch.”
 
"What, is he straight or something?" The idea of someone not wanting to fuck
Sinbad is outright bizarre. 
 
“Can’t tell. From what I see, he doesn’t have sex. I know,” Sinbad adds, “I
think it’s weird too.”
 
Judal stares, slowly licking his fork clean. "… How do you not have sex? And
work for a porn studio on top of that?" 
 
“I ask him the same thing all the time. He says it’s a lot easier than having
sex all the time.” Sinbad slowly shakes his head. “Weird guy, but he’s the best
asset I have.”
 
"But you don't get to fuck him. Boring," Judal sighs, flopping forward over the
countertop. "Ahh, I'm full now. I haven't had a breakfast like that in forever.
Can I just move in or something?" 
 
Sinbad thinks for a minute, then sets his fork down. “If you want to,” he says,
more seriously than he’d intended.
 
Judal blinks, not really expecting that when he had honestly been joking.
Mostly, at any rate. "I… um, I don't think that would go over well. I was just
kidding, besides."
 
Sinbad shrugs. “Offer stands. Any time, not just today. It’s not like I don’t
have the room, besides,” he points out, sweeping a hand out to indicate the
rather spacious accommodations. Not like I haven’t taken in worse, in my time.
 
"… Yeah, I guess." It's probably bad to imagine it and think that it would be
so nice, being Sinbad's live-in boyfriend. No, not boyfriend. He hasn't asked
you to be his boyfriend. Judal pouts a little at the thought. "Would you date
me?" Kind of impossible to ask. "You know, hypothetically." 
 
Sinbad blinks. “Aren’t we on a date right now? Hell, you slept over and I
cooked for you, either we’re on a date or I’m your babysitter, and as you
pointed out...you’re twenty-three.”
 
"Oh." Judal blinks back at him. "I thought this was just you trying… to get me
to sign on or something. And the sex was kind of a bonus…" 
 
Sinbad snorts. “You’re your own agent, aren’t you? When I talk about contracts,
I’m trying to get you to sign on. When I talk about how good you look spread
out on my floor, or how cute you look when you’re eating bacon, it’s because I
like having you in my house.” He shrugs. “But if you’d like to talk about
business, we can do that. I’d rather just talk, though. I get enough work at
work.”
 
"No, I'd much rather talk about the other things, I just--" Judal flops
forward, cheek pressing to the countertop with a pout. "Sorry," he eventually,
grumpily adds. "I'm not used to this. I want to have fun with you, not talk
about work. No one else is any fun, or if they are, they still have something
else in mind."
 
“So what do you like to do for fun?” Sinbad reaches out a hand, scratching
gently through Judal’s hair. “When you’re not working or hanging around with
the Rens, what do you like to do? Sports? Videogames? Furniture decorating,
competitive baking, throwing vegetables at other vegetables in protest?”
 
"The last part sounds fun." It's a little hard to concentrate when Sinbad is
petting his hair like that, and Judal sighs, eyes lidding as he nearly goes
limp. "Uh… mnn, not like I have a lot of time off. I work out and stuff. Like
swimming."
 
“Really?” Sinbad leans forward, brushing his lips over the curve of Judal’s ear
as he murmurs, “When I was young, I’d never seen the ocean. When I moved out
here, I was so taken with it that I started swimming every day. Learned to surf
and everything.”
 
Judal thinks he hears about half of that, what with the shiver that rakes down
his spine. "… Really like the beach," he manages. "We should go sometime. You
know, when it's not so cold." 
 
“Sounds good.” Sinbad scrapes the edge of his teeth just barely over the soft
skin of Judal’s ear. “Guess I’ll have to make sure to keep you happy until it
gets warm, hmm?”
 
"Ahh… yeah… that," Judal mutters, listing to the side to butt his head against
Sinbad's shoulder. "Quit it, or we're not gonna get on film this time either."
Not that I even care at this point. Just want you. 
 
“Mmm, you make a good point.” Sinbad straightens up, ignoring the kitchen mess
(the cleaning lady gets paid plenty), and tugging on Judal’s hand. “You really
like being bitten, hmm? You look like you got attacked by a tiger, and you know
I’m not going to be able to stop.”
 
"Like being bitten, like biting," Judal sighs, sliding out of his seat and all
but tumbling his way after Sinbad. "I'm gonna get in trouble, it looks like you
tried to eat me. You should do it more." 
 
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Sinbad agrees cheerfully, leaning down to
bite at Judal’s neck as he walks, hands coming up to pinch and tickle at the
young man’s sides. It’s not his fault Judal is so pinchable, after all.
 
Judal squeaks, turning around and grabbing at Sinbad's ponytail in revenge as
he rather deliberately backs himself into a wall. "Mean--I told you, we're not
even gonna be able to film it if you keep this up." 
 
“Maybe I should just throw you over my shoulder?” Sinbad all but purrs, urging
Judal along with grabbing hands, laughing and trying to make the kid squirm.
The tug to his ponytail does nothing but make him growl, shooing Judal into the
nearest room. “Take your clothes off while I set up.”
 
"It's your shirt, sure you don't want me to keep it on?" Times like this he
kind of does wish he had a thong on or something, Sinbad would probably really
get off on seeing that peeking out from underneath his own shirt. Judal flops
back onto the bed nonetheless, plucking at the buttons lazily. "Smells like
you. Can I take it with me, when I go home?" 
 
Sinbad spares a glance over his shoulder to see Judal laying there plucking at
his shirt, and damn, if he wasn’t hard before…
 
“You can take anything you want. Yeah, you’re right, it looks better on, far be
it from me to second guess your instincts.” He sets up the key light, the fill
and the diffuser, then lastly a couple of cameras, flicking them both on. “You
want to say hi before we start?”
 
Judal hums, unbuttoning the first few buttons and not much more as he beams at
the camera, stretching his arms up deliberately to pull his hair back up into
its usual ponytail. "Just 'hi', hmm? Okay," he sighs, flopping forward onto his
elbows, ass deliberately wriggling as it hikes up. "Hi, I'm Judal, and I'm
Sin's new pet." 
 
Sinbad flicks on the last camera, then turns off the overhead light, crawling
down on top of Judal. “No tricks,” he murmurs, “and no mugging for the camera.
This isn’t getting sold, this is just so I can remember how well I fucked
you.” 
 
He drags a hand down Judal’s abs, palming his cock slowly. “You’re already
thinking about getting my cock in you, aren’t you, my new pet?”
 
Judal wants to protest--it's not like he tries to perform, anyway--but the
words disappear from his tongue when Sinbad's hands are on him again, a shudder
raking down his spine and his legs immediately, eagerly splaying wide. 
 
"What else is there to think about?" Ugh, god, Sinbad has nice hands. Judal's
eyes flutter, his own scraping down Sinbad's back, running down his sides and
hooking into the waist of his boxer. "Off," he lowly demands. 
 
Sinbad loses the boxers without a second thought, pushing his shirt up higher
on Judal’s body and leaning down to bite, finding new, unmarked spots all the
time and setting gleefully about ruining them. “On your knees this time,” he
suggests. “I want to get as deep in you as possible and feel you writhe.”
 
The idea of that is enough to make him writhe, but Judal manages a little nod,
twisting over as quickly as he can manage. He fumbles with a few more of the
buttons, letting the shirt just cling to his shoulders instead, easily hiked up
as he settles onto his knees, sinking down to his elbows with a little shudder.
"You were pretty deep last time," he breathlessly points out, cock twitching at
the memory, his toes curling a bit. 
 
“Yeah. You took me really well, I was impressed,” Sinbad murmurs, sliding a
hand down Judal’s spine. He spends a few long minutes just running his hands
over Judal’s body, stroking, caressing, trying to feel every inch of him just
in case they don’t get to do this again for a long time. “When you’re ready,”
he says softly in Judal’s ear, “use the lube, open yourself up for me.”
 
There's no way he could reach for it fast enough. Judal's fingers are slick
with the stuff when he squirms to twist back, dragging fingers so eager that
they shake as they drag over his own hole, mouth falling open at the soreness
from just the night prior, the ache of wriggling one, two fingers inside and
making himself slick and ready all over again. A huff of breath, and Judal
buries his face down into the sheets, a hitching little whine leaving his
throat. "Want you really bad." His eyes squeeze shut as he works in a third
finger, groaning as his body lurches back onto his own hand. "N-need it, your
cock is so much better--"
 
Sinbad leans down, sliding in another finger along with Judal’s, longer, at a
better angle, twisting slowly. “You,” he murmurs, “look good when you’re
stuffed full. Damn, you’re still sore and red from last night. You sure you can
take me again?”
 
He doesn’t ask if Judal wants him to wear a condom. If he didn’t last time, he
probably doesn’t this time, and the thought of taking him raw like this again
is enough to get Sinbad achingly hard.
 
Sinbad's fingers are bigger than his by far, and to have one inside, along with
three of his own--Judal chokes on a high, breathy sound, already feeling so
overfull that it aches,and he twists to try and spread his legs a bit more,
even as they shake so hard that he can barely keep himself upright. "I… I c-can
do it… god, even your fingers are big."
 
Sinbad moves, grabbing Judal’s wrist and easing his fingers out, pinning both
of his wrists down to the bed. He lets the head of his cock rub against the
inside of one smooth thigh, dragging a trail of clear fluid up as he leans down
over Judal’s back. “Your legs are spread so wide...looks like you really want
me.” He presses a kiss to the back of Judal’s shoulder, the head of his cock
just barely pressing against his hole. “Do you?”
 
A desperate noise pulls from Judal's throat, more a mewl than anything else,
and he tries to wriggle back no matter how he's held, the press of Sinbad's
cock against him promising a thick stretch that makes him groan. "Need you," he
begs, wishing he could spread his legs even wider. His own cock throbs, already
dripping onto the sheets as he squirms, arching his back. "N-need you, your
fingers, whatever else you wanna put in me--just--please--"
 
“At some point,” Sinbad promises, his voice low, almost a threat, “I’m going to
tie you down to the bed and toy with you all day, putting all sorts of things
inside you. I wonder how loud I can make you scream?” He scrapes his teeth down
the side of Judal’s neck. “And for how long?” I wonder if I can make you scream
my name, he thinks darkly, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pushes the head of
his cock inside.
 
That first stretch makes him whine, high and breathy and close to sobbing at
how he aches with that thick cock opening him up again. Judal's legs tremble,
chest heaving as he tries to squirm back, all the more turned on by the idea of
Sinbad just tying him down, fucking him, stuffing him full, not even just with
his cock--with toys, whatever he wanted--
 
"Please--" Is he begging for that, or for Sinbad to fuck him harder? God, Judal
doesn't even know. He groans, thrashing against the man's hold on his wrists,
trying desperately to slide back further on Sinbad's cock. "Need you to fuck
me, need you in really deep--"
 
“Gonna take you deep,” Sinbad promises. “Deep, and hard--but first, I want you
to feel every inch.”
 
It’s torture to go so slow, but it’s worth it, worth it with the agonizing
stretch around him, how somehow Judal manages to stay so tight, and Sinbad
really can’t tell who he’s torturing more. It doesn’t matter when it’s so good,
and Sinbad lets out a long, low groan at the tight clench around him.
“You...god. You like it when your Daddy fucks you with that big cock?”
 
It's unfair how Judal can feel every inch of Sinbad sinking into him like this,
even more unfair how he's helpless to do anything but shiver and squirm and
take it, his mouth falling open as he sucks in a deep, desperate gulp of air,
and ah, god, Sinbad's in him so deep that he's not sure he can stand it.
 
"…T…too much," Judal whimpers, and his body just clenches tighter as he says
it, a hiccuping, desperate sound escaping him. "Your little girl's t-trying to
be good, Daddy, your cock is just so big--"
 
“She can take it.” Sinbad presses a kiss to Judal’s neck, nuzzling down with
little sucks and bites, running his hands up and down Judal’s sides as he sinks
in as deep as he can get, finally nestling his hips tight against Judal’s ass.
“Look at that, what a good girl, taking all her Daddy’s cock like that.” He
rocks in slowly, pressing in harder, eyes half-closed in bliss. “So tight and
sweet around me, baby...squeeze that ass around me, you know what your Daddy
likes.”
 
There's nothing, nothing like those words, the sound of someone else getting
off so much from him. Judal's cock aches, twitching and throbbing as Sinbad
fucks him, shuddering as he clenches tight around that thick cock, squirming
his way back and rubbing his face down into the bed, biting the sheets when
Sinbad presses just shy of right. "God," he groans, trembling, sweat beading at
his brow as it furrows with the deep, hard slide of Sinbad's cock inside of
him. "God, you feel so good--"
 
“That feel good?” Sinbad’s breath is rough, uneven as he rolls his hips slowly,
pulling out just a few inches before sliding back in, over and over, hands
gripping Judal’s waist tight. “Come on, baby, ride back on me, let me see how
much you love my cock.” It’s easy to tell Judal loves it, can’t get enough,
just from how he trembles and moans, and Sinbad can’t help but thrust in harder
with every lewd noise from Judal’s throat.
 
Judal doesn't need to be told twice. He wriggles back with a ragged gasp,
grabbing the sheets for some kind of leverage as he humps his way back, a high,
mewling whine escaping his lips as he throws his head back. "You have the best
cock, Daddy," he groans, heaving out a ragged breath at that slick, tight slide
of Sinbad's cock. "Fuck me hard, I wanna feel you come--ahh, mark me up this
time, come on me--"
 
Just those words make Sinbad ache, cock throbbing inside Judal, hard and eager.
“What a good girl,” he breathes, and rewards Judal with a few hard, deep
thrusts, pulling out farther so he can hit every good spot on the way in.
“Where do you want my come, huh? Your pretty face, or your pretty ass?” He
punctuates the question with a sharp slap to Judal’s rear, yanking him back
into it.
 
It takes a moment to answer that when his chest heaves, his body shaking so
hard he thinks he might pass out with every hard, perfect thrust, every slap of
those big, strong hands that makes his legs buckle out from under him and his
own cock twitch. "I… ah, god," Judal moans, biting into the sheets again when
his eyes roll back. "C-come on my face, Daddy--wanna be able to taste you, lick
you up--"
 
Sinbad gives another sharp bite to Judal’s neck, then pulls out, flipping Judal
onto his back, long years of practice making sure he’s getting a good angle
without really putting any thought into it. “Touch yourself,” he orders
breathlessly. “I want to see you jack your pretty cock when I’m coming on your
face, baby girl.” 
 
The words turn into a groan at the end as he fists his own cock, and Judal’s
eager, expectant, flushed face is the last thing he sees before he comes hard,
shooting slick and messy over Judal’s cheeks, eyelids, and plush soft lips.
 
He barely has time to touch himself, barely needs to even if his fingers
reflexively close tight around his own aching cock. Judal all but sobs as he
comes hard, spilling over his own fist and stomach as Sinbad comes hot and
slick over his face, and he groans, parting his lips to taste what drips over
him, eagerly sucking on his own lower lip to lick all of it up. "Fuck," he
manages to whisper, and one, already sticky hand lifts to his lips, sucking his
own fingers clean before he swipes them over his eyelids to lap at that as
well. "You're just… you're not fair."
 
Sinbad sags back down to the bed, reaching a hand out to drag his thumb over
Judal’s sticky lips before dipping it briefly inside. “Coming from someone who
looks like you right now,” he pants, relaxing back onto his elbows, “that’s one
hell of a compliment.”
 
Judal's eyes flutter, his mouth eagerly closing around Sinbad's thumb to suck
it into his mouth with a wriggle of his tongue. "God," he moans, grabbing at
Sinbad's wrist to keep his hand close. "Want you to keep me." 
 
Sinbad strokes his thumb over the soft drag of Judal’s tongue, an almost
surprised expression of affection on his face. “If it’s up to me,” he murmurs,
other hand coming up to stroke through Judal’s hair, “I’ll never let you go.”
 
Ugh, that sounds nice.
 
Judal lets his eyes contently slide mostly shut, hazy and out of focus as he
licks and nibbles at Sinbad's thumb, content to lie there sated and messy when
it all feels so good--
 
And then the doorbell rings.
 
With a growl, he tightens his hand on Sinbad's wrist. "Not allowed," he
petulantly mutters.
 
Sinbad stretches out, wrapping his arm around Judal and nestling up behind him.
“If it’s Ja’far or the cleaning lady, they have keys. If it’s anyone else, they
can fuck off. I’m busy.”
 
Judal likes that answer. He wriggles back against Sinbad with a happy little
noise, butting up underneath the other man's chin. "You make a great pillow,"
he sighs. "Hey, if I stayed, do I get to sleep in your bed with you?" 
 
The doorbell rings again. Judal growls.
 
Sinbad tightens his hold on Judal, burying his face in the kid’s hair. “Sure
you can. This one, or the other one? You can have all of them at once piled
together for all I care.” Go the fuck away, I’m busy.
 
"Don't care as long as you're in it," Judal fairly purrs, nuzzling at Sinbad's
neck. "Wanna curl up like this with you all the time. You're warm."
 
The doorbell comes with an annoyed knock this time. "Hey, c'mon! I'm not
waiting around for my health, Judal, I know you're there!"
 
Oh.
 
Oh, shit.
 
Judal slinks back into Sinbad's chest with a grimace, wishing he could pull
something over his face.
 
The voice is unfamiliar, and Sinbad’s brows draw together. “You want me to get
rid of this clown?”
 
"… Ah… no," Judal mutters, raking a hand back through his bangs. "Well, I mean,
I guess you could try. He's… always really persistent, it'd probably just be
best if I go…"
 
“But I don’t want you to go. I’m good at telling people to fuck off, just wait
here,” Sinbad murmurs, nuzzling a kiss behind Judal’s ear. He climbs up,
tugging on his boxers. “Give me two minutes, I’ll be back.”
 
Judal hesitates, but slowly nods, wriggling his way down into the sheets. "If
you're sure," he hedges, unable to keep from grinning a bit at the fact that
someone wants him to stay, and would deal with that brat for him. "Just--he's
kind of a bitch, fair warning."
 
“I’ll be careful,” Sinbad assures him with a grin. He tugs a dressing gown over
his shoulders, not bothering to tie it shut, and closes the door behind him as
he strides out to the living room, unlocking the door with a raised eyebrow. 
 
Ah. 
 
Not exactly what he was expecting. “Can I help you?” he asks the startlingly
pretty boy standing with a hip cocked out on his doorstep.
 
Kouha's eyebrows immediately shoot up. "Ah," he says, glancing down at his
phone before looking back up at Sinbad. Even in the cold weather, he's still
dressed less-than-braced for it, with ribbed socks that might as well be thigh
highs clinging to rather shapely legs and a wool, button-up coat thrown over
what is probably little more than a shirt and shorts. "Should've figured out
this was your apartment. So you've been playing with Judal, huh? Hand him over,
En's mad enough already."  
 
Sinbad folds his arms, unable to keep himself from giving the boy a long,
lingering look--boy? Girl? Boy, probably--up and down. Definitely pretty, with
the hair and the look that marks him as Kou Studios property, and the attitude
that marks him as family. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not here.
And you are?”
 
A long-suffering sigh follows. "Kouha Ren," he introduces, and immediately tips
his head to peer around Sinbad into his apartment. "I know he's there. GPS," he
offers, holding up his phone with a little wave of it. "Juuu, c'mon, En's mad
at you!" 
 
Damn GPS and the modern world. Sinbad folds his arms, shifting his weight in a
slightly more confrontational manner. “The one who gets bounced around
expensive boarding schools, right? Should have known. He’s not here. Left his
phone in my car, I brought it up to keep it safe. Want it back?”
 
Kouha's eyes immediately roll. "You smell like sex," he bluntly says. "Nice
bite marks, too. Got a girl that likes to nibble? With--" He reaches up,
plucking a long, dark hair from Sinbad's shoulder. "Long, black hair? Not
usually your type." 
 
Sinbad’s hand darts out to catch Kouha’s wrist, giving it a squeeze. “Careful,”
he warns. “I’m not one of your brother’s little pets. You have no right to be
in my space.”
 
The younger man's lips slowly curve, and he stretches up on tiptoe, tugging his
wrist away with a delicate little pull. "No? Sounds like that might make it a
little more fun. According to your stuff from back in the day, you like it when
someone invades your personal space." 
 
Kouha’s got more muscle on him than Sinbad had anticipated, that’s for sure.
Then again, judging by what he’s heard of the family, he probably uses it for
things that would land him in prison if he were a less wealthy boy. “I had
standards back then. Little boys who look like little girls aren’t my type.”
 
Kouha laughs outright at that. "What a load of bullshit. Seriously, just tell
him to get his stuff and clean up and let's go. My driver's not gonna wait all
day and I'm getting sick and tired of listening to En bitch." 
 
“You,” Sinbad says slowly, “seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that
you can come to my home and tell me what to do. Get out, or I’ll call
security.” I’d rather deal with you myself, but that would cause a fuss and
Ja’far would be pissed.
 
"Ooh, scary. You," Kouha breathes, leaning forward to tap a finger against
Sinbad's chest, "could stand for someone to loosen you up. If Judal isn't doing
it for you, then you've got a real problem on your hands."
 
The urge to put his hands on the boy is almost overwhelming. It’s harder than
it should be to laugh, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you volunteering for
the job? I think I’d have to check ID.”
 
Kouha's eyelashes bat. "I'm old enough for you, or so I've heard. Let me come
in, maybe all three of us can have a little fun. I know what really makes Judal
tick." 
 
Sinbad extends an arm across the doorframe. “Out. He’s not here, and I don’t
want to deal with you again.” He shuts the door, watching through the peephole
to see how long it takes Kouha to get the message.
 
A huff, and an annoyed, booted kick to the door is Kouha's response before he
lingers a moment longer prior to stalking away.
 
"… Are you watching his ass, or him?" is Judal's wry reply as he pokes his head
around the corner of the hall. "Is he gone? Told you he's annoying."
 
“No ass to watch, skinny thing like him,” Sinbad mutters, turning away and
smiling at the sight of Judal. He crosses the distance quickly, tilting Judal’s
face up for a long kiss before murmuring against his lips, “I’d deal with a lot
more annoying shit than that to keep you here.”
 
Judal wants to relax as much as he had earlier, but now it's close to
impossible, with the knowledge that they know where he is. He sighs, sinking
back onto his heels, frowning a little against Sinbad's lips. "Sorry. Should've
answered Kouen's calls from earlier. I kinda… left my phone out on your balcony
so I wouldn't have to listen to it." 
 
Sinbad laughs. “Very naughty. You could just turn it off, you know.” He tugs
Judal closer, letting his fingers brush over Judal’s neck. “If you don’t want
to be here for a while, let’s go out. I’ll take you...hmm. Ice skating? Lunch?
I’ll fly us to wine country for the day if you want.”
 
"If I turned it off, he'd just get madder." He huffs, butting his face into
Sinbad's shoulder. "You're too nice." I'm gonna get used to it, that's
annoying.
 
One large hand comes up to stroke Judal’s hair, the other sliding around his
waist. “That’s not a yes. Are you saying you want to leave?”
 
"… I should probably just go back," is the eventual, reluctant reply. Why?a
little voice asks, and it makes him tired thinking about all the reasons why he
shouldn't bother. Sinbad's offered to let him stay here, is offering to feed
and house him and pay for whatever he needs--
 
Then again, there's a lot of people that have said that. 
 
"We can hook up again later. You know, after I make sure Kouen's not gonna fire
me or something." Judal pulls back, scrubbing a hand back through his hair.
"Sorry. Business, you know about all that." 
 
Sinbad starts to protest--but then memory reminds him of another time, another
man who had tugged on his ponytail and softly asked him to stay, when the lure
of stardom and the dreams had been too big for him to wait. “Yeah. I
understand.”
 
He squeezes Judal tight around the waist with a little sigh. “I’ll be here, or
at the studio, and you have my cell number if you ever want me. You want me to
drive you back, or will you take a cab?”
 
Judal sets his teeth down into Sinbad's shoulder, a light nibble to silence his
own tongue from going off on a dozen reasons about why Sinbad should ask him
one more time to stay, because he'll probably give in if he does it just one
more time. "Cab." Not the answer he wants to give. "He's already gonna be mad
that I was here. I don't want you to have to deal with him."
 
Sinbad cups Judal’s face in his hands, holding his gaze. “I would,” he says
simply. “Kouen or Kouha or anyone else, if it meant I got to keep you here with
me.”
 
He brushes a last kiss over those pretty lips, letting Judal go with a rueful
grin, tying his hair back. “Get your stuff, if you’re going to go. Or you’ll
tempt me to keep it so I can drag you back here.”
 
Judal's nose scrunches up as he rocks back onto his heels. "I'll call you," he
promises, though at this point, he's a little worried that it might be a lie.
"Enjoy that video while I'm not here, okay?"
 
“Over and over again,” Sinbad promises. He gives Judal’s ass a gentle slap,
sending him on his way before he really does just toss the kid over his
shoulder and keep him. “If I don’t see you in a week, I’ll come kidnap you.”
 
"Yeah, yeah." As if Kouen will let you anywhere near the studio from now on.
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
 
If I don’t see you in a week, I’ll come kidnap you.
 
It’s been two weeks. 
 
Sinbad stares sadly at his phone, stubbornly refusing to give him Judal’s voice
for more than a few seconds of breathy, tense “Sorry, not right now” and “Gotta
go!” no matter what time of night he calls.
 
He winds up flopping down onto the on-set bed, slumping facefirst into satin
sheets and letting out a noise between a sigh and a groan. “How illegal is it
to kidnap adults?” he asks somewhat petulantly, face squashed against the
sheets as he stares at Ja’far.
 
Ja'far doesn't quite look up from his inventory clipboard. "Very. As in the
other night when you attempted to drag me bodily home with you--I probably
could have sued." 
 
“But that doesn’t count. If you can sue your kidnapper you haven’t been
kidnapped very well.”
 
"So take a course in it or something." Ja'far does lift his gaze then. "If you
practice on me, I cannot be responsible for my actions, however."
 
“You’re not very accommodating when I’m unhappy.” Sinbad flops over onto his
side, waving a hand semi-dramatically down at himself. “Look how unhappy I am.
I’ve worn the same pants two days in a row.”
 
"I was hoping this lovestruck thing was a phase, or perhaps that you were
merely surrendering to your drunkard tendencies once and for all." Ja'far
pauses, looking at him and shaking his head. "You do look very pathetic,
though. More so than usual." 
 
“Being drunk would be more fun. Will you get drunk with me?” Sinbad asks
hopefully, sitting up a bit at the prospect. “I’ll be cheerful if I’m drunk
with you.”
 
"No. You can't make promises like that when you know you're awful and entirely
useless when you're drunk." He sighs, tapping his pen lightly against his
clipboard. "Honestly, why are you so worked up over this kid?"
 
“I don’t know. It’s dumb. Make me feel better.” Sinbad tosses a pillow at
Ja’far halfheartedly. “Let me buy you dinner.”
 
Ja'far blocks it equally halfheartedly with his clipboard. "Why would spending
your money on someone else make you feel better? Sounds more stressful than
anything to me."
 
“No, it’ll get my mind off of him,” Sinbad insists, and sits up, quite taken
with the idea now. “I hardly ever see you eat. You do eat, don’t you? Or do you
live on tea and my cigarettes?”
 
A bland stare follows the words before Ja'far simply sighs. "Yes, I eat."
Apparently well enough that you feel the need to pinch my thighs regularly.
"Honestly, Sin, you just need to let it go. You knew what you were getting into
with that kid."
 
“Not really. It could have been a lot more dangerous than it probably is,”
Sinbad points out, and sighs. “It isn’t as if Kouen likes me much anyway, and I
didn’t broach any contract rules or union protocols. There’s not a thing he can
legally do to touch me, and if he tries anything else...well, that’s why I have
you, isn’t it?”
 
"You really enjoy making my job more difficult, don't you?" 
 
Sinbad shrugs. “It’s a perk of being myself. Seriously, can I take you to
dinner? We can talk about something besides work and how stupid I am, it’ll be
a nice change.”
 
Ja'far opens his mouth to argue once more before shutting it again with a long,
world-weary sigh. "… This won't be a regular thing," he eventually, reluctantly
says. Sinbad does look awfully pathetic.
 
Sinbad was wrong, this is the best day of his life. He springs from the bed
with all the energy of a newborn colt, snatching Ja’far up by the waist and
hurrying him towards the exit before he can change his mind. “Excellent! All
right, what shall we have? Chinese, Indian, sushi, burritos--there’s a great
fine dining place on Sunset I’ve been wanting to go back to, but I never had a
date hot enough. What do you like?”
 
Somehow, he manages to wriggle away for the few seconds it takes to snatch his
wallet off of his desk. "'Never had a date hot enough'--Sin, we've been over
this. I blend in with your furniture. And I really don't care," Ja'far
exasperatedly replies, pulling on his coat. "Honestly, food is food."
 
Sinbad scowls. “You sound like you don’t trust me to know who I’m attracted to.
Shall I be clearer?” he asks mildly, snaking his hand down to squeeze one cheek
of Ja’far’s ass, opening the car door with the other hand.
 
He's getting good with his aim when it comes to reflexively slapping Sinbad's
hands away. "Is this dinner, or an extension of the 'daily sexual harassment
with Sinbad' show?" Ja'far mutters, squirming away to drop himself into the car
all the same.
 
“Can’t it be both? We’re not at dinner yet, after all.”
 
Sinbad slides into the driver’s seat, buckling in as he adds, “Don’t worry,
there can be more sexual harassment with Sinbad later. In fact, you’re welcome
to plan on it.”
 
For the second time that evening, Ja'far finds himself just… opening his mouth
and then shutting it again. "The office is bad enough. Please refrain from
doing as much in public."
 
“If you like. Though if you don’t want to be grabbed, you might want to try
being less...mm, grabbable. If you can.” Sinbad chuckles to himself, turning
onto the freeway. “What am I saying, of course you can’t.”
 
Ja'far heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Why am I the only one that you like
having fat on?" 
 
“You just wear it really well. Why won’t you let me film you? Say you’re
unattractive all you want, but if I don’t believe it, there’s a good chance our
customers won’t either. And you work for me, so you can’t be that shy.”
 
And now they're back to this. Ja'far rolls his eyes as he leans back into the
seat. "I make enough money in my current position, thank you. Also, you don't
want me. I hardly have the mind for sex."
 
Sinbad grins, muttering under his breath, “You’ve certainly got the body for
it,” as he turns into the valet parking. “Treat her right, yeah?” he says to
the valet, tossing him the keys. “No food allergies, right, Ja’far?”
 
I heard that. Maybe one of these days, Sinbad will be a little less asking for
a lawsuit. It's a good thing it's him, and not someone less tolerant or
familiar with the man's tendencies. "Hardly," is his snort as he climbs from
the car, pulling his coat tighter around himself. "Sin, honestly, somewhere
expensive isn't necessary." 
 
“It’s necessary for me. Why make money palm over slippery fist if I never get
to enjoy it?” It’s nice to have Ja’far on his arm as he enters, the waiters
edging each other out to try and take him to a table. Either my reputation
precedes me or I just look like a big tipper.“The steak tartare they do here is
unsurpassed,” he murmurs to Ja’far as the lucky waiter seats them. 
 
The light from the hanging candles hits Ja’far’s moonlight hair, and Sinbad’s
breath falters for a moment. How is it possible that Ja’far just doesn’t see
what he sees? Does he not own a mirror? Though to tell the truth, Sinbad isn’t
even sure what it is he sees, other than something he wants.
 
For the umpteenth time, Ja'far wants to remind Sinbad that this isn't a date,
this isn't necessary, this is really wasted on me but it would fall on deaf
ears, and that aside--well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like this, just
a little bit.
 
"I will never understand what is necessary about this to you," he says all the
same as he settles into his seat. "Next time, we can just go to one of our
apartments or something."
 
“But every time I invite you to my apartment you accuse me of just trying to
get into your pants,” Sinbad points out. “And worse, you don’t even let me into
your pants.”
 
"You say that as if my accusations aren't correct, and it isn't as if you
haven't tried to do the same this evening three times already." Ja'far's
eyebrows slowly arch. "You'd be disappointed, trust me."
 
“Have you left a trail of disappointed men behind?” Sinbad asks with a grin,
signaling the sommelier with the beckon of a finger, ordering a bottle of one
of his favorite wines. “Besides me, I mean. I thought you were too young when
we met to have left much of a following, but you said you were older than you
looked…”
 
"I'm 25, do the math." Disappointed men--give me a break. "I don't have a
'following.' I'm saying you'd be disappointed because you would be. I'm hardly
the porn stars and models you end up dating." 
 
Sinbad levels a gaze at him. “I did date before I became a porn star, you
know,” he says mildly, taking a long sip of wine. “I do know what it’s like to
be with someone that does everything because it feels good, and because it’s
exactly what they want to do. There’s nothing wrong with that, and anyone who’s
disappointed in that isn’t worth your time.”
 
He might need to be a little drunk for this himself, if this is how the evening
is going to keep going. "You say that as if I date and deal with people in the
first place," Ja'far retorts, taking a sip from his own glass. "Also, forgive
me, but you do seem to have a type, and I hardly fit it." 
 
Sinbad narrows his eyes. “If you’re so uninterested in me, please just tell
me,” he says simply. “If you find me unappealing, or my personality bothers you
so much, or you simply prefer women, please tell me. Then you wouldn’t have to
spend your time trying to convince me that I don’t want to throw you over this
table right now when I very, very definitely do.”
 
Ja'far tries not to inelegantly choke on his wine. He sort of half succeeds.
"I--" Right. He's flushed because he's trying not to die an early death by
wine, that's his excuse and he's sticking to it. "… I don't date," he attempts
lamely. "That is--I haven't before. And I certainly haven't let people throw me
over tables." 
 
“Doesn’t have to be a table. Could be my bed, sofa, the backseat of my car…”
Sinbad cuts himself off, a bit flushed from the wine. “Just because you haven’t
done something before is no reason not to try it. Then you’ll never do
anything. And just because you don’t date doesn’t…”
 
He trails off, the words clicking a bit late in his head, and he nearly sprays
wine all over the table when he realizes what Ja’far had intimated. “Does that-
-do you mean you haven’t--”
 
"We're not talking about this." It isn't something he's ashamed of. Not at all,
the exact opposite in fact--he simply doesn't care. The problem is the way that
Sinbad says it, like it should be some sort of a crime that he's never taken
someone to bed or been taken to bed. Why does it even matter? is Ja'far's
irritable inner monologue, and he downs back the rest of his wine glass. Yes,
he definitely needs to be closer to drunk for all of this.
 
Back off, he’s getting irritable. Then again, sometimes when Ja’far is
irritable he talks in that adorable little accent…
 
No, best not push it.
 
“So why books?” he asks instead, relaxing back into his chair. “Books, and
numbers. Did you want to go to school for it, or is it just a hobby?”
 
"… I have a degree now, you know. I realize you are a busy man and don't review
current employees' updated resumes, but believe it or not, it is not in the
'art of keeping a porn studio's taxes tidy.'" Ja'far reaches for a piece of
bread, peeling the crust off first to nibble on that. "But to answer your
question--numbers make sense, even yours, when you are entirely infuriating." 
 
“Ah--right, I meant to congratulate you on that,” Sinbad says weakly. “I did
notice, wasn’t it a Business degree? We can call tonight a celebration of that,
if you want. Didn’t I send you a card, flowers, something like that? I have a
distinct memory of sending you flowers.”
 
Ja'far merely gives him a wry stare, not even of the mind to correct him on
every detail. It's actually sort of perplexingly cute that the man seems so
stressed by it. "Sin, it was over a year ago. You tried to give me a day off of
work, I refused. Let's consider tonight a celebration of 'I'll leave that Kou
Studios kid alone so I don't get a restraining order filed against me'
instead."
 
“Right!” Sinbad exclaims. “I knew I did something for you! Are you sure you
don’t want a day off work? You don’t even take most holidays off, if I remember
correctly.” Not that he’s the best at noticing, not when he’s usually so eager
to leave early and get to work late unlike Ja’far.
 
"I don't take any holidays off." Ja'far tops his own wine glass off, and
Sinbad's, too, for good measure. "Days off give me hives. I will pass, thank
you." 
 
Sinbad chuckles to himself, draining most of that glass in one gulp. “And
you’re probably why we’re so successful. I couldn’t have done it without you,
my friend.”
 
"You are astoundingly awful with finances."
 
“Though your capacity to turn every compliment into an insult at my expense is
something I could do without.”
 
"And here I thought you sort of liked it, judging by how your hands tend to
gravitate towards me in response."
 
Sinbad arches a brow. “So, I try to steer the conversation towards something
nonsexual you’re good at for once, and you steer the topic back to my hands on
your body. What does that tell me, pray tell?”
 
Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, but not before taking a long drink
of his wine. "That I need to be far more drunk for this conversation." 
 
Sinbad laughs, signaling the waiter for another bottle. “And here I’ve never
seen you drink even this much of something that isn’t tea. What’s so special
about tonight? I’ve tried to browbeat you into letting me feed you a hundred
times.”
 
"… You looked exceptionally pathetic," is Ja'far's reluctant admittance. "And I
would much rather let you take me out to dinner than have you keep chasing
after that kid. He's nothing but trouble, for you and your company." 
 
“Are you saying you’re some kind of consolation prize? Because I’ll have you
know you’re worth far more to me than that.” It’s a bit sappy, but Sinbad
reaches out a hand, resting it over Ja’far’s. All right, Ja’far is right, he
does feel far too glad of a simple thing like a hand’s warmth, but that’s fine,
right? It’s all right to be a sappy sot for human contact occasionally, isn’t
it?
 
"Sin," Ja'far sighs, less long-suffering and now only more mildly put out than
anything. For what it's worth, he doesn't pull his hand away, his fingers
loosely curling beneath Sinbad's. "I'm your accountant. Are you sure you aren't
simply saying that because I talk to all the idiots for you and make sure you
make the most money you possibly can?"
 
“I don’t care about money.” True, now that he has enough of it to feed himself
and live in fairly fabulous luxury. “Is what I’ve built...does it do anything
for you? I know it’s me you follow, not the studio, but do you...believe in it,
in what I’m trying to do?”
 
"If I didn't, do you really think I would be working for you at all? I am not a
blind tagalong, you know." He twists his hand free to give Sinbad's a little
flick. "You ask fairly stupid questions when drunk." 
 
In retaliation, Sinbad just squeezes his hand. “That,” he says softly, bringing
Ja’far’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “makes me feel
better than anything has in weeks.”
 
Ah.
 
His face flushes hot, and he knows, knows it has little to nothing to do with
being pleasantly warmed by the wine. "… Must you?" It's a weak protest at this
point, at the vey best.
 
“Much like all the very best of things that I do, no, I mustn’t.” Sinbad
squeezes Ja’far’s hand, with no intention of letting it go now that he knows
just how nice it is to have in his own. “I don’t need to. But I most certainly
want to. So I will.”
 
"Incorrigible," is the low, put-out mutter to follow, even as his fingers
hesitantly curl their way up within Sinbad's. "If you ask me to come home with
you, you should know that I can't." 
 
“Can’t?” Sinbad cocks his head, thumb rubbing against Ja’far’s palm. “I’d have
accepted  won’t at face value, but for can’t you’ll have to give me a reason.”
 
Ja'far glances down, a little too fascinated, probably, by the slide of that
calloused thumb against his flesh. He blames the alcohol. "My pets have a very
strict feeding regimen."
 
Excuses like that, from someone who doesn’t usually bother with them (and is
freely holding his hand in public besides), hint to Sinbad that Ja’far doesn’t
want to say no. He leans in, asking low and dark, “Your place, then?”
 
At that, Ja'far hesitates, just a bit. I don't exactly have guests over or my
apartment is nothing like yours, you know that are on the tip of his tongue--
excuses he knows that Sinbad cares absolutely nothing about. Why am I letting
this happen? he asks himself a bit worriedly, tongue flicking out to wet his
lower lip. "I… well… if you want," he slowly, carefully agrees.
 
All the stress of the last several days seems to melt away, pooling into
something low and hot and sweet, electric at the base of Sinbad’s spine as he
nods, hand tightening on Ja’far’s. “It’s a date.”
 
The arrival of the waiter with their food is probably a good thing. Dragging
Ja’far into the men’s bathroom to drop to his knees and suck him off probably
would be a bit too hasty, all things considered, and the interruption at least
saves him from that.
 
Ja'far isn't used to this kind of anxiety.
 
Work is one thing. The stress of a deadline is something he understands, and
even the stress or threat of possibly being killed is easier for him to
function through. This--the stress that comes with really not knowing and
feeling entirely, horribly awkward about the whole thing--is something else
entirely.
 
It shouldn't matter, Sin doesn't care, he wouldn't be interested if he cared.
 
And yet it's a little difficult to sit through the meal and not think about the
possibility of making a friendship he's had for over a decade sort of… fall
apart, courtesy of his own ineptness (and lack of desire) when it comes to
relationships (and with that, sex). 
 
"You're really not going to enjoy this as much as you think you are." That's
his story, and he's definitely sticking to it. 
 
“If you say so.”
 
You couldn’t be more wrong.
 
At least, Sinbad hopes Ja’far is wrong. He can’t help but shoot covert glances
at him through the rest of the meal, wondering if maybe Ja’far just really will
never like sex, if Sinbad can even have a shot at making him enjoy something he
hasn’t felt compelled to seek out for twenty-five years.
 
Then he laughs that off, draining his glass as he finishes his meal. Doubt
isn’t like me. Of course I can. Just as soon as he gives me a chance.
 
“So how many of those things do you have, anyway?” he asks, waiting for Ja’far
to finish eating.
 
"Things?" A blink, and Ja'far takes his time to finish swallowing before
replying. "Ah. You mean my snakes. A few more than the last time you came
over." 
 
“Are you any better at keeping them locked up?” Sinbad asks, a little wary,
remembering the last time he’d gone over to Ja’far’s apartment. “I mean, I know
they’re, uh, cute, but you can’t just let them wander around when they could
hurt someone.” Someone meaning me, because you’re so good with them it’s a
little creepy.
 
"I'm very good at keeping them in their enclosures," Ja'far mildly replies,
setting his fork down and draining his own wine glass. "Some of them are just
smarter than others. Don't worry, I'll go in before you do and make sure there
aren't any venomous species loose."
 
“My hero,” Sinbad says dryly. “Do you want to order dessert? Or...are you ready
to go?”
 
"… I think I'm done." There's that little flutter of nervousness again. Ja'far
wonders if he is drunk enough for this yet.
 
Sinbad leaves a few bills on the table, enough that he sees the gleam in the
waiter’s eyes as he hurries over, and offers Ja’far his arm on the way out to
the car. “I think,” he says slowly, trying hard to behave and keep his hands to
himself, “you’re far from done. At least, if I have anything to say about it.”
 
"Just don't wreck your car attempting to touch me on the drive over," Ja'far
mutters, reaching a tentative hand out to take Sinbad's arm and allow himself
to be drawn along and out of the restaurant. "I don't want to file your
insurance claims, too." 
 
“I can behave myself,” Sinbad protests, but his heart isn’t really in it.
 
True to his word, he refrains from groping Ja’far on the drive, even though
it’s far harder than he would have expected it to be when Ja’far looks so
attractive and soft and plush and is sitting right there and knowing that in
just a few minutes…
 
He does drive a bit too fast on the way to Ja’far’s apartment, but he’s only
human, isn’t he? 
 
“Is there anything you hate?” he asks, once he pulls into the garage. “I mean,
from what you’ve tried with yourself if nothing else.”
 
"… Not really?" Then again, it's a little difficult to answer that question
when he isn't the most adventurous. Human, yes, but a hand is a hand if he's
annoyed enough to wake up from an odd dream or two. "I'm boring," Ja'far dryly
says, unbuckling his seatbelt to let himself out of the car and fish his keys
out from his coat pocket. "Let me go in first--you haven't handled any small
animals lately, have you?" 
 
“Only the kind that bite when I tell them to,” Sinbad says cheerfully,
dutifully hanging back outside until he gets the all-clear, with the added
benefit of watching Ja’far’s ass as he walks in. He does peek his head in; the
way Ja’far handles the snakes is an odd kind of sensual all in itself. “Oh, and
take the knives off before we get started, I don’t want to wind up bleeding for
the wrong reasons.”
 
Only one escapee, fortunately, and a nonvenmous one at that. "Mmn," Ja'far
mildly offers, the baby python constricting itself around his wrist as he opens
its enclosure to put it back inside. Other than the smattering of glass cages,
the one-bedroom apartment is simply and rather spartanly furnished; far easier
to clean and care for, as far as Ja'far is concerned, and when has he ever
needed anything fancy, anyway? "All right, you can come in--don't go near that
rattler's cage on the left, she strikes at the glass and I don't want her
hurting herself," he adds, bending to hike up his sweater and unbuckle one
knife in particular from the inside of his thigh. 
 
Sinbad enters, sucking in a breath at the sight of the knife strapped to one
smooth, soft thigh. The snakes are nothing more than background noise after
that, and he shuts the door behind him, walking up to slide his arms around
Ja’far’s waist, gently at first, feeling the weight and warmth of him. “Do you
know,” he murmurs, turning his head to nuzzle into Ja’far’s hair, “how long
I’ve thought of touching you like this?”
 
He was doing so well at suppressing that anxiety.
 
It comes back as a long, achy little shiver, and it takes Ja'far a minute to
relax, to think and remind himself that it's Sinbad's arms around him, and if
anyone is allowed to touch him like this, it's Sin. 
 
"… No," he admits, a little wryly, but turns his head into the nuzzle of his
hair all the same. "Nor do I particularly understand it." Just because everyone
in the studio calls me your wife doesn't exactly mean I'm the best material for
that.
 
“Years.” Sinbad loosens his grip, hands coming to rest on Ja’far’s slender
waist, almost encircling it there, and he bends to brush a few soft kisses over
the side of Ja’far’s neck. “I don’t know what it is about you that drives me so
crazy, but you always have. Well,” he amends, with a little self-deprecating
chuckle, “not always. Maybe since you were sixteen or seventeen, not when you
were a kid.”
 
"Reassuring, to know you aren't entirely a creep," Ja'far quips, more to settle
his nerves than anything else, and he exhales a slow, shaky sigh, his own hands
briefly moving to pull a blade from his hip that he had forgotten about before
Sinbad can cut himself. "… You have big hands," he adds absent-mindedly, and
that shouldn't make him flush as much as it does. "Either that, or I'm smaller
than I thought." 
 
“Your waist is smaller than I thought,” Sinbad agrees, one hand finger-walking
down Ja’far’s side to slide up under his sweater. “You keep it hidden so well
under these big clothes, I thought you’d have more meat on you. Ah,” he
remarks, pinching one cheek of Ja’far’s ass, “there it is.”
 
He doesn't squeak at that. No, that would be entirely undignified. He does
squirm a bit, though, entirely in spite of himself, and Ja'far huffs, pulling
back slightly. "It's a valiant attempt to keep you from sexually harassing me,
though I am starting to think I would be better off not trying." 
 
“Mmm, because you hate it so much when I touch you, right?” Sinbad teases,
yanking Ja’far back against him, hands sliding up under the sweater to run up
and down Ja’far’s abdomen, his sides, his chest. “You don’t enjoy my hands on
you at all, right? You’re just doing this to help me get over the Kou kid?”
 
"I--" 
 
That's a squeak that time, and Ja'far definitely squirms, face hotter by the
second and ah, damn it, he hadn't really bargained on Sinbad's hands and how
good his callouses feel over his flesh--
 
"If that were the case," he manages to rasp out, shivering as he sinks back
into Sinbad's chest, "then I think you'd be upset." 
 
“I don’t think I could ever be upset with you in my arms.” A bit cheesy, but
like most of the cheesy things Sinbad says, it’s entirely true at the moment.
The way Ja’far is snuggled up tight against him is delightful, and he walks
them both forward, kissing and nuzzling Ja’far’s neck as he urges him towards
the bedroom, hands exploring up and down and--
 
Oh.
 
He’d forgotten about that.
 
One thumb comes up under the sweater to stroke over that little silver ring as
Sinbad’s breath hitches. “I forgot you had this,” he breathes, eyes alight. “I
haven’t seen you with your shirt off for so long.”
 
Why does he even still wear it? Ja'far regrets nostalgia and sentimentality
with a groan, gritting his teeth to keep back a very incriminating, throaty
noise when Sinbad's fingers pull and pluck at the nipple piercing. "Must you?"
It comes out as a gasp, and Ja'far lifts a hand to grab at Sinbad's wrist
rather shakily. 
 
Sinbad strokes over the ring, flicking it with his thumb, sitting down on the
bed and tugging Ja’far down into his lap before tugging gently on it. “I don’t
know. Do you hate it? It feels like you like it.” The hand that isn’t occupied
slides down, brushing briefly over the bulge at the front of Ja’far’s pants
before moving on to squeeze a soft thigh.
 
It would be a lie to say that he didn't. Each tug on it seems to go straight to
his cock--funny, because he's never,ever felt like that before, having it idly
touched--and Ja'far shudders, twisting to half-bury his face into Sinbad's
neck, hands grasping at the other man's shirt in a rather mindless cling. "…
Really… sensitive," is the ragged little reply that he manages to form, his
legs spreading wider on their own accord.
 
In all of a decade together, Sinbad’s never seen Ja’far like this. He likes it,
probably more than he should, and it’s a little harder than he’d like it to be
to be gentle when he twists and squeezes. “You feel amazing,” he murmurs, and
shifts slightly to let Ja’far feel how hard he is. “Look how much I’m enjoying
it.”
 
Really, for all the porn he's been privy to over the years, all the time he's
seen Sinbad naked, there's still something entirely different about this that
makes his skin flush hot and his breath come that much shorter. 
 
"… You…" Ja'far swallows hard, his breath hitching in his throat. "You can pull
harder on it." Just a little. 
 
Sinbad hooks the tip of his finger in the little ring, tugging gently, just
enough to make himself hiss. “Good,” he breathes, and that’s about all he can
take. He tugs the sweater over Ja’far’s head, then dumps him on his back on the
bed, crawling over him to take that nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his
tongue.
 
Ja'far startles himself with how fast his hands lift, dragging up and through
Sinbad's hair as he shudders and twitches beneath each stroke of his tongue.
It's not fair, how that stupid, pointless little ring, a mark of his training
years, years past, should be so damnably sensitive now of all times. His eyes
briefly squeeze shut, his breath too-hot, too-ragged, and his cock throbs,
straining against the front of his slacks. When was the last time he was this
hard? It's embarrassing to think that at this rate, he could come just from
Sinbad pulling on that damned piercing. 
 
One of Sinbad’s hands trails up the inside of Ja’far’s thigh, rubbing and
caressing and squeezing, as his teeth close around the little metal ring to
give it a tug. “You,” he murmurs against Ja’far’s skin, “are completely unfair.
I could come just from feeling you under my hands like this.”
 
The retort Ja'far wants to bite out catches in his throat, a breathy, mindless
little noise all he manages instead. His nipple throbs, seemingly in time with
his pulse, and Ja'far drops his head back into the bed, breathing deep to try
and steady himself. "That's a lie," he huffs, almost laughing. "You don't even
have me naked yet, I know how you are." 
 
Sinbad grins, flashing white teeth. “I said I could. I never said I was going
to.” He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Ja’far’s pants, yanking them down.
“And I’m certainly not going to stop so soon, no matter what. You should know
by now how much stamina I have, you’ve certainly seen me use it often enough.”
Though most of that stamina goes out the window at the sight of Ja’far’s
thighs, trailing up to...ah.
 
He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “You’re not wearing underwear.”
 
Again--it's one thing that Sinbad has seen him naked before, that he's seen
Sinbad naked before (far too many times to count, honestly). Like this, though…
is something else entirely, and it's difficult to suppress the urge to draw his
knees up and curl himself into a ball. "I… is that a problem?" he mutters,
fairly certain he's going to start frying his freckles with how hot his face
is. 
 
“Not a problem.” Sinbad’s voice is hoarse, and he can’t help the urge to lean
down, taking a taste of one smooth thigh, hands spreading them slowly open as
he nuzzles his way up. He doesn’t have this kind of urge often, but...ah,
Ja’far’s cock is lovely, pale and flushed and straight with a little bead of
liquid at the top, and Sinbad raises up on his knees, flicking his tongue over
the head. For someone who doesn’t smell like anything, Ja’far tastes good.
 
It's good that his reflexes are still sharp, and he's fast to clamp a hand over
his own mouth, brow knitting as he swallows down a sharp, whining little sound
into his throat. It's just a little touch and Ja'far knows that, but it's hard
not to squirm, harder still not to buck his hips up, because Sinbad's tongue is
hot and slick and ugh, it's unfair how his cock twitches for more already. 
 
"Y…you don't… have to do that," he manages weakly. It's because it's Sin,
that's why you're so riled up,he'snot fair.
 
Sinbad closes his mouth over the head of Ja’far’s cock, a long, slow suck as
his hands run up and down those creamy thighs, one of them sliding up to fiddle
with that enticing piercing again, tugging gently as he pulls off, licking
sticky lips. “Why?” he asks, voice a little hoarse, Ja’far’s taste still on his
tongue. “Don’t you like it? I can’t be that out of practice.”
 
Ah, god, Ja'far is lightheaded.
 
He thinks he shakes his head, eyes fluttering as his cheeks flush hot. "N..not
that. Just…" He can't even look at Sinbad without his cock jumping, his thighs
trying to splay wider as they quiver, and he feels like the basest of harlots
in about two seconds, all courtesy of the man's mouth. "Just thought… you were
going to prefer it the other way around." 
 
Sinbad props himself up on his elbows, an affectionate smile on his face as he
wraps a hand around Ja’far’s cock, stroking slowly. “I want you in every way.
Do you want to suck me off, is that what you’re saying?” He palms his own cock
through his pants, eyes shutting briefly at the thought, and kicks them off to
land on the floor, shucking his shirt after. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll
do it to you.”
 
"… I've never…" Thought about it?Not entirely true. Sinbad's hands are on him
too often for his mind to be entirely idle, and it isn't as if the man isn't
attractive. It's more… ugh, how does one even think of people like that? Ja'far
twists his head to the side briefly, huffing out a hot breath. "I told you I'm
boring," he mutters, self-conscious for the first time that he can recall about
his lack of experience in this sort of thing. "Though… I am entirely sure that
your cock is not going to fit anywhere in me." 
 
Sinbad doesn’t give Ja’far time to think, time to get nervous, time to try and
flinch away, spreading his thighs open again and licking a long hot stripe up
the underside of his cock. “It’ll fit,” he promises, stroking a hand up himself
to keep from going insane. “If you want it to. How about I finger you a little
first and you see if you like that?” he suggests, sucking one of his fingers
into his mouth, then letting the tip brush over Ja’far’s hole.
 
The little twist low in his belly, eager and aroused, is almost frightening.
Just the brush of Sinbad's finger makes him wriggle, unsure and tense, no
matter the distracting slide of Sinbad's tongue against him and ah, he's
definitely dizzier by the moment. "I… not sure if I want to do that--yet--
" Never mind that the idea of Sinbad's cock inside of him, stretching him out
too-big and too-thick, makes his toes curl. 
 
Ja'far swallows hard. "You're always going on about my thighs." Yes, this is
safer, this is easier, and he's less terrified of the idea of losing control
entirely like this, which prompts him to squirm and reach a hand down,
tentatively curling his fingers around Sinbad's cock. "Why not… just…" He licks
his lips, still nervous, still damnably nervous. "Use them?" 
 
The image as much as the words goes straight to Sinbad’s cock, jumping and
twitching in Ja’far’s hand. He nods, not quite trusting his voice, and crawls
up, urging Ja’far over onto his stomach with two broad hands on his hips.
“Easier like this,” he whispers, and nestles up behind him, cock pressing eager
and hard against that sweet, supple ass. He ruts against it for a few moments,
breath coming faster and harder as he feels the smooth curve, and an arm curls
around Ja’far’s torso, pulling him up hard against Sinbad’s chest. He wriggles
down, letting his cock slide in between those squeezable thighs, moving to suck
one earlobe into his mouth, tugging gently with his teeth as he slides forward
as far as he can go.
 
Ja'far expects Sinbad to like this.
 
He doesn't expect to like it quite as much himself.
 
It's obscene to feel that big, thick cock sliding between his thighs, muscles
trembling with the sticky-slick rub of it against his skin. Ja'far sucks in a
ragged breath, his gaze flickering down in spite of himself, and he bites his
lip at the sight of Sinbad thrusting up between them, the impulse to wriggle
back and squeeze them tighter together impossible to resist when it feels so
surprisingly good, and every thrust between them seems to go straight to his
own cock, making him twitch and throb.
 
He shudders, squirming back against Sinbad's chest, his head lolling at the
hot, slick close of Sinbad's mouth around the lobe of his ear. "… Play with it
again," is the breathy rasp that he doesn't quite think through as he grabs for
Sinbad's hand, shoving his fingers up towards the little ring in his nipple,
aching from its previous abuse.
 
Somehow, this is a thousand times more obscene than actually fucking Ja’far.
 
Hearing those breathy words is enough to undo Sinbad completely, and he forgets
his cautions, fastening his mouth to the side of his neck and sucking, nibbling
as he does as he’s bidden, teasing and pinching and tugging on that ring,
hooking a fingertip through it to make Ja’far whimper. “You like it when I play
with you like this?” he rumbles, hips snapping up harder, imagining so easily
what it would be like to shove into that sweet curved ass, just as pleased with
the lewd press of soft thighs around his cock. “Just using you for my pleasure
like this? Are you hard from feeling me using your body?”
 
Somewhere along the line, Ja'far's mind clicks off. It's a good thing, that,
because his cock is so hard he can't think, his nipples aching, his legs
trembling and threatening to buckle no matter how he tries so hard to keep his
thighs squeezing tight around Sinbad's cock. He can feel every twitch, every
jerk of Sinbad's hips, every thud of his pulse that seems to go straight
through to his cock, and god if that isn't good. 
 
"Yes--" It's a ragged, broken reply, and Ja'far's eyes flutter, thinking too
much on how he's going to have marks all over his neck tomorrow. His head rolls
back against Sinbad's shoulder, all the more welcoming for it. "Yes, god--j-
just--just use me, I--" 
 
He should be more embarrassed that those words are what do him in, that they're
what makes his voice ultimately catch and stutter in his throat as he comes
hard, spilling messy and slick with his chest heaving, body trembling so much
that he hurts.
 
Sinbad likes guessing right.
 
It’s much more difficult with Ja’far--everything is, for some reason, but
Sinbad’s never been one to shy away from difficulty, and this is a prime
example of why. Ja’far shuddering in his arms, begging brokenly to be used,
spilling hot and wet over his own thighs and Sinbad’s cock, is far better than
anything else he’s ever worked for. 
 
He stills his movements, curling his arms around Ja’far, nipping gently at his
neck. “Should I keep going?” he asks softly. “If you’re finished, I can finish
myself off.”
 
Chest still heaving, Ja'far slowly shakes his head, trying in vain to form
words for a moment as he wraps his mind around the idea of that was the best
orgasm I've ever had and oh god how do people do this on a daily basis and not
die? "I… you… keep going," he eventually settles upon with another, potent
shiver. 
 
That’s more than enough encouragement for Sinbad. It’s slicker now, more
slippery as he slides forward and back, letting out a low sigh through his
teeth at the tight squeeze of it, the soft press, and he’s close to achingly
hard. Maybe Ja’far won’t blame him if he talks, just a little bit, now that
he’s done. “Always wanted to see you like this,” he murmurs, hands tightening
on Ja’far’s waist as he picks up a rhythm. “Spread out under me, moaning for
me, acting like a whore even when I know you aren’t one, god, I just wanted to
spread you open and shove inside you so hard you’d come and scream all at the
same time.”
 
That's not fair either. Ja'far is pretty sure that he's done and finished, and
his body shouldn't be riled by that at all. He bites his cheek, stifling a low
groan as he wriggles back in spite of himself, and ah, god, his face is red
now. "Maybe… next, then--" Shivering, he lets his head drop forward, hair
swinging forward to stick to sweat-slick skin. "You can try… and put it in me.
Rub it against my hole, I want to feel it--"
 
Only a supreme effort of will keeps Sinbad from coming hard right away at just
those words. His cock is dripping as he pulls it back, sliding up into the
cleft of Ja’far’s ass, the thick blunt head catching on that pretty little
hole, dragging slowly over it. “Yeah, there you go,” he growls, hands
tightening on Ja’far’s waist so hard they’ll leave bruises in that pretty pale
skin. “You’re kind of a tease, you know? Feel that, feel how much I want to be
inside you?”
 
Ja'far's mouth falls open, the press of Sinbad's cock enough to promise a
thick, aching stretch. There's no stopping the breathy little whine that pulls
from his throat, the way he wriggles back just a bit more, and the urge to push
himself down onto Sinbad's cock, to feel it pressing into him so hard and thick
and big is nearly impossible to resist. "I--" The bob of his throat is too-
fast, almost frantic. "God, you feel good," he whispers.
 
“Tell me you want it inside you.” Sinbad’s voice is a low, hoarse husk, as he
rubs slowly up and down, both hands coming up to tease Ja’far’s nipples now.
He’s so hard it hurts, but somehow even that only feels good as he rocks,
pressing against that pretty hole again, almost, almost inside. “Tell me you
want my thick cock in your tiny little hole, and I’ll make it good.”
 
The fingers on his nipples again are too much, making his tongue respond far,
far too readily when he can already feel the thick, blunt head of Sinbad's cock
pressing against him, so close to stretching him open and--"Want it," Ja'far
raggedly gasps, voice thready and desperate. "Just--just put it in--"
 
Oh god Sin, remember that he’s a virgin, be gentle or god help you, a voice in
Sinbad’s mind reminds him, and he takes a long, shaky breath, reaching a hand
down to hook under one knee, hoisting Ja’far’s leg up to expose him that much
further. “Lube? I have some in my pants if you don’t.”
 
Ja'far has half the mind to at least be able to grab for the pants in question,
shaky fingers grabbing for the little bottle. Why are you carrying this around
would normally be on his tongue, but what's the point in asking at a time like
this? "Here," he manages, flipping open the top, twisting to grab for one of
Sinbad's hands and squeeze out a generous amount. "Just hurry." 
 
Sinbad slicks his cock until it’s dripping, then urges Ja’far up onto hands and
knees, spreading his thighs wide. “Just like this,” he breathes, “easier like
this, open up for me.”
 
He slides up the cleft again, head catching, and this time, his hands tighten
on Ja’far’s waist, pulling him slowly, slowly back as he pushes forward,
inexorably forward a fraction of an inch at a time until the head pops inside.
Sinbad barely remembers the first time he’d taken cock, but he remembers how
overwhelming and shocking it had been, and he tries, tries to go slow and be
gentle. “You….okay?”
 
If Sinbad looks big, feels big between his thighs--god, like this, it's
maddening.
 
Ja'far sags, sinking down into the bed with a shaky, desperate sound torn from
his throat. He feels even thicker inside, and god, he already feels
uncomfortably stuffed full even if it's just the head of Sin's cock pressing
inside of him, filling him and making him pant hard, heavy breaths into the
sheets. "F-fine," he rasps, eyes rolling back as he tries to wriggle back a bit
on his own accord onto that hard, slick cock, and it's just too much. 
 
“God,” Sinbad groans, unable to help the slide when he’s so slick and Ja’far’s
so wanting, arms wrapping tight around him and holding as close as he can, and
Sinbad slides in as slow as he can, eager, needing little thrusts, a bit more
every time, a bit harder, a bit faster, and he barely has the presence of mind
to snake one hand down to palm Ja’far’s cock as well. “You’re--with me, come
on, I want us to--together--God--”
 
Over the hard, relentless thudding of his pulse, it's hard to even hear Sin.
The touch of his hand is easy enough to focus on, though, especially when he's
already hard again, achingly so and oversensitive to the drag of those long,
calloused fingers when he's being so thoroughly fucked. It hurts, it aches,
every thrust of Sinbad's cock deeper inside of him even though Ja'far knows
he's still not even taking all of it, and he whines mindlessly, rutting back
against it, down into Sinbad's hand, and that's all it takes before he's
spilling again with a strangled, gasping mewl, muscles drawn tight and shivery
as his vision flickers.
 
Sinbad’s been good for long enough, and he can always apologize later.
 
He takes Ja’far’s hips into his hands, yanking them back hard as a feral noise
comes from his throat, sliding hard, fast into Ja’far’s ass, eyes squeezing
shut as he loses track of everything, loses track of himself, loses track of
anything except how perfect Ja’far is as he slams in far too hard, hips
slapping against that perfect ass, letting out an almighty groan as he slumps
forward, pulsing hot and wet and slick deep inside. The world spins, and for a
moment, everything is black.
 
A broken, whimpering sound leaves Ja'far's throat as he sags down into the bed,
burying his face into the sheets. Everything aches, his nerves singing and
twanging rather prominently out of tune, and ah, god, it stings to feel Sinbad
hot and slick inside of him, with every shiver of his body reminding him of it
in a dozen pleasant(?) ways.
 
"… Heavy," is his eventual rasp, a nudge and then a shove following when Sinbad
doesn't immediately move. That's about the extent of his effort, at any rate.
 
Everything comes into focus slowly. Sort of frightening, just how slowly, and
Sinbad flops to the side, landing on his back with his chest still heaving.
“You,” he breathlessly accuses, “are far too good at that for someone who was
supposed to be a virgin. I haven’t come that hard in years.”
 
Ja'far gives up on being any semblance of coordinated and simply faceplants, a
low groan escaping him. "Don't say it like I was lying," he eventually says,
voice muffled in the sheets. "I've never… any of that."
 
“Then you’re just a natural.” Sinbad throws an arm carelessly over Ja’far’s
back. “I changed my mind. You can’t work on camera. No one else needs to see
that.”
 
As if I'd ever agree to work on camera, anyway. "Glad to hear it." Is it bad
etiquette to want a shower really badly and yet not trust your legs at all?
 
“Last chance,” Sinbad murmurs, “to get out from under me before I fall asleep
in your tiny bed.”
 
Too embarrassing to bring up the not trusting legs part. "… I'm not moving."
Ja'far is glad, at least, that the room is dark and his face is hidden. "You're
warm, besides."
 
Oddly enough, Ja'far sleeps better than he can recall in any recent memory,
even squished into his small bed so close to another man's side.
 
Sinbad is warm, though, and that probably has a lot to do with it. Ja'far wakes
with his cheek pressed to the man's shoulder, his eyes slowly cracking open
beneath the light filtering in through a window's blinds. 
 
A pair of slitted, reptilian eyes stares back, and Ja'far exhales slowly.
 
"… Sin," he lowly murmurs so as to not alarm the man, lest he disturb the
rattlesnake that has decided Sinbad's chest is as warm and comfortable as he
has. "Do me a favor and don't move." 
 
“Mmm.” Sinbad doesn’t bother opening his eyes, tightening the arm around
Ja’far’s shoulders. “You feel good like this too.” He’s been awake for a few
minutes now, feeling Ja’far pressed up against him, tracing patterns over his
chest, cool fingers heavy and sinuous. “We should do this more often.”
 
Sinbad is an idiot. "… You have a tiger rattlesnake on your chest and she likes
you quite a bit, apparently, but I am very serious when I am telling you to not
move because I don't feel like rushing you to the hospital and having all of my
snakes taken away because she bit you and killed you."
 
Sinbad had already been still, but now he freezes completely, slowly opening
one eye, and….
 
Ah.
 
Yes.
 
That certainly is a rather large snake.
 
“Good morning, darling,” he murmurs, blinking at the snake. “How much did I
drink last night?”
 
"Enough," Ja'far concedes, and in one, fluid strike, snatches a hand out to
grab the snake by the back of the head, gently keeping her mouth shut as he
slides her off of Sinbad's chest. "She's gravid, small wonder she likes you.
You are something of a furnace," he says, climbing out of bed to put her back
into her enclosure. "Also, just so you know, you probably wouldn't have died. I
just didn't want her to break a fang off in you."
 
“Glad to know you have your priorities straight,” Sinbad remarks, leaning back
on his elbows. “Do you give them little tools to break themselves out? I’m
pretty sure one of them got loose the last time I was here, and it definitely
wasn’t that one. She’s pretty, though,” he admits. “Not the worst face I’ve
woken up to. Come back to bed.”
 
"Honestly, they only do this when they seem to know you're coming," Ja'far
sighs, double-checking the cage before sliding back into bed a moment later,
only reminded then of how sore he is and grimacing. "Never getting up again,"
he mutters, flopping back with a groan.
 
“I’d be flattered, but you don’t sound terribly pleased,” Sinbad murmurs,
wrapping an arm around Ja’far’s torso and pulling him close anyway. “Are you in
much pain? Sorry, I tried to be gentle, I just...lost control a bit.”
 
"Just sore. It isn't awful." Ja'far drops his head against Sinbad's shoulder,
eyes lidding. "How do you do that all of the time? I think I would probably
die." 
 
“It got a lot easier once I started topping,” Sinbad admits, then remembers
something and winces. “Ah. Sorry if you wanted me to use a condom, I swear I’m
usually better at remembering things like that.”
 
"… I write the checks for your medical visits. I know you're clean, so I don't
care." That being said, he still feels oddly sticky and ah, god. He needs a
proper shower here soon or he'll lose his mind. "Careless, though," Ja'far
mildly chides. "For your sake, I hope you at least use one with that Kou
brat." 
 
“Of course I used a condom with him, who knows who he’s been with?” Not a lie,
he’d used a condom with Judal the first time. “But I don’t want to talk about
him.” He tightens his arms, nuzzling down into Ja’far’s neck. “I want to be
here with you.”
 
"You are here with me." There's something to be said about his bed--it's small
enough that it definitely forces him to stay close, whether he likes it or not.
A good thing that he likes it, in this circumstance. Ja'far sighs, resting his
head down against Sinbad's chest. "You shouldn't plan on this being a regular
thing, you know. I hardly have your sex drive."
 
Sinbad nuzzles into Ja’far’s hair, hands tracing little patterns on that soft
skin, relaxing back with an indulgent smile. “Once was more than I ever
expected to have. And it was better than I expected. I hope you had fun too?”
 
"I would not still be in bed with you if I didn't." Ja'far shivers a bit, eyes
lidding as he slowly unfolds an arm to drape it over Sinbad's chest. "It was
good." 
 
Somehow--though it seems childish to say so--just those three words are more of
a boost to Sinbad’s self-esteem than a career pornstar telling him Sinbad’s the
best he’s ever had. Words mean something coming from Ja’far, and words of
praise are hardly faint. “Did I hurt you? It’s been a long time since I bedded
a virgin.”
 
"You like being able to say that, don't you." A roll of his eyes follows.
"Believe it or not, I am not so delicate. I'm just a little sore, nothing a hot
shower can't fix." Also, my legs feel like noodles.
 
“How big is your shower?” The idea of showering with Ja’far is an enticing one,
and he runs a hand up the younger man’s spine. “I’ll have to work on some of my
techniques, though. You didn’t seem to like my mouth at all.”
 
"Big enough." Good, very good, maybe he'll stop feeling like he needs to itch
everywhere if he can actually scrub himself clean. "And it wasn't that I didn't
like it. Just… that I didn't exactly expect you to do that." Ja'far starts to
carefully wriggle away. "Come on, I need to shower before I go insane."
 
Sinbad laughs at that, allowing Ja’far to escape his arms before dealing that
pale curved ass a playful swat, rolling out of the bed to follow much too close
on his heels, all grabbing hands and pinching fingers. “Maybe I should test
your skills in the shower, then…”
 
Ja'far smacks his hands away with a withering stare as he yanks open the
bathroom door. "It's too early, and don't make me remind you that pinching and
grabbing is not acceptable 24/7." 
 
“Too early?” Sinbad asks, affronted as he enters behind Ja’far, unable to stop
himself from touching no matter the recent warning slaps. “You’ve woken me
hours earlier than this for work, I am entirely convinced that groping is more
time-appropriate than paperwork.”
 
"I have a young coral snake in the kitchen that I can let out into a dark room
with you in it."
 
“Very cruel! And to think, I can count my fingers on the imprints in your
hips.” He grabs Ja’far, undeterred, and presses a slew of kisses to his neck.
“I don’t care how much you threaten me, I’m enjoying you while I have you.”
 
"Sin--" The protest turns a little stressed now when Sinbad does make it very
clear that nothing he says will deter him, and with the way Ja'far's body seems
to want to twitch and stir just from a few kisses to his already bitten-up
neck, he has to wonder how much he should be protesting. A heavy swallow, and
he gives the other man's chest a little shove. "You're so damnably obnoxious,
at least let me turn the hot water on so we can get under it, I'm cold." 
 
“And here you told me I was like a furnace,” Sinbad points out, but he
reluctantly pulls back for long enough to let Ja’far play with the water
temperature. Damn, but Ja’far really is lovely, shockingly so when out of his
clothes, with supple curves like Sinbad has rarely seen on a man and more
freckles than he’d ever expected. He steps into the shower, letting water run
down his skin as his hands feel the play of it across Ja’far’s, wasting no time
in starting to suck and nibble again.
 
"That was when we were in bed," Ja'far lowly points out, eyes lidding and a
little, relieved sigh escaping him when the hot water washes over him, rinsing
away sweat and stickiness and whatever else. That makes him settle a bit, and
makes him far more amenable to the idea of Sinbad's hands on him again, and the
brush of those big hands over already formed bruises is oddly alluring, leaving
him to shiver. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"
 
“If I thought you disliked it,” Sinbad rumbles, dragging his hands up Ja’far’s
torso, avoiding that little ring--for now--and down again, “I would already
have stopped. After last night, I’m not sure what your signals are anymore.”
 
Neither do I, Ja'far thinks a little tiredly. "… You can touch," he settles
upon. "But don't expect a repeat of last night so soon. I believe I mentioned
something about dying."
 
“Hmm, something of the sort,” Sinbad agrees, but tightens his arms all the
same. “In my defense, I didn’t know how good you would look naked. That has to
change a man’s opinion about quite a few things.”
 
"It can't be anything you haven't seen before," Ja'far lightly replies,
attempting to wriggle his way free and grab the soap. "If you want to touch so
badly, wash my back."
 
Sinbad cooperates eagerly, rubbing the soap up and down, lathering with his
hands. “So you don’t like sex,” he says, attempting to understand. “But you did
like last night. So what’s the difference?”
 
"First of all, it isn't that I don't like sex. I just… have never felt a need
for it, not like you." And apparently a good portion of the world. Ja'far lids
his eyes, allowing himself the indulgence of Sinbad's touch when he isn't
pinching him. "And last night… well. It was you, so it was good. I don't think
I would want anyone else touching me, I might stab them."
 
“We talked about that,” Sinbad says, a little sternly. “No stabbing anyone who
doesn’t stab you first, right? Do you know how much I had to pay to have your
record expunged after that last incident?”
 
"Well, so long as they don't touch me--or you--I see no reason to stab them,"
Ja'far sniffs. "Maybe everyone should keep that in mind." 
 
“Sounds appropriate,” Sinbad agrees, and brings his hands up, dolloping shampoo
on them and starting to run his fingers through Ja’far’s hair. “It’s a totally
different color when it’s wet, huh? Like your eyes, everything about you is
so...changing.”
 
"You look far too into this," is the low murmur to follow, even as Ja'far sags
back a bit, eyes lidded underneath the attention. "I like to think I'm fairly
stagnant on the best of days." 
 
“On the surface. You think much of yourself that is only on the surface,
Ja’far. It’s one of the most intriguing things about you.” Sinbad carefully
massages the shampoo, lathering it into thick, stiff peaks. “Most men consider
themselves far more interesting than is true. You’re the opposite, somehow. You
must tell me your secret. Wait, let me guess--there isn’t one?”
 
"… I really have no idea what you're talking about," Ja'far bluntly replies,
tilting his head back a bit to look up at Sinbad. "As long as none of that is
particularly bad, I don't think there's a problem, is there?" 
 
“Only that once again, I fear we are two men speaking different languages,”
Sinbad says with a sigh, and nevertheless tilts his head down to meet Ja’far’s
lips in a wet, slightly soapy kiss.
 
Well, there are far worse things. 
 
Ja'ar's eyes lid, and he stretches up a bit onto his toes to kiss back, just
enough to enjoy before he sinks back onto his heels again. "… I didn't say we
could never do this again at all, did I?" 
 
“Not yet,” Sinbad allows, “but I must confess, I’m waiting for you to say
something like that every minute. Or at least that it will be another ten
years, and I haven’t impressed you at all.”
 
"Since when have you had such little confidence in your skills?" is Ja'far's
snort to follow, his cheeks flushing slightly. "If I was… less than impressed,
you wouldn't have stayed the night." 
 
“It’s hard to tell, with you.” That’s the truth of the century, but it comes
with an even truer, larger one. “But...I want to learn to read your moods as
easily as anyone else’s. I want to learn what you like, and when you’re only
pretending to hate something, and when you aren’t.” 
 
Sinbad sighs, twisting around to try and wash his own back. “Someday, you’ll
understand that I’m not just lying to you to get you into bed.”
 
"Turn around, you bloody idiot," Ja'far mutters, the urge to roll his eyes
impossible to suppress. "I don't think you're lying to me about anything. I
think I know you a little better than that. Instead it's more… hmm. Me being
perplexed that you would rather be here with me, when you have a dozen
prettier, easier things to toy with at your discretion." 
 
“Since when have you known me to always take the easiest road?” Sinbad asks,
turning obediently to let Ja’far wash him. “You can hardly blame me for not
knowing your mind. This is the first that you’ve touched me, really. Not that I
mind doing all the work, but...you do put effort into being an enigma.”
 
"… Not really?" He doesn't really try at all, to be honest. Ja'far's eyes lid,
and his fingers thread through Sinbad's hair as well, gently working shampoo
into it. "The fact of the matter is… I don't quite understand, still, what you
find so interesting about me that you must have me in bed, but I suppose that
just means I will invite you back again."
 
Sinbad turns, shampoo and all, cupping Ja’far’s chin with one large hand, the
other going to his waist to pull him close. “Truly?” he asks, eyes alight no
matter the spectacle of his wet, soapy self. “You’ll have me back?”
 
Ja'far slowly blinks up at him through wet bangs. "You are acting as if this is
some outstanding thing," he carefully replies. "I enjoyed myself. You are my
closest--" Closer to only. "--friend. Why wouldn't I have you back?" He allows
a sort of anxious laugh. "In truth, I was afraid I would be awful at this and
that would be the end of it." 
 
“If you doubt for a second I enjoyed myself thoroughly,” Sinbad says, brushing
the hair out of Ja’far’s face with long fingers, “I have become more adept at
hiding my thoughts from you than I’d ever expected. Don’t think so low of
yourself. That was as good as I’ve ever had.”
 
"… If you say so," is the wry little reply to follow, and Ja'far tilts his head
to press a hesitant kiss to Sinbad's palm. "I won't say 'no' if you suggest it
again, so…"
 
It means more, when it’s Ja’far.
 
Sinbad doesn’t simply wrap the young man up in his arms, but it’s a close
thing. A smile, real and genuine and grateful, is enough, and he turns to let
Ja’far wash his back again. “Good. Then we have a date.”
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
 
Easy in, easy out--that's the idea of this, anyway. Kouha knows he attracts a
lot of attention, pink hair and ruffles and stockings and all that, but wolf
whistles he can deal with from a bunch of creepy old guys. They think he's a
girl, anyway, which is hilarious. 
 
It's later, though, with the sun down already, and so this shouldn't be a
terribly difficult thing to accomplish. He's picked locks since he was a kid,
and Sinbad's studio has a really, shitty old one that takes him about two
seconds to crack. Now, just to wave a magnet in all the right places and--
 
Ah.
 
Okay. Things not expected: Sinbad still being there, but sort of… suspended
from the ceiling from some really interesting looking rope work. Kouha can't
even bring himself to be annoyed about his plans being interrupted by the most
irritating person; he's way too amused. "… Someone playing cat's cradle with
you, I guess. Huh."
 
This is not the way Sinbad had anticipated spending his afternoon.
 
It had been bad enough, the way Ja’far kept pushing him away even when Sinbad
was being very charming. Bad enough, that Judal still won’t answer a single
message. Bad enough, that his star is being a diva again and pretending like he
won’t work unless Sinbad looks the other way on letting an underage kid join
up. Bad enough that Ja’far had lost his patience with the adorable passes
Sinbad was making at him and had done some freaky fast ropework and strung him
up from the ceiling of his own studio, then left him there.
 
That was all bad enough.
 
And now, the youngest kid in the Ren family is standing there bold as brass
inside Sinbad’s studio, making fun of him. 
 
Sinbad sighs. “What do you want to get me out of this?”
 
Kouha's eyebrows slowly arch up. "I dunno. You sure this isn't part of some
really involved game of yours? You used to be into some freaky stuff, back in
the day." 
 
“Your brother owns a studio,” Sinbad says with a growl. “You should know that
what an actor does on film isn’t what he’s always into. Or does Kouen not tell
you much?”
 
A little shrug follows. "He tells me as much as anyone should tell an underage
kid," he lightly replies. "Now, shouldn't you be a little sweeter if you want
me to get you down?" 
 
Sinbad narrows his eyes. “You want me to talk sweet at you? When you just broke
into my studio?”
 
"Maybe I was leaving you a love letter."
 
Sinbad regrets his position. He regrets many decisions. Pretty much he regrets
everything. “Fine. What do you want, please and thank you?”
 
Kouha smiles, looking very sweet himself. "I want you to ask me nicely."
 
Sinbad supposes that if he ignores the poison smile and the creepy look on his
face, Kouha isn’t bad looking. “Please let me down from here.” He tries to look
nice. “Please.”
 
A little hum leaves his throat, and Kouha starts examining the way the rope is
tied and leveraged. "Hmm, that sounds nice. Keep at it. Hey, are you coming out
of retirement any time soon?" 
 
“Hadn’t planned on it. Why, is big brother not letting you make videos, and
you’re convinced you’re a budding star?” If he can just get one limb free, he
can get out of this...
 
Kouha casually yanks on one rope, which just so happens to tighten them, just a
little. "Nah. I was just curious if you'd be making any more videos where
you're whining like a little bitch. You put Ju to shame."
 
Damn, how prevalent are those videos? He’d been popular in the day, sure, but
there haven’t been a huge increase in royalty checks lately or anything. Does
Kouen have his own private library? That’s a little disturbing. He grits his
teeth at the tightening of the rope--yeah, he’s going to kill Ja’far. “Do I
hear an offer in there?”
 
"You're not really my type nowadays." With another, casual tug, the rope
loosens and unravels, and Sinbad's knees hit the set's bed. "That's a start,
isn't it? You just asked me to let you down, not to untie you." 
 
“It’s a start,” Sinbad agrees, wriggling a little to try and get free--what is
Ja’far, a fucking boy scout? Where did he learn knots like these?--with little
to no success. “Well. Thanks for the help, I’m sure I can take it from here.”
Somehow. “And since you were kind enough to help me out, I’ll overlook the fact
that you broke into my property.”
 
A yank, and the rope tightens again. Kouha leaves it that way this time, with
just enough slack in the one suspending Sinbad as he waltzes back over to the
bed and with a firm shove of his foot to the man's chest, easily tips him
backwards. If his plans are ruined, then he might as well have a little fun.
"I'll give you another reason to overlook it." A hand snakes out, thumb deftly
unbuckling Sinbad's belt. "So, is it a camera trick that makes your cock look
so big?"
 
Shit, I’m being molested by a child.
 
Hard on the heels of that thought are a few he’s less proud of having. 
 
He’s as pretty as a girl--might as well get something out of the Ren family for
a change--I’m tied up, no one can say I molested him--
 
Sinbad’s cock twitches under the curious hand, and he can’t quite bring himself
to protest. If he’s going to be tied up, he might as well have a little fun
with it. “I never use camera tricks. See for yourself.”
 
Oh, wow, Sinbad is easy. And, judging by the growing bulge underneath his hand,
definitely not lying about the camera tricks thing. Kouha runs a tongue over
his lower lip, setting a knee to the bed as he crawls closer, thumb popping
open the button of Sinbad's pants and eases the zipper down soon after that,
his fingers wriggling their way inside to palm Sinbad's cock. "No kidding," he
breathes, pulling it out with a yank of Sinbad's pants down in kind. Don't
compare it to your brother's, people frown on that. "Guess I see why Judal was
so messed up now, I bet you're fun." 
 
“I have my moments.” Sinbad sucks in a breath at the rush of air against his
cock, straining again with the ropes to no avail. As long as he’s stuck here,
he might as well get something out of it. “You have a nice hand. It’s the only
thing about you that doesn’t look girly.”
 
Kouha's eyebrows arch at that. "You have a problem with the way I look?" he
casually asks, his fingers squeezing and sliding up as he says it, his thumb
dragging over the head of Sinbad's cock. "The first time you saw me, you sure
as hell checked me out." 
 
It doesn't take much effort to bend low when he drags his lips over the same
path his thumb just took, a flick of his tongue following, warm and wet. It
also doesn't take much to arch his back a bit as he does it--head down, ass up
as he sucks and licks at Sinbad's cock, a quick bob of his head drawing him
even further into his mouth. 
 
“I didn’t say I had a problem with girly,” Sinbad says with a groan, bucking up
as far as he can (not very) into Kouha’s mouth. The brat is talented, Sinbad
will give him that. “You’re too good at that. Is everyone in your family a
champion cocksucker, or just you?”
 
Kouha exhales a breathy, pleased sound through his nose as he swallows hard,
grabbing at Sinbad's hips to hold him down when the next slide of his lips
brings him to swallow nearly all of him. Ah, god, he is big. Looks big, feels
bigger down his throat, and it makes his jaw ache even when he pulls back just
to have the head between his lips, dripping slick and messy over his tongue.
"Just me," he breathes, looking up through his lashes. "You're a way bigger
slut though, aren't you? I bet you wanna come." 
 
Sinbad’s eyes lid, the sweet wet heat of Kouha’s mouth more than making up for
the indignity of the uncomfortable position, and Kouha’s not bad to look at.
He’s pretty, in an unconventional way, and he sucks cock like someone that
loves it. “Yeah. Go on, take it all, make me come like a good boy or girl or
whatever you want to be.”
 
A low, amused giggle, and Kouha pulls back with a last, lingering swipe of his
tongue over the precome beading at the tip of Sinbad's cock. "You're supposed
to ask nicely. Test failed." He slides off of the bed without another glance
back. "You can stay there, have a nice night!" 
 
Sinbad curses, struggling against the ropes violently. He hates the Ren family,
hates them more than anyone. “Come the fuck back here, you little slut!” he
shouts, struggling hard enough that he nearly topples onto the floor. I’m going
to kill them all.
 
"Really rude! Who would want to suck your cock when you've got a mouth like
that?" Kouha calls over his shoulder, the door swiftly shutting behind him
after he takes out a security camera or three.
 
Ah, that being said--the ride home is going to be a difficult one.
 
He'll never understand Koumei's fascination with being in class day in and day
out. It isn't as if he intends to ever use all of those degrees, anyway; it's
just an excuse to avoid working eventually, Kouha thinks, but whatever. What
matters is that the man is easily accessible when Kouha wants him, and that's
right about now. 
 
Running up the mansion stairs is easier said than done when he's still this
twitchy. "Mei! You better be in your room!" 
 
Koumei perks up at the sound of his brother’s voice, the only interesting thing
he’s heard all week. He stands, the edges of a bathrobe hanging loosely over
his boxers, and opens the door to arch one eyebrow at Kouha as he runs up the
stairs. “Oh boy,” he murmurs to himself, shutting his textbook on early 1600s
dialectical differences between Paris and Lyon, “this is going to be good.”
 
The door to Koumei's bedroom promptly slams shut behind him, and Kouha huffs,
annoyed as he shucks his coat in one swift yank. "Lie down and get your cock
out already, I've had a really stupid night." 
 
“Someone’s in a mood.” Not like Koumei minds, and Kouha always knows how to
treat him right, so where’s the harm? As long as the doors are properly shut
and locked, which he checks before shucking his boxers, laying down on his
back. “You better get me hard first. I’ve been bored until you got here.”
 
"Shut up."
 
It takes a second before Kouha's down to little but his stockings, the thick
material of them easily kept bunched up and above his knees. He climbs onto the
bed, one stockinged foot sliding up between Koumei's legs as he stands above
him, eyes lidded. "I don't have to do any thing. I already dealt with one slut
that didn't know how to take orders tonight, I don't--" And he shifts his
weight, just enough to carefully grind his heel in, "--want another one." 
 
Koumei shudders, eyes going dark as his cock hardens under Kouha’s pressing
foot. He never gets hard as fast as when Kouha’s over him, telling him what to
do, and his hands twist in the sheets as he ruts up helplessly against the too-
cruel touch. “Sorry. I’ll do what you say.” Even saying the words makes his
mouth so dry it’s difficult to lick his lips.
 
Slowly, Kouha's lips twist into a smile. "That's a good boy," he croons, the
grind turning more to a stroke, his foot dragging languidly from root to tip.
"Look at you, already so hard for me. You have the best cock, Mei. I want it in
me." 
 
Koumei nods, swallowing hard. He wants to be, wants to beg Kouha step on me,
slap my face, tell me what a filthy whore I am for my little brother’s cock,
but that’s topping from the bottom, and Kouha doesn’t like it. Instead he just
presses up against that friction, breath catching. “You want to sit on it? Or
do you want me to--”
 
He cuts himself off with a little self-deprecating laugh. “Never mind, of
course you want to sit on it.” Not like you’d ever let me top. Not like I
really want to.
 
Kouha laughs, pressing down a bit harder when Koumei lurches up. "What, you
actually wanna shove me down and fuck me? That's new." His foot slides away and
in one, easy movement, he drops down to straddle Koumei's hips, wriggling down
against him with a breathy sigh, a hand immediately reaching back to grab for
his brother's cock and guide it to slide up against his ass. "You really are a
pervert," he taunts, his eyes lidding. "Wanting to fuck your little brother so
bad, you're already this hard." 
 
“I only get hard like this for you.” Koumei’s eyes lid, and he arches up,
feeling the teasing heat of Kouha above him, already imagining how good it
would feel to be buried inside it. “I guess I really am a pervert, huh? God,
your cock looks so nice,” he mutters, voice gone husky, eyes dark. He can
almost taste it, mouth watering now at the thought.
 
"Maybe," Kouha murmurs, dragging his fingers over his own cock, biting his lip
as that touch alone nearly does him in.  It's all to make his fingers slick
from his own precome, and he drags his thumb over Koumei's lips, rubbing it
slowly against them. "I should make a new rule for this week. No one else is
allowed to fuck you. Then you'll be all twitchy and squirmy by the time I show
up, hmm?" His hand draws away again, just enough to slap across Koumei's cheek.
"Grab the lube, whore, I know you've got some close. You probably jerk off
thinking about me." 
 
Koumei is shivering now, trembling from the words and the taste and the slap
most of all, even as the threat makes him mentally shudder. No one fucking him
at all? Now that’s cruel, when sometimes it’s all he can do to make it through
the week until Kouha’s visits even with his extra little playtimes. “Course I
jerk off thinking about you,” he murmurs, reaching for the lube without
looking, grabbing it from the shelf by memory. “Four times thinking about your
last visit, and how you let the candle drip all over me and gave me rug burn.”
 
Dammit. He is really not going to last at this rate.
 
Normally, Kouha considers this a study in practicing self-control, loving how
he can string his brother along and make him squirm with just a few well-placed
cracks of his hand or a few well-said words. But god dammit, he's riled up,
he's aching, and Koumei is pushing all of his buttons and he can't snatch that
bottle away fast enough. 
 
"Good," he manages to gasp out when his slick fingers drag over Koumei's cock,
dripping and messy. "Just want you to think about me. No one treats you right--
ahh--like I do--" His fingers are still slick when they spread open his own
hole, and his eyes roll back when he lifts himself just enough, just to press
down on that hard cock and god, the head pressing inside and stretching him
open is enough to make his chest heave. A groan, and Kouha shoves himself the
rest of the way down, mouth falling open at the deep, thick stretch of him, the
aching twinge that ripples straight up his spine. 
 
“I do think about you,” Koumei breathes, bucking up into the slick sweet heat
of Kouha’s body, biting his lip at the squeeze of his little brother’s ass,
something he so rarely gets to feel. “Mmm, even when you’re riding me and just
using my dick to think about someone else’s.”
 
Dark eyes flick up to meet Kouha’s, and damn it, if Kouha’s not going to give
him what he needs, he’ll get some of his own back. “Whose dick are you thinking
about riding, little brother? Is it Kouen again?”
 
"God, will you shut up?" Kouha groans, and he lurches forward, shoving a hand
over Koumei's mouth while his other hand scratches up his chest, nails long
enough to leave nicely deep, red scratches in his wake. A hard shiver rakes up
through him, and he wriggles down, sighing at that deep, slick press of
Koumei's cock up inside of him. "I'll fucking strangle you if you say another
word--ugh, fuck, who am I kidding, that turns you on," he breathlessly laughs,
fingers dragging up to pull and pinch cruelly at one nipple. "Whore." 
 
Koumei shudders hard, bucking up into Kouha’s ass with a strangled noise, his
body on fire now with every cruel touch, begging for more with every arch and
thrust of his hips off the bed, pushing his chest up into every punishing touch
as much as he can. This, this is what he loves, Kouha holding him down and
abusing him, that pretty doll’s face above him saying nasty words that Koumei
believes about himself, every bit. Yes, I’m yours, fuck me hard, hold me down
and slap my face, strangle me with your hand or your cock, whatever you want,
whatever you want, just hurt me--
 
A strangled, ragged mewl leaves Kouha's own throat, and he eagerly grinds back
down, chest heaving as he rides and wriggles on top of his brother's cock.
"Good--good, fuck your brother's ass, you slut," he pants out, thumb dragging
over Koumei's lips once more before he pries his mouth open, stuffing a pair of
fingers into his mouth to twist them against his tongue. "Put that cock of
yours to use, you're only good at being my toy." 
 
Koumei sucks greedily on Kouha’s fingers, easy enough to imagine his cock, or
even better that it’s this way, that he’s not good enough for Kouha’s cock,
that he’s only good enough to suck on his fingers and take whatever Kouha wants
like a good pet--
 
He’s going to come, but he can’t, Kouha is a fucking bitch when he comes and
doesn’t mean to, and not in the good way. Koumei squeezes his eyes shut, a tear
leaking out as he tries hard, sucking in air through his nose as he makes those
fingers sloppy and wet.
 
"Look at you, you're so fucking sloppy, just like one of En's whores." Kouha's
hand yanks away, backhanding Koumei as the next, aching slide of his own body
down that hard cock makes him hiss and shudder, his back arching. "You wanna
make your little brother just as messy, Mei?" Kouha pants out, shoving a hand
down to grab for his own cock, a rough stroke enough to make his eyes roll back
into his head. "Fuck--god, go on, come, fill me up, maybe I'll c-come on your
face if you're good enough--"
 
That permission is all it takes, and Koumei cries out as he comes, hips
snapping up hard against Kouha’s ass, all the torture of not having him for the
last several days finally relieved in one long, messy series of spurts.
“Messy,” he pants, face flushed and licking his lips at the thought of Kouha
coming on his face, eyes trained on that pretty flushed cock. “Please, Kouha,
you’re so good to me, no one knows how to treat me right like you do, you know
what I need--”
 
God, that's good, feeling Koumei spasm and twitch and lurch up inside of him,
pressing deeper still and making his eyes flutter as his breath catches hard.
He almost, almostloses himself just with that, but it's a last, desperate
effort that makes him heave himself up and off of Koumei's cock with a whine,
fingers squeezing tight around his cock as he slides up to kneel just over
Koumei's face. "Damn right I know--what you need--open your mouth, slut," Kouha
pants out, his eyes squeezing shut as a last jerk of his hand is all it takes
before he's spilling over his brother's face, his other hand scrabbling forward
to grab at headboard for support as his vision blurs with each hard, aching
spurt over Koumei's face.
 
Koumei strains to catch what he can, but there’s something just as disgustingly
good about having Kouha come all over his face as there is about swallowing it
down, and Koumei’s cock twitches painfully even now so soon after coming. He
shudders, licking his lips, but doesn’t move to wipe the rest onto his tongue,
not yet, just in case Kouha wants to take a minute to look at him debauched and
pathetic like this. “Did you enjoy using me?” he asks, low and obedient.
 
Kouha's vision slowly returns to him, and he manages a shaky, hazy little nod,
grinning as he slowly sinks back to sit on Koumei's chest. "Yeah," he breathes,
and he thumbs one flushed cheek, smearing his come over his brother's freckles.
"You're always such a good toy, Mei. I'll keep you." 
 
Koumei nudges his face into the touch, liking the debauched way it feels to
have Kouha rub his seed all over his skin, relaxing back onto the pillows of
his bed. “Thank you.”
 
His mouth twitches into a small semblance of a smile, and he remarks dryly,
“Ten years ago I wouldn’t have thought Dad cheating on Mom would be the best
thing to ever happen to this family.”
 
Kouha laughs outright at that. "Please. Maybe the best thing to happen to your
dick." He rolls to the side with a graceless thump, sprawling out with a
content little shudder. "Ahh, that was good. Sorry that I got caught up for a
minute, hope I made up for it in the end. You came pretty hard." 
 
“You’re fine,” Koumei says with a wave of his hand, then sets his hand down on
Kouha’s head, stroking his hair. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his
bathrobe before it gets painfully sticky, then stretches out. “Who got you so
worked up, anyway? Usually you’d just fuck them up and then come to me.”
 
Now sated, it's easy for him to butt his head up against Koumei's hand like an
affectionate cat. "That stupid Sinbad guy," he grumbles, eyes lidded. "I went
over to his studio to fuck with his videos and stuff, and he was still there
and strung up for some reason and ahh, I might have sucked his cock a little
bit. I guess I kinda see what Judal likes about him."
 
Koumei’s eyebrows raise. “Kouen doesn’t want you messing around with him,” he
warns. “He doesn’t want anyone to talk to him. Can’t you fuck with his videos
with your tech shit from farther away? And…”
 
He hesitates, then lowers his voice and asks, “Is it really as big as it
looks?”
 
"Really big," Kouha insists, rubbing his head up against Koumei's hand again.
"It's really nice. And you know, I tried to get into his system the other
night, but he's got some serious defensive stuff on there. Manually wiping it
in person is the only way to go, and if I can't get in there… mmn, I'll rig
something up, one way or another." 
 
“Just send Judal,” Koumei suggests, petting Kouha’s head with gentle strokes of
his hand. “You said Sinbad’s got a sad little crush on him, right? Should be
easy. I’m surprised Kouen hasn’t already done it.”
 
"En's being all weird and possessive, I think he's still mad about how Judal
set him back the other week. Though if it fucks things up faster… yeah, I'll
throw that suggestion out to him," Kouha sighs. "Hey. You like the way I dress,
right? That asshat kept making comments about it, made me want to bite his dick
off." 
 
“I’ll bite him for you. You look fucking hot.” Koumei’s eyes lid as he walks a
hand down, plucking at the top of one thigh-high sock. “Remember how I jumped
you the second you came home from end of term?”
 
Ahh, Koumei always knows just what to say. "Yeah," Kouha happily purrs,
nuzzling his face into his brother's neck. "Good, so long as you like it. Next
time I'm home, I'll wear something special for you underneath my uniform. It'll
be a surprise, you'll like it." 
 
“Mmm, you’re too good to me,” Koumei says with a shiver, and knows it’s true.
 
~~
 
Ja'far isn't gone that long.
 
A couple of hours at the absolute most, and it's time spent relatively nearby,
for that matter. Honestly, Sinbad deserves this. He told the man nothing shy of
a dozen times to back off--just because they have sex once doesn't mean he
wants it again so soon and damn it all, Sinbad needs to learn to keep his hands
off of him in the workplace. 
 
Ja'far doesn't quite expect the sight that greets him upon returning, however. 
 
"… Did one of your girlfriends drop by?" It's getting dark out, and it's not a
farfetched idea, considering the state of things. 
 
Sinbad doesn’t like having time to think. 
 
He’s had far too much practice with it in the past, far too long shut up with
only himself and his thoughts and the memories of an awful day for company, and
he doesn’t like the way his thoughts race, never has. It feels like the old
days, and he’s cold besides, the ropes digging in painfully in ways they hadn’t
when it had been Ja’far who’d tied him up, before that little bitch had fiddled
with the ropes, and it’s been nearly half an hour since he’s been able to feel
his left arm, aside from it growing steadily colder. The fact that it’s
humiliating to be hanging trussed up like a turkey with his cock out is nothing
compared to knowing how helpless he’s been, how one of the people who wants to
destroy him had had him completely at his mercy, and the person he’d counted on
most of all had let it happen. No, more than that, he’d been the reason it had
happened.
 
“One of the Ren brothers,” he says, voice as cold as it’s ever been with
Ja’far. “Down. Now.”
 
Oh.
 
Ja'far shuts his mouth, papers and coffee set down in an instant, and it takes
only a few swift pulls to unravel the bindings. "You're not injured, are you?"
Stupid, really stupid.
 
Sinbad tries to flex his left arm, but it doesn’t respond right away, until he
manually slaps it into shape with his other hand, getting a bit of stinging,
prickling feeling back in the oddly off-white limb. “Just my pride. He broke in
and thought he’d have a little fun.” A second to take stock of the state of his
arm, and in all honesty, it would look stupider to try and do up his fly one-
handed than to walk around like this.
 
Ja'far grabs for the arm reflexively, thumbs kneading and pressing into numb,
tingling nerves immediately. "I'm sorry." Yes, that was definitely one of the
less intelligent things he's ever done. What sort of bodyguard is he, exactly?
"I shouldn't have left you. Or tied you up at all." 
 
Sinbad pulls his arm free, turning away. “I have to see what else he tampered
with.” He pauses, still facing away, and says quietly, “I won’t bother you with
my advances again. That should please you.”
 
"That's not--"
 
He could stand a slap to the face, probably, for how his hands shake a little
when Sinbad pulls his arm away. No, Ja'far thinks he deserves worse than that.
He had left Sinbad all alone, tied up and helpless, and if something worse had
happened, it would have been all his fault. This is bad enough, to be honest.
 
"I'm sorry." That doesn't quite cover it. "I… do you want me to go?" Or come
into work at all again. 
 
“Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” Sinbad manages to slap some feeling back into the
arm eventually, and fastens his pants only a little clumsily before yanking on
his coat. “You can stay if you want. Trust me, you’ll be as alone as you want.”
 
"… All right."
 
Better not to argue, when Sinbad clearly doesn't want him to. He's been
disobedient enough for one day, hasn't he? He really should have just let
Sinbad do whatever, then this wouldn't have happened. Numbly, Ja'far grabs for
his paperwork again. "I'll… lock up everything, then." 
 
He’s leaving. He’d decided that, while he was struggling futilely against his
bonds and trying not to think that anyone else could come in, that he’d never
been so helpless, that he was just going to walk out and not say a word.
 
He stops anyway, hand on the doorknob. “What bothers me most,” he says, despite
knowing that really, he shouldn’t say anything, “is that I read you so wrong.
That you took me so seriously you felt the need to do that. I must have
frightened you terribly. I’m sorry.”
 
"You shouldn't apologize."
 
That's probably the fifth time Ja'far has attempted to straighten out the mess
of file folders now. "I should have just let you. There's no excuse for it, I'm
supposed to protect you and instead I carelessly left you here for this to
happen. I… I was being stupid and selfish and it won't happen again." 
 
“No,” Sinbad says quietly, “it won’t.” 
 
Because I thought you wanted me, and you were just indulging me. That’s fine. I
was foolish to assume that just because I bullied you into it and you humored
me that you would feel something else for me. It won’t happen again.
 
“Good night, Ja’far.”
 
"… Good night." There's not much good about it, honestly. 
 
~~
 
If his anxiety is good for anything, it's keeping his apartment clean.
 
He's probably scrubbed it down about six times now. The windows are open no
matter the chill--something he remedies when he comes to his senses and watches
the heat gradients in a dozen cages fluctuate too wildly--and he's left with
the astringent smell of cleaning chemicals and cardboard. 
 
Organizing. Right. That's what Ja'far tells himself. Not like he has a lot of
belongings, anyway, barely enough to fill half a dozen boxes, but having it all
sorted in the event that he does pick up and leave is a good idea. 
 
This isn’t intruding, Sinbad tells himself. It’s just an employer checking on
the welfare of an employee, nothing to be concerned about, nothing to worry
that Ja’far will hate him over. It’s only that Ja’far has been acting odder
than usual, and there are all those mental health evaluations Ja’far’s been
bothering him--reminding him, he reminds himself--about completing, and he’d
forgotten, and now is as good a time as any.
 
Right?
 
You’re just going to make things worse, you damned fool, Sinbad’s mind hisses,
but he’s hardly gotten better at listening to it over the years. He knocks,
trying to make sure he looks every inch the concerned employer, because Ja’far
wants him to keep his distance, and the old woman next door is peering through
her apartment shades at him. Distance, right. Sinbad can do that. 
 
Maybe.
 
No one ever comes and knocks on his door except the postman and Sinbad.
 
Ja'far briefly considers hiding in a box. It would be easier, at least.
Eventually, he realizes that would make things even worse, and slowly,
reluctantly, he moves to the door, cracking it open to peer up at the other
man. 
 
Sinbad attempts to look professional. It’s easy, when he’s talking to other
businessmen, inside and outside the industry, when he’s talking to...well,
almost anyone, except Ja’far. It’s always been impossible to fool Ja’far.
 
That’s probably why this stings so much. 
 
He tries for a smile, but it comes out more uncertain than he intends. “I, ah,
wanted to check on that gravid rattlesnake of yours. Thought she might need a
heating pack again.”
 
Ja'far stares up at him, perplexed. "… She's fine," he slowly says, stepping
away from the door to let it swing open a little bit more, an invitation if
Sinbad wants to take it. "Did you really come out all this way for that?" 
 
“Ah, no. That was meant to be a joke.” Sinbad cautiously steps in, adding in
what he hopes is a more confident tone, “We’ve got mental health examinations
coming up at the studio, and I thought I’d...take the...initiative in…”
 
He trails off, noticing the boxes and almost feeling the blood drain from his
face, looking from them to Ja’far and back, then shutting the door behind him
and reaching for Ja’far’s hand. “Look, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’ll
never do it again, I was wrong to yell at you, please don’t go!”
 
It takes a moment before it clicks what Sinbad is going on about, and Ja'far
blinks, tugging his hand away with a shake of his head. "I'm not--I wasn't
planning on going anywhere. Just--it makes me feel better, having things packed
if I need to." He probably sounds like a crazy person. Well, all things
considered… "I… look, I don't understand what you're apologizing for."
 
“For--”
 
Sinbad falters, remembering in the nick of time that women don’t like hearing
I’m sorry for whatever made you mad at me, and figuring Ja’far probably won’t
like it much either. “For touching you when you didn’t want me to, I’d been
drinking that day. And for yelling at you when you came and cut me down, you
didn’t know that crazy bitch was going to break in. For not coming after you
sooner. For...everything?”
 
The furrow in his brow deepens. "… You just annoyed me, that's all. You're
always drinking, besides. I'm the sorry one, I shouldn't have tied you up and
left you like that. Even if I didn't know that kid was going to show up, I
should have anticipated something like it and I…" Ja'far catches himself,
exhaling a slow breath, attempting to steady his voice. "Basically, I'm
horrible at my job."
 
“Your job,” Sinbad points out wryly, “is to do the books. Your hobby is playing
my bodyguard. Unless you’ve forgotten, I don’t actually pay you for that,
because you won’t let me.”
 
"A good thing, considering what happened." 
 
Sinbad waves a hand. “An obnoxious teenager gave me half a blowjob, I’ve had
worse days.”
 
Ja'far sucks in a breath. "You said you wouldn't try and touch me again,
though."
 
On reflex, Sinbad looks down to check his hands, and backs up a step worriedly.
“I’m not! I didn’t, did I? Sometimes they wander, I didn’t mean to…”
 
Now he's just confused. Is he missing something? He's not that maladjusted, is
he? No, don't answer that, brain. "That's not what I meant. I mean--I don't
want you to do that. To stop touching me, I mean." And now his face is red. "I
was just annoyed before because you wouldn't stop when I told you to. I'm not…
I don't want you to do it all the time." 
 
Sinbad sighs, running a hand back through the hair around his face. “You don’t
have to say that just because you feel sorry for me, or because you think I’m
angry at you. I get it, you were humoring me, but you don’t have to. It’s fine,
if you don’t want to do it again.  You know how I feel, but it’s fine.”
 
"… But I'm not. And I wasn't." He's getting a headache. "And I… don't? Not
really, at any rate." Ja'far sighs, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his
nose. "Why does this have to be so complicated? I just told you, it's fine, I
was just annoyed then when you were touching me. I get it, I'm not like most
people that like you pawing at them all day and night."
 
“But you always tell me I’m annoying when I touch you,” Sinbad points out, “and
then that time, you let me make love to you. Even then, you told me I was
annoying. It’s hard to tell when you’re being serious, you always have the same
face.” He blinks. “And what do you mean you don’t? I’ve been obvious about how
I feel, haven’t I?”
 
"You've been obvious that you want to sleep with me." Definitely a headache.
"And I think if I'm glaring at you and telling you 'no' and threatening to cut
your hands off, that should be a hint." 
 
Sinbad holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. I just…” He sighs, looks around for a
chair to flop down on, and sits gingerly on a box marked [BOOKS AA-MY]. “You
could take a little initiative, then. If I could tell when would be a good
time, it might be easier to avoid you when you’re a hairsbreadth away from
leaving me naked and vulnerable for my enemies to find.”
 
"… Would threatening to cut your cock off be a better initiative?" 
 
Sinbad raises a single eyebrow. “I did offer to stop trying. Several times.
There’s no need to go to those extremes, I’m...for god’s sake, I’m not going to
rape you, it was just a pinch.”
 
"15 of them, I counted. And a hand on my thigh. Kneading. Touching my hair. For
several days. I--does it not occur to you how frustrating that can be?" 
 
Personally, to Sinbad it sounds flattering. His smile is more of a grimace, as
he hesitantly tries, “No?”
 
Ja'far exhales a long, weary sigh. "Well, it is. It's very frustrating. It has
nothing even to do with you, it's--look, do you even know how little I
masturbate?" he finally, irritably replies, no matter how stupid this
conversation is becoming. "Every few months, maybe. That is about the extent of
my sex drive, so when you keep poking at me, I want to bite your hands off." 
 
“So...you don’t want me to stop touching you,” Sinbad reasons aloud, no matter
how his mind shrieks that Ja’far isn’t quite human, “you just want me to do it
once every several years?”
 
The urge to slam his head into the wall is overwhelming. "Touching me is one
thing. Initiating sex is something else. And you don't even have to stop doing
the latter, just--not every five minutes, and especially not at work." 
 
“Sometimes I just can’t help it when I look at you.”
 
"You and your horrible impulse control," Ja'far mutters, raking a hand back
through his bangs. "Sit on your damned hands, then."
 
“Fine, fine. If I do, and I stop touching you--ah, except on the occasions,
however frequent or infrequent and impossible to determine they may be--will
you unpack and stay?” Sinbad asks hopefully, starting to reach out to take
Ja’far’s hand, then changing direction mid-course and sitting firmly on that
hand instead.
 
"… I wasn't going to leave. I told you, I just--" An exasperated sound, and
Ja'far steps forward, reaching out to grab hold of Sinbad's hand before he can
sit on it this time. "Do you have any idea how much I want to slap you
sometimes?" 
 
“So slap me.” Sinbad curls his hand around Ja’far’s, squeezing gently. “I’m a
big man, and I’ve been slapped many times by people less pretty. I’d certainly
prefer it to being strung up from the ceiling alone for hours. Seriously, if I
bother you, slap me. I don’t mind.”
 
"You'll probably like it," is the low, weary accusation. 
 
Sinbad laughs. “What do you care if I do, so long as it gets the point across?
You have to have some way, and I’m not going to stop feeling the way I do.”
 
"… I don't get it," Ja'far slowly says. "I'm boring, not particularly
attractive, and nothing like what you are usually interested in. You would
enjoy yourself much more, even, with that kid from Kou Studios."
 
Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, an odd look on his face as he
tilts his head. “You aren’t going to make me say it, are you?”
 
Ja'far's brow furrows. "Say what?" 
 
Sinbad sighs. He tugs Ja’far to sit down on another box, squeezing that hand,
and says, a little amused, “You’re going to hate this.” 
 
He leans forward, kissing the back of that hand, and looks up into Ja’far’s
eyes. “Do you really not know I love you?”
 
The confusion is there for another, lingering moment. "But I knew that. I love
you, too, you're my closest--" 
 
Pause. "Oh." Not as a friend.That is definitely not what Sinbad is talking
about. Another pause, and Ja'far eventually manages, "I'm fairly awful at
this."
 
Sinbad shrugs. “That’s fine. I don’t mind. But you know, now, and that’s
important to me.” A little awkwardly, he releases Ja’far’s hand. “Do you...are
you...is it all right? God, you don’t need to feel the same way or anything, I
just wanted you to know since you can’t seem to figure out what I like about
you.”
 
"I'd die for you." It's blunt and a dozen times more awkward and probably the
worst way to say it, but whatever. Ja'far sucks in a slow, calming breath.
"That's right along the same line, isn't it?" 
 
Sinbad can’t help the way his chest tightens at that. He nods, and reaches
slowly for Ja’far’s hand again. “Yeah. It’s close.”
 
"Good." Ah, he's really bad at this. Holding Sinbad's hand he can do, though.
"I'm sorry again for stringing you up from the ceiling." 
 
“I didn’t mind that so much. I deserved it, and I’d have apologized to you, if
that damn Ren kid hadn’t showed up,” Sinbad admits. “I just wish you’d stuck
around.”
 
"… Did you ever figure out what he wanted in the first place?" It's probably
better to get off of more awkward topics and move to something productive.
 
“Judging by which brother it was and the way he broke in, something with
computers,” Sinbad says, grateful for the change in subjects. “He’s supposed to
be quite good with them. I looked him up after he showed up at my apartment,
really obnoxious kid.”
 
"I will make sure everything is appropriately protected, then, just in case."
Ja'far heaves a long sigh. "They probably won't leave you alone lest you leave
that favorite of theirs alone."
 
“But I have! I mean, yes, I’ve tried calling him,” Sinbad admits, “and I tried
to go see him a few times, at the studio and at his apartment, but as you said,
that’s not prohibited in his contract! And I haven’t even done that lately.
I’ve been too busy thinking about your freckles.”
 
"You--wait, what?" Ja'far fixes a bland stare upon him. "What about them?
They're just there." 
 
Sinbad reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb over a freckled cheek. Ja’far can
always slap him, after all. “They’re intriguing. I always want to...I don’t
know, count them. Find patterns in them. Suck them off your skin.”
 
At that, Ja'far feels his skin flush. "That sounds… time-consuming and also
impossible?"
 
“But I like the impossible. The impossible is fun to try.” Even now, Sinbad
can’t stop his eyes from tracking over the little spots, certain that his thumb
should be feeling something, some bump or roughness, but encountering nothing
but smooth skin.
 
"But--" Ja'far shuts his mouth for a moment, liking, in spite of himself, the
way Sinbad's thumb feels brushing over his cheek. His eyes lid, head tipping
forward, just slightly. "I guess--if that's what  you like…"
 
Sinbad cups Ja’far’s cheek, smiling at even the way Ja’far leans into his
touch, something he’d thought he wouldn’t feel again. “If you teach me what you
like, this needn’t be all about my pleasure.”
 
"… But I liked everything last time." Ja'far blinks up at him through his
bangs. "I just don't like it when you touch me in public, a lot of times."
 
“I will try to be better.” That’s pretty much as good as he can manage, and
even though just now he’d promise much more, he knows his own weaknesses when
it comes to Ja’far, all too well. “Are you worried someone will find out? It
doesn’t matter, you know.”
 
Ja'far shakes his head. "It isn't that. I don't care. It's more… I don't want
other people to watch. Why should they be privy to something like that? I'm not
inviting them into my bedroom."
 
Sinbad decides that means Ja’far is being possessive, because that’s adorable.
“Very well. If I keep my hands off of you in public, does that mean I get to do
it more in private?”
 
"Well," Ja'far says, head tilting, "I will be less likely to be annoyed with
you, so the likelihood of me letting you touch me in private is higher." 
 
“Ah, is that how it works? No wonder it took me ten years.” He starts to tug
Ja’far down to his lap, but stops, then stands, leaning down to give him a kiss
on the cheek. “Thank you. Doubtless you want some time to re-organize your
things without me getting in your way?”
 
Ja'far's mouth twists into a slow smile. "You aren't in the way," he says. "But
if you behave a little longer, I will take you out to dinner."
 
Sinbad promptly sits on his hands. “You may be onto something with this
incentive business,” he admits. “I can feel myself becoming better behaved
already.”
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Everything is a shaky, shaky blur. 
 
It's a mercy when Hakuei comes home, interrupting the full, day-long torment
that Gyokuen has decided is just so enjoyable. Kouen does nothing to stop it
(in fact, he had walked out, leaving Judal with the witch he calls a step-
mother), and Koumei and Kouha's protests are minimal if not nonexistent. With
Kougyoku off at school, Judal has never felt quite so trapped, quite so
stupidly, pathetically alone, but there's no use in saying that, not when this
family--this fucked up goddamn family--are the only people to ever particularly
care for him, and now, the only ones content to feed this particular problem. 
 
It feels like a bad case of the flu at best. God, but he's grateful for the
distraction of Hakuei, allowing him that much of a chance to sneak out,
insisting through his unhappy little shivers that their driver take him to
Sinbad's apartment right now and yes, he remembers the address--sort of.
Mostly. Even if he's only been there once before, over a month ago.
 
His memory is good enough to find himself to the man's door eventually, and no
matter the heated halls, nothing quite makes him stop feeling too-cold or too-
hot all at once, wrapped up tightly in his coat. Flopping against the door is
an acceptable form of knocking, isn't it? 
 
Sinbad stands up slowly from the table, eyeing the door. The threats have been
coming fast and thick lately, legal ones and illegal ones, and he’s mostly been
content to let that reassure him that he’s making headway. 
 
But if they’ve started coming to his apartment….
 
That doesn’t exactly sound like a knock, but it doesn’t exactly sound like a
threat, either. Sinbad wavers, but leaves his handgun in the safe, walking
slowly to the door and opening it.
 
Instantly, he’s glad he had. “Judal?” he asks, ignoring all rules of propriety
and reaching immediately for the kid, laying a hand on his forehead. “Jesus,
kid, you’re burning up, come in. How long were you out in the cold?”
 
Judal blinks up at him with too-wide eyes, flinching at the touch before
deciding that leaning into it is better. "Not too long," he murmurs, sniffling
as he butts his head against Sinbad's hand. "Ah, you don't feel like a furnace
this time. That's weird. Can I… lay down or something?" 
 
“Sure, of course you can.” Sinbad wraps an arm around him, casting a suspicious
glance down the hallway before urging him inside. “Chills too, or just fever?
Are you achy, upset stomach anything like that? I’ve got medicine for almost
anything you could think of in the bathroom, just in case. Here, up you go.” He
hefts Judal easily onto the bed, removing the coat and replacing it with a
large soft blanket.
 
"Everything hurts," Judal unhelpfully supplies, shivering hard even as he curls
himself up into the blanket, knees pull to his chest rather than actually lying
down. His skin prickles, and ah, getting off of his feet almost makes the urge
to throw up a dozen times worse. Not in Sinbad's bed, anywhere but here. "Hate
her," he bemoans disjointedly, huddling into a tiny ball. 
 
“Her?” Sinbad runs a hand down Judal’s hair, ignoring the fact that it comes
away sweaty. Mentally he runs through a checklist of everything Judal probably
has, and curses inwardly at Kouen. “Hey, kid, let me see your arm.”
 
Judal makes an unhappy, grumbling sound, far more like a complaining cat than a
teenaged boy, and flops to the side, avoiding Sinbad as he curls up. "Jus'
leave me here to diiiie." 
 
“You’re not going to die.” Sinbad hands him a glass of water from the bedside
table, laying a hand on one flushed cheek. “How long?”
 
"Long?" It doesn't quite click for a moment, not when Sinbad's hand feels sort
of nice against his skin--at least, for a bit, until that feels too-hot and
Judal shivers, wriggling away. "Don't remember. A day? Hate her so much, and En
wouldn't do anything." He eyeballs the glass of water as if it's going to eat
him. "Last time I drank things, I threw up." 
 
“You’re detoxing. You’re going to throw up a lot.” Sinbad eyeballs the kid,
sitting back against the headboard and folding his arms across his chest. “What
do you want to do? You’ve got options. You can stay here if you want, or I can
get you into a clinic. I know some really good ones.”
 
Now that really doesn't click. "… You're mad at me," is the eventual, sort of
confused conclusion, and suddenly, the fact Hakuei came home is a really awful
thing. Gyokuen had been so close to finally giving it to him--he'd been good
for her all day, done everything she'd asked, and he deserved that reward. "But
I was really good, can't I just--just have something? En keeps it everywhere,
there's no way you don't have anything--"
 
Sinbad leans down, gives him a kiss on the cheek. Not his fault, young and
pretty and falling into Kouen’s clutches at this age. And not your job to fix,
Sin, says Ja’far’s voice of reason in his head. “Not mad at you,” he reassures
Judal. “I just thought you came here because you wanted to get off it. I have
some stuff I can give you, if that’s what you want.”
 
"I hate her and I missed you," Judal fairly whines, ignoring the lurch of his
stomach when he tries to roll closer, ending up more tangled in his blanket
when he grabs at Sinbad. "If you want me to do something for it, I will--just--
please--"
 
“You don’t have to do anything.” Sinbad sets Judal firmly onto his back,
straightening out the blankets. “We’ll talk when you get your head on straight,
okay? I’ve got some pills you can take first, that should fix you right up.” 
 
It hasn’t been too long since he’d been in a similar situation, one of his
actors confessing in tears and begging him not to call the cops, and he has
enough connections that even through that horrible month he hadn’t needed to
resupply. It’s a matter of a minute to grab the methadone from the bathroom,
counting a couple small white pills into Judal’s hand. “Just what the doctor
ordered.”
 
It's not quite the satisfaction of a needle sinking into his arm, but it's good
enough. Judal eagerly swallows them dry no matter how his stomach churns and
twists, and he flops back again, shivering, huddling into the blanket until
slowly, they start to take effect. 
 
The throbbing of his head is the first to subside, the ache in his muscles a
much more distant thing by the minute, and he could nearly sob from the relief
of it, thinks maybe he does when he starts being able to calculate how many
hours it's been since Gyokuen last let him have anything. "Sorry," he hazily
mumbles. "Really sorry. I'll do something for you anyway. It's been awhile,
didn't you miss me?"
 
“Of course I missed you,” Sinbad grumbles, sagging on to the bed, tugging Judal
close against his chest. “You know I did, I must have called you twenty times.
Your boss took out a restraining order on me, and you’re asking if I missed
you?”
 
"You stopped calling," Judal complains, huffing out a hot, slow breath as his
vision stops swimming and things start being pleasantly, contently fuzzy. He
flops forward, nudging his face into Sinbad's neck. "Kouen's… he's dumb. Really
dumb. Why didn't you just kidnap me?" 
 
“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.” Sinbad strokes through Judal’s hair,
unbinding the tie--it’s been let go, messed up in all his thrashing--and combs
his fingers slowly down. “You picked up a few times and told me you couldn’t go
out with me again. I came by the studio and Kouen called the cops, then sent
one of his little brothers to fuck up my computers.” He shrugs. “If you wanted
to see me, you could have let me know.”
 
"I tried to." Judal exhales slowly, eyes lidding with the slide of Sinbad's
fingers through his hair. "I tried to sneak out one night. That's when En--ah…
not really En… company directors, weirdos that manage the finances, whatever…
they got really mad, told him about it, then he got mad at me. Said I was
making him look bad. Did you know I was actually a little freaked out by
needles before then?" he dreamily adds. "Don't care anymore."
 
“How long?” Sinbad asks again. “Since you started using? You know it’ll get
harder to get off the longer you’re on it, and you have to quit sometime.” He
tries to keep the disapproving dad out of his voice, keeping to a concerned,
gentle tone, but ah, it’s hard to see Judal like this, imagine him in a couple
years with sunken eyes and sagging skin, teeth falling out and scratching at
imaginary itches, blowing guys in an alley for a hit. “You can always come to
me, though. For help or a place to hide or even more of those pills.”
 
"… Week after we went out? So… not a month yet…" Judal groans, butting his face
into Sinbad's chest. "Just keep me, don't wanna go back. Gyokuen's a bitch, she
hides everything, won't give me a hit until I do things for her." 
 
“What kind of things?” Sinbad keeps his touch gentle, stroking a thumb over
Judal’s forehead, his cheekbones before threading his fingers back in Judal’s
hair. “I’ve seen her around, looks good for her age, but wow, she gives me the
creeps.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to Judal’s forehead. “If you’re
serious, you can stay here forever. I won’t let anyone hurt you, not ever.”
 
"Lots of things." Judal shivers, his eyes shutting entirely, lulled by Sinbad's
touch a dozen times over with the drug coursing through his veins. "She likes
watching me. Likes watching En do things to me… I think she mostly just wants
me to crawl around and look pathetic, she gets off on it." He heaves a long,
weary sigh, eyes cracking open again. "You don't really wanna keep me. It's
okay, no one does."
 
Sinbad’s face twists at the explanation, but more important than that is
sitting up, hauling Judal onto his lap to hold him more firmly. “You’re wrong.
I’d love to keep you. Treat you right, keep you safe, get you cleaned up and on
your own two feet--hell, I told you last time that you can live with me if you
want.”
 
"Baad idea," Judal sighs, his head lolling back as his weight sags backwards
into Sinbad's hands. "I'm a pain in the ass. You'll get sick of me." 
 
“Mm, and here’s me thinking I’ll probably be the pain in your ass,” Sinbad
teases, and leans down to tug on the shell of one ear with his teeth.
“Seriously. I’m not leading you on or anything. I like you, a lot.” Ah,
Ja’far’s going to kill him.
 
"… But it doesn't hurt when we do it," Judal says with a tilt of his head, not
quite processing the joke. "Ah, but--if I leave, they'll get really mad. They
might do stuff to you. They were already thinking about it." 
 
“Thinking about it?” Sinbad snorts. “Kid, they’ve done more than that already.
Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. If you want to stay here,
don’t let that get in your way.”
 
Judal blinks at him slowly. "You're kind of dumb. Am I really that pretty?"
 
“You are very pretty,” Sinbad admits, hand stroking through his hair again.
“And I like you a lot. And even more, I don’t like anyone telling me what to do
or trying to threaten me.”
 
"… If I leave, Gyoku's gonna be upset." Judal flops forward again, chin
dropping atop Sinbad's shoulder. "And Mei and Ha are nice, they're just weird.
And En's nice, too, he just has a temper… I don't wanna make everyone mad, they
did a lot of nice things for me before…"
 
“Shh. You don’t have to think about it right now. Thinking too much is the
enemy of bad decisions, you can quote me on that.” Sinbad finds himself rocking
slightly, looking down at the relaxed little bundle of limbs and hair in his
arms. “You need to sleep? Or eat? Doesn’t look like you’ve done much of either
recently.”
 
His stomach rumbles, but there's really no trusting that. "Sleep," Judal
mumbles in agreement, sighing into Sinbad's neck as his hands lift to loosely
cling to him. "You feel good. Really warm." 
 
Sinbad gives up on the idea of getting anything done today without a fight,
tugging the blanket over them as he snuggles down underneath it with Judal.
“All right, then. Talk later. Sleep now.”
 
Judal looks even younger when he sleeps. He almost looks young enough that
Sinbad checks for his ID, but doesn’t bother. That’ll be fake anyway. He
definitely looks young enough that Sinbad thinks Kouen is a fucking lecher, and
the thought of that is so disconcerting he slips out of bed some time before
sunrise, tucking the blankets over Judal as he goes through his morning
routine. 
 
Phone calls made and exercise done, he hits the kitchen, hesitating before
making Judal anything, remembering a few addicts he’s known that have preferred
to sleep off that next high for days at a time. 
 
Then again, what the hell? He can always make more.
 
Chocolate chip pancakes and a plate of fruit in hands, Sinbad makes his way
back into the room, after triple-checking the locks on every door and window.
If Judal wants to be safe, well, that’s what he’ll get.
 
Even if he's sleeping the sleep of the dead, the smell of food is enough to
rouse him in short order. His stomach feels a dozen times less like it's about
to implode at any rate, and so Judal cracks his eyes open, making a lazy,
grabbing motion with one hand. "Foods," he mumbles in approval. "You gonna feed
me breakfast in bed?"
 
Sinbad grins, cutting the pancakes into little squares, impaling a few along
with a fat dark blueberry. “Say aahhh and I might.”
 
It isn’t often that he gets to take care of someone like this. Not really
husband material, not really boyfriend material, certainly not father material
(no matter what a couple paternity tests claim), most of the people he chooses
to associate with are strong, self-sufficient, and capable, and Sinbad likes it
that way. 
 
Still, there’s something oddly comforting about being able to make someone
pancakes in bed.
 
If being an addict lets him laze around in Sinbad's bed and be handfed really
good breakfasts, Judal supposes it's not all bad.
 
He heaves himself up onto his elbows with a content little noise, obediently
opening his mouth. "Aahhh--mmnn, hey, never say you're a bad cook," he happily
mumbles around his mouthful. "I could get used to this." 
 
“I never do say I’m a bad cook. I’m a great cook. This is just the tip of the
iceberg.” Judal is kind of unfairly cute, lazing around and making content
little purring noises. All the more reason to get the kid off the smack soon,
so mornings like this could get closer to being the norm instead of the
exception. Sure, Ja’far had been against him seeing the kid again, but Ja’far
hadn’t known they were drugging him against his will, or at least without
really giving him a choice in the matter. “Wait until I make you waffles with
caramelized peaches and bananas on top.”
 
Judal tries not to drool at the thought. "Ugggh, you're not fair. More, I'm
starving," he bemoans, wriggling upright to grab for Sinbad's wrist and urge
the fork to his mouth again. "Those pills you gave me… coming down from them
isn't so bad," he muses, head tilting. "I wonder if that's why Kouen does it
that way."
 
Sinbad laughs, stabbing a few more squares of pancake, feeding them to Judal.
“I’ll feed you all you want, don’t worry. And what I gave you was called
methadone, have you heard of it?”
 
"Familiar," Judal says after a moment's thought, taking the time to chew and
swallow properly. "Think there was a girl hooked on it or something, I dunno.
Really hate the way it feels, coming down from this shit." 
 
“Yeah, it’s not fun coming down from anything,” Sinbad says, from some
experience he doesn’t particularly regret. It’s been an eventful life, that’s
for sure. “This is what they give people who want a safer and easier way to get
that same rush. It’s what they give out at clinics.”
 
"Mmnn. Definitely what Kouen likes, then. They always make me use needles,
though," Judal sighs, flopping back after swallowing another mouthful of
pancakes. He rubs absently at his arm, annoyed. "Hurts." 
 
Sinbad had been ready for this, and now he reaches for a small medical kit by
the bed, drenching a cotton ball with antiseptic. “Give me your arm, I’ll make
sure you’re not infected or anything. They’re giving you the cheap stuff and
keeping the pricey good stuff for themselves.”
 
Judal hesitates, but eventually rolls up his sleeve, offering Sinbad his arm.
"I didn't want to start doing this, you know," he murmurs, eyes lidding. "I've
seen what people look like after they use this stuff for a long time. I like
being pretty, not like that." 
 
“Fortunately for you,” Sinbad says, a big grin on his face as he tends to the
puncture wounds of differing ages--at least administered correctly, that’s a
mercy-- “you haven’t been on it long, so withdrawal shouldn’t be bad. If you
want to stay here, I’ll give you pills when you need something, and we’ll get
through the rest together, all right?” He puts a band-aid on Judal’s elbow,
then leans down and kisses it. “I like you pretty too.”
 
The little eager flutter in his stomach shouldn't be so strong when Sinbad says
things like that. It's just another compliment, after all--ahh, but it's in the
way he says it. Definitely in the way he says it, and the way he tries to kiss
his damned track marks better. Judal bites his lip, looking aside. "They're a
pain in the ass already. Not sure I want to deal with them when they're mad." 
 
“You don’t have to. You’re an adult, the most they can do for breach of
contract is fine you, and I have some damned good lawyers.” He leans down,
cupping Judal’s cheek in one large hand, kissing the tip of his nose. “If you
want to stay, stay. Let me deal with the Rens.”
 
Judal's lower lip slowly juts in a pout. "You're saying all this, but I bet
you've got a dozen other boyfriends--girlfriends--whatever. Am I really that
pretty?" 
 
“Told you. It’s not about how pretty you are. I like you.” Sinbad stabs a few
more pancakes, dipping them liberally in syrup. “You think I’m that kind of a
liar? Don’t answer that, just say ahh.”
 
"… But you don't even know me. Aside from how I fuck. Sort of." Judal heaves a
sigh, but decides not to complain in lieu of food, and promptly opens his mouth
again. "Ahhh."
 
“I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” Sinbad says with a smile, and
takes his own bite of pancakes--he’s earned them on the treadmill after all.
“So tell me. What do you like to do for fun, huh? Before you got involved in
this whole crazy world, I mean.”
 
"… Skip school?" Judal supplies with a sheepish grin, flopping over with a
weary sigh. "I dunno. I didn't have much fun. Foster parents didn't give a shit
when I actually had them, so I ran off to the beach whenever I could."
 
Sinbad sighs, stretching out and wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders.
“Not an easy row to hoe, foster system around here. Better than it was in my
day, I think.”
 
"Yeah, try being Afghani in the fucking US on top of that," Judal grumbles,
sagging into Sinbad's hold and nuzzling his face into his shoulder. "I'm not so
dark-skinned, so I'm passable. But geez, when I was younger, and tanned a lot
more… no one wants to take that kid home." 
 
“Wow, that sucks.” Now that he’s looking, Judal certainly does have a bit of
that exotic appeal, and he strokes a finger down a tanned cheek. “Surprised you
didn’t do what I did, just take off.”
 
"Foster family means free food and internet," he sighs out, eyes lidding as he
peers up at Sinbad. "Also, you're smart. You started your own company, I
couldn't do that." 
 
“Not at first. Starting a company means money, I didn’t just pull it out of
thin air, you know.” Sinbad tilts his head. “Or did you read my autobiography?”
 
"Your videos are better than any autobiography." Judal lifts his head, cocking
it. "Okay, seriously, you were a porn star and now you own  your own porn
studio--and you wrote a book about it?" 
 
“Absolutely. It’s a great read, if I do say so myself!” Sinbad reaches up,
plucking a book from the shelf by the bed. “Here, if you’re ever interested.
But yeah, the videos tell a lot of the story, I think.”
 
"Ehh, pass. You can just tell me, I'd rather hear it from your mouth, anyway.
I'm sure it's a lot more interesting that way."
 
Sinbad tosses the book to the side, wrapping his arms around Judal’s waist and
tugging him closer. “Anything you want. What do you want to know?”
 
"… Why'd you take off in the first place?" Judal flops against Sinbad, peering
up at him. "You're really smart. You didn't have to do things like this." 
 
Sinbad shrugs. “Five nights in the foster system was enough for me. The idea of
spending another four years there didn’t really appeal to me, so I hit the
road. Wound up….oh, a bunch of places. Hitchhiked, did odd jobs, anything I
felt like for money. Got into plenty of dodgy scraps before I met this guy--
nice guy, wealthy Arab type--and he got me started in all of this.”
 
"Ahh… I wish I had met the Rens earlier, then I wouldn't have had to dealt with
so many idiots--or you. I'd really wish I had met you." Judal absently starts
chewing on Sinbad's shoulder. "You're a lot more fun."
 
Sinbad’s eyes lid as he strokes a hand through Judal’s hair, throwing a leg
over his hips. “Yeah, I’d have taken good care of you. I just….Rashid--that was
his name--he taught me stuff, you know? Like, porn doesn’t have to be this
awful sleazy thing. We can make it just as profitable as any business, and have
fun, and take care of our employees, and make it so people like the videos
because they can tell the actors are getting off, not just being plastic
puppets for their….” 
 
He trails off, shaking his head. “Sorry. I get a little preachy.”
 
"No, it's fine." Judal headbutts his face into Sinbad's neck, nibbling there as
well. "I'd like making videos with you a lot more, I think. It's always really
boring, over at Kou. I mean, I get off, but… I can get off on just about
anything. Except when I'm high. That sucks."
 
“Makes me wonder why he wanted to get you started on it in the first place,”
Sinbad muses. “You know it always shows up on camera, right? When you’re high?
Your eyes get all glassy and your hands don’t move quite as accurately--anyone
who’s looking properly can see it.”
 
"I don't knoooow, he was really mad one night and fucked me and shoved a needle
in my arm and god, I threw up for hours," Judal mutters, burrowing his way into
Sinbad's chest. "And it makes me not even want to fuck and that's the worst
part because I really, really like sex." 
 
“Well, you never have to do it again,” Sinbad says firmly. “Not to mention you
have nice arms. It’d be a shame if you had to start hiding them on camera. Damn
shame, because I’ve got an image of you in a bellydancing costume I don’t
really want to get rid of yet.” He pauses. “That’s not culturally insensitive,
is it?”
 
Judal can't help but laugh. "Man, my parents are dead. I don't even remember
Afghanistan, you can literally make slurs and I probably wouldn't even get it.
You can put me in a bellydancing costume all you want, I'll work it." 
 
Sinbad laughs with him. “I don’t like getting nagged for being insensitive. If
you’ve ever had to go to sensitivity training for sexual harassment, you’d
understand.” He pauses, running a hand down Judal’s belly. “Ever considered
piercing?”
 
"Kouen didn't like the idea, so I didn't. 'Whore rings', my ass… I work in
porn, give me a break." Judal pauses, arching an eyebrow at him. "Sexual
harassment, huh? Someone doesn't wanna be harassed by you?" 
 
“Secretary,” Sinbad mutters. “And when I worked for Balbadd Studios, apparently
I got a little handsy with some of the camera operators and studio personnel.
Also, if you want to come work for me, you can pierce whatever you want. I
don’t think there’s a thing you could do that will make you unsellable.”
 
"You can get handsy with me any time. Your secretary needs to take the stick
out of his ass," Judal sniffs, absently pawing at Sinbad's chest. "I really
wanna stay. You're sure you won't get sick of me?" 
 
“I’m sure. I don’t get sick of people. And you’re adorable.” Sinbad nuzzles
into his hair. “You don’t even have to work, if you don’t want to, but I’d love
to make you my headliner. You don’t mind dealing with a bitchy prima donna
getting demoted, do you?”
 
Judal lightly shrugs. "Not really. They can suck it. I'll work, it'd be kind of
dumb if I just lazed around and mooched… though your bed is really comfy."
 
“If you’re going to work, you’ll have to take schedules and orders from
Ja’far,” Sinbad warns. “You two should learn to get along, he’s really
efficient and fantastic at his job, and once you get to know him, he’s one of
the best people you’ll ever meet.”
 
"I've never done anything to him, why does he hate me?" Judal grumbles, gnawing
a little harder on Sinbad's shoulder in frustration. "He's all freckly and
weird, needs to take a chill pill." 
 
“He’s protective of me.” Sinbad shrugs, shivering a little at the teeth in his
shoulder. “Doesn’t like Kou, not after what….ah, never mind. If you’re going to
chew, we’re going to fuck, you know.”
 
"Protective and makes you take sexual harassment sensitivity training. Right."
The younger man hums, moving his teeth to the crook of Sinbad's neck instead.
"Gee, I'm definitely not doing this with the idea of fucking in mind." 
 
Sinbad grabs Judal around the waist, hauling the kid up on top of him. “Wiggle
around on my cock, I like it when you do that.”
 
Yeah, this is a lot better than sitting at Gyokuen's feet while she dangles a
syringe in front o his face. He's still got a little bit of a high from those
pills, even if he's coming down, and it's not so much a desperate need this
time as it is a sort of niggling want. Easy enough to ignore right now when
another, far more pleasant addiction is shoved in front of his face. "You sure
that's all you want?" Judal sighs out, throwing a leg over Sinbad's hips and
shivering as he does as he's told all the same, grinding his hips down in a
lazy little circle. "I can already feel how hard you are."
 
“Definitely not all I want,” Sinbad says with a grin, “but it’s a start.” He is
hard, achingly hard at feeling Judal wriggling on him, and grabs him by the
waist, grinding up against him. “I want,” he says slowly, hands moving down to
squeeze that tight firm ass, “to see your face when I fuck you. And don’t think
I forgot about my promise to tie you to the bed and fuck you with different
things all day.”
 
Judal sucks in a sharp, eager breath at that thought, his own cock immediately
hard and aching against the front of his jeans. Ahhh, why didn't he strip in
his sleep? Clothes are never useful. "I bet you've got one hell of a
collection, too," he breathes, biting his lip as his hips jerk down, grinding
hard and needy against Sinbad. "Am I too tight, you think, to fit you and
something else inside at the same time?" 
 
“Depends what I stuff inside you,” Sinbad breathes, dragging a hand down
Judal’s stomach to press down over the bulge of his cock. “You really like that
idea, huh? Should have known you were a little size queen.” 
 
Yeah, this isn’t going to last, not when he already feels like he’s going to
punch a hole in that denim with his cock. “Ride my cock,” he suggests, “and let
me fill you up raw, and then I’ll see what else I’ve got in my toy box. You
didn’t share needles with anyone, right? Even Kouen?”
 
He's never been so fast as to wriggle away and out of his jeans, with his shirt
yanked off in short order as well. "No way," Judal shudders, pawing his way
around Sinbad for the lube he knows the man keeps under a pillow. "They still
wanna keep me clean, I guess. That'd really suck, otherwise." His fingers paw
at Sinbad's jeans, opening his fly and carefully tugging them down, just enough
to free his cock. It's probably obscene how his mouth waters, and Judal has to
remind himself not to just slide down and suck him off first and foremost. 
 
"God, you're big," Judal mumbles, hand slick, dripping with the lube as it
drags up the length of Sinbad's cock. "Kinda forgot just how big." 
 
The urge to shove Judal’s head down on his cock is a strong one, especially
seeing the way the kid licks his lips like he’s seen a treat, and Sinbad grits
his teeth with the effort. He yanks Judal’s pants the rest of the way off,
hauling him back up, and slicks his fingers up to slide them around the back.
“You like being fingered?” he asks, rubbing a couple at the edge of Judal’s
hole. “Or do you just want me to shove you down and make you take my cock all
at once?”
 
Sinbad's really, really good at making him feel weak, and Judal just groans,
nodding a helpless answer as he squirms his way deeper into Sinbad's lap. "Like
both," he sighs, clinging to Sinbad's shoulder as he wriggles his hips, biting
his lip at the slide of Sinbad's cock back against the cleft of his ass. "But
really want you in me--just--shove me down and use me, I can take it--"
 
“I know you can take it, I want to make you feel good,” Sinbad murmurs, but
it’s enough of a cue, and he flips them over, pinning Judal down on his back
and urging his legs apart, rubbing the head of his cock up and down, teasing
his hole. Judal is hot, and he can feel the slick, pressing heat of him,
sliding forward until the head of his cock pushes in, slowly breaching that
tight hole as he holds Judal down, letting it sink into him inch by inch. “You
like that, baby?” he breathes. “Feels good?” It sure as hell does to him.
 
"Fuck," Judal groans out, his eyes rolling back as his hands dig into the
sheets, his legs trembling as they try to splay wider still with every inch of
Sinbad's cock that spreads him open. Good is an understatement. It's a tight
fit, was before and is now, but it's so slick and hot that Judal doesn't care.
It just makes him whine, makes him want to wriggle down all the more eagerly,
and his hands lift to claw at Sinbad's back, clinging to him as his chest
heaves. "Really good, Daddy," he moans, toes curling as he tries to arch his
back and shove himself down all the more. "N-no one's cock feels as good as
yours--"
 
“Not so fast, baby, I want you to feel all of it,” Sinbad groans, sliding in a
little more with every tiny, shallow thrust, knowing full well how Judal must
be aching with it by now. “Just like that, spread your legs, you look like such
a pretty girl for Daddy.” He reaches down, one hand gripping a thigh tightly,
the other curling around Judal’s cock, stroking slowly from base to tip as he
shoves in a little farther with the next shallow thrust--then all of a sudden,
slides all the way in, bottoming out with a grunt. “There we go, good girl.”
 
Judal's mouth falls open, a helpless, broken keening noise pulled from his
throat. "So big," he whines, chest heaving from the effort as he lifts his
head, trying to look down and see how deep Sinbad is inside of him, how his
thick cock stretches him wide and leaves him trembling around him. "G…god…
here, press here," he pants out, grabbing for one of those big hands,
scrambling to push himself up onto his elbows and guide it to his lower back,
no matter the twinge that comes from that movement alone. "You're so big inside
your little girl, Daddy, can't you feel it like this? Especially… ahh.. when
you… shove in really hard..." 
 
Sinbad groans low in his throat, slamming in deep with the next few thrusts,
and christ, Judal’s right, he can feel his cock shoving in so far and so thick.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and grabs Judal’s thighs, yanking them up hard, almost
bending him in half as he sinks in. “Watch,” he commands, and drags a thumb
around the hot, slick clench of Judal around his cock. “Look how--god, you look
so fucked open, I can’t believe you’re taking all that. Is my baby girl a
slut?” he murmurs, squeezing Judal’s cock in his hand. “Maybe she needs to be
taken in hand.”
 
Judal swallows hard, unable to look away from the clenching of his own body,
the way he twitches around Sinbad's cock and tries so desperately to take even
more of him in, no matter how the man shoves in deep each time, until their
bodies connect with a slick, obscene slap. "Y-your slut, I'm your slut, Daddy,"
he pants out, eyes rolling back at the squeeze of Sinbad's fingers around his
cock, his brow furrowing from the effort as his hips twitch up, body hungrily
trembling around that big cock stuffing him full. "Ah, fuck--f-fuck, just want
you to use me--"
 
Sinbad’s eyes darken, and he urges Judal’s hips even closer, yanking the kid
down onto every thrust, leaning down to bite and suck at Judal’s neck as he
rolls his hips, slapping against Judal with every hard, fast, thrust. “Good
girl,” he purrs, with an affectionate sharp nip to his neck. “Good girl, taking
all of her Daddy’s cock like the slut she is. You want me to fill you up? Come
inside you?” His voice is ragged and urgent, movements following suit, and he
slams in deep enough that he knows it’ll make Judal whine.
 
Whine like a bitch in heat, more like--and Judal doesn't care. There's no point
in caring what he sounds like when it feels so good, and he pants out a ragged,
desperate breath, nodding and agreeing to things he can't exactly hear over the
pounding of his own pulse as he arches his back and tries to slither himself
down onto Sinbad's slick cock all the more, every muscle bunching tight.
"Please, please, please--" It's a mindless mantra, and Judal's breath hiccups
hard. "Please, come inside me, I've been a good girl for you, Daddy, so please-
-"
 
If there’s one thing that shoves Sinbad over the edge, it’s begging. 
 
His spine arches into a tight, tense bow as he loses himself, biting down hard
on Judal’s skin as he shoves deep inside, vision whiting out as he loses
himself, spilling hot and slick with a few last, urgent pumps of his hips. He
braces himself up on one arm, panting hard as he strokes Judal’s cock fast,
keeping his cock moving long enough to bring the boy off. “Come on, baby, come
for Daddy, come with my cock and my come inside your ass like a good girl…”
 
Judal's lost even before Sinbad can finish whispering all those things in his
ear, lost the second the man comes inside of him, slick and hot and messy, and
he sobs when he spills over Sinbad's hand, jerking up with a broken, breathless
noise. He twitches, shivering with every lingering slide of Sinbad's fingers
against him, everything white-hot and oversensitive, and his head lolls back
with a groan, his vision blurring around the edges. "God," he groans, blinking
away sweat that wants to trickle into his eyes. "N-never come so hard unless
it's with you."
 
Sinbad pulls out slowly with a hiss through his teeth, trying to be gentle as
he rearranges Judal’s limbs into some semblance of order. “You make me….god, I
haven’t been that athletic in years.” He presses a sloppy kiss to the side of
Judal’s face, more or less aiming for his mouth. “Jesus, kid. If you stick
around I’m going to get a hell of a lot more exercise than usual, just keeping
us both happy.”
 
With an entirely too happy sound, Judal flops down, splaying out bonelessly.
"But you're already all muscle-ly," he points out contently, eyes lidded. "More
exercise is only good, yeah? Though I can just ride you sometimes, then not so
much work for you."
 
“I’ll live,” Sinbad assures him with a grin. “If I’m already muscley and I’m
getting more exercise, that just means we get to eat and drink more!”
 
"I like food a lot," Judal eagerly agrees, pawing at Sinbad's chest to pet said
muscles in question. "And being horny makes me really hungry. Do you keep
snacks around your set? I promise I don't get fat, I just like food." 
 
“Of course I keep snacks around the set. And I’m not worried about you getting
fat, you like being pretty too much.” Sinbad turns his head to nip at one
finger, sucking it into his mouth. “If there’s any kind of snack you really
like, I’ll stock up on it, here and on the set.”
 
"… You'll think it's weird," Judal wryly replies, his finger lazily curling
against Sinbad's tongue. "Really like peaches, though. And anything peach-
flavored. But just peaches are good." 
 
Sinbad smiles around Judal’s finger, giving it a long, slow suck before letting
it fall out. “You’ve been hearing a different definition of weird than I know.
Weird snacks to me is like peanut butter and squid sandwiches.”
 
Judal wrinkles his nose. "I like them both separately, does that count?
Sometimes I eat peanut butter out of a jar… or, well, usually only when Gyoku
did, but that's beside the point." 
 
Sinbad laughs, stroking a hand down Judal’s arm. “You’re fine. I wouldn’t even
care if you wanted to eat weird stuff all day long, as long as you’re happy.”
 
"… You're really way too nice," Judal murmurs, flopping his head back with a
shiver. "Hey, is it okay if I have another pill or something? Before I start
feeling sick again. I hate throwing up."
 
“Yeah, sure. Drink your water first, and I’ll give you one more, and then you
can sleep it off, okay?” Sinbad rolls out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom for
the pills. “And don’t sneak more when I’m not looking, I know what I’m doing.”
 
"I'm not gonna sneak 'em, don't really even want 'em," Judal grumbles, rolling
over onto his stomach as he makes a grab for the glass of water on the
nightstand. "Being high sucks a lot." 
 
“This stuff is better than everything they gave you,” Sinbad assures him. “Less
crash, less high, but it takes care of the shakes and vomiting. And it’s a lot
easier to quit, too. Just don’t stay on them too long.”
 
"If you say so," he sighs, downing back the water with a few long gulps. "I
just don't wanna puke anymore. And have lots of sex and actually get off.
Especially with you, I missed you." 
 
“You got off with me today, right? Even with the pills?” Sinbad nuzzles into
Judal’s shoulder. “Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you.”
 
"'course I did, kind of hard to fake something that good," Judal answers with a
grin, butting his head back against Sinbad's. "I'm gonna keep you." 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Cassim doesn’t like change.
 
Not this kind, where his big film is derailed so he can make a new one where
his name isn’t even top billing, not after everything he’s done for this
company--
 
But Ja’far had been….convincing.
 
That’s one of the things Sinbad finds most charming, the way Ja’far gets all
scary and intense whenever someone insults him. It’s precious, flattering, and
a little inconvenient most of the time. Right now, at least, it’s working in
his favor. “All right,” he calls, nodding to the director. A second later, a
camera starts rolling, and a fake doorbell rings. Lights go on, and Judal walks
onto the set, in a frilly little number and high heels, with the stick of a
lollipop sticking out of his mouth. Classic.
 
Judal doesn't know quite what to expect when it comes to working with Cassim--
he's definitely heard that name before, and not just in flipping through
Sindria Studios' videos--but this isn't exactly it.
 
It's not the scenario. It's not the porno at all, actually, even though it
takes all his practice and experience to keep a straight face when he opens the
'door' and Cassim is there, dressed as a pizza boy. He's done a dozen times
more ridiculous things, and this is kinda cute, besides. 
 
No, it's just… Cassim's kind of a sleaze ball, never mind how hot he is (or
could be…). It's the dreads, Judal decides, eyeballing them. Yeah. Not a fan.
"Oh! I must've left your tip inside. Why don't you bring that in here and I'll…
nope, sorry, can't do it," Judal wheezes, turning away with a choked back
laugh. God. This is just bad. "You know, an actual restaurant would make you
put those things up in a hairnet." 
 
“Cut!”
 
Sinbad is on the set in an instant, even before the director gives him a
panicked glance and Ja’far gives him the I told you so. “Judal, baby, what are
you doing?” he asks, trying to stay nice when his main star looks as if he’s
about to punch a hole through concrete.
 
“You got a fucking problem with my hair?” Cassim snarls, ripping off the pizza
hat and throwing it to the ground. “You got something against my people?”
 
"I'm sooorrry, I swear I'm not normally this much of a prima donna, it's just--
" Judal gestures helplessly, trying not to teeter back onto his heels and fall
right the fuck over. "Dude, it has nothing to do with your people, it's your
fucking hair.Am I supposed to let that touch me? Groooosss."
 
Ja'far sets his face to his clipboard.
 
Sinbad wraps an arm around Judal’s shoulders, trying to steer him away, but
Cassim is there before he can even try, getting into Judal’s face with a glare.
“You think I don’t fucking wash? Is that some kind of racist--”
 
“No one said anything about that, Cassim,” Sinbad says soothingly. “Go sit
down, I’m going to have a little talk with Judal.”
 
“And what the fuck kind of a name is that?” Cassim demands, ignoring Sinbad’s
calming hand. “Judal? What are you then, some kinda fucking terrori--”
 
Sinbad leaves Judal be for a moment, clapping a hand over Cassim’s mouth. “Take
a walk,” he says, voice low, eyes flashing.
 
"You're kidding,right?" Judal can't bite his tongue after that and he turns
right back around, stepping closer with a sharp clip of his heels. "You really
wanna keep pulling the race card? Come on, I've fucked a dozen black guys and
loved it. I'm bitching because dreads are gross, there are studies on that, you
know. And hey, I dunno what you've got going on between your legs, but if
there's dreads there, too--" 
 
All right, Sinbad is done playing nice. “Enough!” His voice is loud enough that
most of the talk on the set falls into a hush, and he spreads his glare evenly
between the two stars. “No more name calling. No more slurs. You two have
ninety seconds to each apologize and get your asses back on that set, or the
only movie I’m going to put out this week is home video of me fucking a bowl of
tapioca pudding. Got it?”
 
Judal pauses, contemplating. "… but I'd watch that--"
 
"Oh, for god's sake," Ja'far groans off set, turning on his heel with an
exasperated shake of his head. 
 
"This doesn't even make sense anyway, you know. I'm supposed to be a
babysitter, right? What happened to the kids, did he cook them up in the pizza
or--"
 
“Oh, so now I’m a fucking cannibal? Just because I’m black?”
 
“JUDAL.” Sinbad has to take a moment, then a deep, calming breath. “Come
upstairs with me, I need a cigarette. You,” he growls to Cassim, “go ask Ja’far
about your last report sheet, you forgot to sign something.” It’s a lie, but
Ja’far’s pretty much the only one who can keep Cassim in line when he’s having
a tantrum.
 
"More like because anyone with dreads like that wouldn't be allowed to work at
a real pizza joint," Judal mutters underneath his breath, but turns after
Sinbad with a huff and a flounce as they walk out of the room. "Soooorrry, it's
just kinda gross, it's making me all--" Judal shivers, wiggling his fingers.
"Woogly. Also, he gives me the creeps in general."
 
“He’s an asshole,” Sinbad allows, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket on the
way up to the roof, lighting it once they’re outside, “but he’s a hard worker
and he looks great on camera. It wasn’t easy convincing him to share billing
with you. I did have other stars before I got my hands on you, I can’t just
turn my back on them now. And come on, are you really looking for authenticity
in a skin flick?”
 
"No, I'm just being a bitch," Judal sighs, leaning back against the railing.
"Just… hmm. I dunno, I can't stop thinking that I heard someone talk about him
before. Not just in porn, I mean."
 
“Not that weird a name. But let me know if you remember, will you?” Not
paranoid isn’t the same as stupid. Sinbad takes another drag on his cigarette,
flicking ash over the edge of the building. “Ja’far should have him calmed down
by now. You gonna be able to do this, or should I cancel?” He reaches out a
hand, tugging on a pigtail. “I’ll still keep you either way. Don’t be afraid of
that.”
 
Judal contemplates. "… If I say 'yes', do I still get to see that home video of
you fucking some pudding?" 
 
Sinbad laughs, crushing out his cigarette after a last long drag. “If you say
yes, I’ll videotape me covered in pudding, your choice of flavors.”
 
"Something fruity," Judal immediately agrees, teetering upright again. "Hey,
when do we get to make a vid? Ima get my belly pierced soon, it'll be good."
 
Sinbad thinks for a minute, grabbing Judal and twirling him around before
leading him back downstairs. “Next week? I’ll set it up in the studio, properly
come out of retirement and everything. Just for you.”
 
"Ahh, really good! Are we gonna do the belly dancer thing and everything?"
Judal eagerly asks, all but bouncing after Sinbad. Now, the sooner he tolerates
Cassim and gets this over with, the better. 
 
“Absolutely. I’ve already ordered the costumes. You want to be a prize dancing
harlot for the Sultan?” Across set, Sinbad can see Cassim looking properly
chastised, Ja’far looking rather satisfied with himself. Perfect.
 
"More than anything," Judal sighs, sparing a somewhat put out glance toward
Cassim--not Sinbad, not by a longshot--before deciding to just not care. The
sooner he gets this over with… "Okay, let's just get this done, then you can
take me out to dinner or something."
 
“Anywhere you want. Pick something expensive, I’ve got a craving for nice
champagne tonight.” Sinbad squeezes Judal’s hand, then gives his ass a slap.
“Go on, make me proud.” Show everyone why having you here is worth the
headache. 
 
Cassim is surly when Judal re-enters, but he scoops his crumpled pizza hat off
the floor, crams it back onto his head, and gets back into place. “Whenever
you’re ready, boss.”
 
At least Cassim doesn't have dreads between his legs.
 
It's easy enough to focus and just get shit done when the objective is getting
the hell out and spending time with Sinbad. Judal is good at this, after all,
even if his head is pounding at the end of the day and he's starting to feel
shaky all over again. A few pills and it takes care of most of it, though they
don't have the same effect as before, and it's hard not to pop just a few more
of them when his ass is stinging and his scalp hurting a bit from where he's
been yanked around. No one knows how to pull hair these days…
 
"Right!" he suddenly recalls at the end of the day as he bundles himself up in
his coat. "I definitely heard Kouen on the phone with that prick at one point.
Not too long ago, week and a half or so? Unless you've got another Cassim
running around this joint…"
 
"I'm about to just take this whole computer home with me," Ja'far mutters
underneath his breath. "Sin, I told you that irritating the Ren family was like
kicking a beehive." 
 
Sinbad’s eyes go dark, chest tightening with sudden furious hot anger, but his
voice is light enough as he suggests, “Looks like it’s not their people we have
to keep an eye on, this time. Ja’far, look into it?” His face is a lot more
serious than his voice when he meets Ja’far’s eyes. Take care of it. Like you
know how. “And if he seems sorry, tell him I want to talk to him tomorrow.
Judal, do you prefer American fine dining or Italian, I’ve got a craving for
pasta tonight.”
 
"Italian!" Judal latches himself to Sinbad's arm, headbutting his shoulder.
"And maybe afterwards, we can practice for our video, hmm?"
 
Ja'far barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. "You should at least let
Masrur trail you, if you're going to be out and about. I wouldn't put it past
the Ren family to take a hit out on you at this point." 
 
“Good, put Masrur on it. Besides,” he adds, with a grin and a pointed look down
at his jacket-covered hip, “let them try, I’m ready for them. Italian, huh?” He
gives Judal’s ass a pinch, leading the way out to the car. “Good, I want to get
you loaded up on carbs if we’re going to be doing some practicing. You’ll need
all the energy you can get, I promise.”
 
"Really good," Judal sighs, flopping into the passenger seat tiredly. "Uggh, my
ass hurts, though. He spanks hard, doesn't he know it's supposed to be at least
half for show? Jerk. I hope Ja'far kills him or something."
 
He just might, if Cassim pisses him off enough.“Kills him? Boy, you really have
heard a lot of lies about my company, haven’t you?” The gun on his hip is heavy
on his belt as he sits, but the grin is unforced. “I’ll dock his pay for
messing you up. I’m not sure if this is much consolation, but you two looked
really good on film.”
 
"I've heard a lot of rumors," Judal admits, settling back with a careful little
wriggle. "And eh, don't worry about it, I've heard worse. I'm just whiny
because I'm achy and stuff… at least we looked good. I'd just prefer if it was
you."
 
“Had to keep him happy,” Sinbad admits with a sigh. “He’s awful when he’s
unhappy, and the only way to keep him from making a stink is to make sure he
gets paid, a lot. And then he lectures you about what it’s like to grow up on
the streets, as if he’s the only one in this line of work that--” He cuts
himself off, biting his tongue. “But he looks great on film. And he’s got quite
a following.”
 
"Fucking asshat about being black, too--like, who cares?" Judal snorts, his
eyes rolling. "Really cute, calling me a terrorist. I think it made him mad
that I was such a good fuck." 
 
“He’s over-sensitive. And pissy. Don’t tell him I said that.” Sinbad pulls into
his favorite Italian place, tossing the keys to the valet. “He’s probably
annoyed because he’s been trying to get me to hire a friend of his for months,
and you just took the top spot.”
 
"Well, maybe if his friend was as hot as I am, you would've hired them
already," Judal sniffs as he climbs out of the car. "I never get to go anywhere
this good," he sighs happily. "Always stuck at Ren 'family' dinners by myself--
hey, does all this mean we're official? Like, dating? Freckles won't care, will
he?" 
 
“Why would Ja’far care?” Sinbad asks, blinking in slight confusion. “He doesn’t
care who I date. Which, at the moment, is you.” He wraps an arm around Judal,
ignoring a couple dirty looks from older men and woman as he strides into the
restaurant. “Table for two.”
 
“Do you have reservations?” the hostess asks, blinking up at him through a
thick pair of glasses. 
 
“I have a table. Sinbad.” 
 
He has to laugh to himself when a waiter appears as if by magic, hurrying him
to his permanent table by the garden. “It just sounds so good to say,” he
murmurs to Judal, pulling out the chair for him before seating himself. “I
liked my alias so much I changed my legal name years ago. That’s in my book
too, by the way. Very cool story.”
 
"I was wondering if that was your real name or not," Judal admits as he sits
down, shimmying out of his coat as he looks around the restaurant. "And what do
you mean, dating me 'right now'? I'm a permanent fixture, you're not kicking me
out any time soon." Or you better not, at least.
 
“I meant I’m dating you right now as in, this is us, here, right now, on a
date. So obviously, we’re dating.” Sinbad leans forward onto his elbows, then
breaks off a hunk of bread from the basket. “And when you come back to my place
tonight, we’ll be fucking right now. Doesn’t mean we’re not going to keep
fucking for as long as you can take it.”
 
"Oh. Well. Good, then." Judal sinks back after stealing a piece of bread for
himself, looking infinitely pleased. "I'm surprised no one's tried to drag me
off yet," he admits. "But that thing with Cassim, that might be their way of
getting back at you if it's legit…"
 
“You know they really can’t, right?” Sinbad asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re
an adult. It’s a free country. No one can make you do anything except the
police, and that’s only if you let them catch you,” he finishes with a wink.
 
"Yeah… You're right." Judal shifts, absently rubbing at his arm. Never mind
it's less an issue of being a free country and the simple fact that the Rens
aren't really that bad, they're just… well, mostly, Gyokuen is just a bitch,
and it's hard to get out from underneath her influence. "They just took care of
me for awhile," he says instead, which is also true. "It's hard to forget I
don't have to listen to them when I'm not mooching off of them." 
 
Sinbad waves a dismissive hand, then grabs another piece of bread, dipping it
in olive oil and vinegar. “You shouldn’t think about it that way. You were
working for them, they were paying you. You were making money before you hooked
up with the Rens, right? Cam modeling?”
 
"If you could even call that money. It's hard finding places that'll… well…
fake IDs are hard," Judal mutters underneath his breath, put out. "Anyway, I
was living in their house, that's a little bit different than them just paying
me." 
 
“You said they paid for your apartment,” Sinbad points out. A finger signals a
waiter, and a moment later expensive champagne splashes into his glass.
“Thirsty? We’re celebrating, after all.”
 
"… Never exactly stayed in it--they always wanted me over, so I was over… nicer
there, besides," Judal grumbles. He pauses, opens his mouth to say something
about how he's not really legal, but then again, his ID does say he's 23, so--
"Yeah, sure. What are we celebrating again?" 
 
“The completion of your first film with Sindria Studios, of course!” At a
signal the waiter pours a second flute, and Sinbad holds his aloft. “To the
first of many, and the beginning of a long string of successes.”
 
Coming from Sinbad, it actually sounds real--not a pitch sold to keep him
around, not a bunch of pretty words to keep fucking with him. Judal grins,
lifting his own glass to toast with the other man. "Yeah, okay. I'll drink to
that, so long as my next film is with you!"
 
Sinbad drinks eagerly to that, refilling his glass before he sets it down.
“Beautiful. I’ve already got the writer working on it, did I tell you? She
should have it done by tomorrow, then we just have to wait for the costumes.
Not exactly standard issue schoolboy.”
 
"All the more reason to practice after dinner," Judal happily reminds him. "And
thank god, you have really nice hair.  No gross dreads."
 
“It’s your hair I’m interested in pulling,” Sinbad says, but he can’t help
running an appreciative hand back through his own hair, or side-eyeing himself
in the window. He does look nice today, definitely. The suit jacket was a good
idea. “Seriously, not a peep from the Rens?”
 
Judal shakes his head, though pulls out his phone for good measure, flipping
through just to make sure. "Nothing. Really not a good sign--ugh," he groans,
flopping back into his seat. "Can we quit and go into hiding or something?" 
 
“Not on the table. I’m not afraid of them,” Sinbad reminds Judal, and plucks
the phone from his fingers. “I can take care of myself, and I can take care of
you. I haven’t gotten where I am by letting people threaten and intimidate me
or the people I care about.”
 
"Not afraid of them either, just tired of their bullshit," Judal mumbles,
pouting as he looks aside. "And don't want Gyokuen stabbing me with more
needles again, that sucks." 
 
“Judal.” Sinbad reaches across the table, brushing his fingers under Judal’s
chin, meeting his eyes. “It’s no crime to end a business relationship when it’s
not working out. Or a personal one. You have to do what’s right for you.”
 
"Mmn." Wish it were that easy. "I know." They took care of me, you don't get
it. Judal shrugs, leaning away. "Just hard not to miss certain things, I guess.
Wonder how Gyoku's doing, too."
 
“The girl? Right, you two were dating.” Sinbad fills up his glass again, and
tops off Judal’s champagne. “This split might be a good thing for that, you
know. Hard to hide from her brothers in her house, but...well, Kouen can’t be
everywhere. I sure wouldn’t care if you brought someone home.”
 
Drinking is a really good thing right now, Judal decides, and he promptly
knocks back his glass. "She's at boarding school, sent her there after they
found out we had the slightest thing going on," he sighs, annoyed. "It's better
if I don't bother, she'll just get in trouble."
 
“Ah, well. There are other hot Asian fish in the sea. You ready to order?”
 
Judal barely resists kicking him underneath the table. "Yeah. Food is good."
Better to drown his sorrows in food and champagne than give into the desire to
pop another damned pill. It's bad, probably, that he's even considering it. Oh
well.
 
“So,” Sinbad says, when the food is ordered and the champagne refilled, “tell
me your secret. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything with it, I just want to know.
What is it,” he asks, leaning forward to rest his cheek on one hand, “that
makes you look so much better on camera than anyone I’ve met in….well, ever?
The camera doesn’t add ten pounds, the lights don’t wash you out, I doubt you
even need makeup.”
 
"… Sold my soul to a camera demon?" Judal dryly supplies, then gives a little,
unsure shrug. "I really don't know. I didn't know I looked that good. I just do
whatever, I like fucking so it's easy. The end." 
 
“You started real young. What, fourteen, fifteen?” Sinbad gives him a wry grin.
“Same age as me, when I ran away. But you’re a hell of a lot easier to work
with than most guys I’ve worked with, even the ones in their thirties, forties.
I mean, except that whole racist gigglefit bitchfight.”
 
"I wasn't being racist!" Judal protests with a pout. "He was the one making it
into a race thing. I was just--look, his hair was gross and I was kind of high,
so it made it really funny and I couldn't help it. I said I was sorry."
 
Sinbad waves that away, a grin on his face. “I meant him, not you. Don’t worry,
I know he’s the one that started flinging those words around.” He tilts his
head to one side, thinking. “If you could make any movie, any movie you wanted,
dream cast, dream script, whatever, what would you want to do?”
 
"Dunno," he sighs, plopping his chin down into his hands. "Doesn't really
matter, even, so long as it has you in it. I wanted to make a video with you
for a looong while. I didn't think you'd ever come out of retirement, though."
 
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I would either.” Sinbad leans back in his chair,
eyes widening at the arrival of his veal, tucking in as he muses, “I didn’t
expect you to be so convincing. It’s going to be weird to top on camera,
though. Have to get all new acting skills, all new faces to make.”
 
"You did it already before, though!" Judal reminds him cheerfully, making an
eager grab for his own silverware when his food touches down. "Remember, we
made a video ourselves. Not much more effort than that. Unless you wanna be
lazy and surprise, the belly dancer bangs you on your throne." 
 
“Ah, it’s different, and you know it.” Sinbad scratches his head, remembering
the lights, the uncomfortable positions, the deep, burning ache that had come
with being filled for hours at a time--but he wouldn’t be doing that, he
reminds himself. It will be different. And it’ll be with Judal. “Maybe that’s
the secret to you. You always make it look real.”
 
"But it's not, really--maybe it was for you, because you didn't like bottoming
that much," Judal points out, twirling a generous portion of spaghetti around
his fork. "So you were actually acting. That takes effort. I'm actually getting
off, not faking it." His head tilts contemplatively. "Does that make me a
slut?"
 
“Of course not. Not for this line of work, anyway.” Sinbad has to close his
eyes for a moment, savoring the taste of the meat and pasta and cheese. “My
mentor used to say that if you can still remember some part of everyone you’ve
slept with that hasn’t paid you, you’re not a slut.” He frowns. “Though he was
probably just trying to get me into bed. That’s a lot of qualifications.”
 
"Ah, I'm a slut, then," Judal confirms with that reasoning, entirely unashamed.
"I don't remember anything about Cassim other than the fact he was a
douchebag."
 
“That’s enough for me,” Sinbad says dismissively. “Besides, you’re getting paid
for today, so that doesn’t count.”
 
"… Proobably would do it anyway," he admits with a sheepish grin. "Just because
it's fun. Though I would be a lot pickier." 
 
“Let me guess, if you weren’t getting paid….no dreads?” Sinbad laughs, tossing
back another glass of champagne. “You should have seen him before I cleaned him
up.”
 
"Giiiaaant pass. Don't want pics, don't show me, too gross. Black guys are
fine, just no dreads," Judal shudders. "Have you seen those things hen you cut
them open?"
 
“Better not,” Sinbad decides. “Better leave me content in my delusions, or I’d
probably break into his house and shave him in his sleep.” He shoves the last
few bites into all the sauce he can muster, finishing with another glass of
champagne. “The veal here is ridiculous. You want dessert?” The image of giving
Judal another kind of treat flashes into his mind, and he leans forward, laying
a hand on Judal’s. “Or I could take you home still hungry.”
 
"… If you have ice cream at home," Judal innocently suggests, "we can always
have dessert that way. I make a good platter."
 
Sinbad’s eyes flash. “You’d be cold. And sweet. And it would get really messy,
and….well, let’s just say I’d have a lot of clean-up work to do.”
 
"Sounds like you get all the really fun parts," Judal sighs, batting his
lashes. "Do I get to have something sweet, too?" 
 
“I’ve got whipped cream,” Sinbad suggests, running a finger down Judal’s hand.
“And cherries. And chocolate syrup. And sliced peaches. Any of this sound
good?”
 
Judal's fingers curl, flexing rather like a kneading cat. "Depends on if I get
to eat it off of you or not."
 
“You get,” Sinbad murmurs, “to eat it off any part of me you want.” He raises
an eyebrow, foot sliding forward under the table to run up the inside of one
slender leg. “Anything in particular come to mind?”
 
Now that's really not fair. Judal shivers, toes curling a bit in his shoes as
he wriggles. "Stomach… and thighs… but the best part is afterwards," Judal
sighs, eyes lidding, "when I finally get to suck your cock again. Missed the
taste of you. Might skip dessert for that." 
 
Sinbad wads up his napkin, dropping it on the table before pulling out cash,
leaving a very generous tip before standing, offering Judal his hand. “Shall
we?”
 
He sort of doubts they’ll even get to the dessert, just as they hadn’t gotten
to his slow tease of fucking Judal with toy after toy before, always giving up
after ten minutes and throwing each other against something, mouths and hands
hungry, and ah, he’s missed feeling like this. It’s all he can do to keep his
hands off Judal on the car ride home, and honestly he doesn’t try very hard. By
the time they make it back to his apartment, he’s a bare second away from
throwing Judal against the wall. “You still hungry?” he breathes, wrapping his
arms around Judal from behind the moment they’re inside, bending to nibble on
his neck.
 
Dessert's a nice idea, but car rides always make Judal's mind wander,
especially when he can't grab and touch too much during them. "Yeah, but--" He
wriggles, twisting in Sinbad's hold with a grin, stretching up on tiptoe to
wrap his arms around his neck. "I've got a better idea for dessert now. Well,
at least I think it's a good one. You can laugh, if you want."
 
Sinbad’s eyebrows raise, and he slings his arms around Judal’s back, pulling
him close as he murmurs in the kid’s ear, “I have a feeling I’ll say yes. Go
on, tell me.” Mentally, he runs over a list of what Judal’s likely to ask for--
yep, should have everything in the house already, no need to shop.
 
"… Just wondering what your cock would look like all wrapped up in lace." Judal
wriggles closer, a hand snaking down to palm Sinbad through his slacks.
"Y'know, underneath this nice suit of yours… it'd be fun unwrapping it all to
find panties and garters and things." He licks his lips. "I wanna suck you off,
while you're still wearing all of it." 
 
Damn, but that’s enough to make Sinbad wish he’d worn something like that
already. He tips Judal’s head up, brushes a kiss across his lips, and murmurs,
“Hold that thought. And make yourself comfortable wherever you want, I’ll find
you.”
 
There’s something to be said for having the kind of life he does. Part of that
is a rather extensive collection of lingerie left from past partners, some of
it brought to his home for screentests before they’d had a whole studio, and
it’s the work of a minute to slide into a lacy thong, amused at himself as he
tugs his pants back on, leaving his shirt untucked. “Judal?” he calls, creeping
back into the living room.
 
Judal perks up from where he's flopped on the couch, pushing himself up onto
his elbows with an eager sweep of his eyes. Sinbad looks good no matter what,
but untucked and somewhat hurried-touseled--yeah, that's really nice. Nicer
still, imagining what's underneath. "… You wanna fuck my mouth right here,
Daddy?" he breathes. "Or do you want me on my knees?" 
 
“On your knees.” He hasn’t had Judal quite like this yet, and with eyes (and
eye makeup) like that, it’s hard to remember why, except that he hadn’t wanted
to scare the kid. Like that’s even possible. “And open your mouth, I want to
see how much you want to suck me off.” He walks forward, palming himself
through the expensive fabric, gold eyes flashing.
 
It's hard to remember a time he's moved so fast to do as he's told, scrambling
up and then down to his knees in front of Sinbad, lips parting eagerly as he
whines in the back of his throat. One hand lifts to grab, tugging at Sinbad's
slacks, wanting them down so he can see what's underneath and more importantly,
wanting his cock.
 
Judal looks like he’s made for this, an eager, hungry thing pawing at the front
of his pants, revealing the black lace and strings. “Go on,” he urges, and
threads a hand in Judal’s hair, yanking his face closer, using enough strength
to rub against Judal’s cheek, a wet spot already leaving a slick trail through
the lace. “You’re good at this, right? Show me.”
 
Judal huffs out a hot, eager breath, nuzzling eagerly between Sinbad's legs as
his fingers make quick work of yanking Sinbad's pants down. He was right, of
course--Sinbad looks good in lingerie, even if it's just a scrap of lace. It
looks obscene against his thick, straining cock, and Judal's lips part,
mouthing the hard line of him through the skimpy material, a low, hungry noise
rumbling in the back of his throat.
 
He doesn't bother with his hands--doesn't need them, not when his teeth can
catch the edge of the panties and tug them down, leaving them bunching low but
not entirely off when his lips close around the head of Sinbad's cock, tongue
hungrily lapping at him, his eyes lidded and dark. "You gonna shove my face
down, Daddy?" he pants out, cheeks flushing with the very thought. "Want you
to. Want you to make me choke on your big cock." 
 
Judal’s mouth is a sinful thing, both the words spilling from it and the hot,
wet drag of it against his cock, making Sinbad’s breath come short, his skin
tingle. “I bet you do,” he murmurs, both hands coming up now to tangle in
Judal’s hair, getting a nice firm grip on him that won’t pull too sharply. “You
like cock, right? I can see it in your eyes when you’re shooting, you love
having it in you.” 
 
His arms tighten, and he yanks Judal down, bumping against the back of his
throat and barely pausing before thrusting forward again. “Take my cock then.
Show me how much you need it, my slutty baby girl."
 
Judal groans, his eyes rolling back as he swallows hard around Sinbad's cock,
wet, sloppy noises escaping as he works to take every inch of him. No matter
how good he is, it still makes him gag--Sinbad's thick, filling every inch of
his mouth and making him pant hard through his nose, his eyes wet as he glances
up through his lashes, mouth stuffed full and working still for more.
 
His hands are eager things, grabbing at Sinbad's hips, fingers sliding up into
the strings of his panties as he grabs, nuzzling down further until his nose
bumps against Sinbad's skin again. Judal's own cock throbs between his legs
with every suck and swallow, every drag of his tongue that lets him taste all
the more, and he squirms, moaning when Sinbad shoves deep down his throat.
 
“Slut.”
 
It makes him harder just to sigh out the word, as if Sinbad needs to be any
harder right now. His hips twitch forward every time he yanks Judal down, and
he makes an effort to pull out with a slick pop, a thin strand of saliva
trailing between the head of his cock and Judal’s lips. One little motion is
enough to rub his cock over those shiny, swollen red lips, and a wet streak up
one cheek. “Beg me to put it back in,” he murmurs, one hand coming down to curl
around the base of his own cock, wiping it on Judal’s face. “Tell me you want
your Daddy to fuck your face.” It’s probably a lot more obscene that he’s doing
this with the elastic string of a thong digging slightly into his balls, but
somehow that just makes him harder too.
 
Judal shudders, his eyes fluttering as his swollen lips part eagerly, tongue
swiping over them for another taste. "Please." His voice is a desperate, hoarse
thing, and it takes everything he has not to come without even touching
himself. "P-please, Daddy," he groans, lurching forward to nuzzle at Sinbad's
cock, mouthing a hot, sloppy kiss to the side of it. "Put it back in, fuck my
face, love being just a hole for you--"
 
Damn, but he’d made a good decision when he’d picked Judal up. Sinbad smiles
down at him, tightening his hand in Judal’s hair, and guides his cock back in.
“Since you asked me so nicely, there’s a good girl,” he croons. “You can barely
breathe, can you? You just want to choke on my cock?”
 
He holds Judal’s head still, meets his mascara-running eyes, and thrusts
forward slowly, inexorably, groaning when the head of his cock slides down
Judal’s throat. “There you go,” he breathes. “There you go, take it like a good
slut.”
 
A desperate, muffled whine chokes into the back of his throat, vision wet and
blurry when he tries to wriggle forward just a bit more, until he can't take
anymore and he gags, choking on Sinbad's cock. God, he's a slut for liking
that, but that makes him harder still--makes him twitch in the confines of his
jeans as his hips all but grind against the air. 
 
He'd beg Sinbad to come on his face, but like hell he even wants to pull away.
Like hell he could--Sinbad's hands are tight and firm in his hair, holding his
head down or each slow, hard thrust, and Judal just whimpers, eyes rolling back
when he strains against the hold on principle, just to feel Sinbad's hands
tighten and shove him down all the more.
 
Judal’s mouth is something that Sinbad wants to enjoy forever, but, well, this
is one time he doesn’t mind his tendency towards instant gratification. There
will be other blowjobs--Judal looks too good, too sinful on his knees sucking
cock, lips stretched obscenely wide as he makes those overwhelmed little
choking sounds, throat spasming around him, and Sinbad loses control for a
second, thrusting in so hard he can feel Judal’s face pressed against his
belly. Liquid heat pools at the base of his spine, and he gasps, hot and ragged
as he pulls back, spilling over Judal’s tongue, a wrench of his hips pulling
him out to finish on the kid’s face. His pulse pounds, knees almost buckling,
and his fingers are twisted tight in Judal’s hair as he grinds out, “You like
the taste, baby? Sluts like you like to drink a lot of that, right?”
 
It takes a moment for Judal to remember how to breathe. Sinbad's taste on his
tongue, smearing his lips, dripping hot over his face--it's all too much, and
he comes without a single touch to his own cock, spilling hot and messy in his
own jeans, shivering and twitching where he kneels in front of the other man.
"R…really… really like it, Daddy," he moans out, eyes shutting as his tongue
flicks out, swiping over his own lips with a whimper in the back of his throat.
His head lolls forward, and he licks a hot, wet stripe up Sinbad's softening
cock, sucking on the tip to make sure he's tasted all that he can. "Love it--
love it when you fuck my face like that--"
 
Sinbad kneels, his legs finally giving out, and he licks a swath up Judal’s
cheek, dragging his tongue across the mess he’d left, then pulling him into a
deep kiss. He runs his fingers through sweat-damp hair, petting, scratching
gently, and murmurs, “You’re way too good at that. I never usually come so
fast.”
 
"Yeah?" Judal dazedly grins, giving Sinbad's lower lip a nibble before he lets
his head loll forward against the other man's shoulder. "You could use me all
night like that if you wanted. I love it."
 
Sinbad stands abruptly, lifting Judal bridal-style in his arms, and carrying
him to the bedroom. “Your turn. I saw you on the set, now I want to see what
you look like in those pretty frilly things. Before I rip them off you,
anyway.”
 
That's nearly enough to make him hard again, no matter if he's just come all
over himself. "You must have a hell of a collection," Judal sighs out, letting
his head loll back over Sinbad's arm. "Let me dress up pretty for you all the
time."
 
“I bet you’d be pretty no matter what you wear,” Sinbad says with a grin,
leaning down to give him a kiss before tossing the kid lightly onto the bed. He
hits the lights, and opens the spare props and costume closet, raising an
eyebrow. “See anything that you like?”
 
"I look good in red," Judal helpfully suggests as he flops onto his back,
lazily lifting a hand to start with the buttons of his clothes and properly
strip them off. "I'll let you yank my corset strings, if you've got one in
there."
 
“Definitely have corsets. Not sure about sizing--what are you, a six in
women’s? Try this.” A dark red corset hits the bed, already unlaced. “Don’t
pick anything too hard to get out of, I want easy access.”
 
"Ooh, nice." Judal loosely laces up the back before he eagerly wriggles into
it, letting the strings trail down, ripe for the yanking. "Keep the rest
simple, just gimme a thong and some stockings. Used to wear that stuff
underneath my clothes all the time. I miss my collection." 
 
“I’ll get you a new one. We can go shopping, if you want.” A matching thong and
a pair of stockings hits the bed before he closes the closet, eagerly watching
Judal get dressed. “I’ll blow off work some day and just take you around to all
the nice shops, we can scandalize the salesgirls.”
 
"Sure you don't want me to just pretend to be your girlfriend?" Judal teases,
taking his time to roll each stocking up his legs. "Kouha used to do that,
little slut." 
 
“Kouha is girly as hell. You’ve at least got some nice muscle tone, and some
height on you. Nah, we’d be obvious, it’s more fun to watch them blush and
stammer.”
 
"True that." Judal lets the thong snapinto place before he flops back, rolling
over in short order with an arch of his back. "You wanna tighten my corset for
me, Daddy?" 
 
Sinbad has to take a moment to compose himself before joining Judal on the bed,
setting a knee to either side of Judal’s hips. “You look pretty,” he murmurs,
taking one thick string in each hand. “You know, I’m pretty strong. How tight
do you want it?”
 
Judal licks his lips, considering. "… Tight enough," he breathes, throwing a
glance over his shoulder. "Like it when I'm a little short of breath. Also
makes it even better when you're fucking me. You can always yank it tighter
later."
 
Sinbad gives a little pull, nowhere near as much as his full strength, watching
the string slide easily through the eyelets. Already the shape curves inward,
pressing in tight, shaping Judal’s body. “Like this?”
 
Judal might as well have purred, his back arching as his breath sucks in sharp
and fast. "Y-yeah. Little bit more, and it's perfect," he sighs. 
 
Sinbad wraps the strings around his hands again, pulling slowly a bit more,
then fastening it off. “I probably shouldn’t find this as erotic as I do,” he
confesses, a bit sheepishly.
 
A huff of breath, and Judal flops down, pressing his face into the sheets with
a little, pleased groan. "Why not?" he sighs over his shoulder, wriggling his
hips. "Crossdressing's fun, so long as you're not typecast in it all the time.
You look good in lace, too. You should fuck me while still wearing those
panties of yours."
 
“I meant tightening your corset,” Sinbad says, giving the strings a quick,
playful tug. He eases forward, rubbing his hardening lace-covered cock over the
curve of Judal’s ass, thumb fiddling with the string. “I just really like the
idea of fucking you while you’re begging for breath.”
 
"… Should try shoving me around by the throat sometime, then," Judal replies
with a slow, lazy grin, his hips rolling back with a shiver running up his
spine. "Like it when I can't catch my breath. Like it a lot." 
 
Sinbad’s eyes are dark, and he drags a hand down Judal’s spine, thrumming
against the crisscrossed strings. “Shouldn’t tempt me, boy. Are you so sure I’m
the kind of man who wouldn’t lose control?”
 
"If you are, maybe that turns me on," Judal breathily groans, squirming beneath
the slide of Sinbad's big hands. "You can do all kinds of things to me,
whatever you want. I like it. I trust you." 
 
Sinbad leans down to nip at the expanse of one bared shoulder, then murmurs in
Judal’s ear, “Good. I’ll never hurt you.” 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Kouen has been drifting for a while.
 
He usually doesn’t let himself get like this except on special occasions, but
it’s sort of one of those. He’s finally got a foothold into destroying Sindria
Studios once and for all, the Private Eye has confirmed his idiot slut runaway
star’s location, and best of all, his stepmother is out of town. 
 
Also, his little brother had graduated today, but Kouen has sort of forgotten
about that already. It was important, and he’d flown in for the ceremony,
helped him move and everything as Ha had shown him off at the boarding school,
even been quite amicable through dinner, but it’s been a long day, and there’s
no better cure for a headache than opiates.
 
All right, there are many better cures. But none that quite leave him feeling
as if everything is possible, and nothing is necessary, staring at the ceiling
of his bedroom and wondering how long he has until he has to swallow another
pill or come down. Kouha had definitely been right, urging him to indulge, just
a little, just on his special day.
 
If Kouen's going to indulge at his mere suggestion, then Kouha certainly is,
too.
 
Of course, it's really to make his brother properly relax--something that Kouen
hasn't done in ages, Kouha knows, and especially not lately after Judal decided
to take off once and for all. He'll do something better about that later, but
for now… 
 
"You already look better, En," Kouha cheerfully offers as he shuts the door
behind himself, slinking his way into the room. "Much more relaxed."
 
Kouen looks up, and the world sparkles pleasantly for a moment. His lips curl
in a smile as he lays back, using a finger to trace patterns in the air. “You
didn’t give me the regular stuff. You gave me something….shiny.”
 
"Best stuff," Kouha confirms with a grin, and with a hum, he simply plops
himself down onto the edge of the bed. "Good kinda shiny, isn't it? It has to
be making you feel better."
 
“Is this the stuff that kept you from graduating early?” Kouen asks, trailing
into a little laugh. “You’re too smart to graduate high school at eighteen with
Mei giving you all the answers.”
 
Kouha's eyes roll at that. "No, that was just the girls," he admits, and idly,
he slides a hand up along the inside of Kouen's thigh, slowly stroking. "Stuck
around for them. It was worth it." 
 
Kouen lazily lifts a hand to slap his brother’s away. “Heard you got another
one pregnant. The Queen’s going to be maaaaad at you.” God, he hears his own
voice, and knows it should make him sick. It just sort of makes him laugh.
 
"She got an abortion," Kouha dismisses, his hand far from moving anywhere but
upward, his fingers tiptoeing along. "Eeeeen, wouldn't you like to relax a
little bit more? I know," he adds, grinning, "that slut of yours has you really
stressed out." 
 
“You’re the one acting like a slut,” Kouen grumbles, making a face as he shoves
at Kouha’s head with less than stellar accuracy. “Stop that, go run down one of
my stars or something.”
 
"But you like sluts, En," is the younger man's sigh, and he flops down between
Kouen's legs, propping his chin in one hand as the other lazily unbuttons his
brother's fly. "Why else would you keep Judal around?" 
 
Kouen’s pretty sure that sober, he’d be treating this problem with a lot more
seriousness. At the moment, it just feels like sort of an inconvenience, like
it should bother him, like poking a numbed tooth he knows is going to be sore
later. “Don’t talk about him,” he mutters, rolling over onto his side. “Mad at
him.”
 
"Mm, okay." Kouha follows the roll, smiling as he nuzzles forward, catching the
zipper of Kouen's pants with his teeth to tug it down. "Won't talk about
anything, then." 
 
“You’re sick in the head,” Kouen mutters, but he doesn’t try to roll away
again. His hand comes up to push Kouha’s head away, but it does feel nice,
someone being so honestly hungry for him. “Just promise me we won’t talk about
this tomorrow.”
 
Kouha doesn't argue. He probably is sick in the head, but, well, if he likes
something, he might as well act on properly enjoying it. Briefly, he butts his
head up against Kouen's hand, his fingers eager to hook into fabric and tug it
all down. "Talk about what?" he sweetly subverts, his fingers splaying over his
brother's thighs as he gives a slow nuzzle, and careful lick to the tip of
Kouen's cock. 
 
“How you’re a creepy slut who sucks his brothers’ dicks,” Kouen groans, and
fists his hand in Kouha’s hair, petting and twisting a little. “Just don’t want
it to be weird.” In his current state, it makes perfect sense. If they never
talk about it, nothing will be weird, and he doesn’t have to think about how
much harder his cock gets when he looks down and sees who’s crawling between
his legs.
 
The hand in his hair makes him groan, and Kouha's eyes flutter as he lurches up
into the touch, mouthing a hot, sloppy kiss to Kouen's cock. "Won't be weird,"
he sighs out, dragging a thumb over the tip of Kouen's cock before dragging it
away to lick it clean. He can't help but like comparing his two older brothers.
Even if Kouen's thicker, Mei is still bigger, and that makes him smirk. "You
can pull my hair all you want," he murmurs, and with that, eagerly works his
mouth around the head of that thick cock, moaning at the taste on his tongue,
and the slippery, slick drip of it, the ache of his own jaw as Kouha swallows
him down as much as he can.
 
There’s something really wrong with you.
 
There’s something wrong with him too, Kouen knows, but he doesn’t care right
now, not when he can lay back and let his cock get sucked by a lovely little
barely-legal thing, purring pretty words and sucking him like a whore. There is
some urge in him to really pull, to make Ha reconsider, make him realize that
his eldest brother isn’t a lazy toy like Mei, make him think twice before
trying something like this again--
 
But most of him just feels good. 
 
He looks down, voice hoarse and low. “Can you take more?” he murmurs, tugging a
bit. “Like seeing it go all the way in.”
 
It's a lot better when Kouen is enjoying himself, and he's enjoying himself a
lot now. It's obvious from the way En hardens against his tongue, and Kouha's
eyes briefly shut as he groans a low, ragged confirmation, fingers sliding up
to splay against his brother's hips as he works his mouth down.
 
It does take effort. It's not exactly a past time Kouha frequently indulges in
as of late, or at least, not with someone this big, and that makes it more fun,
the challenge of it. His jaw aches, lips bruised and sticky by the time he
manages to swallow all of Kouen, breathing fast through nose as it nuzzles into
his brother's belly, a soft, eager noise escaping that begs for Kouen to look
all he wants (and more).
 
Even as drifting and pleasant as he feels, Kouen can’t help but want more. A
smile curls his lips, and he rolls over, pinning Kouha to the bed, a little of
that desire coming out more. “You’re playing with fire,” he whispers, and lets
his weight pin the boy to the bed, thrusting slowly down, inexorably filling
his mouth.
 
It would be a lie to say he’s never thought of it before. It would be a lie to
say he’s never looked, when Kouha goes around dressed like a fucking girl half
the time, or he’s walked in on Mei on his knees, that slut, and Ha looking so
pleased with himself, climbing all over him--
 
Everyone has ugly thoughts, probably, that they lock away. Maybe it’s not so
bad to let them out, when he’s not the one unlocking them.
 
Ah, yeah, this was a really good idea.
 
Kouha groans, the sound lost in his throat when, like this, Kouen's cock slides
in so much deeper. His fingers slide up, scratching over Kouen's hips, sliding
around to grab at his ass and pull him eagerly down, his throat a spasm around
that big cock as he fights back the urge to gag. 
 
It's a rare day that he likes being held down and used, but it's En--En is
always something different, so it shouldn't be a surprise that sex is different
with him, too. 
 
Everything about this is wrong, but Kouen can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want
to, not when Ha’s mouth is so bruised and wet and pretty and hot, not when he’s
gagging like he wants more, not when Kouen can admit that he’s wanted to hold
his little brother down and use him like one of his whores for a while now.
“You’re good at that,” he breathes, thrusting in deep, holding it there,
feeling Kouha’s nose pressed against his belly and liking the urgent, choked
little noises he hears. “You hard?”
 
A sloppy, wet noise escapes, eager no matter how he chokes, and Kouha squeezes
his eyes shut as he sucks in a hot, ragged breath through his nose and sucks,
slurps, his tongue an eager wriggle no matter his throat's desperate gulping.
Really hard he wants to say, his own legs spreading a bit wider, and god, it's
a little hard remembering what it's like not wanting Kouen to just fuck his
face.
 
Kouen isn’t moving as fast, as intently, or as accurately as he wants. It’s
still good, but instead of the rapid thrusts he usually favors, and ah, he can
almost hear the way Kouha would choke around his cock, he moves slower, more
deliberately, all the way in, holding deep, before sliding a little way out,
then all the way in to the root again. “I own you,” Kouen mutters, shoving his
little brother down to the bed. He’s not quite sure where the words come from,
but god, they feel good to say.
 
Kouha's eyes roll back, and his moan is one of thorough, definite assent as his
fingers dig in, squeezing tight in an attempt to drag Kouen in deeper, no
matter how his mouth is already so, so full and his throat protesting every
inch shoved down it. Kouen being so slow, so thorough about fucking him like
this--it's unexpected, no less good, and if anything even better, with each
ragged, frantic breath that escapes through his nose when Kouen holds down just
a bit too long.
 
He shouldn’t, shouldn’t get harder, get off so much on the way his brother
thrashes a little, urgent, panicky involuntary noises coming from his throat.
He shouldn’t get off on that, shouldn’t want to know what Kouha’s eyes would
look like when he’s really desperate, or how his throat would clench, how his
hands would scrabble at Kouen’s hips--
 
He does want to know, a little.
 
“Can you breathe?” It’s a dickish question, when he’s buried to the hilt in his
little brother’s mouth, sliding in all the way, an inch or two out, and all the
way back in, unwilling to slide out even for a second.
 
Maybe he just wants to hear Kouha choke some more.
 
Normally, Kouha doesn't get off on this sort of thing at all.
 
Normally it's Mei, or anyone else that wants to be shoved down and held down
and used, anyone but him shoved down hard into a bed with their mouth stuffed
full of cock. Kouah whines, a desperate sound lost in the back of his throat
when his world spins, eyes tearing up with each slow, but hard thrust that
makes him squirm weakly.
 
Kouen opens his mouth to say something else, but he catches a glimpse of
Kouha’s eyes, wide and full of tears, and anything he was about to say is lost.
He groans, slamming down one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go,
spilling down Kouha’s throat. He collapses, panting hard, the spinning
sensations in his head too strong to ignore, too strong to power through, and
for a long, long time, everything just swirls.
 
Kouen flooding his mouth so suddenly makes him cough, choking no matter how he
quickly swallows. It's more the angle than anything that throws him off, and
god, telling Mei about this later is probably going to get him of all over
again, what with how he sloppily sucks and swallows, trying to lick everything
up. His own cock throbs, but it's not even a priority to touch himself, not
with his lips bruised and sticky and his jaw aching. No, definitely better like
this. 
 
"Better?" Kouha finally rasps when he wriggles away, nursing his bruised bottom
lip with a suck as he shivers visibly. "En's always so tense, it's the least I
can do to help a little bit."
 
Kouen sags down to the bed, still breathing hard. “Not tense now. Not….not.” He
tries to pet Kouha’s cheek, but sort of whacks him gently over the head
instead. “You give me things.”
 
Kouha grins shakily at that, and chooses to take it as a compliment. "Like
giving you things," he sighs, rubbing his head into Kouen's hand and pretending
he's being petted. "Maybe I will again later. En can do other things to me,
then."
 
“Yeah. Sounds good.” Kouen can hear his speech being slurred and wonders who’s
doing that. 
 
It’s his last thought for quite a while.
 
~~
 
Sleeping in is awesome.
 
Judal can't remember the last time he was allowed to do it when he lived with
the Ren family. With Sinbad, it's whenever he wants, so long as he goes to the
studio on the days they actually need him, and Sinbad's bed is so comfortable
that that's a really, really good thing. Getting up would be a problem, anyway.
 
It's a little bit before noon with the sun shining in through the windows that
he finally rouses, though not on his own accord. It's a knock on the door,
followed by the doorbell, and then repeat, that drags him out of bed, grumbling
and remembering just barely to smooth down Sinbad's shirt that he's wearing. It
hits about mid-thigh, at least; presentable enough to answer doors that are
probably just mailmen or something, anyway. 
 
"Stop fucking ringing the doorbell, it's noisy," Judal grumbles, mostly to
himself. The apartment is empty--Sinbad long left for work himself, Judal
remembers that much in his half-asleep stupor earlier that morning. Yawning, he
unlatches the door, opening it and blinking when he has to glance down at the
person standing there in front of it. 
 
Oh.
 
Shit.
 
"Kou…gyoku?"
 
Kougyoku has to remind herself not to hit him.
 
He looks so stupid, all messy and roughed up and sleepy and cute, and she
stamps a high-heeled boot on the floor, folding her arms and reminding herself
not to let him know how much she’s missed him. “What do you think you’re
doing?” she demands, scowling up furiously at him. “I was away for a year
because of you, and when I got home they said you were gone and living with an
old man and you were supposed to take me ice skating, you asshole!”
 
"I--" Ah, shit. Shit shit shit, it's too early for this, he just woke up, and
he's not prepared to deal with a foot-stomping Kougyoku that looks really
pissed off. "I'm--first of all, he's not old," Judal protests, scowling down at
her and folding his arms over his own chest. "Second of all, I got a new job,
okay? Can you blame me, living with your family fucking sucks!"
 
“He is so old! En told me, he’s like thirty!” 
 
Kougyoku loses just a bit of control, and stabs a pointed finger into his
chest. “You should have told me! I wouldn’t have come home at all, I’d have
gone to New York with my roommate for the summer, I only came home to see you!”
 
"Thirty isn't that old!!" Okay, maybe it looks pretty bad when he's 18 and
living with a guy that'll be thirty pretty soon, but that's really beside the
point. Judal's scowl deepens. "Who said you can't still see me, huh? Look, I
tried to call you and everything, but your number changed and I didn't know how
to find your new one! En was keeping you under pretty tight wraps after… you
know," he says, the long sleeve of Sinbad's shirt flopping over his hand as he
waves it irritably, "everything." 
 
The tears burn her eyes, and Kougyoku turns away, blinking fast so he won’t
see. “You always found a way before. Look, if you just don’t care--was En
right? Was I just a way to get to him?”
 
God dammit, now she's crying.
 
Judal's pretty good at dealing with people--or at least he knows how to get
what he wants out of them--but crying girls… not so much. He wavers, mouth
opening and shutting as he sort of half-reaches out a hand before drawing it
back. "Gyoku… geez, quit it already, a lot's been going on, okay?" he mutters,
hesitating a moment longer before he reaches out again to touch her shoulder.
"I didn't think they'd letyou'd come home. I can still take you ice skating and
stuff, don't worry."
 
Kougyoku turns in an instant, burying her face in the oversized shirt and
latching onto him, arms wrapped firmly around his slender frame. “Promise?
You’ll--oh my god, is this his? It….” It does not smell good enough to make her
blush, she tells herself. That’s just from being around Judal, who always knows
how to do that.
 
"Uhh… maybe?" Only Kougyoku could make him sound sheepish over wearing his
boyfriend's goddamn shirt. "Ugh, whatever, just come in," Judal mutters,
grabbing at her and hauling her inside before she can protest. "I'm home alone
right now, anyway. You woke me up."
 
Kougyoku squeaks a bit, looking around the sumptuous place, holding tight to
Judal so she can still pretend she hadn’t meant to come in, he’d just pulled
her there. “It’s huge,” she murmurs, wide-eyed. “And it looks….not like he’s as
rich as us, but….it looks really comfortable. Wow, that’s a big tv!” And coming
from a family that can buy and sell private islands, that’s saying something.
 
"Yeah, try playing games on it--it's fucking awesome," Judal sighs happily,
letting her cling to him even as he drifts further inside. Ahh, hungry. Being
woken up so abruptly always makes him hungry. He makes his way to the kitchen,
grabbing a peach and sinking his teeth into it immediately. "You're not allowed
to get mad at me for grabbing a rich boyfriend," he says around his mouthful,
chewing and swallowing in short order. "Who just also happens to be my boss.
It's a pretty sweet gig." 
 
“Is--” Kougyoku swallows hard, blinking up at him. “Is he really your
boyfriend? En said he was your new boss, and Ha said he was your sugar daddy,
and Mei said he was a creepy molester guy.” She hops up onto one of the stools
at the kitchen counter, muttering, “I was worried.”
 
Judal rolls his eyes, climbing up onto a stool next to her. "Of course he's my
boyfriend. Sin's not creepy, he's actually really hot. Look, here," he says,
grabbing for his phone previously discarded on the kitchen counter the night
prior, and flipping to a photo album before thrusting it into her hands. "He's
hot. And nice. And takes care of me, so sure, call him my sugar daddy if you
want, but he's not molesting me. And I work still, so it's not like I'm staying
here for free." And he's also getting me off the drugs your brother got me
hooked on, so beat that.
 
Kougyoku looks, where Judal points. Then looks. And looks. Then she flips
through all the photos slowly, eyes widening, cheeks growing pinker with every
click, and goes through all of them again. “Oh,” she says, voice very small.
“He looks….nice.”
 
"Told you. That was when he took me to the beach the other week." Judal grins,
taking another bite of his peach. "You're getting really red."
 
“I’m looking at pictures of a hot beach!” Kougyoku says quickly, far too
defensively for how lame the words sound once they’re out of her mouth. “And
you shouldn’t just eat peaches all day, I’m going to cook for you, so sit
down.”
 
"… You're looking at pictures of a hot guy," Judal teases, flopping partially
forward over the counter. "Two hot guys. I'm in some of those. And what are you
talking about? You can't cook." 
 
“I can so cook! Now,” Kougyoku adds with a huff. “That school En sent me to had
really old-fashioned classes, like they were prepping us to be some media
mogul’s pretty trophy wives. Totally creepy. All the other girls were really
into it, though.” She casts Judal a sideways glance. “You never wore a thong
when we went to the beach.”
 
"Neither did you. Damn shame." He finishes off his peach with another bite,
tossing the pit into the trash. "And god, that's really creepy. Maybe I can
kidnap you and you can stay here or something."
 
The tips of Kougyoku’s ears flush. “I’m lucky En even let me out today, you
know,” she mutters, grabbing a box of leftover chinese food and dumping it into
a frying pan, followed by a hastily chopped onion to prove she’s changed it.
“He was really out of it, I think he’s got the flu or something.”
 
Or he's high as a kite, Judal thinks irritably. It's actually a little
worrisome--maybe Gyokuen's gone full-creepy on Kouen in his absence. It isn't
like he wishes anything bad on the man, after all… "Also, that's not cooking,
that's modifying. If you burn down his kitchen, Sinbad's gonna get cranky."
 
“I’m not going to burn it down, stupid! I’d make something better but you never
eat anything good, so I’m making you crap!” Wow, this crap smells really good,
she’s Chinese and never gets that kind of Chinese. Sinbad must order his
takeout from somewhere heavenly.
 
"Fine, fine. At least you're cute when you're 'cooking'," Judal sighs out,
leaning forward onto his arms to watch her. "Just need to add a frilly pink
apron and nothing else…" 
 
Kougyoku’s cheeks flame, and she squeezes her thighs together as a shiver goes
up her spine. She can feel her nipples hardening against her blouse just at
those words, and she turns away to watch over the pan. “You shouldn’t say
things like that anymore. You have a boyfriend now.”
 
Judal's eyes roll. "Please. You think we're mutually exclusive? He runs a--uh…
he's got a modeling agency." Ahh, if there's one thing that's always been
awkward, it's that Kougyoku has been kept so damnably naive. Maybe it's for the
better. She's not so damaged because of it. "Pretty girls and guys running
around day in and day out--and he's definitely got a thing for his secretary."
He drifts around the counter, grinning as he leans close to her from behind.
"So I can say whatever I want."
 
It’s been a long time since anyone’s managed to steal her breath quite the way
Judal does--honestly, no one ever has. Her hand trembles on the spatula, and
her eyes slide halfway shut as she slowly, deliberately takes one tiny step
back, pressing against the long line of his body. “You’re gonna get me in
trouble again. Please.”
 
He's going to get both of them in trouble, at this rate. 
 
Too bad his mind tends to click off when it comes to sex. That's probably
stupidly masculine of him, but oh well. Kougyoku's an especially bad example of
that, especially because she is so little and cute and has the best, most vivid
reactions to things… just like this, when she's trying so hard to focus on
something and can't help it. Judal sucks in a slow breath, sliding an arm
around her waist to let his fingers splay over her stomach, idly plucking at
the fabric of her blouse. "If no one knows, you can't get into trouble," he
mutters. "You're gonna burn yourself, turn the damned stove off." 
 
“B-but I’m cooking,” Kougyoku half-whispers, but he’s touching her, and ah,
she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be touched by someone who likes her.
It had been so sparkling in her mind, so wild and free and unexpected, their
brief tryst last year, and it’s been months of long, lonely nights that she’s
laid in her bed, touching herself desperately and wondering why it never feels
like him. She shuts off the stove, hands coming to curl against his arm, and
pushes them both back. “Y-you’re not going to--not in the kitchen, are you?”
she squeaks.
 
"You can cook later." Judal grabs her around the waist a bit tighter, grinning
as he hauls her away from the stove. It's nice, actually, grabbing hold of
someone tinier than he is for a change, someone that fits in his arms, and he
tilts his head, pressing a wet kiss to the side of her neck. "And no, not in
the kitchen. There's a reeeeally nice big bed, that's a lot more appropriate
for a 'welcome home' present, right?"
 
It’s difficult, impossible not to squirm, and Kougyoku doesn’t even try. It
burns low in her belly, and she can already feel how wet she is just from one
wicked kiss to her neck. “Y-yeah,” she breathes, turning to try and kiss him
properly, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping up, wrapping her legs
around his waist so he’ll have to pick her up or fall. “Your boyfriend isn’t
gonna mind? I--I don’t mind the couch…” Or the floor, or the fucking balcony as
long as it’s with Judal.
 
Judal catches her with a grunt of effort, huffing out a breath as he loops his
arms around her waist before giving up and holding her more securely with his
hands grabbing a firm hold of her ass. "He'd think it was hot." Ihopehe'd think
it was hot. "You got heavier," he idly notes as he presses a kiss to her lips
and makes his way to the bedroom. "But you're not as squishy. Are you still
working out until you keel over?" Dumping her onto the bed is more fun than he
thought it would be, especially when Kougyoku looks so flustered, and Judal
grins, looming over her with his hands planted to either side of her head. "Sex
burns more calories than you'd think, you know. You should do that more often."
 
A squeal comes from Kougyoku’s mouth before she can clamp her hand over it, and
her eyes are wide and eager as she looks up at Judal. She is probably working
out too much, but it’s so easy, and…. “En still says I’m too fat to model for
him.” She bites her lip, looking down at her body, feeling oddly adult at
seeing a man’s body looming over her own, and shivers. “You still think I look
okay, right?”
 
"… You don't have an ounce of fat on you," Judal manages, and gives her hip a
pinch to prove it as he wriggles between her thighs. Well--except maybe here,
where she's still soft, and his breath hitches at the way her skirt already
rides up, concealing very, very little. "You look better than okay," he
murmurs, leaning down to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, one
hand sliding up the inside of a thigh, thumbing the hem of her skirt before
slipping up higher. His fingers hook underneath the edge of her panties--lace,
he can tell even without looking, and damn, that's cute. "He's just saying that
because he doesn't want his little sister being ogled. Can't blame him."
 
“Ju--” Her voice is high, desperate, and Kougyoku tangles her hands in his
hair, legs trembling as she slowly spreads them. She can almost feel him in her
already, she’s imagined it, remembered it so many times, and it’s hard to catch
her breath when she wants so badly. “Ju--your mouth, I want it, please--” Her
hands aren’t as polite as her words, using every bit of muscle to sort of force
his head down between her thighs.
 
He’d done that last time, after all. That means it’s okay.
 
Whatever button he's pushed, Judal likes it.
 
It took a lot longer to get Kougyoku to this point last time, a lot more
convincing and a lot more poking and prodding. Now, though, it's easy and she's
eager and that makes him wriggle down without any protest, his fingers shoving
up her skirt as he presses a sloppy kiss to the inside of one thigh. He can
smell her already, see how wet she is through thin, pale cotton, and Judal
doesn't wait to bury his face between her thighs, mouthing her first through
those cute panties, groaning low in his throat at the heat and just the
beginnings of the taste of her on his tongue before hooking shaky fingers into
the material to tug it down, pressing a proper, eagerly tasting kiss.
 
It’s so good, the first moment, that Kougyoku kicks him a little. “Sorry!” she
gasps, panting hard as her fingers twist in the sheets, and she lets out a
high, breathy groan. “S-sorry, it’s--ahhhhh--”
 
It’s obscene, and far better than she’d remembered, and every swipe of Judal’s
tongue makes her burn from hair to toes, wriggling and squirming in delight.
Her hands come up, squeezing, playing with her own breasts, pinching and
rolling the nipples to make those little shocks harder, brighter and more
intense as Judal works her with his mouth.
 
Judal swallows a laugh as he licks a messy, wet stripe up her slit, nuzzling up
to suck on the throbbing nub of her clit and liking the way it makes her heave
and twitch, his fingers sliding to her thighs to keep them from squeezing too
tight around his head. "Does no one treat you right when I'm not around?" he
breathes, another kiss and lap of his tongue making him groan. God, she's wet.
There's no helping the eager way that he tips his head to better slide his
tongue inside her, not when she bucks down and rides his face like she's going
to die if she doesn't feel more. 
 
“Stupid,” she whispers, with no more conviction behind it than she ever has.
“Like I’d l-let anyone else t-touch me like--ohh, like that!”
 
She fists a hand in his hair, winding around the thick dark strands and bucking
up desperately, voice coming out in a high-pitched whine when she feels his
tongue slide in, just the knowledge that Judal’s tongue is inside me making her
thrash and shudder.
 
Judal groans, his hands sliding up her thighs to grab blindly at her hips,
eagerly hauling her down as he licks her from the inside, his own breath ragged
as she grinds down against his face. The taste of her on his tongue is hardly
fair, the little squeaks and moans and whines from her throat even better, and
his own cock throbs, making him squirm as he drags his tongue up, fastens his
lips to her clit again when she twitches upward and pulls on his hair all the
more. Good, no one else should beallowedto touch you, anyway.
 
Dimly, somewhere deep inside where Kougyoku remembers the proper little sister
En wants, she’s embarrassed, ashamed of the way she’s acting.
 
But right now, all she can do is grab Judal’s hair and ride his face, breath
coming in quick staccato yelps as she does. His tongue is sinfully good, the
noises he’s making between her thighs somehow even better, and then he sucks on
her clit. 
 
It’s an odd noise she lets out, a whining moan turned into shivering, helpless
breaths when she comes, hips trembling pathetically and every part of her
flushed and aching and gasping for more. She doesn’t waste a second, grabbing
at him and babbling, “In, in, hurry--”
 
"F-fuck, Gyoku, just--" God, he's out of breath, too, barely having a chance to
wipe his mouth before she's hauling him up, still shuddering and twitching
underneath him, and Judal huffs out a hot breath, mouthing a kiss to her
shoulder as he claws open a drawer in the nightstand. Fucking condoms. He just
wants to feel her, every slick, hot bit of her, and he's scowling as he rips
the package open, hands shaking as he rolls it down his cock. 
 
Just touching himself, even like that, is almost too much. Judal shuts his eyes
briefly, a hand shoving at her thighs as another squeezes at the base of his
cock. Even after all that, she's still tight, and guiding himself inside, just
getting the head in, it all takes effort. It makes him bite his lip at the
sight of his cock finally sinking inside as she clenches down around him, and
Judal knows he's a little too fast about it as his hips shove forward, sliding
in as deep as he can and muffling a breathy, ragged groan into the crook of her
shoulder.
 
All of Kougyoku’s breath leaves her lungs with the first press inside, coming
out in a little “yeep!” of surprise. She braces her hands on his shoulders,
sliding down to closed fists pressing against his chest, shoving at him a
little though she doesn’t mean to, as her whole body clenches and trembles at
every press of his cock.
 
“You’re--” She can’t even talk.
 
“Ju--” She can’t even think. 
 
She’s taken him once before, she reminds herself, gulping for air, and this
isn’t nearly as bad as that. She had bled, then, and now it feels about eighty
percent good, with very little pain to hide, and after she manages to relax a
bit, it gets even better.
 
"Sorry, sorry," he mutters, turning his head to press a wet, sucking kiss to
the side of her neck when he manages to make his eyes uncross for a second,
manages to make his own breathing calm the fuck down. It doesn't make Kougyoku
any less tight around him, any less a shivery, hot thing that he just wants to
fuck because she feels so good, but Judal manages to stop himself from just
rutting down like an animal.
 
Barely.
 
"You're just… you're so tiny," Judal breathes out as he sits back slightly, his
hands splaying over her waist to pull her closer with a firm squeeze, rolling
his hips forward with a slow, careful grind. He slides one hand up to her
chest, thumb dragging over a hard nipple before pinching lightly. "And you make
the cutest noises…"
 
“Do not--” Kougyoku near-yelps, thrashing uncontrollably when he pinches,
feeling another rush of wet between her thighs, and everything moves a bit
easier, slicker after that. It’s too good, and her balled fists uncurl, leaving
scratches down Judal’s chest, light at first, harder down his back when she
grabs him, pulls him in closer, wanting more. “Don’t stop, okay? I really do
want it.”
 
There are many times she hates having a little girl’s voice. This is by far the
worst offender, no matter that Judal, at least, never treats her that way.
 
"Couldn't stop if you wanted to, sorry," he admits with a ragged laugh, butting
his head underneath her chin to bite lightly at her throat as his hips grind
forward harder, the obscene, wet slap of their bodies together making him
shudder. "You feel how hard I am inside you, right?" Judal breathes, giving her
waist another squeeze as he pulls her down, shoving up as he does, breath
hitching at the twingeof her around him when he slides in so deep. "Dunno… how
anyone keeps their hands off of you… Claw at me more, tell me you like it when
I fuck you." 
 
“How could I not feel it?” Kougyoku groans, back arching up off the bed.
“You’re in me!”
 
Saying it makes her shudder, and she rakes a hand down Judal’s back, batting
his hair out of the way so she can dig her nails in harder, liking the way the
drag of her nails makes his breath come fast.
 
“Do it harder,” she finally says, almost too quiet to be heard. “Just--it feels
really good, do it more, I’m not a little girl, I can take it!”
 
God, she hopes she can.
 
Kougyoku even begs cutely.
 
Judal snorts, and he tips his head down, an affectionate bite to the curve of
one of her breasts following as he thrusts up hard, shoving her down into the
mattress with the eager roll of his hips. "Like that, princess?" he teasingly
breathes out, sucking a nipple into his mouth as he thrusts up again before she
can answer, everything so slick that it's easy. His cock throbs, the aching
heat of it all enough to make him shudder anew, and damn, he's not going to
last long enough to fuck her like he really wants to. Whatever, we've got the
whole rest of the day, too. "Just--ahhh, god, the walls here are thick, you can
make all the--noises--and stuff--you want--"
 
Maybe he's a little too rough with her, but she asked for it, and it's been so
long that he can't help it. Judal holds her tight as he slides in deep and
hard, eyes flickering down again to where they're connected, and that sight
alone, of his cock sinking in as deep as he can again and again is what makes
him lose control, his fingers leaving bruises for sure as he grabs her tight
and comes hard, back arched in a tight, trembling bow. 
 
If Kougyoku had thought it was difficult to breathe before, that’s nothing
compared to the way she feels now.
 
She’s left shaking and writhing under Judal’s body, pliant and bending wherever
he sort of puts her, clutching him as he slams deep inside her in a way that’s
certainly got an edge of uncomfortable to it, but damned if she minds. It’s
enough just to know that Judal’s inside her, she’s just made Judal come, and if
he weren’t wearing a condom--
 
She’s not going to think about it.
 
It takes a while to get her breath back, and she clutches a little, even before
she does. “You make nice noises too,” she says a little shyly.
 
"You're gonna kill me," he sighs out, sounding all too pleased about it as he
sags down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips before carefully pulling out and
rolling to the side with a groan. Judal reaches down to shakily roll the condom
off, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket before he lets himself flop back
entirely. "Definitely kidnapping you. Get used to the idea."
 
Get used to being arrested, she wants to say--but really, she doesn’t. She
snuggles into his chest, a secret, womanly (she hopes) smile on her lips.
“Okay.”
***** Chapter 8 *****
~11 years earlier~~
 
 
There’s no such thing as just another day anymore.
 
There hasn’t been since Rashid had snatched him off the streets--or, more
accurately, caught him with his hand on the man’s safe, but that’s all the same
to Sinbad. Now, there is no routine, no adjusting, and he finds he likes it
this way. 
 
Just because he’s not going back to his old ways doesn’t mean he’s forgotten
them, and Sinbad slips silently out of the studio at the end of the day,
avoiding Rashid’s request to go home together. There are limits to how much
time he wants to spend feeling like a pet, after all.
 
So it’s down the fire escape and onto the street, and Sinbad lands lightly in
the alleyway, spirits already lifted. There’s that urge to go, to ignore
everything he’d planned on, everything he’d promised and flee, and maybe he
will--
 
Just for a week or so. Rashid will trust him to come back. Or he’ll set the
cops on his trail, that’s a possibility too.
 
The first tripwire is somehow missed, stepped over courtesy of Sinbad's long
strides, and his stalker is suitably annoyed by it all. 
 
It calls for a much less subtle approach the second time around--a veritable
noose of wire this time, caught about the man's (teenager's, really) ankle and
in one, sharp yank, sending him face first onto the concrete of the alleyway.
The setting sun, quickly turning to night, is all a perfect cover, and a booted
foot shoves a less-than-sizable weight down onto Sinbad's shoulder from behind,
the click of a gun against the back of his head following in short order. 
 
"Is there anything you would like me to tell your master before I kill him
next?" The question is a quiet one, the words cut notably with a Russian
accent.
 
Well.
 
Sinbad can’t say this is an expected turn for the day to take.
 
“You know, it’s not my first time facedown in an alley like this,” he remarks,
thinking fast. At least, he attempts to think, as well as he can when there’s
some tiny Russian assassin sitting on him with a gun pressed against his head.
Carefully, without wriggling his body, he toes off his boot, holding it lightly
between his toes. “And tell him I don’t have a master.”
 
He kicks hard, sending the shoe flying at the attacker’s head (he hopes) as he
rolls, aiming for his feet.
 
A growl of irritation is about as much as Sinbad gets as a result, and the
assassin yanks on the wire again, reeling Sinbad in with surprising strength.
"You're certain," he grunts, and it's his knee directly into Sinbad's sternum
that follows as he looms over Sinbad in a crouch with all five feet of his
height, chest heaving a bit from the effort to get his gun underneath Sinbad's
chin, "that's all you want to say?" The safety clicks off. 
 
Sinbad blinks. “You’re tiny.” 
 
Then he’s got the knife from his thrown boot, flicked out with a single fluid
motion, and tiny or not, fast or not, strong or not, he doubts the kid is proof
against a knife under his chin. A corner of his mouth twitches up, and his eyes
flash. “Who do you think is faster?”
 
A pair of oddly golden eyes narrow, and with little hesitation, the gun changes
positions--pressed instead to Sinbad's shoulder, wherein calmly, the trigger is
pulled. 
 
It would be a lie to say Sinbad had been expecting that. 
 
The blast sends a shock of pain coursing through his system, wiping out any
chance he had of thought, and his body convulses, a scream going through him,
knife digging into the kid’s neck, though he stops it just in time to keep it
from going through. He lays back, panting, eyes pricking with tears he won’t
let them shed, and bares his teeth. “Damn. You’re a cold little shit, aren’t
you?” he pants, grinning up through the pain.
 
"Drop the knife, and I'll put you out of your misery." Why his target has to be
so noisy about it is beyond him. Truth be told, though, he didn't exactly
expect this much of a struggle. His head jerks up at the sound of doors
slamming--and with a jerk and a curse, he wrenches himself away from Sinbad.
Never mind that he belatedly realizes the sound is from across the damned
street; the job is ruined at this point, anyway.
 
Sinbad thinks faster than he would have given himself credit for--maybe he’s
kinda good at this kind of thing after all--and grabs the kid’s own wire,
tossing the loop out and around his neck in what he has to admit is a hell of a
lucky throw.
 
In an instant, the assassin whirls, hissing, snarling, feral even before the
noose has tightened, digging a hand into the gunshot wound on Sinbad's shoulder
very much on purpose."If you want to die so badly still, that can be arranged."
 
Oddly enough, the pain lights Sinbad’s body up like fireworks, sending
adrenaline like he’s never felt before coursing through his body, and he lifts
the boy by the throat, slamming him against the wall, eyes blazing. “Who sent
you? Why are you going after me? I’ve never even met a Russian except Big Vlad,
and he liked me a lot!”
 
The boy sneers, reeling back just enough to spit in Sinbad's face. "You think
the Russians are after your master? Small wonder he keeps you as a pet, you
must make a very good vapid trophy."
 
Sinbad glares, then spits right back, aiming for the eyes but sort of hitting
the kid in the mouth, which he feels the need to apologize for (and quells that
quickly). “I only said Russians because that’s how you talk! But unless you
want me to drag your ass to the cops, start talking.”
 
One last, put out look is settled upon Sinbad before the kid squirms, abandons
his gun, and shoves his hand down into his own pocket instead, pulls out a pill
that he downs back dry. 
 
Sinbad’s eyes narrow, and all he can think is that if I don’t find out who he
is, anyone could come for me. He grabs the kid’s jaw, forces it open, and
shoves two fingers deep down his throat, praying, don’t be as good at this as I
am...
 
Really, he tries not to gag, but having a gag reflex is sort of important for
his career. It isn't as if most of his targets try to keep him from killing
himself, anyway--
 
Coughing, reeling back to keep some distance and try not to toss up the
contents of his stomach, he bites down onto Sinbad's fingers--and hard. 
 
Sinbad snarls, and mutters, “Fine!”
 
He wriggles his fingers down the boy’s throat, and brings up a knee hard into
his stomach, driving him back into the wall. “Throw it up, asshole!”
 
Well, there's no helping with something like that, no matter how he tries not
to. If anything, it's a conditioned response, and the next dry heave of his
stomach brings the poison back up, leaving him to weakly shudder and glare up
at Sinbad with eyes even icier than before as he wrenches his head to the side.
"Not," he rasps out, "going to tell you anything." 
 
Sinbad tosses the pill to the ground, and his expression softens, even if his
hand stays as hard as ever on the boy’s throat. God, it’s been a long time
since he’d said those same words to Rashid, sprawled on the ground and looking
down the barrel of a large pistol, aimed right at his head. 
 
He looks the kid up and down, and pulls an energy bar out of his pocket,
undoing the wrapper with his teeth and shoving the end of it inside. “Eat
that,” he says firmly.
 
Another growl, and the boy makes no attempts to obey, save to bite the end of
it off, spit it aside, and huddle back against the wall as much as he can, no
matter the hand pinning him there. He should have shot himself, that would have
been quicker, but there's always a chance to recover from poison and finish the
job properly. 
 
Sinbad narrows his eyes. “That’s not poison. It’s an energy bar. And it’s
good.” He takes a bite himself to prove it, then tosses the boy over his
shoulder. “Fine. I’m kidnapping you.”
 
"W-what--" Sinbad is surprisingly strong for someone he so easily knocked over
before, and no matter how he kicks and squirms and struggles, it seems to do
little good. "I'm--put me down, I'm not ever going to tell you anything, I'll
kill myself first!" 
 
“Good, I don’t want to hear anything.” Sinbad fetches a sharp slap to the boy’s
rear, almost blacks out at the pain in his own arm, and lurches against the
wall. “You should shut up, or someone will hear you. Then the cops will come
and investigate. Or….or I could take you to Rashid.”
 
"I'll stab you in your shoulder," the boy snarls out, and twists around to make
a grab for a knife that's undoubtedly strapped somewhere to his legs. "And
you'll be on the ground again in about five seconds, wishing you were dead--"
 
“I already hurt a lot, so quit squirming around!” Sinbad snarls. “We’re going
to be out on the street in a second, so if you don’t hold still we’ll flag down
someone who calls 911!”
 
"I'll scream," is the immediate, flat response, "that you're kidnapping me."
 
Sinbad grins. “Okay. Go ahead. Enjoy Child Protective Services, I hear they’re
great this time of year.”
 
He seems rather unfazed by the idea. "And that you tried to rape me."
 
“And that there’s a gun with your fingerprints, and a hole in my shoulder. Is
it licensed to you, by the way?”
 
"I'm 14, I believe in your country, that's considered illegal." The boy twists
around, glaring at him. "Do you really think they're going to believe someone
like you over someone like me?"
 
“I have a disarming smile!” Sinbad counters. “You’re unpleasant and creepy!”
 
"I can cry on command."
 
“I can do almost any bodily function on command, beat that.”
 
"… That's disgusting." 
 
“Says the kid who threw up on my hand.”
 
"You shoved your hand down my throat!" A snarl, and the boy twists around
again, drawing his knee up to kick Sinbad in the side of the head. "Now put me
down!"
 
Sinbad’s mind reels, and he tightens his hold, holding the kid’s legs down.
“I’m going to cut off your feet if you don’t knock it off. Why do you want to
kill me, anyway? I’m so lovable!”
 
"I don't give a damn what you are, it was an assignment." He gnashes his teeth
together, reaching a hand 'round to grab Sinbad's ponytail instead and yank. 
 
“OW! You little brat!”
 
Sinbad turns quickly, knocking the kid against the wall, though not hard enough
to knock him out. “I just saved your life, be more grateful!”
 
"You're the reason I had to take that pill! Failure isn't an option!" His head
spins, but his fingers tighten into Sinbad's hair all the more. "Let me go or
I'll rip the hair from your head, just wait." 
 
“Failure is always an option! Failure is sometimes a great option! And if you
rip my hair out, I’m going to give you a cut for every single strand of hair!”
 
"Do it, I don't care! Maybe I'll bleed out and die like I was supposed to!"
Even still, his fingers shake a bit, no matter how they refuse to loosen. "Put
me down." 
 
“Stop holding my hair hostage!” Sinbad snaps. “My hair didn’t do anything to
you!”
 
"It's your fault, it's really long and asking for it!"
 
Sinbad snarls, and dumps the kid on his feet, holding him around the neck
again. “I didn’t fucking ask for anything! You shot me! Why’d they send a
fucking kid anyway, they should have known someone as small as you couldn’t do
it!”
 
Calmly, and without pretense, the boy reaches up, grabs Sinbad by his wounded
shoulder, uses that hold as leverage to hold him into place, and slams his knee
quite solidly into Sinbad's stomach. 
 
Sinbad almost blacks out from the pain, dropping down to one knee, hand
squeezing tighter than he intends around the boy’s neck, dragging him down too.
“You,” he wheezes through the pain, “should be embarrassed, I bet you have a
bunch of training and shit and I’m just an actor, and I still beat you.”
 
"I--" All the more reason I should have died. Damn, but Sinbad's stronger than
he looks, and that makes him angry. Thrashing gets him nowhere, especially when
Sinbad is intent on holding tight to his neck, and so eventually, the boy gives
up with a heavy, ragged heave of breath. Fine. He'll wait. Then he'll kill
himself, when he isn't being held onto like the spoils of victory. 
 
Sinbad nods decisively, and tries not to black out as he stands, his shoulder
feeling worse and worse with every heartbeat. “Okay. Cool. Come on,” he adds,
as if he’s not dragging the kid with him by the neck. “If I’m gonna hide you
from Rashid, you have to shut up, okay?”
 
Why would you want to hide me in the first place? is the question he bites
back, but he jerks his head in a semblance of a response. Just stick to his
training, that's key. Not a word needs to be said from now on. 
 
Sinbad does toss the kid over his shoulder when he climbs, shoulder screaming
even if he avoids using it, up through fire escapes to get to the attic.
There’s a cot already set up, and snack foods, and a fuzzy 12” TV screen in one
corner. Sinbad dumps the kid on the bed, then strips off his shirt, checking
out the damage in a nearby mirror. “Yeah, no way I’m gonna be able to hide
that,” he says moodily, more horrified at the look of the wound than the pain.
“At least you used a small caliber. You can eat, if you want.”
 
Rather than do that, the boy quickly finds a corner of the room to curl himself
up into, knees drawn to his chest and eyes peering up over them as he makes
himself as small as possible--and as unmoving, which becomes more apparent by
the minute. 
 
Sinbad stares at the little ball of boy, and wonders what the hell he’s going
to do. Rashid won’t even let him have a goldfish, he really doubts the man will
let him have a pet assassin. He has a feeling, too, that if he leaves the kid
in anything less than a jail cell, he’ll walk right out, and he can’t be
babysitting the whole time.
 
So, fine.
 
He sits down on the edge of the cot. “I’m leaving,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry
I brought you up here. Door will be open, window too.”
 
The boy blinks back at him, but only for a second before huddling into a
smaller, tighter ball. "… I can't really go backnow." 
 
Sinbad winces. “Can’t go back without killing me? Sorry. If you want, I can
give you a count of ten after I leave, and you can try again?” God, he hopes
that sounds like the joke it’s supposed to be.
 
A wary stare follows those words. "You're serious?" 
 
“Uh...no.” Sinbad shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, I can’t stop you from trying,
but I don’t want you to kill me, no.”
 
"Oh." He sinks back again. "Then I definitely can't go back. You should have
let me kill myself."
 
Sinbad shrugs. “Then don’t go back. Stay here. As long as you want, I don’t
mind.”
 
"… I just tried to kill you." And I probably will again. And your master, too.
 
Sinbad stares at the kid. “So? What am I gonna do, kill you? I’m not that kind
of guy.”
 
"Should have let me kill myself," he repeats without batting an eye.
 
Sinbad almost tosses the kid a knife and tells him tohave at, but some part of
him that isn’t cold yet stops him. He sits on the cot, tucks his feet up under
his body, and asks, “Why do you wanna be the kind of guy who kills guys like
me?”
 
A short shrug follows. "It's my job." 
 
“So get a new job. There are lots of them. You could be a barista, or a garbage
man!”
 
Those odd, golden eyes stare back at him, unwavering. "I've done this job for
as long as I can remember."
 
“Uh huh.” Sinbad stares, a little confused. “So?”
 
"So I have to keep doing it." 
 
“Uh….why?” Sinbad stares at the kid. “You’re like twelve. Do something else.”
 
"Fourteen," is the irritable correction. "I'm fourteen. This is what I have to
do."
 
“What you have to…” Sinbad trails off, shaking his head. “You should be in
like, ninth grade. And you don’t have to do shit, I ran away when I was your
age. Besides, if they’re not gonna take you back unless you kill me, and I’m
not gonna let you kill me, then you can’t go back, right? So you can’t do the
thing you say you have to do, so you might as well do something else.” God
damn, I am good.
 
The kid stares back at him for a long moment, attempting to piece together the
relative amounts of nonsense spewing from Sinbad's mouth. At least, it's
nonsense to him. "…  But they own me." He shouldn't be saying this. Panic
ripples down his spine and he spares a wary glance at one of the windows,
contemplating his escape before he can keep talking. "They'll… if I'm not dead,
they'll find me, and then I will wish I was." 
 
“Bullshit. Free country, no one owns you.” Sinbad pulls a candy bar off a
shelf, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, and breaks it in half, tossing
half to the kid. “Tell you what, why don’t you stick with me? Then if someone
ever comes after you, at least there’s two of us, and if you ever think it’s a
better idea to kill me, then hey, I’m right there! That’s convenient, right?”
 
"I'm not from this country." He doesn't bother catching the candy, and curls up
into a smaller ball. "Neither are they. You're an idiot, they're just going to
send someone else to kill you."
 
Sinbad frowns, picks up the candy and throws it again, hitting the kid in the
shoulder. Then he picks it up again and starts breaking it into smaller pieces,
trying to hit the kid’s mouth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. That’s how
people get free, that’s why everyone wants to come here. Who are they, anyway?
I haven’t done anything but suck a lot of guys off, do your bosses really hate
homos or something?”
 
A growl, and he curls himself up to half-cover his face with his knees, glaring
over at Sinbad. "It would make your master mad to see you die. They don't like
him. He's going to die, too."
 
“Gross, he’s not my master.” Sinbad makes a face, and hits the kid in the head
with a chocolate, popping another one into his mouth and chewing loudly. “He’s
more like my sugar daddy, or my boss or something. Is this seriously about
Rashid? He’s just a porn dude, are they extremists who hate porn? Ooh, is it a
Christian fundie cult? I saw a movie about those on tv.”
 
"… You obviously know nothing about him, and that's probably for the better,"
the boy mutters, reaching up a hand to pick the chocolate from his hair,
eyeballing it, and then tentatively taking a bite. "I'm not telling you
anything about the organization."
 
Sinbad shrugs. “Whatever. I’m gonna go get the first aid kit from the bathroom
downstairs, I’ll be right back. Run away or whatever if you want,” he adds over
his good shoulder, before disappearing down the staircase.
 
Far better right then is the idea of just curling up into a ball and never
waking up. Wrapping himself up into his cloak, the boy huddles down, only a
pair of eyes peeking out by the time he's done. 
 
Sinbad doesn’t mean to be gone more than five minutes.
 
He also doesn’t mean for Rashid’s mistress to catch him grabbing the first aid
kit, to see his shoulder and demand that he go to the doctor, threatening to
call the boss herself if he doesn’t.
 
It takes hours, and a lot of uncomfortable questions (“Yes, I’m sure I didn’t
see the shooter! It was dark, he got mad when I didn’t have any money! I don’t
know, maybe six and a half feet tall?”)  before they let him leave the
hospital, loopy on pain meds and with his shoulder securely bandaged up. Anise,
bless her soul, at least agrees to let him tell Rashid on his own terms, and
after the weekend’s over.
 
Probably ten hours have passed since he’d left when Sinbad finally gets the
time to crawl back in through that window to his little lair, pleasantly
pleased (and stumbling with a giggle) to see the kid still there. “Hey! You
didn’t run away! ‘M’sorry, they made me to t’the doctor, I have pills!!”
 
The kid jolts awake, eyes peering out from the cloak that he's still bundled up
in. He doesn't remember falling asleep--careless, stupid--but judging by the
light outside, it really has been awhile. There's definitely no way he can go
back now, not after so long. "… Good for you," he mumbles, huddling backwards
and pulling his cloak down over his head. Maybe, if he sits here long enough
without moving, he can starve himself to death.
 
“They gave me orange juice too!” Sinbad vaguely thinks that he shouldn’t be so
delighted by the prospect, but he ignores that, grabbing a bottle of orange
juice out of his backpack and shoving it at the kid, along with a tiny rattling
bottle. “Here, stole you some pills too. I hurt you, take ‘em.”
 
"I don't need them." He shrinks back a fraction more. "Leave me alone, you're
really annoying."
 
Sinbad sinks heavily onto the bed. “Not in the mood to fight,” he says with a
huff, and stretches out, flopping on top of the kid. “Good night.”
 
"Don't--not on me, what's wrong with you?!" Ugh, Sinbad is heavy. It doesn't
help that he himself is tired, and shaky, and hungry, and with those thoughts,
the last bit of effort he wants to exude to make Sinbad go away disappears.
Maybe Sinbad will crush him in his sleep or something. 
 
“Noisy,” is Sinbad’s last complaint, and he tucks the kid--should find out his
name later, he thinks vaguely--up to his chest like a teddy bear before
promptly falling unconscious.
 
Oddly enough, even though he definitely, absolutely shouldn't, the boy sleeps.
 
Sinbad is warm, and that's strange. He doesn't tend to sleep in warm,
comfortable places--it makes him sleep too deeply, and that's not safe. Here,
though, he doesn't have a choice, not when Sinbad is squeezing him like a
stuffed animal, something that doesn't help his aching joints, but it forces
him to lie still and rest all the same. 
 
If Sinbad had just let him die, that would have been easier.
 
Those are the thoughts he wakes to hours and hours later, still shaky, still
hungry, with his face wet and the urge to get away and just die already
increased tenfold. 
 
Sinbad wakes to a shaking, squirming, terrified child in his arms, and pain.
 
For a moment, as hazy as he is, he almost just screams in confusion and panic,
but a moment’s focus lets that pass, and he breathes slowly out. Slowly, not
putting weight on his wounded shoulder, he sits up, and on impulse, kisses the
boy’s cheek. “Hey. I’m glad you’re still here. You should let me feed you
breakfast, okay?”
 
A firm shake of his head, and the boy turns his head away to shove it down into
a pillow. "Just want to starve." The stupid rumbling of his stomach makes that
sound less than convincing. 
 
Sinbad frowns, and runs a gentle hand over the bruises on the kid’s neck. He
sits up, folding his legs under himself, and says slowly, “I don’t know your
situation, really, and I don’t know what you want to do with your life or
whatever. But…until you have a better plan, how about you just stick with me
and let me take care of you, and when you get a better plan, you can leave?
Plus, I have pancakes.”
 
That sounds ridiculous. A normal person would probably think it sounds nice,
but he knows better. Nothing ever is nice. They'll find him if he doesn't die
first, and that's far more incentive to die than anything Sinbad could say to
keep him alive. "You're an idiot," is his muffled retort, shivering in spite of
himself. "And what the hell is a pancake and why should I care?"
 
“You should care because they’re yummy,” Sinbad says, eyes wide. He pops a pill
from his little bottle, praying it starts to work fast, because shit, who knew
gunshot wounds hurt so badly? “What do you like, sweet or savory for breakfast?
I have blueberry syrup and I have butter. The pancakes are a couple days old,
but Mrs. Fatima always saves me good ones, she’s Rashid’s housekeeper.”
 
Just listening to Sinbad makes him tired. He shoves his head back down into a
pillow all the more. Was he deliberately assigned a target like this, just so
he'd die? The thought makes him shiver, panicky in spite of himself. What did
he do wrong? He didn't deserve this, did he? Not that it should matter, he
should be ready to die at any time, but... "Just leave me alone, I'm not
hungry."
 
Sinbad unwraps a foil package of a large stack of pancakes, ignoring the kid.
“I’m always hungry. God, she does a really good job on these, Rashid’s kids
love ‘em. Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” he asks, dropping the pancakes onto a
plate and shoving it into the microwave.
 
There's a long, wary silence before he finally, slowly provides: "They call me
Ja'far."
 
“Huh. I’d have pegged you for an Alexi or a….I dunno, the only Russian I know
is Big Vlad. You don’t look like a Ja’far.” Sinbad grabs the pancakes out of
the microwave when it’s only halfway to beeping, impatient at the smell, and
puts half of them on another plate, smothering both of them with syrup and
sticking a plastic fork in the kid’s. “Here you go, Ja’far.”
 
Making no attempt to take the plate, Ja'far promptly rolls around, presenting
Sinbad with his back. "Not hungry."
 
Sinbad stares for a second, then picks up the pancake, and flops it blueberry
syrup side down onto the top of Ja’far’s head.
 
A slow twitch rolls through the boy's frame, but he otherwise doesn't move,
simply letting it stay there. Maybe he'll get some nutrients through osmosis--
no, no, he wants to die. No calories. 
 
Sinbad lets out a frustrated little noise, then flips the kid over onto his
back, perching on top of his chest the way the boy had to him the day before,
and stuffs a piece of pancake into his mouth. “Eat,” he orders. “Mrs. Fatima’s
pancakes are good. And you’re sticky.”
 
No matter how he hisses, it's hard to suppress his body's urge to chew and
swallow, and he's not particularly up for choking, anyway. "… Doesn't taste
like anything," Ja'far mutters, squirming to try and wriggle away, no matter
how much bigger Sinbad is. "Get off, I told you I'm not hungry." 
 
“Wrong! It tastes like blueberries.” Sinbad peers down at the kid, and stuffs
another bite into his mouth. “You should be nicer to me. You owe me, for
shooting me, but that’s okay. I’ll accept your apology.”
 
This time, he tries to spit it back up--easier said than done, from this angle,
and so he flops back with an annoyed huff, swallowing angrily. "I'm not
apologizing. And you're wrong, it doesn't taste like anything. Just leave me
alone."
 
“But if I leave you alone, you’re going to starve to death,” Sinbad points out.
“That would make me a murderer. I told you, I’m not like that.” He tips another
bit of syrup right from the bottle into Ja’far’s mouth. Some of it goes in.
 
Ja'far hisses again, thrashing and getting a deliberate punch to Sinbad's
shoulder in--all right, not directly to his shoulder, but to that arm, close
enough--which buys him enough time to wriggle away and huddle himself back into
a ball. "Don't you have work in another hour? Go do that." He's only had
Sinbad's schedules memorized for weeks.
 
Sinbad grunts with pain, glaring down at the stupid ungrateful little ball of
hate. “How the hell do you remember that? I barely remember that.”
 
"I've been stalking you." 
 
“Oh.” Sinbad grins. “You must be really good at it, I never even noticed you.”
He rolls off the bed, tossing the rest of the pancakes onto the kid’s side.
“Fine, I’m going to work. If you’re still here when I get back I’m taking it as
consent to feed you again.”
 
"I'll bite your hands off."
 
“So leave.” Sinbad’s face falls. God, it’s annoying being nice to someone that
doesn’t appreciate it. “I’m not keeping you here, you don’t need to act like
I’m fucking mistreating you when all I did was try to help after you shot me.”
 
"I can't leave! Why won't you just let me die, then you can forget about me?
I'm small, it's not like it would take much effort to toss my body out
afterwards." The words definitely have a panicky edge to them now. "I shot you,
you should be mad at me and want me to die."
 
“Well, tough, I don’t! All I want is for you to eat a fucking pancake then say
thank you! And not shoot me again,” Sinbad amends. “That really hurt. So I’m
gonna go to work, and if you’re feeling better after, I’ll take you out for
chicken or something, I have like twenty bucks stashed.”
 
Ja'far stares at him, trembling, before just shaking his head and balling
himself up within his cloak again. "You're stupid and weird." 
 
“You’re mean and tiny. And your clothes are really creepy.” Sinbad tries
fussing with his hair, but it’s hard with one hand effectively out of
commission. “I’ll probably be back,” he amends. “If Rashid is mad at me for
getting shot I’m not sure what’ll happen, so don’t freak out if it’s a while.
Later.”
 
Ja'far loses track of time.
 
Unlike him, but when he's huddled in a ball, shaking and shivering and
fretting, there's nothing he can do for it. All he can think about is how the
organization will be angry, will want him dead, will think he's revealed all of
their secrets and locations and who else they want dead and who else they're
working with and so his punishment will be awful before he's killed--
 
At some point, he dozes off--or sort of does, as much as he can with how much
he's shaking.
 
Sinbad's bed--cot, really, that's all it is--isn't very comfortable, but it's
better than what he's used to, and Ja'far curls himself up against one of the
pillows when he finally does sleep, everything too-cold no matter how he feels
disgustingly soaked in sweat. Maybe he really is dying. That would be
convenient. 
 
“Oy, kiddo! You miss me?”
 
Sinbad’s cheerful smile fades when he sees the boy, less bitter and cold, more
shaking and really cold, except for where Sinbad brushes a hand over his
forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up! Uh….hold on a second, I think I have some
aspirin, I think that’s what you take when you have a fever, right? Can you sit
up a little?”
 
Ja'far stirs, cracking open his eyes before he slowly, automatically attempts
to obey… before simply flopping back over again, too dizzy to bother with the
effort. 
 
Shit.
 
At least Sinbad has the first aid kit, and grabs a thermometer out of the
bottom, holding the kid’s mouth open long enough to take a read. 104...god, he
wishes he could remember whether you had to go to the hospital at 101 or 105,
but 104 sounds pretty high.
 
If I go to the hospital, CPS will take him, and I don’t think that will be safe
for anyone.
 
He’s seen the foster system up close--kids that need a whole lot of attention
don’t always get it, or get it in the way they need it. 
 
Besides, there would be the whole matter of getting him there without causing a
fuss.
 
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, helping Ja’far up into a sitting position,
grunting as the motion pulls on his shoulder. “You’ll probably hate me for the
next few days, but I’m gonna take care of you all the same.”
 
Ja'far blinks up at him, not quite seeing with hazy eyes, and his head lolls
back as he sucks in a slow, unsteady breath. "Should just let me die," he
mumbles, weakly lifting a hand to bat at Sinbad's chest. "Just wanna lie down
and not do things anymore."
 
“You’re not going to die, you big crybaby,” Sinbad says gently, tilting
Ja’far’s head up to put a couple aspirin in his mouth, followed by enough water
to make him swallow. “It’s just a flu, everyone gets one now and then. Head
warm, body cool, I think--no, it’s the other way around,” he remembers vaguely,
and tucks the room’s single blanket around Ja’far. “Are you cold?”
 
"No," is the rasp to follow, and Ja'far lets his head fall against Sinbad's
shoulder as he shakes, trying to curl up again into a ball once more. "'s
fine."
 
Sinbad frowns, then curls up behind the kid, tucking his arms around him again.
“Here, I’m nice and warm, that should help. Just until you’re feeling better,
okay? Oh, if you’re hungry, I have some chicken noodle.”
 
Ja'far blinks slowly at him, not even bothering to ask what the hell a chicken
noodle is when Sinbad is warm, and that makes him stop shaking, just a little
bit. Even if he needs to die, instinct makes him huddle up against Sinbad's
warm chest, breath a little ragged from his shivering as he shuts his eyes. 
 
The boy doesn’t seem quite so awful this way, all curled up and shivery, and
Sinbad suddenly remembers how little he’s slept lately, and how much he hurts.
Oh, well. They’ll probably both be alive in the morning.
 
They are, no matter how Sinbad’s shoulder aches when he wakes up, bad enough
that he stumbles to down his pills with shaking fingers, breathing heavily and
clenching his fists until they kick in, before he checks on Ja’far. Two more
aspirin down the kid’s mouth later, and he stumbles over to the induction
burner, opening a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle from concentrate and mixing
it with water, letting the heat do the rest. “You like it strong, or weak?”
 
Ja'far's eyes slowly crack open before they shut again, and he makes no attempt
to rise, only to roll over into the warmed sheets where Sinbad's body was only
moments prior. "Dunno." It's hard to talk, when his teeth are sort of
chattery. 
 
Sinbad winces at the boy’s weak tone. “Sorry it’s so cold in here, I don’t have
heat. Soup should help, though.” While the soup is cooking, he takes off his
shirt, laying it across Ja’far like another blanket.
 
His eyes slide open again briefly, just long enough for him to reach out with
shaking fingers to pull the shirt tighter around himself. "'s not your fault,"
he mumbles, "if I die."
 
“It’s just a flu,” Sinbad insists, and even if the soup isn’t quite boiling, it
looks warm enough, so he slops it into a bowl and grabs a spoon, helping Ja’far
to sit up. “Here, eat this. You’ll feel better. Can you hold the spoon, or
should I feed you?”
 
"I don't get flus." Ja'far's head flops to the side, using Sinbad's shoulder as
its resting place. "Not hungry. Just wanna sleep."
 
“I promise I’ll let you sleep after you eat a little.” Sinbad tilts the boy’s
head up gently, spooning a bit of sodium-filled goodness into his mouth. “It’s
good for you, all the magazines said so.”
 
Ja'far coughs, trying not to choke and swallow instead, no matter how difficult
it is when his body is freezing and shutting down seems a lot easier. "Salty,"
is his grumbling complaint, though he makes no real attempt to move away. 
 
“Yeah, I guess the salt helps make it good for you.” Sinbad spoons a few more
mouthfuls in before he sets the bowl down, satisfied. “That should keep you
from starving. I’ll nuke it if you want more later.”
 
That prompts a rather odd look before Ja'far flops down into the cot once more.
"You're too stupid to work nuclear technology," he manages to mutter before
dozing back off.
 
Sinbad can’t quite figure out what the kid means by that, so he ignores it,
letting Ja’far sleep on him for a couple hours before he gets restless and
stands. He scrawls a note and leaves it resting on Ja’far’s face before
leaving, a giddy, nervous excitement going through him at the idea of what he’s
going to do.
 
Rashid’s rules are simple: don’t steal, and you’ll be provided for. That’s all
well and good, but knowing what he does about the kid’s past, Sinbad isn’t so
sure Rashid would take too well to having a tiny little assassin in his house,
certainly not enough to buy him medicine and stuff. 
 
That does send a surge of guilt through him, and he resolves to ask Ja’far
again who his bosses were, and why the hell they’d be coming after a porn
syndicate as nice as Rashid. That’s something to deal with later, though, and
Sinbad can’t quite deny the rush of tingling excitement that goes through him
when he successfully walks out the door of a convenience store with an unpaid-
for bottle of flu medicine under his jacket. 
 
He climbs back up the fire escape, not wanting to alert the doorman, and swings
in the window. “Hey, tiny! I got you some medicine, you’re gonna feel a lot
better!”
 
"My name's not tiny."  Ja'far doesn't lift his head from where it's pressed to
Sinbad's pillow, pale hair stuck to his fever-flushed face with a sheen of cold
sweat. His eyes aren't quite so gold as much as they are very, very dark now,
and a little unfocused as he slowly heaves himself onto his back. "Cold." 
 
“I bet. I really am sorry about--oh, I know!” Sinbad yanks down a ladder from
the ceiling, crawling up to the tiny attic above, returning a moment later with
a couple extremely ratty old coats. “I used to sleep on this sometimes, it
should keep you a little warmer. Here, drink this before you go back to sleep.”
He pours a bit of the bright green stuff into the little plastic cup, tipping
it down Ja’far’s throat. “That should make you feel better.”
 
Ja'far makes a face, the taste medicinal enough that he can actually get a
smidgen of its bitterness, and he flops back down, pulling the extra layers of
coats around himself into what can only be described as a nest. "Why… are you
even doing this?" he mumbles, eyes lidding as he struggles not to fall asleep
again right away.
 
“Because everyone should have someone to take care of them when they’re sick.”
 
Silly boy, you should be out playing. I’m fine, you don’t need to take care of
me.
 
Sinbad swallows hard. If he tries, he can almost hear her voice. “You have to
sleep, okay? Here, I’ll keep you warm,” he volunteers, crawling in behind
Ja’far again.
 
"Dumb," Ja'far breathes out, but he curls himself up against Sinbad all the
same. If nothing else, the other boy is like a furnace, and he shuts his eyes
as he shivers slowly. "… Thank you."
 
If that isn’t progress, Sinbad doesn’t know what is. “Just get better,” Sinbad
advises, tucking the boy’s head under his chin. “Hopefully before next week, I
have a lot of work next week.”
 
"Sorry." Ja'far shivers again. "Really sorry."
 
“No, I just mean if you’re still sick next week you might be kinda lonely.”
Without thinking, Sinbad presses a little kiss to the top of the kid’s head.
“Just sleep, you’ll feel better.”
 
A dim nod, and Ja'far buries himself into Sinbad's chest, curling up there as
he dozes back off in short order. 
 
The medicine seems to do the trick, so Sinbad keeps giving it to him, every six
hours as the package instructs. Ja’far shivers a lot less when Sinbad is in the
bed with him, so he stays mostly, even if he gets really antsy every few hours
and has to get up to do some pushups and jumping jacks. He microwaves the same
bowl of soup a few times before managing to get it all down Ja’far’s throat,
after which he takes his last hidden $20 bill and goes out to a market,
bringing back a small tub of homemade (from the store) chicken soup. “Hey, sit
up,” he says gently, on the third day of Ja’far’s illness. “I got you some
really nice soup, it’s less salty, you’ll like it.”
 
Everything's a little less cold now, though his vision still doesn't want to
focus right away when he sits up, and waking up soaked in sweat still seems to
be the norm. Ja'far flops over onto his back, blinking blearily up at the
ceiling before pushing himself slowly, shakily onto his elbows. "You didn't
have to do that," he murmurs, eyes lidded. "It all tastes the same." 
 
“How do you know? You’d never had chicken noodle before.” Sinbad takes a big
chunk of chicken on the spoon and one of the wide flat noodles. “Look, there’s
green stuff in there, that’s really good for you. Open up.”
 
"No, I mean… everything tastes the same to me," Ja'far mutters, but he sighs,
humoring Sinbad all the same. Okay, it is a bit less salty, but that's about as
far as he can tell. 
 
Sinbad grins after a few bites, taking one himself. “Yeah, wow, that’s really
good. Hey, there’s more color in your face today, and you’re not talking
nonsense anymore. You still feel cold?”
 
"Not as much." Ja'far slinks back down, letting his head fall down onto the
pillow again. "Can I take a bath? I feel disgusting." 
 
“Uh, this place doesn’t have a shower, I either do that at Rashid’s place or at
the Y. I could sneak you into the studio showers downstairs if you want. It’s a
set, but the water’s nice and warm.”
 
"… It won't take me long, but if it's a problem, I can do without." Not like he
expects to live for very long, anyway. Ja'far bites his lip, turning his head
aside into the pillow. "You've already done enough, anyway. I don't… really
know how I am supposed to repay you."
 
“Nah, this time of night it’ll be fine. Just stick close to me.” Sinbad stands,
then frowns. “Can you even walk? Do I need to carry you like to the bathroom?”
 
"I can walk." Famous last words, when Ja'far slowly tries to haul himself to
his feet and promptly topples over, his legs buckling from disuse. 
 
Sinbad, to his credit, manages not to smile as he catches the boy, gently
lifting him bridal-style into his arms. “Don’t be dumb, you’re sick, I don’t
want to get you through a head wound too.” God, he hopes the smile doesn’t look
too much like a grimace of pain, what with how his shoulder screams.
 
"It would be better if I died," Ja'far mumbles, flopping uselessly in Sinbad's
arms. "But… if I'm not dead, I have a debt to you. I'm not good at anything but
killing things, though." 
 
Sinbad considers that, using his hip to open the door, carrying the boy
downstairs to the set showers. Good, all the lights are off. “If you have a
debt to me,” he says slowly, “is that like a life-bond or something, like in
the movies? Would you follow me around and listen to me and stuff?”
 
Ja'far's brow furrows, not quite getting the correlation, but he slowly nods
all the same. "It's… well, I can't exactly go back. I failed a mission, they'll
want me dead… so I don't have anywhere to go." That lights a fresh spark of
panic up into his chest, and he swallows hard to keep it down. "So I guess
you'd be my new master, if you wanted me to repay my debt like that." 
 
“Master--” Sinbad wrinkles his nose, setting Ja’far on his feet, keeping a
close grip on the boy’s waist. “I don’t like that word. I don’t have a master,
so you don’t either. But I can be your boss,” he volunteers, and strips off his
jeans, kicking them to the side before starting to take Ja’far’s clothes off.
 
"… But isn't that the same thing?" Ja'far frowns, blinking up at him, entirely
unfazed about being stripped. 
 
“Well, maybe. But if you don’t like your boss, you can just quit. That’s what
we call Masters in a free country.” He turns on the water, getting them both
underneath the spray, holding Ja’far up by the waist.
 
"If I have a debt to you, I can't just quit." After so many days without, the
water feels really, really nice, and Ja'far exhales a long, shuddering sigh,
leaning his weight against Sinbad as he just lets it wash over him and slough
what feels like weeks of grime and sweat from his body. "Can you just quit?" 
 
“Sure I can.” Sinbad frowns. “Soon. As soon as I turn eighteen. Otherwise
Rashid will call the cops on me.”
 
"So he's your master until then, by your definition of that word."
 
“Well--I mean, I guess, but he’s not going to kill me or anything, he’s just
gonna call the cops because I robbed him. So I’m free to be arrested.”
 
"You wouldn't be a very good thief," Ja'far slowly settles upon, staring up at
him through water-soaked bangs. "You're really loud. All the time." 
 
“I was a fine thief!” Sinbad glares, grabbing a bar of soap and washing traces
of blueberry syrup out of the kid’s hair. “He was supposed to be out of the
house, not my fault he came back early.”
 
"A good thief would have been able to get away," the boy points out without
hesitation. 
 
“He’s fast. And way stronger than an old guy should be.” Sinbad shrugs. “I
thought I could talk my way out of it.”
 
"Mmn. You're not very good at that, either."  Ja'far tilts his head back,
letting the water wash out the soap from his hair. "I feel better now, though.
Thank you."
 
“Hey, he didn’t kill me or turn me in. I think I did pretty good.” Sinbad shuts
the water off, then gives Ja’far a rueful grin. “No towels, sorry. That’s why I
use the Y, but I thought that might be a little far for you right now.”
 
"It's fine." Ja'far grabs hold of Sinbad's arm for support before shaking
himself out rather like a dog. "I can just wrap myself back up in a blanket
again." He looks up hesitantly. "You're… okay, then, with settling my debt like
this?"
 
Sinbad shrugs. “As long as you are. Just don’t call me master. You can call me
Sinbad, everyone else does now.”
 
"… But if you're my mas…boss, then shouldn't I call you something more formal?"
 
“But I don’t want you to. So do what your boss says,” Sinbad says logically,
tousling the boy’s wet hair.
 
Stress briefly pulls on his expression, but the boy slowly nods all the same.
"All right. If that's what you want." If he's learned one thing over his
fourteen years, it's not to argue with his master--boss, though this one is…
decidedly different.
 
Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Sinbad doesn’t mean for things to go wrong, no matter what Ja’far might accuse
him of. He certainly doesn’t mean for the car to give out halfway to Vegas,
smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert, about two hours before sunset. He
tries to look under the hood, having some vague idea which bit is the engine
and being pretty damn sure which one is the oil--yep, that’s hot--but as
neither of those are making big smoky problems, he lowers the hood again and
pronounces it “Broken or something.”
 
He doesn’t like the look of Ja’far being scared, nor does he particularly fancy
trying to sleep in the car with all their junk in the backseat, so he grabs a
couple of blankets, urging Ja’far off the road. “Come on, we’ll sleep here
tonight and hitchhike once it gets light. It’ll be fun, like camping! And we’ll
still make the Expo, it doesn’t start for three days.”
 
Ja'far exhales a long, put out sigh, casting a rueful look back at the car.
This is hardly the first time Sinbad has gotten them into a situation in the
past three years that Ja'far has followed at his heels, but it certainly feels
like one of the most annoying ones. "… I bet I can fix it." He looks back to
Sinbad. "Do you carry any tools around with you?"
 
Sinbad rolls his eyes, exasperated. “There’s no way we’re getting into this
again--I don’t care what kind of shitty creepy kiddy murder daycare you were
in, there’s no way they taught an eleven-year-old how to fix a damn car!” Along
with fishing, wall-climbing, electric wiring, plumbing, and any of the other
twenty million things he’s been exasperated with Sinbad for not knowing how to
do.
 
Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, deciding not to correct Sinbad
about his age for the umpteenth time. "Not a car, specifically, but most of the
principles of engineering are all the same."
 
Sinbad raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Can you fix it with a buttplug and
some nipple clamps?”
 
A deadpan stare follows. "The clamps might help." He reaches down, pulling a
knife from his thigh and turning around to go back to the car. 
 
“I told you to leave those at home,” Sinbad mutters, grabbing a bag of lighting
grips and clamps from the trunk, setting it at Ja’far’s feet to see if there’s
anything he can use. “If someone feels you up and gets stabbed they’re going to
find out your ID is fake.”
 
"… But no one ever feels me up," Ja'far points out, popping the hood back up
and waving away the smoke with a sigh. "I'm too skinny, as you enjoy pointing
out. And besides, they wouldn't be able to catch me if I stabbed them." There
might have been incidents that Sinbad didn't hear about. 
 
“I told you to stop stabbing people! Unless I tell you to,” Sinbad corrects
himself, irritably fumbling for a cigarette from his pocket. “Come on, there’s
no way you can fix a fucking car, just come camp with me tonight and we’ll
hitch into Primm in the morning.”
 
"Will you just shut up and come hold this flashlight?" Ja'far growls at him,
shoving the thing into Sinbad's hand as he bends over the front of the car. "I
can fix a car, I fixed your heaterthe night your landlord refused to come out,
didn't I?"
 
“Well, yeah,” Sinbad admits, holding the flashlight at as good an angle as
possible, all the while keeping an ear out for coyotes and mountain lions.
Though really, he’s always wondered how hard those were to wrestle….
 
“I understand why you’d teach a kid to fix a heater, though, and that’s all
electricity. This is internal combustion!”
 
"More like a leaky water tank," the younger man mutters, sighing as he drapes
himself forward, feet nearly off the ground in the process. "Damn. I'm not sure
I can patch this up, and I know we don't have enough to fill it back up
properly." 
 
“I have chewing gum and diet coke,” Sinbad offers unhelpfully. “It looks like
there’s a little creek over that way, I could drink all the coke and fill it up
with water. Hey, you want me to pick you up so you can see better?”
 
"Don't be an idiot," he sighs, rocking back onto his heels again and wiping his
hands off irritably. "Unless you've got something that can fill and seal a
plastic crack tonight, then I guess we really are stuck."
 
“I said I had chewing gum,” Sinbad mutters, and puts the flashlight away,
stepping a few feet away from the car to light his cigarette. “Come on, camping
isn’t so bad, right? Have you ever even been?”
 
"… Does sleeping out in the snow with a tent made from my own cloak count?"
Ja'far shuts the car hood, brow furrowed in irritation. "This isn't camping,
this is being stranded."
 
“It’s camping because camping sounds more fun,” Sinbad argues. “Besides, it’s
weird that they made you wear a cloak, it sounds like you were raised in a
Renaissance Faire or something. Come on, rich people pretend to be poor people
this way all the time, it’s like we’re successful already!”
 
"I liked my cloak," is the sullen mutter to follow. "You're going to get eaten
by a wild dog or something out here." 
 
“No,” Sinbad says patiently, “we are going to get eaten by a wild dog. And no
we aren’t, we’re going to have a nice night thinking about the sexy ladies at
AVN this weekend, and the giant beds at the hotel.”
 
Ja'far sighs a long-suffering sigh, and simply sheathes his knife with a shrug
of resignation. "Maybe you will be thinking about them. I don't care."
 
“You will when you’re older,” Sinbad promises confidently, grabbing everything
that looks blankety and tossing it on a smooth patch of desert ground. “Huh, I
thought the desert would be….sandier.”
 
"I'm seventeen, I'm not a kid," Ja'far deadpans, and fishes around in the
backseat for the bag of snacks and drinks that Sinbad always insists on
bringing. "Don't throw it all right there, we need to at least keep a distance
off of the road. It isn't safe otherwise."
 
“But what if someone steals the car?” Sinbad says practically. “Or what if we
see a cougar and we have to make a break for it? Or some nice truck full of
sexy people shows up to take us to the Playboy Mansion? Definitely by the car
is better.”
 
"No one is going to steal a broken down car, I've killed large cats before, and
no one is going to show up and take you to the… whatever."
 
“How have you lived with me for three years and not heard about the Playboy
Mansion?” Sinbad demands. “And you are definitely telling me that story about
the large cat.” He settles down on the blankets, looking up expectantly.
 
"After we move away from the road." Ja'far scowls down at him, arms folding
over his chest. "Don't be an idiot about this, it just isn't safe."
 
After a glance, Sinbad decides it’s not worth going toe-to-toe with stubborn
Ja’far, and he stands, slinging everything over his shoulder. “What are we
running from, by the way? Drifters?”
 
"We aren't running, we're being intelligent so we don't have to run." Ja'far
heaves a long sigh, shaking his head. "It isn't so difficult to understand, it
could be as simple as someone flipping their car on the highway and it crashing
into us if we're too close to the road. Use some common sense." 
 
Sinbad looks back at the decidedly empty highway. “Whatever, you’re the boss.
Not too far, if it gets really cold I want to be able to get back without
walking a long way at night.”
 
"The car isn't going to help us from being really cold," he points out with a
roll of his eyes. "But fine, not too far. And the cat was boring to kill,
they're a lot easier than humans."
 
“But--wait, what the hell kind of cat are we talking about? It wasn’t a pet,
was it?” Ja’far doesn’t share overmuch, but what he does share is
always….creepy.
 
"No, it was a wildcat. Though I met someone that tried keeping tigers as pets
once."
 
“I tangled with a wildcat once,” Sinbad reflects, stretching out on the
blankets and lighting another cigarette to replace the one he’d tossed away.
“Well, that’s the mascot on her uniform, anyway. A tiger, too, but that was
from a different school. Cheerleaders, man.”
 
Ja'far stares at him, decidedly put out, before grabbing the rest of the
blankets to make a proper nest out of them. "You're kind of disgusting. Can you
not go through that entire pack of cigarettes, it's the last one you have."
 
“Hey, what’s disgusting about having fun with someone who wants to have fun?”
Sinbad asks mildly, and doesn’t even bother to argue before grabbing Ja’far
back closer, wriggling under his blankets too before blowing smoke in his face.
“We’ll be warmer like this. And don’t worry, I’ll get another pack tomorrow.”
With money that he’ll magically find somewhere, probably.
 
The younger man sighs, lidding his eyes as he breathes in the smoke without
protest. "At least share properly before you go through all of it," he murmurs,
curling into a ball close to Sinbad's chest.
 
Sinbad brings his hand down, resting the cigarette at Ja’far’s lips. “Don’t
burn me. I’m gonna have to get shirtless in a couple days.”
 
"Not gonna burn you." His eyes shut entirely as he inhales a long, wavering
breath of smoke, tension unraveling from his limbs in short order. "Why are you
so set on this? You don't have to do porn anymore."
 
Sinbad doesn’t bother to say what he tells everyone else--that he’s good at
this, that it pays amazingly well, that it’s better than being out on the
streets. Ja’far knows him well enough to know he could do almost anything and
make money, has seen him turn down ridiculous amounts of it in exchange for
things he hasn’t wanted to do.
 
“I think I could change things.” The words sound a little uncertain on his
lips, and he realizes with a hint of shyness that it’s the first time he’s said
them aloud. “I--it doesn’t have to be such a gross thing, like everyone thinks
it is. The actors don’t have to be abused, they don’t have to be drug addicts
and desperate prostitutes. I’ve known a lot of people who could have been--
I mean, they could have been amazing, they had real talent, you know? But no
one cared, because it’s just porn, and everyone knows porn is just a sad shitty
thing for desperate losers. I could change all that, maybe.”
 
Ja'far's head tilts, contemplative, and he takes another, slow drag from the
cigarette. "I suppose if anyone could do it… it would be you," he murmurs. "For
the record, I don't think it's gross. I just think the way you talk about it
sometimes is, but that's because sex seems so… messy. And unappealing. To me."
 
Sinbad nods slowly, stealing his cigarette back for a last drag before stubbing
out the butt. “Yeah, but you know most people don’t think that way. Like...if
you look at it, porn is supposed to be about inspiring someone’s lust, right?
Think about what you could do with that. If people didn’t think it was gross,
it could be so cute, right? Like a couple picking out a movie to get them in
the mood on date night, that kind of thing.”
 
"… You should just be glad that everyone thinks you're attractive and someone
will buy into your idea just on that alone."
 
“Yeah, well, if Rashid caught an ugly thief looting his house, he’d probably
just have slit my throat,” Sinbad reflects, knowing now what he hadn’t known
before about his old benefactor. “Or I’d have died before, or whatever. Ugly
people don’t make good porn. Mediocre-looking people do, but ugly people make
great cameramen.”
 
"Then I'll stick to being your cameraman--or better yet, I'll be nowhere near
your set and filing all of your taxes or something," Ja'far replies, shifting
around to get more comfortable and lay his head on a makeshift, bunched up
blanket that serves as a pillow.
 
Sinbad blinks. “Huh? Did--wait, what did I say? I didn’t call you ugly, did I?”
 
"… No? But I'm definitely not making porn, nor do I look like I should."
 
“If you wanted to,” Sinbad says, grinning because the idea sounds so silly, “I
could sell you in a heartbeat. I guarantee they’d be flying off the shelves,
shit.”
 
Ja'far blinks slowly at him. "I doubt that."
 
“Porn made by people who look like they’d never make porn always sells,” Sinbad
assures him. “That’s why my shit sells so well. Also I’m a good actor. And I’m
hot.”
 
"I'm not either of those last two things, though." Ja'far eyes him. "Also, you
look like you'd make porn."
 
“I do not! I’ve got a fresh-faced cheeky appeal! The only queers who make gay
porn are either dead-eyed daddies or creepy ponytail mustache dudes or wispy
little twinks. I’m special.”
 
"But your ponytail is slutty."
 
Sinbad huffs, touching his ponytail as if to console it, or protect it from
Ja’far’s words. “There’s a difference between being slutty and being porny. A
girl can wear a miniskirt showing the bottom half of her labia, she still
doesn’t look porny unless she’s got the fingernails, the body stocking, the
bleached asshole, the tattooed lips, the fake tits and fake tan.”
 
"… You say all this like you've analyzed it," Ja'far mutters, and knowing Sin,
he probably has. A sigh, and he half-buries his face down into his 'pillow.'
"Whatever. It doesn't make a difference to me. I'm not going on camera."
 
Sinbad pokes him. “Take it back. Say I don’t look porny.”
 
"You look slutty. Is that better?"
 
Sinbad growls, then shrugs. “Marginally.”
 
"Why do you care? You're not dating me," Ja'far mildly points out. "Or trying
to bed me. Worry about your cheerleaders."
 
“I don’t have to worry about my cheerleaders,” Sinbad says dryly. “They always
think I’m hot. I value your opinion, dumbass.”
 
"… I guess if I was going to think someone was… hot… then that'd be you?" He
blinks back, still not quite understanding why Sinbad took any offense in the
first place. "But I don't really look at people like that."
 
“I don’t care if you think I’m hot, I know I’m hot and I’m not trying to get
into your pants,” Sinbad says in exasperation. “Just...don’t be such a dick.
You’re my friend, don’t tell me I look porny or slutty.”
 
"… But how is it being a dick when you do porn for a living?"
 
Sinbad rolls out of the blankets, shoving his hands in his pockets to pull out
another cigarette, really irritated now as he stands. “I thought you understood
that I want more than that. I want to change everything, and you’re telling me
I’m just like everyone else.”
 
"I'm not--" Ja'far frowns, stress creasing his brow as his sits up. "I'm not
saying you're like everyone else. I'm just--I don't understand why it's an
insult when I was just… making an observation? It's not like I talk to a lot of
your porn friends, so you're kind of what comes to mind when… porny does."
 
“Forget it.” God, what’s he even doing, dragging Ja’far to a convention like
this? The kid will be bored out of his mind. “Maybe you should just wait at the
hotel when we get there.”
 
A firm shake of his head follows that. "No way. Knowing you, you'll get
kidnapped or something and then murdered and it would be all my fault."
 
“Oh come on, I’ve only been kidnapped once!” Sinbad takes a long drag on his
cigarette, realizing in dismay that it’s his last one. Shit, Ja’far is right,
he needs to cut down. “You’ll be bored.”
 
"Assuming you don't get kidnapped, how am I supposed to know how to help you
later if I don't go with you?" 
 
“Don’t be dumb.” Sinbad picks up a rock, hurling it into the distance, watching
it soar slowly down until it hits the ground. “When you’re eighteen you won’t
want to stay with me. You’ll go get a job doing taxes or skinning bears with
your teeth or something, there’s no reason for you to stick around. Most of the
time I think you don’t even like me.”
 
"You're loud and annoying and drink and smoke way too much," Ja'far quietly
agrees, "and keep trying to shove my face in girls' chests when I really could
do without. But if I wanted to leave, I already would have."
 
Sinbad huffs out a breath, kicking a desert plant with his toe. “You’re just
staying because you don’t have anywhere else to go. I told you, when I get
money I’ll give you some, you can have your own apartment and everything. Don’t
worry about that.”
 
"… If you want me gone so bad, you can just say it." Ja'far huddles down into
the blankets again. "I don't want your money, anyway."
 
Sinbad turns so fast he kicks up a little flurry of dirt and dust from his
boots. “What? Stop hearing things I’m not saying, I want you to stay because I
like you!”
 
"Then the same goes for you! I wasn't trying to insult you before, you're the
one taking offense because you're my definition of porn, shouldn't that be a
good thing?"Ja'far growls in return, yanking a blanket up and over his head.
"You're dumb."
 
“Why would I think that’s a good thing when you think porn is gross?” Sinbad
snaps, kneeling next to Ja’far and yanking the blanket off his head. He scowls,
shoving his cigarette between Ja’far’s lips. “You’re right, I was being dumb.
Does that mean you want to stay with me?”
 
"Sex is gross," Ja'far mumbles in correction around the cigarette, huffing out
a hot breath as he slinks back down into the blankets. "Because body fluids and
mess. And I never said I wanted to leave."
 
“But you never said you wanted to stay, either.”
 
"You're being really dumb. I said I wanted to go to a porn convention to know
how to better help you, didn't I? There's an implication there."
 
Sinbad sits heavily on the blanket, frowning up at the starry night sky. “You
stayed with your last bosses because you thought you couldn’t do anything else.
I forced you to leave. I just--I want to know you’re here because you want to
be, not because you feel like you’re stuck with me. I don’t like being
someone’s last choice.”
 
"If I wanted to leave, I would have." Ja'far finishes off the cigarette,
sighing as he puts the butt out. "I don't have anywhere else to go, but… that
doesn't mean I'd want to go there, even if I did."
 
Sinbad turns to look at him, an oddly vulnerable expression on his starlit
face. “Is it hard for you? To say there’s something you want?”
 
Ja'far blinks, then frowns, looking aside. "I've never…" A shake of his head
cuts those words off. "Wanting things has never been a good idea before.
Besides, I'm… fairly sure you are going to find someone that isn't 'just a kid'
to spend time with, anyway. Probably even this weekend. So if I said I wanted
to stay… doesn't it just make it more awkward later?" 
 
Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, and sits in silence for a long
few minutes. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But it would make me feel
better. I want you to like me, because….well, you’re important to me.” He
smiles briefly, then looks away. “No one else really is.”
 
"… But I do like you." The words make him flush, stupidly enough, and Ja'far
rolls onto his back, hoping Sinbad doesn't see his face so clearly. "That's
never been a problem. Staying… isn't either." He hesitates. "If it's easier… I
can say I'll stay until you want me to go?"
 
Sinbad’s face softens, and he lays down too, nudging Ja’far’s shoulder with
his. “Then you should just say, ‘Sin, I’ll follow you forever.’ That’s more
accurate, because I wouldn’t ever want you to leave.”
 
'Forever' isn't a good measure, though--
 
Ja'far bites those words back, hesitating for another, brief moment before he
nods. "… Sin, I'll follow you forever," he quietly repeats, turning his head to
look back at Sinbad. "Are you happy now?"
 
Something tightens in Sinbad’s chest, and he nods, grabbing Ja’far and pulling
him close to his chest, just as he’d done when they were no more than kids,
both bleeding out onto his cot. “Really happy.”
 
"Squishing me," is the wheeze into Sinbad's neck, though Ja'far makes little
attempt at struggling. So long as Sinbad is happy, he supposes he can bear it,
just for a little while.
 
Sinbad releases Ja’far (eventually), though not much, snuggling under the
blankets with his arms still around the kid. “We’re gonna be awesome,” he
murmurs, a smile curving his lips. “Good things are going to happen, Ja’far.
I’m going to make ‘em happen, as long as you’re with me. So….forever.”
 
Hearing that from Sinbad, it's easy to believe it. "Whatever you end up doing,"
Ja'far sighs, curling into a ball that fits rather easily within Sinbad's arms,
"I'm sure there will be something I can do to help. At least I'll be busy, if
nothing else." 
 
~~
 
It hasn't even been two years yet.
 
Ja'far sighs, shouldering his bag as he stares up at the building that Sinbad
apparently runs his new studio from, eyebrows lifting. It's at least clean-
looking, if not a little plain (surprising, for Sinbad), and Ja'far is glad not
to see a dozen drug users hanging out on the corner. Judging from Sinbad's
ramblings about how his current 'accountant' used on occasion, and how he might
have tried a few things himself--
 
Ugh. That was coming to an end. That is why he's taking a semester off, not
because Sinbad was all puppy dog eyes and whining and insisting no I don't want
you to come home, I do miss you though, when does college end and when do you
come back the last time he visited and crashed in Ja'far's dorm room--
 
It's just a semester. You can always go back.
 
Ja'far shrugs off the irritation--more his completionist personality than any
irritation towards Sinbad--and opens the door, walking into the studio.
 
Sinbad does not miss Ja’far.
 
He just happens to turn after every joke he makes to see the younger man’s
serious expression, make remarks to no one by accident after flicking off the
lights at night, and once, maybe, called Nathan the accountant by Ja’far’s
name. Maybe. Maybe not even once.
 
(Maybe more like five or six times.)
 
But he’s trying not to, because Ja’far is at college, even if college seems to
take forever (it’s definitely been at least nine years), and he’s getting along
fine without his mean tiny friend (who’s stopped being mean years ago, and had
definitely been less tiny the last time he’d visited Ja’far’s dorm room). 
 
Besides, Ja’far--Nathan, dammit, he does remember the man’s name--does throw a
hell of a party.
 
It’s a celebratory occasion, though Sinbad had been a bit too drunk and high
when they decided on it to remember now what they’re celebrating, even if the
buzz has long since worn off. Something about a monetary benchmark, Nathan had
said something about dividends before handing around the rainbow-colored pills,
and even if Sinbad’s taken less than anyone else there, he still finds it a bit
hard to focus. 
 
But he doesn’t need to focus much when everyone is laughing, even if his
thoughts aren’t quite as jovial as everyone else’s seem to be. There’s a sense
of accomplishment he’s missing, something he’s just not achieving right now,
something he’d thought would be easy.
 
Maybe he’ll just get drunk off his ass and call Ja’far tonight. Shit, think of
a reason. Uh...heard there was a prowler in his area, just checking up. Yeah,
that’ll do.
 
Ja'far's starting to think he came at the wrong time. 
 
Damn, but he hates parties, especially loud ones. He's spent the last four
months with the authority to make the things stop right the fuck then, and he
wishes that extended to life outside of a dorm room. He sighs, eyeing the
number of unfamiliar faces, all before simply turning back around and walking
back out to linger outside of the studio instead. He pulls out his cellphone,
dials Sinbad's number, and waits. If Sinbad isn't even here, that makes this
trip look all the more ridiculous. Damn, they're even celebrating something,
Sinbad doesn't need him. 
 
Sinbad’s phone vibrates against his thigh in a staccato rhythm he only has
assigned to one person, and his heart leaps. “Everyone, shut up!” he shouts,
standing up so fast he dislodges the girl (whatever her name is) from his lap
with a squeak, slapping off the stereo amid protests of “What the fuck, man?”
 
He grabs his phone from his pocket, holding up a hand for silence so
commandingly that total silence falls, and tries to make his voice sound casual
as he answers. “Hey, what’s up?”
 
Ja'far stares down at the phone, looks back inside when the music suddenly
stops, and he wonders what in the world Sinbad's problem is. "… Don't stop just
because of me," he mutters, rolling his eyes skyward. "Guess where I am."
 
Sinbad’s heart leaps into his throat, and he bolts for the window, leaping over
a couch in one stride to look down at the street below. “I--where? You--did you
come home?” Uselessly, he tries to remind himself that he doesn’t miss Ja’far
at all. “I mean, of course you’re still at school, right? You--did you come
home?” Shit, already asked that.
 
"I'm outside. Right now." 
 
The couch isn’t so lucky the second time, hitting the floor as Sinbad misjudges
his jump, and he hopes Ja’far can’t hear how fast his feet are going on the
stairs. “What a coincidence, I was just on my way out for a smoke! Front, or
back?”
 
"… Front," is the slow, wry response, and Ja'far lowers his phone, turning it
off with a sigh. All right, so maybe Sinbad is happy to see him. That makes it
worth it, even if he doesn't need him.
 
Sinbad changes direction mid-stride, hastily pulling his cigarettes out of his
pocket to give himself an excuse, and throws the door open, ignoring all ideas
of acting nonchalant when he sees Ja’far. He doesn’t quite remember getting
from here to there, and hopes it looked a bit more dignified than running full-
tilt, but it feels like no time at all until he’s lifting Ja’far bodily,
crushing the boy to his chest--no, not boy, Ja’far is man-sized now, and that’s
one of the strangest things he’s ever noticed. “Ah! You’re--you’re here, I
thought you weren’t coming back, is everything with school all right? Are the
other kids being nice to you? I don’t need your help with the books or
anything, it’s fine, I have Ja’far, I mean Nathan, but you’re here--”
 
Ja'far wheezes into Sinbad's shoulder, lifted entirely off of his feet by the
man's embrace--impossible to protest against, when Sinbad is so enthusiastic
about it all. "I took the semester off," he exhales, giving Sinbad's shoulder a
slap in a plea for mercy and please put me down already. "From what you were
telling me, you do need help with the books. You were getting tax audits and
your accountant was getting both of you high."
 
The semester off--that’s months without leaving again, and Sinbad has to come
to his senses before he breaks the kid’s ribs. He sets Ja’far down after a few
more furtive slaps, unable to help from beaming. “Yeah, it’s all shit, but
you’re here now, you’ll have it fixed in seconds!”
 
"God willing," Ja'far mutters, rocking back onto his heels with a deep breath.
"Please tell me you kept accurate records of everything… and that you aren't
using at all anymore." 
 
“Nothing hard,” Sinbad says immediately, grabbing Ja’far’s shoulders and
marveling at the tone in them, at how much lean muscle Ja’far’s put onto those
bones in a short amount of time. “Just party favors here and there, I don’t
even like them that much, I just get bored when you’re gone.”
 
"Well, stop it. It isn't good for you." Not that smoking is much better, but at
least it isn't illegal. Ja'far sighs, batting Sinbad's hands away. "Are you
still partying? I was going to ask if I could stay at your apartment, but I can
always just get a hotel…"
 
Sinbad grins, unfazed, and wraps his arms around Ja’far’s shoulders. “I don’t
live there, that’s just the rec room above the studio. Come on, I’ll show you
my place. Where’s all your stuff?” he asks, turning his back on the studio
without a second glance.
 
Ja'far shrugs the one bag he brought higher up his shoulder. "Here. It's not
like I have much."
 
Sinbad winces. There’d been little money left, after starting the studio, to
furnish Ja’far’s dorm room or buy him clothing, equipment, computers. “I’ll get
you a lot more stuff now,” he promises, and clicks his keys, a dark sedan’s
lights winking on and off again.
 
"Why? I hardly need it." Ja'far's eyebrows arch at the car. "Though it looks
like you've been doing well enough for yourself. That's good."
 
“Things are going well,” Sinbad agrees modestly, opening the door for Ja’far
and tossing his stuff in the back before getting in. “Could be better, I think
Ja’far might be skimming off the top, but you’ll put him to rights.”
 
Ja'far pauses before he gets in the car, giving Sinbad a bemused look. "… I
thought your accountant's name was Nathan."
 
“It is,” Sinbad responds, frowning as he pulls onto the road. “What did I say?”
 
"Ja'far. Are you sure you aren't high? Or drunk?"
 
Sinbad’s cheeks flush just a bit, and he’s glad the evening dimmness will hide
it. Probably. “Nah, that wore off hours ago. Why did you take a semester off?
Was everything okay at school?”
 
"Everything was fine. I took off to help you." Ja'far sighs, sinking back into
the seat. "Though I'll probably never get my RA position back after this. They
probably think I'm a slacker."
 
Guilt nags worse than Ja’far ever has. “You didn’t need to do that. And if they
know you at all, they’ll know you’re not a slacker.”
 
"It's a job, all that matters is what's on paper." He shrugs dismissively. "It
doesn't matter, it's less work to do which will let me focus more on my classes
later when I go back." 
 
“Plus you won’t need it,” Sinbad offers eagerly. “Because I’ll be paying you
for doing the books, of course, so you’ll have more than enough to compensate.
The studio’s doing really well, I canceled your student loan three months ago.”
 
"You didn't have to do that," Ja'far immediately protests, twisting to frown at
him. "I don't expect you to pay for any of it, you're not the one going to
college."
 
“Nonsense, it’s back pay for all the work you’ve done since you were fourteen.”
Sinbad grins, so pleased Ja’far is home that he forgets to intentionally get
his age wrong.
 
Ja'far's frown deepens. "… But you didn't have to pay for any of that. In fact,
you shouldn't. I'm the one that has a debt to you already."
 
“Forget it, it’s just money.” Odd, how much less money seems to mean when he
can pay for all the food he wants, and shoes without holes in them. He’d always
thought it would be the other way around. “You’re still by my side, that’s all
I care about. Uh. Not in a weird way, or anything.”
 
There's no arguing with Sinbad sometimes, and now is one of those moments.
Ja'far sighs, flopping back tiredly. "All right. Whatever makes you happy, I
suppose." 
 
Just don’t tell him he makes you happy. That’s gay.“Hey, we’re here. Nice
building, huh?”
 
Nice is a little bit of an understatement. Ja'far stares, eyebrows slowly
lifting. "… You must be paying a fortune for this."
 
“Yeah. Swanky, huh?” Sinbad’s probably a little too excited, but really, Ja’far
is the only person that’s known him since the single-can-of-soup-for-four-days
phase of his life. He shoulders the single bag without protest, slipping the
doorman a smile and a tip, and leads the way to an elevator he has to unlock
with a special key, winking to Ja’far as it goes all the way up. “Penthouse. I
figured it was expected.”
 
"Your finances must be in total disarray," Ja'far mutters, trailing at his
heels as he stares, a little wide-eyed, at exactly how nice it all really is.
"You're letting me look at all of the books first thing in the morning."
 
Sinbad snorts. “Like you’re going to wait until morning. I keep a set locked up
in my place so Ja--Nathan can’t change them around at night without me
noticing, you can look at those once you’re settled.”
 
"Why do you keep him around if you know he's messing things up so badly?"
Ja'far exasperatedly replies, shaking his head as he trails at Sinbad's heels.
"And would you mind if I took a shower first? Buses aren't exactly conducive to
pleasant traveling experiences." 
 
“Wait a week if you want, I just wanted you to know it’s available so you don’t
get twitchy.” Sinbad reaches his door--the only one on the top floor--and opens
it, first with the security system, then with a humble key, flicking the
professionally-designed lights on with a grin. “Ta-da!”
 
"… I don't even want to know how much this all costs, do I," Ja'far manages as
he stares. "When you said you were doing well…" I didn't think you meant this
well.
 
Sinbad shrugs, modestly admitting, “I got a good deal on the apartment, the
owner of the building was a friend of Rashid’s years ago and he remembered me.
The car is a lease, too, it just gives me the look of success. That’s
important, you know. Wine?”
 
"Pass." Ja'far sucks in a breath, giving a shake of his head. "Anyway, about
that shower? I apologize, but it's been a very long… several days. We can talk
all you want afterwards."
 
“No problem. Not that you’ll care, but it’s a really nice shower.” Actually,
Ja’far might be swayed by that, if anything. He’s always had the slightest
weakness for anything that warms his bones properly. “Just through that door
there, you can leave your clothes wherever. I’ll get you a robe.”
 
"Thank you," is the grateful sigh to follow, and Ja'far immediately takes off
to soak himself through. 
 
Sinbad's right--it is a nice shower, and Ja'far spends a bit longer than he
normally would, content to let the solid water pressure slough any and all
lingering grime from his skin (buses are awful things) and properly wash
through his hair for what feels like the first time in… well, a year and a
half. Dorm showers aren't nearly effective enough. Finally, he drags himself
out, a towel draped over his head as he grabs for the robe Sinbad left, and
wraps himself up in it, a little too pleased over the fact the bathroom floor
is heated. He'll forgive Sinbad for splurging on this place for that alone, he
supposes.
 
"You can keep it," he sighs as he flops down onto the nearest couch in the
living room a moment later, "if only for the fact it's well-heated."
 
Sinbad immediately flops sideways to wrap an arm around Ja’far’s shoulders,
nudging the heat up a few more degrees. “Everything’s heated. I knew you’d be
coming back eventually, I know how cold you get.” Hoped you’d be coming back.
 
"More like I'm simply cold natured… what, were you planning on me moving in
here or something? I think we'd drive each other mad." A year and a half minus
Sinbad has taught him that things tend to stay much, much neater without the
man's presence.
 
“Oh.” Sinbad forces a smile. “Of course I can get you an apartment of your own,
if that’s what you want. I guess you really were sick of me, huh?”
 
"Sin, I don't expect you to get me anything," Ja'far exasperatedly replies,
idly batting the man's arm away to turn and look at him. "And I wasn't sick of
you. I went off to school for you, you know."
 
“I know, you told me over and over.” It still hadn’t made the parting any
easier, let alone the waiting. “I just thought that when you came back….I mean,
this is the first time we’ve lived apart. Did I really drive you mad?” Amusing,
how he tends to pick up Ja’far’s slightly archaic turns of phrase, left over
from learning English as his second language, as soon as he comes back.
 
"Well… sometimes," Ja'far admits, sighing as he sinks back. "It's more the mess
you tend to leave in your wake. Let me guess, you have a maid here." 
 
“I was going to get a houseboy, but that seemed a little too camp.” Sinbad
grins. “She’s very discreet. I don’t mind keeping most things in order, she
just does the boring chores like laundry and sweeping and dishes and scrubbing
mirrors and floors and stuff.”
 
"… So most things," he wryly returns, shaking his head. "You can do without. If
I'm going to stay here for a bit, then at least save some money and let me earn
my keep by keeping the place picked up."
 
“Like hell. You’re earning money by being my accountant, aren’t you? I can’t
have my accountant sweeping my floors, it’s ridiculous. Why would you want poor
Annalise to be out of a job, she’s got five children to support, and her good-
for-nothing boyfriend sure isn’t going to help.”
 
"Sin…" God, but the man is headache inducing, even if Ja'far is inclined to
agree with him in this situation. "All right," he reluctantly agrees. "But just
know I don't mind helping out around here as well."
 
Sinbad tries to keep any emotion out of his voice, lightly remarking, “You seem
more willing to stay as my servant than as my friend.”
 
Ja'far's brow furrows in open confusion. "Well, I feel sort of awkward just
mooching off of you…" Since you're already paying for my school, apparently.
 
“Why, though?” Sinbad asks. “I have the money, obviously. And I’ve always
provided for you, as well as I could. You starved with me, it’s only fitting
that you should get nice things if you’re still following me. I mean--unless
you don’t want to work for me anymore.”
 
"But I don't need nice things. And of course I want to work for you--and be
your friend--but that doesn't mean you need to… spoil me, or anything.
Shouldn't you save that for a girlfriend?" Ja'far pauses. "I'm surprised you
don't have one. Living here, I mean." It's a lot of space, for just one guy.
 
“I have a few. Off and on. Nothing serious.” Sinbad stretches out, resting his
feet on the coffee table. Very quietly, he asks, “Has something changed? You
seem...really different around me now. It’s almost like you’re afraid of me.”
 
"What? No!" Ja'far exhales, thoroughly exasperated, and sags back into the
couch with a shake of his head. "I took off school to come back and make sure
you weren't doing anything stupid. Maybe I'm afraid you're making poor
decisions, but that's about it. You're stressing me."
 
“I don’t get it, I’m obviously doing fine! You left when everything was shaky,
and now that it’s okay, you come back? I--I want you around, but I wanted you
to go to school too,” Sinbad says, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be the
reason you give up your dream. I always told you you could quit when you turned
eighteen if you didn’t want to be around me anymore.”
 
"Just because you have a lot of money to spend doesn't mean you're doing the
right things with it," Ja'far mutters, and he frowns, reaching over to flick
Sinbad solidly on the forehead. "Keeping around an accountant that's stealing
from you, doing drugs--and you wonder why I'm worried. School isn't even my
dream, it's just a means to an end, so stop acting like a kicked puppy."
 
Sinbad catches Ja’far’s wrist, turning to look Ja’far in the eye. “Tell me it’s
still true,” he offers, “and I’ll drop it.”
 
"… Tell you that what's still--oh." Ja'far huffs, his expression softening
slightly. "Sin. Of course I'm going to follow you forever, stop being such a
baby."
 
Sinbad relaxes immediately, obviously, letting his head flop onto Ja’far’s
shoulder. “Okay then. I’m still not going to let you work as my housekeeper,
but I’ll listen to whatever you want about your apartment. You can even set
your own pay as accountant, and I’ll let you fire Nathan, you seem to have a
grudge against him.”
 
"I don't have a grudge against him, I just--" All right, maybe he has a small
grudge. But then again, he'd have a grudge against anyone that was trying to
screw Sinbad over. Ja'far scowls, idly stroking a hand down the back of
Sinbad's head. "I'm not going to set my own pay, that's weird."
 
Sinbad laughs, butting his head against Ja’far’s hand, smiling easily now.
“You’re going to do it anyway. You’re going to tell me I’m trying to pay you
too much.”
 
"Well, that's probably true. I'm not a real accountant yet, I don't have a
degree at all." Ja'far sighs, tilting his head back. "And the classes are so
boring. Everyone is an idiot. Can accountants study the effects of snake venom
instead?"
 
“I never got why there was that much to study, anyway,” Sinbad admits. “I mean,
it’s all adding and subtracting and factoring in various laws, right? I could
do it if I had the time and I felt like it, what do you need that many classes
for?”
 
"I don't know, but it's rather stupid," Ja'far agrees. "If a piece of paper
didn't get us all more places, I wouldn't bother at all." 
 
“So forget it, and I’ll get someone to forge you a degree.” Sinbad reaches up,
playing with some of Ja’far’s hair. “Rather have you with me anyway.”
 
Ja'far feels his skin flush hot, and he self-consciously lifts a hand, batting
Sinbad's away. "If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right." He hesitates,
then adds wearily, "if you really end up needing me to stay, I can always look
at online courses." 
 
“Whatever you want. I trust you more than Nathan, he might be licensed but he’s
a terrible Ja’far.”
 
"I'm sure he's going to love me coming in and firing him tomorrow morning,
then."
 
Sinbad thinks back to the rainbow of pills Nathan had had lined up in front of
him, and his remarks about Skittles. “Yeah, I’m not even sure he’s going to be
conscious tomorrow.”
 
Ja'far punches Sinbad's shoulder. "Why did you ever keep him around for more
than five seconds?"
 
“Owww, Ja’far hits hard,” Sinbad complains, rolling slowly to the side. “I
didn’t have a lot of money when I was hiring, and licensed accountants aren’t
exactly falling over themselves to work for porn studios. He was the only one
who didn’t demand to be paid in pussy.”
 
Ja'far makes a face at that. "Fair enough. Maybe you should be the one to fire
him, then. And check him into a rehab center while you're at it."
 
Sinbad groans. “Don’t even say that word, I’ve lost three of my best actors to
those places already when they begged me for help getting clean. Methadone is
goddamn expensive.”
 
Stories Ja'far doesn't want to hear about. He sucks in a slow, measured breath,
trying not to think about how messy the porn business is. "Right. Then I guess
we'll budget for that, too." 
 
“Nah, that comes out of my personal expenses,” Sinbad says, waving that away.
“That’s not a studio expense, I can’t rationalize that on the books.”
 
"You're operating under the assumption that I'm not going to be doing your
books as well. All of them."
 
Sinbad happily snuggles closer, winding up sort of on Ja’far’s lap. “Don’t ever
leave me again.”
 
"… You really are clingy tonight," Ja'far mumbles, face coloring a bit more as
he nevertheless pets the top of Sinbad's head. "Look, we can keep talking about
all of this in the morning. I vote on bed."
 
“Good.” Sinbad stands, tugging Ja’far toward the bedroom, then stops, a look of
confused, startled realization on his face. “Oh. I guess….yeah, right, the
guest room is right there.”
 
A sigh, and Ja'far simply looks up at him with a wry quirk of his lips. "If you
want to use me as a stuffed animal tonight, I won't hold it against you."
 
A blush comes to Sinbad’s cheeks--god, it’s embarrassing to be so transparent.
He’d forgotten what it was like, to have someone around who knows him backwards
and forwards. “Ah, I just….We never had two beds before,” he points out
uselessly, shifting his weight. “It’s different now that we’re adults, isn’t
it? You probably want to curl up by yourself.”
 
"Sin," Ja'far begins, patiently, "I just made you an offer." 
 
Yeah, making his own rules in life is really the best part about, well,
everything. Sinbad grins, wrapping an arm around Ja’far’s waist, and hauls him
bodily into his room, laughing as he catapaults both of them into bed, curling
up around Ja’far without bothering to take off his clothes first. “Sorry in
advance for kicking.”
 
"If I wasn't used to it by now…" Ja'far curls himself up into the blankets,
rather pleased to find that the bed is probably the most comfortable thing he's
ever slept in. Well, if Sinbad is going to indulge, this is the sort of thing
to do it with. "Good night, Sin."
***** Chapter 10 *****
(Flashbacks con't, part three!)
~~
 
 
Sinbad's books are about as bad as Ja'far expects.
 
Sinbad hardly needs to take a personal day when Ja'far is the one working on it
all, but he does anyway, all to spend the afternoon and into the evening
perched upon his couch with Ja'far. It's a little annoying, having the man
hover around him when he's trying to work, but for the most part Sinbad leaves
him be, only occasionally offering him wine or beer and shrugging it off when
Ja'far declines time and time again. 
 
"You need a bigger couch," Ja'far finally sighs out, stretching out his legs to
drop them unceremoniously into Sinbad's lap. "Or you need to move. Pick one." 
 
“I don’t see why I should pick,” Sinbad says cheerfully. “This is fine by me.”
He hesitates, looking down at Ja’far’s feet. How many times has he seen Ja’far
limping a bit after a long day, trying to keep everyone from seeing? Sinbad’s
seen the scars; there’s not a place on Ja’far his old bosses had left alone,
whether they were trying to punish him or improve him, Sinbad had never asked.
I’ll stop if he tells me to, he promises himself, and gently tugs off one of
Ja’far ‘s socks, starting to rub his foot in slow, firm circles.
 
The touch surprises him, and Ja'far jerks with a squeak that he can't quite
bite back. "Sin--" Unfortunately, that sound of protest dissolves into a groan,
and Ja'far sinks back, huffing out a breath that he wishes sounded a bit more
annoyed as the motion sends a few pieces of paper fluttering to the floor. "You
don't… have to do that." 
 
Sinbad turns, giving Ja’far a slightly shy little smile. “You’re doing work for
me, it’s the least I can do. Unless it doesn’t feel good?” He drags his thumb
up the arch of Ja’far’s foot, feeling the tense pressure, and god, his feet are
tiny.
 
"Doing work because--ahh--because I work for you," Ja'far protests on another
groan, shutting his eyes briefly as his toes curl. That's just not fair. "Not
that I can work like this, though," he mutters, flopping back uselessly and
making an absent grabbing motion towards the other man. "Give me one of yours,
then. I won't have idle hands." 
 
Sinbad’s grin widens. “I was just trying to make your feet relax,” he murmurs,
twisting around to lay his foot in Ja’far’s lap too. “Don’t yell at me later
when you get mad about the work you didn’t get done.”
 
"I can't work when you're doing that," Ja'far growls, and promptly grabs at
Sinbad's bare foot with both of his hands. "I'm ticklish, and I know how tense
I am, so it's literally impossible. You, on the other hand," he mutters,
digging his thumbs into the bottom of Sinbad's foot and dragging them along the
arch of it, "probably don't even need this."
 
Sinbad’s breath leaves him in a sharp, sudden exhale, eyes lidding heavily.
“Never get foot massages,” he admits with a slow, shuddering breath. “God,
that’s nice.”
 
"You're easy," Ja'far murmurs, rolling his eyes in vague amusement as he works
his thumbs in slowly. "And you're not very tense, thankfully."
 
Sinbad squeezes his fingers down around Ja’far’s heel, dragging in slow, even
circles. “Not like you. How are your feet so tiny, anyway?”
 
Reflex bids him to kick, and Ja'far bites down another, rather squeaky noise as
he squirms. "Don't remind me. It's so hard to find shoes in my size. Ahh, god,
lighten up a bit, way too much--"
 
Ah.
 
Shit.
 
Ja’far really shouldn’t sound so erotic when he squirms and moans like that. 
 
Sinbad swallows hard, touching more gently as he shifts slightly, moving
Ja’far’s foot a small, hopefully unnoticeable distance further down his own leg
as he does. “You’re just too sensitive.”
 
"I know, I told you I'm ticklish," Ja'far groans, sagging back as his fingers
try to keep up their kneading along Sinbad's foot. More accurately, he sort of
squeezes helplessly as his leg twitches within Sinbad's grasp and he wriggles
back further into the couch in a reflexive attempt to get away. "You're going
to kill me," is his sigh as he flops his head back over the arm of the couch.
 
Sinbad should not be thinking how good Ja’far looks right now, stretched out
and--the only word is writhing because of his touch, plaintive little noises
coming from his mouth, and he tries to remind himself sternly that no, no, this
is Ja’far, this is the tiny kid who trusts him, and no one else in the whole
goddamn world trusts him. That helps, and he switches to the other foot,
working his way up and down the sole. “If you die, I’ll stop massaging you,” he
promises, tweaking a toe.
 
"Nooo--" It's a rather pathetic sort of moan, but Ja'far can't find it in him
to care right then, not when having his other foot worked on makes him squirm
and kick anew, a shuddering breath escaping past his lips. He abandons his
attempts at massaging Sinbad in return to grab one-handedly at the back of the
couch, using it as some sort of grounding when all he wants to do is writhe.
"No stopping."
 
A thousand remarks come to Sinbad’s tongue, and somehow, he stops them. He
knows instinctively, knows for certain that if he remarks on it, says you look
like you want me to touch something else, or the way you look makes me want to
kiss you right now, or anyone would think we were having sex if they heard you,
Ja’far will stop. He’ll flush embarrassed, and he’ll see Sinbad not as his
friend, but as just a man, as a potential threat. 
 
Fuck that.
 
Still, Sinbad’s eyes trail up one leg as his fingers work, eyes tracing the
line of a sweetly curved thigh, and damn but college has put some nice meat on
Ja’far’s bones. “You grew like a weed while you were gone. What did they feed
you? I’ll buy the same.”
 
"Don't you dare," Ja'far bemoans, his head lolling to the side as his fingers
knead against the back of the couch helplessly. His foot flexes in Sinbad's
hold, a slow twitch and quiver of muscles dragging up the entirety of his leg.
"Junk food, cafeteria food so bad that even I can tell--if I never have to eat
it again, it'll be too soon." 
 
God, this is ridiculous. Ja’far has to know, he has to know how erotic he’s
being, Sinbad’s getting surer of it with every minute. Maybe this is a test, he
thinks desperately, and slowly works one hand up the back of Ja’far’s heel, to
massage the tight, tense muscle of one calf. “Gotta feed you something. I can
afford more than chicken noodle and peanut butter now. Obviously.”
 
"That doesn't mean I'm picky," he gasps out, leg twitching anew when Sinbad's
fingers work up higher. "That's--ahh, god--" That might have been a curse in
Russian that follows--or five.
 
“Up.” Sinbad bends Ja’far’s legs, standing and holding out a hand. “Come on,
you’re getting a full massage where I’ve got room for it. I bet you’ve never
had one before, have you?”
 
Ja'far stares at him, a little dazed, and slowly shakes his head as he reaches
out to take Sinbad's hand. "Haven't," he manages, hauling himself to his feet
(albeit in a sort of wobbly fashion).
 
“Well, now’s your chance.” Sinbad tugs Ja’far towards the bedroom with an arm
around his waist, all too reminiscent of helping a young boy with the flu down
to the showers. “Strip to whatever you’re comfortable in, I’ve even got massage
oil.”
 
Ja'far sort of flops against the foot of the bed once he gets there, tugging
off his shirt in short order. "… You're sure you want to keep working on my
legs?" he warily presses, fingers on the waistband of his pants. "I kick. And
squirm. And am generally unpleasant."
 
“You’ve been hanging out with too many people who don’t appreciate your
particular flavor of pleasantness,” Sinbad says easily, tweaking Ja’far’s nose.
“But I don’t mind, wherever you think you need it most.”
 
"… All right," is the sigh of a response, and Ja'far wriggles his way out of
his pants, nude when he flops onto the bed. It's hardly the first time he's
been naked around Sinbad--and god knows Sinbad is far more guilty of that than
he. 
 
Shit, Ja’far has grown up. 
 
Sinbad’s seen him naked a dozen times and hardly noticed, but Ja’far’s
certainly never had an ass like that before. Junk food, huh? Make a note for
shopping…
 
He leaves his jeans on, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he climbs on top
of Ja’far, dribbling some of the massage oil onto his back, letting his hands
slide through it, working up and down the lean, tense muscles there. “Always so
tense. You love work so much, I figured doing it would relax you more.”
 
"I told you your couch wasn't the ideal work environment with you clinging to
me all day," Ja'far groans, burying his face down into a pillow as his fingers
clench into the sheets. His back muscles fairly twitch underneath Sinbad's
touch. "Next time, I'm starting in… ahh… an actual… office… or desk…"
 
“You can have Nathan’s office, of course. I’ll, uh, have it cleaned first,”
Sinbad promises, working his thumbs slowly under Ja’far’s shoulderblades.
“Don’t be mad at me for clinging, I missed you.”
 
"Not mad, just pointing it out." He was going to say something else, but the
words catch in his throat when something unravels at the top of his back and
leaves him sagging into the mattress. "God."
 
“By the time I’m done,” Sinbad promises, running his thumbs down either side of
Ja’far’s spine, working up to his neck, “I won’t have to worry about you
kicking me. You won’t have a working muscle left. In a good way.”
 
Ja'far manages a sort of strangled moan in response, unable to really respond
or complain at that idea when his head lolls forward and firmly down into a
pillow. 
 
Sinbad grins, moving on to the tense, hunched muscles of Ja’far’s shoulders.
God, he’s glad he’d said nothing, this is better than sex, especially with
Ja’far. This is trust, something Ja’far never gives out, and it’s at least as
intimate as the vast majority of sex Sinbad has had in his life, slowly working
out the kinks of Ja’far’s body, feeling his entirely authentic groans and
wriggles. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “You’re home with me now.”
 
"And you have a nice bed," is the groan to follow, tension melting away in
layers beneath Sinbad's fingers. Ja'far is fairly certain he'd kill anyone else
that tried to put their hands on him like this, but Sinbad is different, and
also, very, very good at this. "That was a good purchase."
 
“Glad you approve. It actually cost more than the lease of my car, but I
thought it was worth it. Has some kind of technology they only use in planes
and space stations, but I just thought it was the softest one I’ve ever tried.”
Gently, Sinbad brushes Ja’far’s hair neatly down, rubbing his fingertips up the
sides of his jaw, to his temples. “Maybe that’s why I don’t share it very
often.”
 
"Hardly believe that," Ja'far murmurs, not unkindly, a low, rumbling sound
pulling from his throat as his eyes flutter shut. "You said you had
girlfriends."
 
“I do.” Sinbad’s smile is a little rueful, rubbing back down again behind
Ja’far’s ears, down to the front of his shoulders. “Not the kind of girlfriends
you bring home. We hook up at their place, or in the studio.”
 
"Mmnnn, shouldn't sleep with your employees," he infers. It's not fair, how
those careful touches send shivers from the source of unraveling muscle all the
way to his fingertips. "Bad idea, what if you fight later?" 
 
“I don’t sleep with my employees, I have more professional pride than that,”
Sinbad says with a gentle pinch to one shoulder. “Girls just want to see where
the magic happens so I give them a tour. You know, so they can feel like a bad
girl, on the set of a porno flick, without actually doing anything mommy and
daddy can find out about.”
 
"Ah, reassuring," Ja'far sighs out, turning his head to press his cheek to the
mattress. "I thought I was going to have to scold you more."
 
“I’m not entirely useless without you around,” Sinbad murmurs, working his slow
way down Ja’far’s arms, amazed when he finds tension there too. “Just unhappy.”
 
His fingers twitch, far from on their own accord, and Ja'far bites the inside
of his cheek to keep from making a stupidly high pitched noise over just having
his damned arms worked on. "… If you were so unhappy about it," he manages on
an exhale, "you should have said something."
 
“Just because I missed you doesn’t mean I wanted you to come home. I mean, I
did want you to come home,” Sinbad admits, working down to forearms, then down
to one hand at a time. “I just didn’t want you to come home because I was
unhappy. You wanted to go to school to help me, I thought that was great. If
you can get in to a school like Harvard, you should definitely take advantage
of it.”
 
"… Still." Ja'far's eyes crack open, watching Sinbad work on his hands through
hooded lids. "If you had asked me to stay here, I would have. School is school,
wherever it is."
 
“But I didn’t want you to stay because I asked you to.” Sinbad switches to the
other hand, dragging his thumbs down the palm, slowly tugging on each finger.
“Besides….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
 
"Besides?" Ja'far echoes, exhaling a slow, measured breath as he watches the
odd little twitches of pleasure run through his fingers.
 
Sinbad sits back on Ja’far’s thighs, tipping out a bit more oil as he starts
working his way down Ja’far’s back. After a few quiet moments, he says, “You’ve
never had any friends but me. If I tried to keep you with me….I mean, that’s
abuse. Stockholm Syndrome, whatever. You deserve the chance to decide what you
want to make of your own life, and if it’s with me, that’s wonderful, but if
it’s somewhere else….I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”
 
"… I've never had any other friends because I don't desire anyone else's
company," Ja'far lowly drawls, letting his eyes flutter shut again with a long,
drawn-out sigh. "You're over-thinking this. That's my job, not yours." 
 
Sinbad’s mouth quirks in a little smile, hands working down to the small of
Ja’far’s back. “I’m not stupid,” he says softly. “I just don’t understand why
someone who doesn’t like the idea of sex wants to work for a porn company.”
 
"Because--ahh--it's your… company," Ja'far manages to bite out around a groan,
squirming underneath the touch and grabbing at the pillow as a means to try and
stop. "I wouldn't care if you were money laundering. I'd still do it with you."
 
Sinbad’s hands pause. “Is it okay if I keep going?” he asks. “I don’t want to
skip important muscle groups, but if it’s gonna make you tense up and undo all
my hard work, I will.”
 
"I'm already half a puddle, just do it," he huffs in response, flopping his
head down helplessly. Besides, it's just a massage. Sinbad has made that very
clear, at least.
 
Satisfied with that answer, Sinbad works his thumbs into the big muscles at the
top of Ja’far’s ass, working down with as much professionalism as on his
shoulders. He prides himself on his massages, working slowly and meticulously,
sticking to the muscles and not, definitely not making a comment about how
round and sweet and juicy Ja’far’s gotten. Nope. “Did you make any friends? Any
fun classes?”
 
"N…o…" Ahh, he's going to die. That shouldn't feel so good, and it makes
tension start to unravel in his thighs, making his nerves spark before they
melt and go nearly numb. "Mmn… well… one. Took an elective… toxicology.
Poisons. Venom. I like snakes."
 
Sinbad laughs, working his way down to the tops of Ja’far’s thighs, fingers and
thumbs digging into the big muscles. “I remember. Remember that corn snake I
found in the desert? I thought you were going to take him home with us.”
 
"Wanted to," Ja'far wistfully sighs out, and his legs sort of spread wider--as
much as they can, at any rate, what with how they want to tremble and twitch.
"He was cute."
 
“He actually was,” Sinbad admits, remembering the twitchy little face he’d
woken up to, perched on his chest as if he were a sunning rock. “When you get
settled into your apartment, you can get a pet snake, you know. We’ll make sure
to get somewhere that allows pets.”
 
"Given up on keeping me here already?" 
 
Sinbad blinks. “You said you wanted your own place,” he points out, working his
way down one thigh. “I….” His hands still, and he sits back on his knees for a
moment. “If you want to move in to my apartment, I want you here. If you want
to move in to my bedroom, and keep a dozen snakes all over the place and yell
at me for kicking and turn my home gym into a library, I want you here. You
said you wanted to go, so I’m okay with that.”
 
Ja'far twists around, propping himself onto one, shaky elbow before giving up
and flopping back down in short order. "I just… don't want to make things
difficult. And I think we might drive one another crazy, eventually. I think I
have gotten too used to living on my own." 
 
“You mean,” Sinbad says carefully, “that you think I’d drive you nuts. I’ve
lived with you before without being driven insane, I doubt I’ve gotten any
worse at it.”
 
"I think I've gotten a bit more… ah, what's the term--OCD? Something like that.
Over the past year and a half," Ja'far wryly admits. "You don't want me
reorganizing your things fifty times."
 
Sinbad doesn’t argue. It doesn’t seem like it’ll help much, anyway. “Well,
whatever you decide. And you can still stay here as long as you like no matter
what, whether it’s until you find an apartment or until I break you of that
reorganization thing. Or until I can find you some better clothing,” he adds,
working his way down to Ja’far’s calves. “Turn over, I’m gonna do your front.”
 
"… What's wrong with the way I dress?" Ja'far suspiciously returns, and slowly,
painstakingly, flops over onto his back.
 
Sinbad starts low, deeming that the least dangerous part, working up Ja’far’s
legs in slow, measured slides. “You dress like a little girl wearing her
mother’s castoffs,” he says bluntly. “Or a hipster. Same thing.”
 
"I'm just wearing what's comfortable. Most of my time was spent in a library or
my dorm, why should I bother getting dressed up?" Ja'far defensively retorts,
giving into the urge to kick a bit.
 
“It’s not appropriate for an accountant of a successful modeling studio,
though,” Sinbad says, working his way up to Ja’far’s thighs, an appreciative
little smile on his face. “We’ll have to get you some adult clothes, like
suits.”
 
"Mmn. Which I'll wear when I'm not pouring over your books. Modeling, that
sounds so innocent." 
 
“Modeling,” Sinbad says, mock-sternly, “involves arranging humans in tasteful
ways for aesthetic appreciation. I fail to see how I’m not doing exactly that.”
 
Ja'far calmly puts his foot in Sinbad's face. "Tasteful. Key word."
 
“And who decides what is tasteful, exactly?” Sinbad counters. “Is Rodin’s ‘The
Kiss’ tasteful? It shows two lovers in a passionate, adulterous, nude embrace.
That’s in an art museum, and I’m some kind of sleazeball?”
 
"I didn't say you were a sleazeball," Ja'far sighs, dropping his foot down
again. "Just that most porn isn't exactly tasteful by definition. More power to
you, I suppose, if you create something that is."
 
“Have you…” Sinbad’s eyes widen, and he moves up to Ja’far’s stomach and chest.
“You haven’t seen any of my stuff, have you?”
 
"Well… no. I don't exactly seek it out," Ja'far admits, sinking back into the
mattress. "You know I have the sex drive of a… what's something that has a very
low sex drive?"
 
“Panda,” Sinbad supplies immediately. “But you were just a kid, I figured that
might have changed.”
 
"It's only been a year and a half," Ja'far wryly points out. "I haven't changed
very much."
 
“You put on inches! Lots of inches!” Somehow, Sinbad refrains from looking down
between Ja’far’s legs. It’s difficult. “Besides, I thought you might be
interested. You know, because it’s me. On a purely aesthetic level.”
 
"Only a few! And just in my legs, it took awhile to let out all the hems in my
pants," Ja'far sighs. "And I can't say that I ever really wanted to watch
something like that, but if it's part of the job--are you still actually in the
movies you're making nowadays? Or just producing?" 
 
Sinbad works his way up, straddling Ja’far’s hips and massaging his chest and
shoulders, mentally congratulating himself for every single second he doesn’t
kiss the boy. “I’m still in them sometimes. Only when I think it’ll be a big
draw, though, and we’re putting out so many films I don’t have time to do them
all. I’ll officially retire soon.”
 
"Mm, good. You have a lot more important things to focus on." He feels rather
like a puddle at this point, pleasantly melted and wobbly, and so he gives up
and shuts his eyes again, not even having the strength to squirm. 
 
Sinbad’s hands don’t stop, gently moving over the front of Ja’far’s shoulders,
down his arms and back up, considerably pleased. “You really didn’t make any
friends at college? I mean, you’re not exactly outgoing, but someone must have
taken a shine to you.”
 
"Do my professors count?" Ja'far returns, exhaling a heavy whoosh of a sigh.
"Friends are just distracting. I didn't go there to make friends."
 
“Professors can count,” Sinbad decides after a moment’s consideration. “If you
talked about things other than schoolwork. By the way, I want you to meet my--
okay, don’t tense up, I know how you get, but I want you to meet my new
bodyguard.”
 
Ja'far tenses up. "Your new bodyguard? And what else would a professor and I
talk about except schoolwork?" 
 
Sinbad waves the second question away. “New after you left,” he explains. “He
was a good kid, he needed a place to stay, and he doesn’t have any mathy-skills
like you. Seemed like the least I could offer him.”
 
His eyes narrow a bit, but Ja'far slowly, reluctantly relaxes back again. "What
are you, a child collector?" 
 
“Only the children who don’t mind being collected,” Sinbad says cheerfully,
then pauses. “That sounds creepy, doesn’t it? Whatever, I’m not sleeping with
him.”
 
"Thank you, for that additional bit of information," Ja'far drawls. "Well, I
hope he's at least good at his job." It shouldn't ruffle him that Sinbad has
someone else around in his absence to protect him.
 
“Pretty good. I’m not dead yet, right?”  Sinbad puts the rest of the
information away until tomorrow. He’s just gotten Ja’far relaxed, no need to
bother him with talk of Kou Studios right now. “You’ll like him, he doesn’t
talk.”
 
Ja'far squints up at him. "… How do you stand him, then?"
 
Sinbad shrugs. “He’s good at a lot of stuff. Just not talking. Great for
lifting heavy things, though! Poor kid was in a gang, way too young, I actually
got into a knife fight to get him out of it.”
 
It's going to give him hives, hearing about all of the things Sinbad did in his
absence to nearly get himself killed. "Can you not tell me things like that
right now?"
 
Sinbad’s brow furrows, and he stretches out, laying comfortably on top of
Ja’far. “Worried about little old me?”
 
Ja'far opens his mouth, then settles back with another sigh, flopping an arm
over Sinbad's back. "It's… troubling, to think I wasn't here when you were
nearly getting yourself killed," he admits. 
 
“Doesn’t matter. You’re back now. Here, feel, I’m perfectly healthy.”
 
"You're certainly perfectly heavy, at least," Ja'far mumbles, but makes no
attempt to shove Sinbad off. 
 
“You’re less bony than before,” Sinbad points out, snuggling happily onto his
side, pulling Ja’far to his chest. “It’s fabulous, much better for things like
this.”
 
"I'm starting to think you just want to keep me around as one of those… squishy
stress ball things," Ja'far sighs, but nevertheless lets himself be pulled
around and thoroughly cuddled. Sinbad is warm, at least, and he can't complain
about much when his limbs feel like goo.
 
“One that complains a lot,” Sinbad agrees, spooning up comfortably. “I do feel
much less stressed when I’m squishing you, that’s for sure.”
 
"Good to know." Ja'far's eyes shut as he presses his face to Sinbad's shoulder.
"For what it's worth… I am glad to be back here again. With you."
 
For a while, all the strange thoughts of how Ja’far’s body has changed, the
creeping heat of being so close, and the way the easy, affectionate touches
don’t feel quite so innocent disappear, and Sinbad presses a friendly kiss to
the top of Ja’far’s head. “Good. I’m gonna try to keep you happy. You’re gonna
be proud of my company and me, I promise.”
 
"Don't be stupid," Ja'far sighs in return. "I already am."
 
~~
 
A few weeks pass, and it's hard to remember why he ever left in the first
place.
 
First of all, cleaning out Nathan's 'office' is a bit of an adventure, but
other than that, working for Sinbad is surprisingly easy. It makes him wonder
what he needs college for, and if not for that little urge to finish everything
he starts, Ja'far doubts he'd even bother going back--especially with how
clingy Sinbad has been since his return. It's sort of pathetic in a way,
really… 
 
Whatever. Ja'far can't deny that he missed Sinbad as well, and so being able to
curl up behind a desk and sort through numbers while the man hovers somewhere
near in the other room is nice. Also, he's right. Masrur, his new bodyguard, is
very pleasant company.
 
“Ja’faaaaaaaaar!”
 
The drawn-out call is high-spirited and light, Sinbad bounding in from the
studio’s main floor, over-excited and eager. “Ja’far, I just signed a new
actor! Check over all the paperwork and start background checks, will you? I
don’t want anything to go wrong!” He looks around at the office, eyes lighting
up. “Wow, you really finished making this place your own, huh? It looks great!”
 
"If by great, you mean clean," Ja'far drawls, shutting a file folder on his
desk and reaching out to take the new paperwork from Sinbad's hands. "Honestly,
I don't know how you didn't have rats from the mess he left behind. Also, I
have to ask--what constitutes 'bad' in a background check for a porn star? Some
of your other actors do have records, after all."
 
Sinbad waves that away, finding a clean spot on Ja’far’s desk and hopping up
onto it, legs swinging. “Anything in the last year with violence needs to be
checked out, anything they didn’t report but beeps should be checked out, more
than three convictions for drugs should be red-flagged, stuff like that. I
think….three? Of my guys have records. I checked them out, two were self-
defense and one was a wrong-place, wrong-time kind of thing.”
 
"Fair enough," Ja'far replies, sighing in brief annoyance at the sight of
Sinbad on his desk before shaking his head and turning away to his computer.
"Do you have to sit there?" he casually tosses over, grabbing his reading
glasses and perching them onto his nose while he types. "I have chairs."
 
“Not hurting anything,” Sinbad says with a grin, kicking his legs. “You look
cute in glasses, how come I haven’t seen that before?”
 
"Because I never bothered before--school ruined my eyes," Ja'far grumbles,
twitching a bit at the sound of Sinbad's feet thumping against the side of his
desk. "Did you need something else? This background check isn't going to happen
instantly, you know."
 
“Ah, not really,” Sinbad admits. “Just want to make sure you rush that one
through, the kid’s dad was friends with Rashid, I figured it was the least I
could do, get him a leg up, so to speak.”
 
"Yes, yes, I'll rush it." Ja'far leans back, stretching his arms up over his
head with a sigh. "Oh, while you're here--I was thinking, by the way… about
next semester."
 
“You--ah.” Sinbad composes his face, trying as hard as he can to wipe out the
sudden apprehension. “If you leave again, of course, I’ll leave it to you to
find your replacement. Don’t want you coming back to another Nathan
infestation.”
 
"I was thinking to switching to an online study." The younger man tilts his
head, looking at Sinbad from over his glasses. "Assuming you want me to keep
working here after another week of me micromanaging  your business for you."
 
Sinbad’s face lights up, and he makes no effort to hide his relief and delight.
“Stay forever! I’ll cut back on your work load, of course--do you want to hire
an assistant? That can easily be arranged.”
 
Ja'far makes a face at that. "Absolutely not. I don't want anyone else
interfering with the way I do things, I have enough mess to clean up as is.
Now, will you stop making those sad puppy dog faces all the time?" 
 
“How the hell do you sound so much like a mom all the time?” Sinbad asks with a
laugh, jumping up off the desk to tug Ja’far’s hair. “Don’t answer that, I
probably don’t want to know. Are you coming home with me tonight, or have you
found an apartment yet?”
 
"I don't sound like a mom," Ja'far protests, reaching up to bat Sinbad's hands
away. "And--ah, I'm still looking for apartments. You don't mind if I stay a
bit longer at your place, do you?" 
 
“I told you you can stay forever,” Sinbad reminds him. “You’re the one who’s so
eager to be sick of me. I’m going out with the boys before heading home, you
want to come?”
 
"I'm not eager to be sick of you--trust me, I wish you were a neater person,"
Ja'far sniffs, leaning back and folding his arms. "And no, I'll pass. Just
don't come home too drunk, I don't want to listen to you."
 
Sinbad pauses at the door, sighing dramatically. “For someone who says he likes
me, you sure hate everything about me.”
 
"Is today guilt trip day or something?" Ja'far snaps, scowling over at him.
"Get out, I have work to do."
 
Sinbad leaves with a laugh, heading out with his friends, all of them piling
somehow into a taxicab.
 
Four, maybe five hours later, a pleasant buzz in his mind that isn’t enough to
make his steps or his words clumsy, he finds his way home, unlocking the door
and going immediately to the bedroom, taking off his clothes as he goes.
“Ja’far? You home yet?”
 
Ja'far's head pokes out from the blankets, glasses still perched atop his nose
as he uncoils himself from around the book he holds. "You don't reek of
alcohol," he remarks, rolling onto his back. "That's an improvement. Did you
have a good time?" 
 
“Had fun,” Sinbad agrees, tossing his tie and jacket on the floor, kicking off
his shoes as he crawls in next to Ja’far. “Kid’s got a weird stage name picked
out, but I think he’s got great stage presence. And I’m not really one to talk,
huh?”
 
"Mm… at least you sound like a porn star," Ja'far wryly replies, shutting his
book and pulling his glasses off to set them both aside. "I ran that background
for you, by the way. Nothing but a bit of petty theft. I'm assuming that passes
the bar."
 
“Yeah, his family’s fallen on hard times lately. He’s a good kid, told me about
that himself. Felt like he was a burden on his family so he stole some cash to
buy a new coat.” He shakes his head, shaking the ponytail out of his hair.
“Times are shit, man.”
 
"They certainly are. Your hair is going to end up strangling me in my sleep one
of these nights," Ja'far adds on a sigh, watching it pool down Sinbad's back. 
 
“As if you wouldn’t wake up while being strangled,” Sinbad sniffs. “Knowing
you, you’d have a knife out and hacking off my hair before you even turned
red.”
 
"Probably. It's sort of obscenely long, it could use a trim."
 
“I had it trimmed last month!” Sinbad protests. “Come on, it’s my signature. At
least I take good care of it, most of the guys with long hair can’t say that.”
 
Ja'far tilts his head, eyeing it. "Looks a little ratty to me right now."
 
“Shut your mouth.” Sinbad huffs out a breath, turning his back on Ja’far and
throwing himself down onto the bed.
 
A shake of his head, and Ja'far reaches over him, grabbing the comb off of
Sinbad's nightstand. "That was an offer, by the way," he murmurs, gathering up
Sinbad's hair into his hands as he stretches out next to the other man.
"There's no way you can comb all of this properly yourself, anyway."
 
“Tell me it’s pretty,” Sinbad mumbles into the pillow. “Tell me my hair is
nice. And if you say the g-word I’m going to gay-marry Nathan in a giant
ceremony that the studio will pay for.”
 
"… G-word?" Ja'far hazards with a blink, and he slowly works his way through
Sinbad's hair, fingers plucking out the worst tangles. "You do have nice hair,
though." 
 
“That’s better.” If Ja’far doesn’t remember the horrible, hateful word he’d
brought up months ago, Sinbad isn’t going to remind him. “You have nice
fingers. Most people pull too hard.”
 
"I'd like to think I know how to handle your hair by now." The comb glides
without hitch through that particular section of hair, and Ja'far moves onto
the next. "You just have a lot of it. I don't know how you stand it…"
 
“It’s easier when I have you to take care of it,” Sinbad admits happily,
stretching out his limbs. “You’d think girls would be better about doing it,
but they always seem to think you can handle more pain if you’re a man.”
 
Ja'far makes a face at that, and runs the comb up high along Sinbad's scalp.
"Unnecessary."
 
“Gotta have a gimmick. It was popular when all I had to sell was looking good
on camera,” Sinbad points out. “Now it’s kind of my trademark. I’m bringing
non-sleazy ponytails back.”
 
"… And replacing them with slutty ones," Ja'far mildly replies.
 
“Rude. What’s slutty about this? I’ve worn it this way since I was a kid. No
one thought it was slutty when my mom tied it back, that was just the way they
did it in her country.”
 
"You know, the mom card doesn't work with me because I barely remember my
mother, and she also sold me to the mob."
 
Sinbad frowns. “Okay, that’s a decent point. Hey…” He reaches up, stroking a
thumb down Ja’far’s arm. “How come you’ve never told me your real name?”
 
Ja'far hesitates, a little shrug following before he keeps up his slow,
methodical combing. "Because it doesn't matter. I don't want to use something
they gave me."
 
“But you’re using the name a terrorist group gave you instead, and they
tortured you and made you kill people.”
 
"At least they wanted me." 
 
Sinbad winces. Ouch. He turns, gripping Ja’far’s wrist, giving it a gentle
squeeze. “I want you.”
 
Ja'far's lips twitch at that. "I know. That's why I'm here as a Harvard
business drop out."
 
“You didn’t need it.” Sinbad butts his head against Ja’far’s hand, smiling
upside-down at him. “If you’d wanted to be an entrepreneur, that’s one thing,
but all you ever wanted to do was help me, right? You keep telling me you don’t
care about money. Stop wasting it on Harvard, I like you just the way you are.”
 
"… Then I guess I'll send in my withdrawal papers officially tomorrow."
Ja'far's eyes lid, heaving a little sigh as he gives Sinbad's hair a gentle
tug. "What a waste of time and your money. I should have just done the online
school thing from the beginning. I'm sorry."
 
“Nah, it’s fine. It’s good for you to get out and experience stuff. And if it
means you’re happy to stay here with me now, it’s money and time well spent.”
 
"As long as you're sure." Ja'far snorts lightly, finishing up his combing and
setting the comb aside as he flops back. "Though I think I mostly experienced
the library. That's not a bad thing, though. Also, it's cold up there… it
reminded me of where I was born, a little."
 
Sinbad twists around, pulling Ja’far back against him as he curls up, burying
his face in Ja’far’s shoulder. “You never have to go back to anywhere you don’t
want to be,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, I’ll keep you safe forever.”
 
"You're being dumb," Ja'far immediately protests, huffing out a breath into the
top of Sinbad's head. "You're not supposed to protect me. I work for you to do
that, remember?"
 
“You’re dumb,” Sinbad counters. “I have to protect the person that’s protecting
me, or I’ll be unprotected!”
 
"That's not how a bodyguard works! That's defeating the purpose!"
 
“You’re just mad because you got an easy job, being a bodyguard slash tax
accountant for someone everybody likes,” Sinbad teases. “Come on, no one’s
going to take a hit out on me. I’m lovable.”
 
"But you're rich, and because you're well-liked, that makes people angry,"
Ja'far protests, wriggling back to frown at him. "People have died for far
less."
 
Sinbad waves a hand. “No one’s going to kill me for my money, I have a will set
up. The only people who don’t like me are other studios who think I make them
look bad.”
 
Ja'far's frown deepens. "Isn't that for me to determine, not you? Honestly,
Sin, you can be very oblivious at times…"
 
“That’s why I hired Masrur!” Sinbad tugs Ja’far closer, flicking off the light
with one long arm. “I’m not that dumb. Have you sparred with him yet, tried him
out? He’s a hulking guy, right? I’d think twice about tangling with him, guy
that size.”
 
"I haven't, and he certainly looks formidable…" Then again, size means little
over skill, but Ja'far bites his tongue all the same. He sighs, pressing his
face down into the sheets. "Whatever. I'm sure between the two of us, we will
be able to keep you in one piece."
 
“That’s all I ask. You two do that, and I’ll take care of everything else.”
With Ja’far at his side, Sinbad is actually convinced he can do it.
 
It’s strange, the way his body moves even when he’s unconscious, and Sinbad
would have sworn that he hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen asleep, except
that he wakes up in the same position hours later, stark naked and curled up
against Ja’far. 
 
And interested.
 
It had been easy to pretend before, but now, feeling that soft skin, that soft
hair against his face, Sinbad bites his lip, feeling all too acutely the way
the stiff head of his cock is pressed against one of Ja’far’s soft, supple
thighs.
 
Because that’s not awkward or anything.
 
It's another, long moment before Ja'far actually stirs, waking courtesy of the
way Sinbad's breath shortens, no longer the long, easy rhythm of sleep. At
first, he pauses, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark room,
making sure no one else is around and trying to kill them before he shifts
where he lays, and--
 
Oh.
 
His face lights bright red, and Ja'far is certain that such a thing is visible
even in the dim light. Maybe, maybe if he doesn't move or say anything--
 
It’s wrong, of course, to take advantage of Ja’far while he’s sleeping, and
Sinbad doesn’t. He just….
 
Well, he can’t quite help the way his hips twitch, just a little, in a steady,
slow, needy little rhythm, rubbing gently against Ja’far’s thigh, eyes still
squeezed shut in the hopes that maybe, maybe he won’t notice until afterwards.
 
It was too much to hope that this would just go away.
 
Ja'far bites his lip, sucking a slow, measured breath. Really, he should have
expected it. Sinbad is Sinbad, after all, and the man has never quite been able
to keep it in his pants. That's never really extended to him until now, but
sleeping naked in a bed together sort of lends itself to that opportunity.
 
Still. He can't let it just… happen.
 
"… S-sin--" Ja'far swallows. Ah, yes, this is very awkward. "Sin--can you...
not?"
 
Sinbad freezes. He’d been preoccupied, too preoccupied to notice that Ja’far is
awake, and he should pull away, should give a little self-deprecating laugh and
apologize.
 
But he’s so hard.
 
“Sorry,” he mutters, swallowing hard, though he can’t quite pull away. “If you-
-if you don’t mind--it’ll be fast, I won’t hurt you--”
 
"I… ah… I… mind." 
 
Haven't they had this conversation before, when Sinbad has tried to shove a
girl in his lap, or drag him to a strip club? This is a dozen times worse in a
way, because it's Sinbad, and something like this could make things so
complicated between them when it shouldn't be.
 
Ja'far's face is still blazing when he wriggles away--or tries to, what with
Sinbad's arm tight around him. "Sorry. I'll go sleep somewhere else."
 
This is not what Sinbad wants.
 
He forces himself to wake up the rest of the way (difficult, when other parts
of his anatomy are clamoring louder for his attention than his mind is) and
reaches a hand down, shoving his cock down between his legs. “Sorry,” he says
again, more chagrined. “You can sleep here, I won’t do anything. It happened in
my sleep, I’m sorry.”
 
Sinbad sounds like such a kicked puppy that Ja'far can't help but think he's in
the wrong for saying no. He shakes his head firmly, grabbing up his pants,
discarded the night before, and pulling them on. "It's fine, really. I'll just…
the couch is fine."
 
Sinbad sits up, the sheets falling off of him as he watches, crestfallen. “You-
-shit, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go, it’s just something that happens!”
 
"I'm not mad at you." Ja'far sucks in a steadying breath, his hand already on
the door. "We'll just--sleep better, like this. Probably."
 
“Dammit, are you afraid of me?” Sinbad demands, standing and throwing out a
hand, holding the door shut. “If you’re not afraid of me, and you’re not mad at
me, you shouldn’t have any problem, I said I won’t do it again!”
 
"You and I both know you can't guarantee that!" Ja'far yanks angrily on the
door once before glaring up at Sinbad. "And that's never happened before, so if
it's that unpredictable--I didn't even know you were even…" He trails off,
flustered, face turning red again. "Interested. In me."
 
Sinbad’s face flushes too, and he swallows hard. “I…” 
 
Shit, cards on the table, he’s never gotten anything by being coy. “Right, the
truth of it is that it happened in my sleep and you could have been anyone,” he
admits. “But also, you did get really hot, and since you came back...I like
looking at you. If you weren’t so noisy about not wanting to have sex with
anyone, I’d have already asked you, or tried to kiss you.”
 
"I… I didn't get hot! I blend in with your furniture!" Ja'far protests, waving
a hand in flustered dismissal. "You're just saying that because you missed me
and wanted me to stay--I already told you I would, so just… quit it! You never
have sex with guys except when it comes to your films, don't think I don't
remember that!"
 
“I--”
 
Sinbad throws up his hands, leaning heavily against the door. “I don’t know!
I’ve never wanted to, but you came back all--grown-up, you know? Look, don’t be
mad at me for noticing, I just think you’re really gorgeous and--but if you
don’t want to, that’s fine, just don’t get freaked out!”
 
"You're insane," Ja'far huffs out, grabbing at the doorknob again no matter how
Sinbad leans against the damned thing with all of his weight. "I'm not--I'm not
freaked out. I'm just… don't you think that would make things awkward? Plus,
I'm not gorgeous, and definitely not the kind of person that needs to be the…
boyfriend--" God, that word is strange. "--of a porn producer." 
 
“Okay, but forget about all that.” Sinbad moves, pressing Ja’far back against
the door, blocking the way with his body. “Just forget about awkwardness and
what kind of person you think you are and what kind of person you think I am,
okay? Just….all that matters to me is if you want me or not.”
 
Ja'far swallows, the hard bob of his throat decidedly nervous. All right. Maybe
he is a little bit freaked out. "I… haven't ever thought about it." And that's
the truth, at least. "I don't… I don't really… do the sex thing. So that's
already a big issue, I know how you are--"
 
Sinbad raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And how am I?” Ja’far looks like a nervous
rabbit, but dammit, he wants answers.
 
"You have a lot of sex. With a lot of people." Ja'far looks up at him, eyes
panicky. "Can you… not pin me like this? It kind of makes me want to stab you.
Reflex." 
 
Immediately, Sinbad pulls back, sitting on the bed. “I just didn’t want you to
run away,” he says quietly. “Doesn’t….” He exhales a breath, annoyed. “Doesn’t
your dick work? You have to know that it doesn’t speak for all of a man,
right?”
 
Ja'far sags back against the door before slowly sliding down to flop onto the
floor, rather like a puppet with cut strings. "It works just fine, I guess. I
just have never… it has nothing to do with you," he suddenly, worriedly adds,
glancing up. "I don't want to have sex with anyone.That would be a problem,
wouldn't it? Because you obviously want to… do that with me, and I don't, so
you'd just get frustrated and then your feelings would get hurt and I don't
want to ruin anything." 
 
Sinbad debates for a moment sounding disgusting, and decides that it can’t be
much worse than what Ja’far’s already felt from him today. “Look….yes, I like
sex. And yes, I want you, okay? But….okay, first of all, I can still be friends
with someone after that. And second of all, I want to have sex with like,
everyone. Not most guys, sure, but you’re….special, so whatever, that doesn’t
mean it’s gonna hurt me if you say no.” He swallows, raking a hand back through
his hair. “Can you….still trust me? And be my friend, even knowing that I think
you’re really hot and sometimes I might think about you like that?”
 
Slowly, Ja'far nods, his expression still worried. "… Yeah." Even though you're
wrong, and wasting your time, and this is already stupidly awkward. "But… I
still think I really should go sleep on the couch."
 
Sinbad sighs. “If you want. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of this to happen, I
was trying to ignore it.”
 
"You need a real girlfriend," Ja'far mumbles, slowly heaving himself up and to
his feet. 
 
“I have lots of girlfriends,” Sinbad counters. “I just don’t want to sleep next
to them every night.”
 
"Then you need to find one that you want to do that with."
 
Sinbad looks up, meeting Ja’far’s eyes, and asks softly, “What if the one I
want to do that with...doesn’t want to do that with me?”
 
"… You're guilt-tripping me," Ja'far quietly replies. "And that's not very
fair." 
 
“I was asking a question. I’m sorry if it made you feel guilty.” Ugh, the bed
is cold when it’s just him, and Sinbad slumps back, a veritable thundercloud
gathering over his head.
 
It's probably in his best interest not even to reply, especially when he
doesn't know what to say. Ja'far makes a grab for the door, this time escaping
in short order. Somehow, he's fairly certain he made this a dozen times more
awkward than it was already going to be. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 11 *****
~Present Time~
 
It only takes a minute for Sinbad to realize his relationship with Judal has
changed.
 
It’s changed, he notices, eyes roaming over the naked form of his boyfriend, in
his bed, curled up with a naked pretty girl, to one of three things. First,
it’s changed to a relationship where Judal fucks around and hides it (poorly)
from him. Second, it’s changed to a relationship where Judal tells him
unabashedly that he’s fucked around, assuming Sinbad will understand. Third,
it’s changed to a relationship where Judal brings girls home to share them.
 
All of those sound like simply too much energy for tonight.
 
Sinbad sighs, walking out as quietly as he can, locking the door behind him and
heading downtown a few streets, parking in a locked garage close to Ja’far’s
apartment building. At least here, of all places, he’ll be able to simply sleep
without anyone wanting to talk or grab at him.
 
Ja’far’s key gets him in, and Sinbad doesn’t bother waking the other man,
simply flopping down on the couch and passing out in his suit as quietly as he
can. It’s been a long, long couple of days, and a bit of peace and quiet before
everything starts again is worth its weight in gold.
 
“My king, I will never leave you.”
 
Ja’far looks up at him, eyes slitted and intense, no matter the blood that runs
into them. Sinbad clasps his hands, drawing him close with what’s left of his
strength in his fading limbs, rasping, “It’s an order, Ja’far. Get away from
here. You have to live. The people…”
 
He has to stop to cough up blood, the chains rattling as he does. Shit, Kouen’s
men will be back any time, led by that traitorous, damned Magi. “You have to
let our people know  how it ended. They need….they need to be ready. I can’t
trust anyone else.”
 
“Damn you!” Ja’far hisses, and Sinbad smiles weakly. 
 
“Not if I can help it. That’s what they want.”
 
“But how can I--”
 
Sinbad wakes with a jolt, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs as he
gasps for air, suit soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead,
and for long moments, he has no idea where he is. Too small for a bed--a cot?
Is this Kou? Have the Emperor’s men--
 
Just a dream. 
 
He could laugh, he’s so relieved to snap back to reality, but the dampness on
his face isn’t sweat, and he’s not laughing.
 
He stumbles into Ja’far’s room, trying to quell the stupid, senseless tears,
but they’re as stubborn as he is. He’s careful for snakes, picking one up and
setting her back in her tank without a bite, then curls up around Ja’far,
yanking the smaller man to his chest like an overstuffed toy. “Sorry,” he
mumbles, “it’s me, don’t kill me, just go back to sleep, I’m sorry.”
 
Ja'far stirs immediately, the presence in his bed a far more jarring thing.
He'd woken hours ago to the sound of someone entering his apartment, but the
fall of the footsteps had been unmistakably Sinbad, and so Ja'far had simply
let himself doze back off again, unconcerned.
 
This is cause for a bit more concern, Ja'far thinks.
 
"…Sin?" Ja'far squirms, twisting within the other man's arms a bit, and he
feels something wet against the back of his neck. "Sin, are you all right?"
 
“Fine.” The sound is muffled into Ja’far’s upper back, and Sinbad squeezes
tighter, trying to swallow down the tears--but ah, he hadn’t been prepared to
hear Ja’far’s voice. His attempt to laugh it off comes off a bit hysterical.
“Bad dream, if you can believe it. Should know better than to sleep alone by
now.”
 
Ja'far swear he hears a rib crack, but he doesn't mention it. "I thought you
didn't have those anymore." He squirms, freeing himself until he can turn
properly within Sinbad's arms to actually face him. "Why are you even here? I
thought you'd be curled up with Judal."
 
Sinbad looks away, trying not to look like he’s hiding when he is. “Don’t have
them unless I sleep alone. Thought you knew that’s why I don’t.” He sighs,
looking up with a rueful grin. “My bed’s a little occupied. Some asian chick. I
was tired, didn’t want to talk.”
 
"… Ah." Ja'far heaves a quiet sigh. "Then why didn't you come in here?" 
 
“Didn’t want to disturb you.” Sinbad rakes a hand sheepishly back through his
hair. “Sorry. It’s been a while, I thought they might not come back.”
 
"Would it help to talk about it?" God, Ja'far's no therapist and he knows it,
but when Sinbad crawls into his bed clinging to him and crying, he sort of has
to do something. "Or do you just… want to go back to sleep?" 
 
Sinbad knows, knows beyond a doubt, that he won’t be able to sleep again
tonight. “Same stupid shit as when I was a kid,” he admits. “You’ve been in
them since I was a teenager, I told you about those weird dreams, right?”
 
Ja'far nods, his expression shifting wry. "How I made it in there is beyond
me." Slowly, he pushes himself up, though doesn't dislodge Sinbad's hold. "I
can make us some hot tea, if you want."
 
“I’m sorry, you should be sleeping. God, I’m an asshole, I shouldn’t have
come.” Sinbad doesn’t yank Ja’far down, but watches him stand, sighing out a
breath. “I can go, if you want.”
 
The look Ja'far fixes upon him is decidedly put out. "I just offered to make
you tea. Do I look like I want you to go? Here, just--" He plucks a rather
large snake from its tank, and drops it unceremoniously into Sinbad's arms.
"Hold that until I come back."
 
“Ah.” Sinbad shrugs gently, letting the pretty patterned thing wind around his
arms. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you going to keep me company until your momma makes
tea?”
 
"I'm not a woman, I can't be a momma," Ja'far tosses back with a huff, and
disappears but for a few minutes. The tea he brews is a rather specific, sleep-
oriented blend, and the cup is steaming by the time he brings it to Sinbad,
gently peeling the snake away from him to replace it with the cup. "Here.
You'll feel better after this." 
 
Sinbad takes a sniff, and his eyes lid almost immediately. “Ah. The sleepy
stuff, huh? Did you put any drugs in it this time, or just herbs?” It wouldn’t
be the first time Ja’far’s drugged him.
 
"I was afraid drugging you might make it worse tonight," Ja'far admits,
dropping down onto the edge of the bed and letting the snake wind around his
own arm. "You need to fall asleep naturally--or, well, mostly naturally. If you
still can't after this, you should just stay home tomorrow and get back on a
proper schedule."
 
“Or I could come here tomorrow night.” 
 
Sinbad drops his head onto Ja’far’s shoulder, eyes lidding already as he takes
a slow sip of the tea. “I always sleep best when I’m with you anyway.”
 
"… I gave you an offer to skip work, and you didn't take it? You really must be
feeling odd." Ja'far lifts a hand, slowly stroking it down the back of Sinbad's
head. "You can come back tomorrow night if you want. But don't crawl into bed
fully clothed next time." He pauses, face flushing a bit. "That… I mean, you
know what I mean. Going to bed in your suits just ruins them."
 
Any other time, Sinbad would seize the joke, make a lascivious comment. Right
now, the slow touch of Ja’far’s hand down the back of his head is the most
comforting thing he’s felt since--
 
Since he left me in chains, in tears, to save our people--
 
He sucks in a slow breath, hands shaking, and nods. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be here.”
 
Maybe he should have drugged Sinbad after all.
 
"… Finish drinking that and you can use me as a pillow… or whatever it is you
like to do." Ja'far carefully pulls away, long enough only to put the snake
back into its enclosure before dropping back onto the bed. "You can still take
tomorrow off, too, if you want. Just stay around here--though it sounds like
you need to set some ground rules with your little pet."
 
Sinbad shakes his head at that, dismissing it. “I can go home, I’m not worried
about it. I have no issue with him bringing a girl home, I just didn’t want to
risk him wanting a threesome when I was exhausted.” He rubs his face against
Ja’far’s shoulder, then drains his cup and snuggles up behind him. “Do you
never have weird dreams?”
 
"If I do… I don't remember them," Ja'far admits, flopping back down entirely
and simply letting Sinbad use him as some sort of large stuffed animal. "But
that goes for all dreams. I think there's something wrong with my brain,
regarding sleep." It's for the best, because if I kept having dreams about you
dying, I'd go insane.
 
“That’s for the best,” Sinbad murmurs. “Trust me...you don’t want dreams like
this.” He exhales deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he tightens his
arms. “You’d never be able to sleep alone either.”
 
"I'd probably never be able to sleep," Ja'far quietly says, and he curls back
against Sinbad's chest, gently butting his head up underneath the man's chin.
"But you need to at least try to. I'll stay awake until I'm sure you are."
 
“Don’t bother.” Sinbad can already feel his limbs relaxing, feel his breath
evening out. “I don’t know if it’s you or your tea, but I’m half there
already.”
 
"Good." Even though he's still going to make sure Sinbad is asleep long before
he follows suit. 
 
Ja'far never dreams, but he dreams that night.
 
Maybe it's the tea fumes. That's his excuse, anyway, when he wakes not in a
cold sweat, but oddly clinging to Sinbad in turn--
 
"Just get your work done already!"
 
The Sinbad in his dream is oddly not so different, if not tanner, maybe a bit
broader, draped in more clothes than Ja'far has ever seen him in and about as
much jewelry.
 
"You can keep scolding me more,"is his cheerful response, and damn if that
isn't Sinbad to the core, no matter what era he seems to have walked out from. 
 
"Hey, stupid king!" Sinbad's face twists briefly, and Ja'far feels something
akin to overwhelming disgust well up within his chest. That voice is so
familiar, and the swing of that long, thick braid--
 
Ja'far's face shoves its way into the other man's shoulder, an odd shiver
creeping down his spine. He likes being the one without these sorts of odd
issues. Probably, it's best not to even mention it. 
 
“Cold?” 
 
Sinbad’s voice is hushed, hopefully pitched low enough that Ja’far will be able
to ignore it if he’s really asleep. He reaches up, shutting the window the inch
he’d opened it, and tugs the blanket up over them. “We’re getting sea breezes
tonight. I thought the smell might calm me down. Sorry if it woke you.”
 
"Ah… no. I'm fine." Ja'far shifts, rolling onto his back with a slow, measured
sigh. "Did you manage any sleep at all?" he asks, eyes lidded as they slide
over to Sinbad. Well, if he looks hard enough, he supposes the man does look
the part of a king decently enough. 
 
“A few more hours. It’s enough to get by on, for sure.” Sinbad stretches out,
muscles aching as he does. “You should let me buy you a nicer bed. This one
gives me a crick in my back, and I’m way too young for that.”
 
"… You're going on thirty," Ja'far wryly points out, and slowly sits up,
stretching out his own limbs. "Hey, Sin… what made you pick out 'Sinbad' as
your stage name?"
 
Sinbad laughs, folding his arms behind his head, relaxing back as his feet hang
off the end of the bed. “First film I ever did for Rashid had an Arabian
Knights theme. He had something tackier in mind, but I cut out everything but
the first word. Really, there are too many nautical puns in porn for anyone’s
own good. I liked the sound of ‘Sinbad,’ though. Kind of dangerous-sexy, and
obviously fake so no one tried to stalk me by it. And it’s not as cheesy as
Dick LongDong or whatever else people were suggesting.”
 
"I'd probably put you out of your misery if that were the case," Ja'far admits,
shaking his head as he flops back down next to the other man. Sinbad really is
too large for his bed. He sighs a bit, watching Sin's feet dangle. "I don't
know why I was wondering. I've never even given it any thought." Until he had a
dream with scrolls and Sinbad's name written in some obviously arabic language-
-how long has it been since he's had to read that, anyway? And it wasn't even
the same as he remembered. Then again, dreams never make much sense, do they?
He's over thinking this. 
 
Sinbad’s hand drops down to Ja’far’s head, tousling sleep-mussed hair. “I’m not
the only one with a fake name out of an Arabian fairytale. And at least mine
fits my heritage, close enough. I mean, my mom was Indian, that’s an Asian
subcontinent, definitely close enough to be exotic. You never told me why the
mob gave you your name.” And I stopped asking years ago.
 
"Because I don't even know why myself," Ja'far protests, batting Sinbad's hands
away. "Probably just to hide my identity when they sold me to another
organization. I can't even remember the name my parents gave me sometimes, nor
is it worth remembering." 
 
“Barely remember my own,” Sinbad admits. That’s a lie--he does, but only in the
voice of his mother, murmured into his ear as a child. “I’ve been Sinbad for
half my life, the half I can remember a lot better. Well, at least I can
remember the boring parts.”
 
"Mmn. I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't calling you Sin," Ja'far admits,
and he twists onto his side, laying his head against Sinbad's shoulder. "Oddly
enough, it suits you."
 
“Odder still,” Sinbad points out, “that you’re the only one who refers to a
porn star as Sin. I always figured it would be obvious, but it’s just you.”
 
"… Really? I thought others would do it, too." Ja'far's eyes lid. "Maybe
they're just intimidated by you. Honestly, you're kind of like a big puppy."
 
“I agree, I’m lovable and harmless.” Sinbad rolls over, nudging Ja’far’s
shoulder with his face. “Why don’t you like the ocean? If lived as close to the
beach as you do, I’d never shut the window.”
 
"I don't know." It reminds me of home is what he wants to say, but that isn't
right, when he was born in a village in the middle of nowhere with only a
damned slowly trickling river for miles. Ja'far shrugs a bit, sliding his hands
back through Sinbad's hair. "We can trade. You can have this place and all the
snakes, good luck with them." 
 
Sinbad snorts. “I’ve offered you to come live in my place a dozen times. You’d
be back here in a second, screaming at me for upgrading everything in here to
the latest, comfiest models.”
 
"That's a waste of money." Ja'far snorts. "And you have a live-in boyfriend
now. Way more maintenance than my snakes."
 
“Yeah, but you can’t feed your snakes leftover cheeseburgers. And they don’t
co-star in films and make you a shitload of money.”
 
"I sell their venom on the black market."
 
“Of course you do.” Sinbad laughs, getting an arm around Ja’far’s shoulders.
“That’s probably about as safe as letting Judal stay in my house.”
 
"Judal brings his girlfriends home, apparently," Ja'far mutters, his lips
twisting. "And I know you don't believe me, but I have a bad feeling about
him."
 
Sinbad strokes a thumb up Ja’far’s shoulder, then down again. “I never said I
didn’t believe you.”
 
"… But you don't feel the same way," Ja'far points out, giving Sinbad's hair a
gentle tug. "You should really stop thinking with your dick when it comes to
him."
 
“I never said I didn’t feel the same way, either.” Some of those dreams are
entirely too vivid for comfort, especially after he’d met Judal. “I just don’t
think a bad feeling is worth hurting the kid over.”
 
"So you're going to wait until he does something to hurt you?" Ja'far sighs,
dropping his forehead against Sinbad's shoulder. "I don't understand that
logic."
 
“I mean that he’s a good kid, and he’s never done anything to hurt me.” Sinbad
raises an eyebrow. “It’s called the benefit of the doubt. I gave it to you,
once.”
 
"I was indebted to you," Ja'far insists, frowning up at him. "That's
different."
 
“And he’s living in my house, rent-free, and I got him out from under Kou’s
thumb and off heroin,” Sinbad points out. “Just because he doesn’t live by some
obscure Old World code of honor doesn’t mean he has no conscience.”
 
"You saythat, but…" A long sigh, and Ja'far shuts his eyes, annoyed. "Fine.
Forget it. I know you're going to do whatever you want regarding him, anyway."
 
“He is my boyfriend.” There’s a slight element of reproach to it. “A position
I’ve offered to you many times, you know.”
 
"I am about as far from boyfriend material as you'll ever see."
 
“Mmm. I’d rather not date you, anyway,” Sinbad says with a grin. “We’re already
pretty much married.”
 
Ja'far levels a stare at him. "So then you're keeping a mistress. Good luck
with that."
 
“Men of power and wealth do that all the time,” Sinbad says, unconcerned. “At
least the two of you know about each other. My conscience is at peace.”
 
"And here I was contemplating taking you out for breakfast. Pass."
 
“Are you saying you think I’m immoral?” Sinbad asks. “I’m not lying to anyone.
I’m not hurting anyone. Want me to cook?”
 
"I'm saying I don't like your boyfriend," Ja'far bluntly retorts. "And there's
nothing in the fridge except thawing rats, sorry." 
 
“Thawing--” Sinbad swallows hard. “Uh. Do they come with eggs? Because
otherwise I’ll go for iHop instead.”
 
"We can do that instead. Relax, they're shrink-wrapped. You know how I am about
everything being clean." Ja'far stretches, rolling away slightly. "I just need
to feed everyone, and then we can go. Take a shower or something, you're still
all weird from last night. You left your clothes here from last time, I washed
them if you'd like to change."
 
“Perfect. You’re right, I’m...well. Smelly. That’s a good word for it.” That’s
a good word for being dry after being soaked with a cold sweat. Good enough.
“Sure you don’t want to join me?”
 
"… Give me ten minutes and I might." He can indulge Sinbad once in awhile, he
supposes.
 
Instead of waiting, Sinbad gets the shower started, spending a good portion of
ten minutes just letting hot water run down through the thick mass of his
unbound hair, letting it trickle down his body as he stands, eyes closed,
facing the spray. By the time ten minutes have passed, he can’t even remember
the meat of the dreams, only reality, and that’s as much as he can ask from any
shower.
 
Ja'far slinks in only a few minutes past when he said he would, stripping his
clothes in short order and pulling the curtain aside to step in. "We do both
fit better in your shower," he admits, and he reaches for the bottle of shampoo
and Sinbad's hair. "You look like you're feeling better now, at least."
 
“Much better. Remember to take compensation for all the shampoo I use out of
the budget,” he says with a grin. “Need me to kneel for you to do that?”
 
"I can reach." If I stand on tiptoe. Sinbad really must go through a fortune in
shampoo, because it nearly clears out the bottle by time he's done lathering up
the man's hair thoroughly. "I'll never understand," Ja'far murmurs, kneading
his fingers along Sinbad's scalp, "how you manage to put up with this much
hair."
 
“I was born with it. It’s either put up with it or shave my head every day, and
that’s a look that’s never appealed to me.” Ja’far has lovely fingers, quick
and light and clever, and they work wonders in his hair, against his scalp.
“Looks good on me, though, doesn’t it?”
 
"I think you are one of the few men that can wear this much hair and look good,
rather than ridiculous," Ja'far admits, lightly digging his thumbs into the
back of Sinbad's neck to quickly work out a lingering kink there before
kneading in smooth, firm circles behind his ears. "Step under the water and
wash that out while I do mine."
 
Sinbad lets out a slow groan, head lolling forward as he does as he’s told,
then turns around. “Let me do yours. Any excuse to get my hands on you.”
 
"… Said as if you ever bother with an excuse." Ja'far doesn't protest, though,
and hands Sinbad the bottle as he turns around. "At least mine's easy."
 
“But I like to have one. Then you hiss at me less.” Sinbad empties the rest of
the bottle--definitely going to pay him back--into his hand, works up a lather
between his palms, and starts threading his fingers through the fine shock of
silvery hair. “Did your parents have hair like this? Or are you an albino?”
 
"Albinos typically have blue or even red-appearing eyes, you know," Ja'far
patiently answers, obviously used to the question by now. How many times has he
answered it with Sinbad in particular, really, and it's hard to be annoyed when
Sinbad's fingers feel good. "My parents did have hair like this, I think. Most
of the people in my village were very pale-haired, blonde or even lighter."
 
“Huh. That makes sense.” A tug towards him brings Ja’far under the spray, his
back flush against Sinbad’s broad chest. “Your hair is so fine though. It’s
like it disappears when it’s wet, mine’s just as huge as ever.”
 
"That's probably the Indian thing." Ja'far sinks back against him, his eyes
shutting as he lets the water run over him. Sinbad is as warm and solid as
ever, and though he can't help but think about how they're wasting perfectly
good hot water, this is still nice. "At least you don't have hair like
Judal's."
 
“His hair is gorgeous, though.” Sinbad laughs, running his hands up and down
Ja’far’s torso, slowly washing the shampoo away down the drain. “If you know so
much about eugenics, explain the Rens. Red-haired Asians, what’s that about?”
 
"… Weird," Ja'far settles upon, wriggling a little in spite of himself.
Sinbad's hands are distracting now, and it's hard not to sag back all the way
no matter how he'd like to, lest the curve of his ass press back rather…
forwardly. "Probably dye." 
 
“Probably. The younger ones especially, that girly boy is bright pink. Creepy
little shit.” Sinbad’s hands wander down to Ja’far’s hips, then the top of his
thighs, hands squeezing a little more than they need to. “You feel good,
Ja’far.”
 
"Ah…" Ja'far swallows hard, and there's really no helping the lurch backwards
now, not when his legs wobble a bit and Sinbad is just too solid and warm not
to lean back against. "Are you always this touchy after a bad night's sleep?"
he murmurs, and it honestly doesn't come out as annoyed as he wished it did,
especially when his own hands slide down to rest atop Sinbad's.
 
“I’m pretty much this touchy in general,” Sinbad admits. His hands tighten
slightly, and he slides them up, over Ja’far’s chest, as he leans down to
nuzzle into the side of his neck. “I thought you’d like it better if you knew I
were clean. Guess I was right.”
 
"It helps," he admits, exhaling a slow, hitching breath as his head tips to the
side. "Does my OCD really come off that strongly? Don't answer that." 
 
“But I think it’s cute. Except when it’s the reason you don’t like my hands on
you,” Sinbad admits, letting his teeth scrape gently over one curved ear. “You
squeak so much when you’re anxious.”
 
"I don't squeak--" Except his voice does break a little when Sinbad's teeth set
to his skin, and Ja'far shivers, his eyes lidding as he wriggles back, his ass
sliding against the hardening line of Sinbad's cock. "We're going to waste all
the hot water," he huffs out, his head lolling back against Sinbad's shoulder. 
 
“So send me your water bill. I don’t care.” Sinbad lets out a slow, even
breath, hips rubbing forward in an easy rock, cock hardening every second more
and more as he sets his mouth to the side of Ja’far’s neck. “Some things are
worth the waste.”
 
"Holding you to that one," Ja'far groans, pulsejumping underneath Sinbad's
mouth, a whimper strangled into his throat as he swings one hand out to brace
against the wall of the shower, giving himself a bit more leverage to arch his
back and grind backwards. This isn't how he visualized his morning going. For
once, he can't say he minds the change in plans.
 
Sinbad laughs, urging Ja’far’s supple thighs apart, letting his cock slide
forward between them, sighing at the soft press of them on all sides. “When
have you ever known me to be stingy with my money? Or….hmmm...unwilling to
reward your….cooperation?”
 
Ja'far shivers, his eyes flickering down as Sinbad's cock slides forward, the
dripping head of it just visible as it sinks between his thighs. He bites his
lip, briefly shutting his eyes again when his own cock jumps, aching at just
the sight. "S-so this is… cooperation?" he half-laughs, and hesitantly, he
slides a hand down, swallowing when his thumb brushes over the head of Sinbad's
cock when it ruts forward again, coming away sticky and slick even underneath
the hot spray of water.
 
 “Well….you’re not pulling away, are you?” Sinbad’s grin is wolfish, and he
moves forward, pressing Ja’far’s front against one tiled wall, sliding easily
forward and back, letting the shampoo make everything slippery slick. “So I
guess it’s up to you. What kind of reward do you want?”
 
The press of the cool tile wall against his flushed face when he rubs it there
makes him shudder even harder, and Ja'far wriggles, reflex making him stretch
onto his tiptoes to better arch back, his hands flatting against the wall.
"Don't have to reward me," he groans, eyes fluttering as his thighs squeeze
tighter about Sinbad's cock, feeling the pulse of it between them. "I'm not…
you make it sound like you have to pay me--to do this--when I just like it--"
 
Sinbad chuckles, voice changing to a slow hiss at the squeeze of Ja’far’s
thighs around him, and his hands tighten on Ja’far’s hips, pulling him flush.
“Took me too long to get you in my bed,” he admits, nibbling on Ja’far’s neck.
“Hard to forget it was so difficult I thought I’d have to bribe you at first.
Just like that, press your legs together.”
 
"No bribing," is the huff to follow, and Ja'far swallows around another, broken
noise, his thighs squeezing tight as his hips jerk forward when his cock slides
against the shower wall. "And--logistics, but--I haven't been in your bed yet."
 
Sinbad blinks, hips pausing as he frowns. “Huh. You haven’t, have you? That
seems….odd. I want you there, that’s for sure.” He slides forward with a low,
feral noise in his throat, sucking hard on the smaller man’s neck, pulling back
for just a second to rub the head of his cock over Ja’far’s hole before sliding
forward between his thighs again. “Want you everywhere.”
 
"Everywhere--within reason," Ja'far manages to agree when his voice catches in
his throat, his head lolling forward. The throb of his own cock almost hurts
now, with every twitch of his hips against the wall driving him mad, and he
groans as he ruts back, wriggling forward enough to let Sinbad's cock slip from
his thighs again, all the better to slide his ass up against the hard length of
it. "Feels good," he admits on a mumble, face flushing hotter. "I like it--when
it's not quite in… but you still rub it there." 
 
“You like being teased.” 
 
Sinbad thrusts forward again, rubbing up this time to let the full length of
his cock slide over that tight little hole, up, down, and forward again, so
hard his cock is aching, throbbing. “Not gonna last long.” He slides a hand
around, wrapping around Ja’far’s lovely, heavy cock, stroking slowly. “You
about ready?”
 
Sinbad's hand makes his hips jerk, an eager, needy little squirm thrusting his
cock up into the rough, slick slide of his palm. Ja'far manages a nod, his
mouth falling open to suck in a deep, ragged gasp, and that's it, when he's
already so hard and Sinbad is touching him and his cock is almost inside him
but not quite--
 
He comes with a lurch, fingers curling white-knuckled against the wall and
teeth sinking into his lip to keep back a thoroughly incriminating whine as he
spills, shivering all the way down to his arched toes, with his legs wobbling
and thinking very seriously about giving out from under him.
 
It’s hard for Sinbad even to tell whether Ja’far spills first or he does, hot
and wet over the inside of Ja’far’s thighs, rubbing it in with every last,
ragged thrust as he sighs, wrapping his arms hard around the smaller man.
“Good,” he murmurs. He kisses Ja’far’s cheek, sighing. “Really, really good.”
 
Ja'far flops back against him, his head rolling back to press against Sinbad's
shoulder. "Get rid of your pet," he breathlessly mutters, "and I'll do that
with you in your bed." 
 
Sinbad lets out a groan, wrapping his arms tight around Ja’far, flopping back
against the wall. “Had him for a month at most,” he mutters, “and I’ve had the
bed for years. Why now?”
 
"Because I only just now thought it was a good idea to sleep with you. Ugh, the
water is getting cold," Ja'far grumbles, reaching around to turn it off. "Stay
put, I still have those extra large towels you like." 
 
Sinbad wrings out his hair for the first of many times, twisting and
untwisting, hearing water spill to the bottom of the tub. “Yes sir. I love your
comfy towels, where did you get them?”
 
"Amazing what a person can find when they do their own shopping," Ja'far
drawls, pulling out a pair of towels--one for the man's hair, another for his
body--and then one for himself. "Here. If you're still up for going out to
breakfast, we can do that, or I can run out and get it for us and you can try
and curl up again."
 
“Sleep is for the weak.” Sinbad towels off happily, trying to subdue the desire
to roll around in the towels--they’re obscenely comfortable, really, and they
smell delicate and sweet and like freshly laundered sunshine. “Pancakes, on the
other hand, are for the powerful and wealthy and attractive. Lead the way.”
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