Outside of the 'saving his life' aspect, Ja'far is hardpressed to find a single thing about Judal that he likes.

The problem lies in all of the things that Judal has done in the past, and how he has yet to show proof of anything he's severed, regarding Al-Sarmen. Ja'far simply doesn't care that his life was saved. If it had been done for free, that would have been one thing-in this case, however, it's obvious that it was everything but.

When his thoughts and dreams (he never dreams, but now, apparently, he does) are plagued with what could happen to Sinbad because of Judal's deal, the sight of his rukh black and tainted and his form twisting into something utterly inhuman, Ja'far simply can't do anything other than make one decision.

This is illogical, a part of his mind says, and indeed, he does have to wonder if Sinbad is right, if Judal truly has changed and wants to be a part of Sindria in a helpful manner, done with his past and done with his involvement with their enemies. But at the same time, Judal has proved Sinbad wrong, time and time again. Why is this time any different?

Then again, if he's alive-and he plans to stay that way-his vows to stay by Sinbad's side and protect him remain fully intact. Leaving anything up to chance, especially something preventable, is far from on Ja'far's to-do list.

Killing a Magi, however, is a task that Ja'far finds improbable at best.

There has to be some irony in attempting to poison Judal (using some of the more lethal versions of his stash, which he handles with care now that he's not exactly immune) and it not exactly backfiring, but simply not working. Ja'far has to wonders if Magi have naturally purifying bodies or something along those lines, or if the Kou Empire has made the little wretch immune on their own time.

That idea in particular shot down, Ja'far sets his teeth into a grind, goes about his daily tasks-irritably, much to the chagrin of his coworkers-and tries to think.

Well.

There's always that option.

Ja'far makes a mental apology to the Eighth Princess of Kou-really, she seems like a nice enough girl-and waits.

Judal's bed is always warmer than her own. Kougyoku had learned that years ago, and wistfully remembers a time it was allowed for her to sneak into the Magi's bed, curling up in a smell of spices and peach, feeling the pulse of Judal's heart against her ear. That had been before she was a proper princess, before she'd had attendants who cared where she'd spent her evenings, and before everything had gotten much colder.

She sleeps so well in the circle of Judal's arms that it's long, long hours before she wakes, seeing the unfamiliar, neatly-robed figure of an official advisor.

Her scream probably wakes half the palace.

Ja'far supposes he can use that as an advantage, in a way.

If anyone asks, it's easy enough to blame Judal's insanity and tendencies. Defending a Kou Princess from Judal's advances isn't exactly a farfetched lie, especially considering how sluggishly the idiot stirs, flopping partially atop Kougyoku even as he slowly wakes.

"… Gyoku? What's-"

Even in the dark, Ja'far values his aim, and a thrown dagger through his braid to pin Judal to the bed is rather satisfying. "Princess, if you would please get out of the way."

Kougyoku has barely a second of paralyzed terror before her brain kicks in, and she throws herself on top of Judal as if he's the maiden, she the Magi. "Don't you touch him!" she screams, yanking the pin out of her hair and calling on Vinea. "l'll stop you!"

Ja'far takes it back, if only because he hates messes.

Dungeon capturer she might be, but he's faster, and about a hundred times more experienced than a little girl trying to play protector. A simple loop of wire about her and her neck provides a quick means of control, and a sharp yank after that enough to cut off her air before he tosses her aside. There are herbs-magic, too-that can make sure she doesn't exactly remember all of this later, as needed.

Judal's awake now, but a hasty grab for his wand isn't exactly fast enough when Ja'far is already zeroed-in on him, a knee slamming into the Magi's sternum as he pins Judal to the bed, blade at his throat. "Try it," he quietly says, "and not only will this be your last night living, but I will take my time reminding you of all the times you drew that thing on my king."

Kougyoku thrashes, attempts to at least call out for help. Her vision starts to go dark, and her eyes flare in defiance. The hairpin digs a bloody hole in her hand as she clutches, holding on to consciousness just as strongly, and water rushes up out of nowhere in force.

Then, finally, everything slips to black. Maybe he can make ice, at least.

The tension of Kougyoku slumping against the wire brings Ja'far to yank in back in short order, his attention fully gone to Judal. "The hell is your problem?" the Magi spits out, breathing in and out shallowly, considering the press of that blade that nearly nicks his skin each time. "I saved your life, you know-"

"After bargaining with Sinbad's." Ja'far has no qualms about cutting, the thin, bright flash of blood that wells up underneath Judal's chin rather satisfying. "No matter what he thinks, I know exactly what you are."

"I'm not here to kill him!"

"There's more than one way to kill a person."

Judal growls, lurches up like some big cat, and Ja'far does have to give him a bit of credit for his strength. It's not much, only enough to send them off the bed, and Ja'far still ends up with his heel digging down into the brat's chest. Judal's more desperate attempt to grab for his wand is enough to make him roll his eyes, and Ja'far kicks it further away without another thought.

"Damn it, let me go-"

"Shut up." It should be the last time he has to ever tell Judal that, what with how he moves to cut the Magi's throat.

It isn't as if Sinbad hasn't been expecting Ja'far to try something, after all. Not after the conversations they've had, and Ja'far has certainly made it perfectly clear what he thinks about Judal's presence in Sindria, if not his very existence.

He'd already been in the same wing of the palace, already been striding that way when he'd heard the cut-off scream, and had raced down, long legs pumping fast as he'd sprinted to the Magi's room, hearing the thump of a body hitting the floor.

Ja'far is a good assassin. Sinbad just hopes his reflexes are also quick, because nothing short of bodily intervention is going to save Judal's life now.

He throws himself forward, aiming to knock Ja'far away, tripping on a snaking wire and landing on top of Judal, with no time to say anything.

Or perhaps it's less the time, more the fact that Ja'far's blade flicks fast across his neck where Judal's should be, and everything explodes in a spray of crimson.

If there's one scent that's forever familiar in Ja'far's nose, it's the scent of Sinbad's blood.

Judal is forgotten in a flash, the pounding of blood in his own ears a fast, panicky thing, and Ja'far's blades immediately clatter to the ground, fingers pressing hard and fast to the severed artery. "Sin-Sin, I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to-"

The words are hollow in his ears. Of course Sinbad wasn't supposed to be in the middle of this, wasn't suppose to be involved at all. Any harm to the man at all is what he was trying to prevent after all, and yet-

"Move," Judal frantically breathes in his ear, and Ja'far balks, no matter the viselike grip on his wrist from the Magi trying to pull it from Sinbad's neck. "Move! Let me heal him-"

"Considering what you did to me, there's no way I-"

"I fucking purified you, you bastard! I ripped all the poison you've ever taken from your veins, all the fucking mess it was doing to your body, all the tumors it was growing on your damned brain! Now let me fucking fix him."

Ja'far's hand numbly falls away, and Judal immediately lurches forward, magic on his fingers stopping the flow of blood, and the deep gash neatly cauterized and closed within moments, the only strain from it how he bites his lip, brow furrowed in worry and concentration.

The worst thing about having his throat cut, Sinbad thinks in irritation somewhere under the pounding, pulsing panic, is that he can't even talk. His hands don't move right, body convulsing, and only after something black-white-hot slides across his throat does everything stop being red.

His arms flop down to the bed, then slowly try to drift up, resting on Judal's wrist. His whole chest is sticky and rapidly cooling, and all his extremities are oddly cold. The concern, the intent on Judal's face is somehow soothing, and his hand clutches a little more tightly. Thank you, he thinks, even if his voice isn't working yet.

"Reeeeally don't like that feeling," Judal groans mostly to himself, shutting his eyes briefly as more rukh flutters about his fingertips, coalesced in such a large, dense amount that it's probably rather visible to everyone in the room. "No one said choosing kings would make it hurt when you almost die. Geez, Sinbad, put your pet snake on a leash."

The door quietly shutting at his heels is the last of Ja'far's presence, and Judal scowls, shoving his attention fully back into the healing process.

It takes long hours of healing, and many more of cuddling and petting, before Sinbad feels well enough to leave Judal's bed, tucking him in with the traumatized princess as a replacement hugtoy.

Only then does he set out in search of Ja'far, poking his head into the darkened office first-no matter what's happened, he reasons, the hives will keep him tethered to this place more strongly than any other.

Sure enough, there's a single candle burning, and Sinbad can make out the vague outline of shoulders and a head. "I doubt you've slept."

Ja'far startles so badly that his hand snaps out, nearly knocking the burning candle over in the process. While he catches it, wax still splatters everywhere, and amidst his cursing, Ja'far manages still to shrink back, the shake of his hands nearly visible.

"Sin. Sinbad-I-"

He feels like a stupid, rash teenager again, too fast to anger, too fast to pull out a weapon and kill, and that's what he's done, isn't it? Sinbad is still standing before him as fine as he ever was no matter his mistakes, all because of Judal's hand that healed him. Ja'far swallows hard, climbs to his feet, steps out from around his desk, and without a moment's hesitation, simply kneels at his king's feet.

"… An apology is, without a doubt, nowhere near acceptable enough, but I beg you to hear it all the same, my king."

Sinbad looks down. Ja'far has been rash, and hateful, and desperately, ferociously protective of him to the exclusion of everything else including sanity. What a gem he'd found, those many years ago. Still…

He nods, extending his hand for Ja'far to take. "I'll hear it. Speak."

There's a flash of relief, but it's not nearly enough. Ja'far bids his fingers not to tremble when he reaches out, grabbing at Sinbad's hand to pull it to his lips. "… I acted without thinking." He sucks in a slow, calming breath. "Not… entirely, but I-… all I thought of was the Judal we've seen in the past, how he has nearly killed you so many times before, how he's destroyed things you've known and loved. The last thing I wanted was for him to do that again, especially knowing his ties with Al-Sarmen have yet to be severed. Killing him was the only guarantee that I thought I would have to see you properly protected, especially since you became his king in order to save me." Ja'far swallows again. "I didn't realize… that you do hold some value to him, after all. I'm sorry."

There's barely a thought in Sinbad's mind to keep playing the stern king, not when Ja'far is so humble, so shaken, so obviously on the edge. He kneels, cupping Ja'far's face in his hand, and very gently, kisses him once on each eyelid. "Were I as vigilant in my own defense as you, I have no doubt I would live to be a thousand. In my heart, you are forgiven, wholly and completely with no reservation. I would ask only one task of you in penance."

Ja'far nods before the words even finish rolling from Sinbad's tongue. "Anything. Whatever it is, I don't care; I'll see to it immediately."

"Apologize to Judal. Sincerely. No matter how unkind he is."

It makes his stomach roll, but Ja'far nods again all the same. It isn't even your place to be disgusted with the idea of it right now, you idiot. "… I'll do it right now, Your Majesty."

"He and the princess are sleeping right now." Sinbad looks down at Ja'far, and sighs. "You're one of the smartest men I've ever known, Ja'far. Surely you can see that I don't make all my decisions blindfolded. Sometimes the best course of action is the most rash. Trust in me, that's all I've ever asked."

"I do trust you!" It comes out a little too high, a little too panicky, and the look Ja'far shoots up at him is nothing short of desperate. "It's just-with Judal, you… you tend not to make the best decisions." Ja'far bites his lip, glancing aside. "You're even worse when it comes to me, no matter how many times I have asked you to think of yourself first. I felt… responsible."

"So you trust me," Sinbad says dryly, "as long as I make decisions you agree with." He tightens his hands on Ja'far's shoulders, then gives up and pulls him into an embrace. "You will have to live," he says, slightly muffled against Ja'far's shoulder, "with the fact that you serve a king who would trade his life for yours, and considers it to be a good decision."

"… I will never understand why you think I am worth such a thing," is the eventual, quiet reply, lost mostly into Sinbad's neck as Ja'far shoves his face there, unable to quite look at the other man. "Anyone could do my job. You have dozens of others to protect you."

"And here I thought you were going to trust me." Sinbad squeezes, a bit too hard, just enough to be a reminder to Ja'far the next time his ribs twinge. "I would be lost without you. And I don't like being lost."

"Just because I trust you doesn't mean I don't like to understand," Ja'far mumbles, sagging into Sinbad's hold with a heave of his chest. "Besides, you seem to do all of your own navigating just fine, most of the time."

"How confident do you think I'd be in forging ahead without you and Masrur and the rest of them by my side? That reminds me," he says, stroking a hand down Ja'far's back. "Tell Masrur you forgive him. I think he's been exercising upwards of ten hours a day in penance. He's certain you hate him."

"For what?" Ja'far manages, lifting his head with an utterly confused look on his face. "What does Masrur think he did?"

"Stopped you, on my orders." Sinbad sighs, loosening his grip enough that Ja'far won't have to crane his neck up. "He even asked me if it would be easier for you if he resigned and left, so you'd never have to see him again."

"Of all the ridiculous things…" the smaller man sighs, rocking back onto his heels with a nod. "I'll speak to him, too, then. Honestly, I feel like we've all gone insane…"

Sinbad hesitates for a moment, then leans forward, cupping Ja'far's face. "Know this," he says, very quietly. "If you had kept everything as much a secret as you had wanted, none of this would have been avoided. Something else would have happened, because I would have moved heaven and earth to get you back. If you had died, I would have brought you back. Maybe in trying I would have followed you. So don't think you can hide things like that for my own good."

"… Oh." What else is there to say to something like that, really? Ja'far sucks in a slow, calming breath, staring up at Sinbad with his brow knitting. "You're… something of an idiot, you know that? But… I'm… honored, that you would do something like that for me."

"Honor has little to do with it." Though it is nice to hear. "Just take better care of yourself. Apologize to Judal, forgive Masrur, and….hmm, start sleeping in your bed instead of slumped over your desk. And eating at least once a day." Sinbad grins. "How long do I get to make demands on you as compensation for slitting my throat?"

"For awhile," Ja'far replies with a sigh, his head hanging forward. "Did it hurt terribly? I'm really, incredibly sorry."

"Mmm, felt more strange than anything. You've been cut badly before, you know how it goes sort of cold? Actually, I should thank you, I've always wondered what a fatal blow feels like." His eyes flicker, and he adds, more seriously, "The best part about keeping an assassin, Ja'far, is knowing he'll kill who you want him to-and no one else. Remember that."

And if he hadn't felt thoroughly chastised before, that certainly did it. Ja'far manages another, brisk nod. "Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies, my king."

"You're forgiven." Sinbad leans forward, and brushes a quick kiss to the tip of Ja'far's nose. "I mean it. I'll never bring it up again."

"… That's a lie, but I don't mind," is the sigh to follow. "I'd rather be reminded so I don't act so… rashly again."

"Then I'll trust your judgment." Sinbad smiles, and squeezes Ja'far's hand. "Go take care of everything, then come to my bed. If you want to."

A short nod, and Ja'far makes quick work of an exit, speeding down the hall to deal with Judal first, whether he's sleeping or not.

The sooner this is behind him, the better.

Judal is decidedly cranky about being woken, but it's for the best, as he's more concerned with going back to sleep than being apologized to. It isn't the first time I've nearly been killed by you isn't exactly a sane response, but Ja'far takes it, with an apology to the wide-eyed princess as well, who looks torn between attacking and hiding.

Masrur is a little more awkward, a little more strange, but the Fanalis seems relieved, and that's what counts (even though Ja'far still isn't quite certain why there was an issue in the first place-really, the man was just following orders).

Some things about people he'll never quite understand, Ja'far thinks.

Sinbad, no matter how long Ja'far has known him, is an enigma. Tonight is proof enough of that, considering he'd nearly killed the man by accident, and Sinbad wanted him to apologize to other people. It makes his head hurt a bit, and makes him less inclined to be in his bed by his lonesome, far preferring the man's warmth and the thrum of his blood within his veins rather than it spilling onto the floor.

"… I brought your favorite wine," is his offer when he pokes his head into the king's chambers. As if Sinbad doesn't already have it here, but it's a gesture, all the same.

At the sound, Sinbad looks up from a pile of scrolls, stretching slowly before standing. "Just goes to show that you have good taste sometimes." He plucks two glasses from a nearby shelf, a sideways jerk of his head leading Ja'far out to the balcony, where he sets the glasses down on the railing. "You didn't have to join me tonight. I'm glad you did."

"… I think after tonight, I'd like to keep an eye on you," Ja'far wryly admits, heaving a sigh as he carefully moves to pour them each a glass of wine-Sinbad's substantially fuller.

"Ah, because so many problems have been caused by you not keeping an eye on me," Sinbad says with a grin, clinking his glass against Ja'far's. "Was it just me, or did Judal say something about tumors growing in your brain?"

"God, I don't know," Ja'far groans, dropping his chin into one hand as he leans against the balcony. "I wouldn't even be surprised. Considering I was starting to lose function in some of my hands and feeling in my legs, anything is possible."

Sinbad wraps an arm around Ja'far's shoulders, feeling the warmth under his hand. "Are you going to do it again? Take poison, build up an immunity?"

"… Considering I'm partially useless any time I'm sent out to assassinate someone if I don't…" Ja'far sighs, shrugging as he leans to the side, letting his head rest against Sinbad's shoulder. "It's not wise, to work with that much poison and be so easily affected by it."

Sinbad sighs, tugging a strand of Ja'far's hair. "You can always just stab people, you know. I don't like what it does to you." He hesitates, then asks, "If I ordered you not to, would you listen?"

"Not every situation calls for a stabbing," he mildly points out, and frowns, a crease of annoyance obvious on his brow. "… I probably would," Ja'far reluctantly replies, "but it wouldn't be smart."

Sinbad makes a decision, and nods. "I'd rather be stupid and keep you safe. Think of it as me keeping you on your toes, if you must. No more taking poison."

"I'll consider it a challenge," is the sigh to follow, and Ja'far downs back a swallow of wine. "Watch, now I'll die from a slip of my own blades."

"You're not wincing," Sinbad points out. "Have you gotten used to the taste of wine so quickly, or does it please you?"

"… It's not terrible," Ja'far grumbles in response. "This one, in particular. You have… decent taste."

Sinbad's answer is to lean over and brush a kiss over the shell of Ja'far's ear. "I do indeed. Remember that."

"I was talking about wine," Ja'far mutters, no matter the little twitch of a shiver that slides down his spine. "Not many other things. In other things, you're far more… garish." His eyes slide sideways, to the faint makings of a scar that cuts across Sinbad's throat, and Ja'far makes a valiant attempt not to frown (he fails). "Or just plain wrong."

"Stop that." Sinbad gives another tug, less gentle, and refills his own glass. "I didn't invite you here tonight to be morbid. I want to celebrate the fact that we're both alive and well."

"My apologies, I can't quite help it." Ja'far takes another, slower sip of his wine. "… You're certain that doesn't hurt?"

"I've been injured far worse in my life," Sinbad assures him. "This is no more than a papercut. Judal is surprisingly adept at healing, for someone so accustomed to bringing injury to others."

Ja'far ignores the slight against his killing methods, as it's for the best that Sinbad considers it a paper cut, after all. "He is a water-based magician. Ideally, he will put that healing ability to good use far often than not."

"It would be more likely," Sinbad suggests, "if he feels some measure of acceptance from the people he's to be working with. More incentive to save their lives, you understand."

Honestly, Ja'far tries very, very hard not to look entirely put out at the idea. "Even if I can acknowledge he cares somewhat for you, you realize it's very hard for me to respect the little brat."

"Then avoid him." Sinbad shrugs. "Simple as that. Don't make trouble, I'll try to keep him out of trouble, we can make do that way until the two of you learn to live with each other. And if he has his little princess, as long as I can keep her brother from invading, maybe he'll be a bit less….ah, precious."

"I don't make any trouble, he's the one that pokes at me," Ja'far growls, and promptly finishes off his glass with a huff. "And that princess will be trouble at this rate, too. Please don't ever wonder why I worry about your safety or future."

"I don't wonder. I just think it's a waste of time when you know I'll do what I like in any case!" Sinbad drains his own glass, and before Ja'far can refill either of them, tugs him back into the bedroom, onto the bed. "Tell me," he says, eyes sparkling, face slightly flushed from the night's cold and wine, "what would please you this night?"

Sinbad really is an example in never heeding warnings and generally being the most unpredictable person he knows, even after all of these years. Ja'far opens and shuts his mouth, a dozen protests coming to the front of his tongue, but what's the point in that when Sinbad won't listen?

… And it isn't like Ja'far truly minds, anyway.

A soft sigh, and Ja'far leans up, brushing his lips to the slightly raised line of that too-fresh scar. "Whatever would please my king."

Sinbad's hand comes up to tangle in Ja'far's hair, leaning down to give him a long, slow, lingering kiss. "What would please your king," he murmurs against chapped pink lips, "is to hear you call out hoarse and needing and overwhelmed with pleasure. How shall I make that happen?"

Really, considering all of the times he's let Sinbad take him to bed, he shouldn't be so taken off-guard by the things the man says.

Ja'far swallows hard nonetheless, his mouth dry and his pulse thudding too-fast. "It… I don't… ever really… have many preferences," he attempts, the way his tongue trips over itself annoying, especially when his words are already muffled against Sinbad's lips. His own fingers lift, coming to wrap up in the fall of Sinbad's hair and hold tight. Hours ago, Ja'far had nearly killed him. He understands now, more than ever, Sinbad's panic over the potential loss of his heartbeat.

"No preference?" Sinbad laughs, dumping Ja'far on his back, crawling on top of him and pinning him firmly down to the bed. "So I can do whatever I like, and you'll enjoy it all equally? What if I had you lick my cock, would you like that?" He leans down, nipping at one ear, then slowly sucking on the lobe. "We're alive for a reason. Take life. Make it serve you. Enjoy every second. Take what you want."

Ja'far groans, his head tilting back as his hands drag their way down Sinbad's back, digging in on their own accord. "I don't think about this sort of thing, not like you," he breathlessly protests, his eyes lidding. "If you want my mouth on your cock, then shove it in my mouth already, it's fine if it's you-though you've always been very adamant about your preferences otherwise."

"Ah, so prurient. Always well-behaved," Sinbad teases, pulling back and stripping off Ja'far's robes, leaning up enough that just the ends of his hair brush over pale, freckled skin, eyes locked on Ja'far. Every touch is whisper-light, every movement slow and deliberate. "You don't think about sex at all. You don't want me to do anything to you."

"T-that's not what I said-" Ja'far sucks in a sharp breath, skin flushing hot as he tries not to squirm to no avail, his fingers sliding up to bury themselves into Sinbad's hair. "I just-I don't make a habit of thinking of this sort of thing-not when I'd prefer to just… do it. Not turn it over in my mind all day."

"Oho. To just do it?" Sinbad asks, arching an eyebrow, still not giving in and actually touching any part of Ja'far. "Do what, exactly?" He leans down, breath hot over the curve of one shoulder, the very tip of his lips ghosting over Ja'far's chest, his hair the only thing making real contact. "What is it you want me to do to you?"

"You're the absolute worst," Ja'far grinds out, his eyes narrowing as he gives Sinbad's hair a solid yank. "You mean to tell me you don't want your favorite advisor subjected to your every whim instead?"

Sinbad only grins, eyes darkening when Ja'far yanks at his hair, cock filling between his legs. "Oh, I do." He leans down further, letting his breath trace down over Ja'far's abdomen, down to the inside of one trembling thigh. "I just want to hear you ask for what you want. I won't make you beg yet, just ask."

Ja'far bites at his own lip, his fingers shaking a bit from where they're tangled up in Sinbad's hair. "I…" It's obscene, how good Sin always looks down there. Even if he doesn't think about it so much, he's thinking about it now, caught up in the obnoxious thrum of his blood that only Sinbad seems capable of riling. "L-let me… I want your mouth."

Ah, that makes Sinbad's cock ache, and he reaches down to squeeze it at the base, catching his breathe for a moment before settling down between Ja'far's legs. He rests his hands on those familiar scarred thighs, stroking over the soft warmth of the skin there, and flicks his tongue out, letting the tip of it run up the underside of Ja'far's cock. "Want my mouth where?"

A twitch runs up his spine, and Ja'far chokes down a groan, his fingers digging hard against Sinbad's scalp. "Around my cock." Just saying it makes him flush hot, makes him that much harder, and he bites at the inside of his cheek, his eyes briefly squeezing shut. "Please."

Sinbad can't deny that as little as he's usually drawn to such a sight, Ja'far has a nice cock, thick and hard and pale, flushed red at the tip with a drop of liquid beading there. He closes his mouth around the head, looking up to meet Ja'far's eyes when he gives it a slow suck, flicking his tongue over the slit before sliding down, moaning low in his throat at the taste.

Sinbad isn't fair.

He never is, least of all in things like this, leaving Ja'far with the urge to thrash beneath him and just barely stopping himself from doing so. He bites down on his lower lip, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose as his hips twitch up all the same, unable to help himself when Sinbad's mouth is so damnably hot and slick and good around his cock.

As little as Sinbad usually enjoys this, there's no one he enjoys it with more than Ja'far. He's always so squirmy, so eager, so overwhelmed and easy to please in a way that makes Sinbad more confident about his own paltry skills. He loves curling his tongue around the shaft, sliding up and down to get more of a reaction, letting his thumbs dig in harder to Ja'far's thighs, one hand coming up to cup his balls and stroke over them gently as he sucks, lowering his head until he feels short hairs tickling his nose.

Dimly, Ja'far recalls that Sinbad wanted to hear his voice, and so it's probably a good thing that it's more and more difficult by the second to keep it back.

His toes curl with the slide of Sinbad's tongue, the tension that sweeps up his body just from feeling Sinbad's mouth so damnably wet around him making him ache. Ja'far groans, his head falling back helplessly, fingers grabbing and pulling at Sinbad's hair as his hips lurch up, feeling the spasm of the other man's throat around him just shy of too much.

The only thing Sinbad can't stand about cocksucking is that he can't talk. He'd love watching Ja'far shiver at his words, squirm and wriggle because he's so aroused, though he supposes it's somewhat as good to feel him pulsing hard and eager and desperate in his mouth.

He sucks hard, reaching down helplessly to touch himself as he does, groaning at the bruising hardness and force of Ja'far's cock in his mouth, obscene wet noises dripping from his lips.

A twist of his head, a glance down to see how eager Sinbad is as well, a hand already between his legs, and something in Ja'far's mind shorts out and clicks off.

Ja'far sucks in a sharp breath, his body twisting, hands grabbing, cock sliding from Sinbad's mouth with a slick pop as he shoves the other man over onto his back. He's wobbly at best, legs shaky and not so intent on holding him upright as he thought, especially when he glances down to see Sinbad's face-cheeks flushed and lips sticky and bruised and-"You look like you're enjoying this as much as I am," he rasps, a hand at the base of his own cock squeezing to stop himself from coming right then and there as he guides himself back to Sinbad's mouth, setting his knees to either side of his king's head. "Maybe… a little bit more."

God.

Sinbad forgets that he'd been touching himself, forgets everything he'd wanted to say, forgets everything but Ja'far at those words, hips twitching up involuntarily and a low, eager moan tearing out of his mouth. God yes please just use me please comes too far to the forefront of his mind, and he'd never, never thought he'd get off so hard on being used.

Then again, he'd never suspected Ja'far of this, of fucking his mouth, of holding him down and taking what he wants.

With a low, urgent groan, Sinbad comes hard, hand not quite able to reach his own cock, drooling and sucking sloppily at Ja'far's cock anyway, eyes squeezing shut at the intensity of the shudders wracking his body.

If nothing else, Ja'far knows he guessed right in this.

Truthfully, Ja'far doesn't even know why this makes him so hard. It does feel good, though, just to wrap his hands up in Sinbad's hair, to hold his head still as his hips lurch forward, sliding long and deep over his tongue, down that sloppily swallowing throat, and Ja'far doesn't need to look to know how hard Sinbad comes, all over himself like something little better than a harlot.

It doesn't really last. Ja'far wishes it would, just a little longer, but he's at the end of his stamina just watching Sinbad, never mind how it feels, just being able to rut against his face. He groans as he comes, pulling back once he starts, making sure to spill over Sinbad's tongue as much as his face, his breath raggedly hitching at the sight of Sinbad flushed and so very messy.

"You're… just…" Ah, there's a dozen adjectives. Ja'far can't quite find one, though, as he sags back to sit on Sinbad's chest, panting heavily.

Sinbad gasps for air, as much from the exertion of it as from having his mouth filled, unable to draw a proper breath. He swallows, vaguely amused that it has no more taste than Ja'far does smell, flopping back against the pillows. "Where," he pants, eyes still glazed at the intensity of it all, "did that come from? I want to set up a subscription."

Ja'far groans, rolling to the side to bury his face down into the nearest pillow. "Your fault. You looked like you were enjoying it so much, so I just…" A weak, somewhat embarrassed wave of his hand follows.

"I always enjoy it with you." Sinbad wraps a hand around Ja'far's waist, tugging him close with a grin. "If you let go of the idea that sex is filthy, it's a lot more fun. Or I don't know, maybe you like to think of being filthy with me. Whatever pleases you."

"… But it is filthy," Ja'far grumbles, even as he nestles closer. Gingerly, he lifts a hand, carefully thumbing some of the mess from Sinbad's face. "And that's… fine, I just don't enjoy staying filthy."

Sinbad catches a slender wrist, bringing that hand to his lips and delicately sucking off the last bit of fluid. "Have I ever denied you a bath with me?"

Ja'far exhales a slow breath through his nose, his fingers slowly twisting against Sinbad's tongue. "No," he admits, "you have not."

Sinbad gives a last suck. Then, as much as he likes to lay down and cuddle until he falls asleep after sex, he stands, lifting Ja'far in his arms. "Bath?"

There are far worse ways to spend his evening-with Sinbad bleeding out courtesy of his own hand, or his own death pending within weeks, or… a number of other things, none as pleasant as being curled up against Sinbad's chest, albeit sticky and mussed (at the moment).

"Only if you're washing my hair as much as I am yours."

"That's hardly fair. I've about twenty times as much as you do."

"Exactly. Reap the benefits and advantages of being my most exalted king. Anyone else, and I would simply chop it off."

The idea makes Sinbad shudder. He nearly drops Ja'far into the giant copper tub for the sentence, but refrains. He climbs in, letting them both sink into the warmth, letting out a slow sigh. "You must admit, it's worth the cost of keeping this heated all the time."

"You're a king, I hardly deny you your luxuries," Ja'far sighs, flopping back into the water and stretching out, wriggling his toes just above the surface. "Especially if it involves being clean and comfortable."

Sinbad dips his head back, letting his hair spread out in the water as he removes the tie. "You deserve nice things too, you know. You've earned luxuries of your own, and not just when you're at my side."

"… Except that I want for none of it? Nor do I need it." Ja'far watches with some amusement as a strand of Sinbad's hair ends up tangled about one of his toes. "I'll let you reap the benefits, you enjoy them far more."

"Then you'll have to let me drag you along with my own luxuries more often," Sinbad says with a grin, wriggling his toes. "Turn around, come sit on my lap and I'll do yours first."

With a little sigh of effort, Ja'far moves to do just that, settling himself neatly between Sinbad's thighs. "I don't know how you stand having so much hair."

Sinbad crushes a few soap berries in his hand, mixing them with sweet oils as he starts lathering through Ja'far's silky hair. "Mm, it's not so difficult. Maybe I need something to remind me where my head's supposed to be. Doesn't yours feel light enough to fly away?"

"… That's entirely illogical and you know it." Not that Ja'far cares, when Sinbad's very good at this and it feels particularly nice, having Sinbad knead his fingers along his scalp. "Yours just takes so much time."

"It's worth it. I like the way it makes me look. It's important for the citizens of Sindria-ah, we should call them citisins, that has a nice ring to it-to have a king that's striking to the eye. It gives them confidence." Probably.

"'Citisins' is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard-ugh, you're so vain sometimes," Ja'far snorts, sounding far more amused than chastising.

Sinbad grins, but his voice is thoughtful. "Do you think vanity is always bad? I mean, it's because I take such pride in my appearance that I go running every morning, and that makes me healthier. And your lack of ego almost had you dying silently."

"It's more the level you take it to, sometimes…" Ja'far sighs as he sags back against Sinbad's chest, tilting his head back to blink slowly up at him. "I have an ego. Just not about my appearance."

"No ambition. Little sense of self-defense, when you're not defending me." Sinbad grins, cupping water in one hand, then tipping it over a bit of Ja'far's hair. "Never mind, I just remembered. Say, who would you say the best person is at filing paperwork in the entire country?"

Ja'far's eyes narrow slightly. "Is there even a question to that?"

"You know how I like to hear you say things. Tell me who the best filer and compiler and sorter and finisher is in all of Sindria."

"I'm going to punch you in the gut. You know I think highly of my skills in such things."

"Hmm, highly isn't the same thing as the best." Sinbad grins, tipping Ja'far's head back to tip his hair down into the water. "If you don't think you're the best, maybe we should hold a competition. Since, as you've said before, you think anyone could do your job."

"I'd win." It's a sort of put out response at best, and Ja'far glowers up at him. "Unlike you, I don't like to go around proclaiming my skill. I'd much rather simply show it."

Sinbad leans down, pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I've never doubted your skill. Not for a moment. I just want to know that you haven't, either."

"If I didn't have full confidence in it, I wouldn't feel fit to serve such a good king." Ja'far reaches up, his fingers slowly sliding over Sinbad's cheek. "Satisfied?"

Sinbad smiles, leaning into the touch, eyes half-closing. "It'll do." And so will we, for now.