Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ja’far, we need to talk.”

His quill stopping mid-scratch on the paper in front of him, Ja’far looked up and fixed his king with a questioning glance.

“About what?” he asked hesitantly, raising a single eyebrow. It was rare for Sinbad to sound so serious. This couldn’t be good.

The taller man rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room, clearly bothered by something. Ja’far was about to get up and take him somewhere they could speak in private, when the king opened his mouth at last and spoke.

“Uh... about last night...”

The words echoed around the room just as the chattering of the other workers died down in a natural lull. All eyes instantly darted towards Ja’far, whose face had turned beet red.

“Sin!!” he hissed, trying to ignore the shocked faces of his coworkers.

“Well, a lot of things happened and I think it’s something we should discuss,” he continued, as if completely unaware of the looks they were getting, especially from the two young women in the corner who suddenly started whispering to each other and giggling madly. However, the quiet laughter stopped immediately when the quill in Ja’far’s hand snapped in half with a sharp crack, spraying ink all over his document and adding new freckles to the general’s face.

“Of course, Sin.” Ja’far agreed a little too pleasantly, rising slowly from his seat. “Why don’t we talk about this somewhere else?”

Now it was Sinbad’s turn to feel unnerved; the look on Ja’far’s face could have curdled milk. As soon as they were in Ja’far’s private office, the shorter man turned on him.

“What were you thinking?!” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what that sounded like to everyone in there? Couldn’t you have just waited until we were by ourselves to say that?”

“I know how that sounded but I’m telling you, Ja’far that was for your own good.”

“WHAT?!”

“Ja’far.”

The taller man laid a heavy hand on Ja’far’s shoulder and regarded him with an almost comically concerned expression.

“You were very drunk last night. And your behavior was... a little out of character.”

“Huh?”

“...You don’t remember, do you?”

Chapter Text

Last night, they’d held a banquet to celebrate Drakon’s birthday. Although the stoic man never drank as much as Sinbad or Hinahoho did, the King of Sindria had insisted that plenty of wine was brought out for the festivities.

“After all, birthdays only come once a year, right guys?”

“You only want an excuse to drink as much as you want,” Ja’far had mumbled, but his words went largely ignored. Pisti and Sharrkan, looking forward to getting drunk after a long and difficult week, had begged the freckled advisor to allow it, just for the night. Somehow, their impassioned pleas had moved him when Sinbad’s had not and the wine flowed freely at the party.

A little too freely...

Sinbad had arrived late, as usual, but as soon as he saw his parliamentary secretary, he knew something was wrong. Ja’far’s keffiyeh was missing and his short white hair was messier than usual. What’s more, the man’s face, usually so pale from the long hours spent indoors, was visibly flushed and he swayed a little in his seat as he saw Sinbad approaching.

“Sin,” he mumbled, staring at the king with slightly unfocused eyes. “You’re here.”

Pushing his chair back, he got up and took a wobbly step forward.

“You’re finally here,” he said, a relieved smile spreading across his face as he came to greet his lord.

Upon seeing Ja’far’s expression, Sinbad felt a small pang of guilt. Had he been so late that he’d made his poor advisor worry unnecessarily about him? But before he could apologize, Ja’far’s smile suddenly turned into a scowl and in a flash of robes and red wires, he reached up and yanked sharply on the taller man’s ear.

“You’re late again!” he yelled irritably. “What kind of a king shows up late to his own general’s birthday celebration?”

Releasing his hold on Sinbad, he stalked off, muttering angrily under his breath. The bewildered king could only rub his smarting ear and stare blankly after the man.
It wasn’t as if he had never seen Ja’far react in such a way, but this was unexpected to say the least. He shrugged it off as Ja’far having a bad day. Maybe he’d feel better after he got some more appetizers in his stomach.

Thankfully, the next time he saw Ja’far, the former assassin was laughing uproariously. Seated between Yamuraiha and Sharrkan, he looked like he was having the time of his life. Then Sinbad realized he was recounting a story... a story that was never meant to be told.

“And then—and then!!” Ja’far snickered, “His pants fell off and his (--censored--) was exposed to everyone! I thought that old lady was going to faint!”

“JA’FAR!!”

“Hey, it’s His Majesty!” Sharrkan called, raising his glass. “Cheers!!”

“Sin, is Ja’far telling the truth?!” Yamuraiha hiccupped, her blue eyes wide. “Did you really flash an entire village?!”

“Oh my God, look at his face!” Pisti gasped. “It IS true!!”

As the entire couch dissolved into a fit of raucous laughter, Sinbad felt his cheeks heating up.

“Ja’far...” he ground out through gritted teeth.

But the government official paid him no attention. Instead, he got up, flashed Sinbad the kind of cheeky grin he hadn’t seen since Ja’far was a child and excused himself, disappearing into the crowd, wineglass in hand. It took a moment for anyone to react.

“What is going on?” Sinbad sputtered, suddenly at a complete loss for words.

“Oh, he’s probably just drunk,” Yamuraiha told him, sipping noisily from her own chalice.

“Drunk?! Since when does Ja’far drink?” the king demanded. He’d known the man longer and better than any of the others and to his knowledge, the former assassin rarely came within smelling distance of alcohol.

“Well, you *were* late,” Yamuraiha reminded him. “And he was looking pretty bored without you here, so we thought we’d pour him a glass and get the party started.”

“Is that right? Well he gets very bad hangovers, so let’s never do this again okay?”

“Are you kidding me?! He’s hilarious!” Sharrkan exclaimed.

“We should get him drunk more often!” Pisti decided, her brown eyes flashing with excitement.

But with one sharp glance from the king’s golden eyes, the blonde general let out a tiny squeak of an apology and darted behind Yamuraiha.

“So how much has he had?” he asked, scanning the three with his arms crossed.

“I swear I only poured him one glass!” Sharrkan proclaimed, his hands defensively raised on either side of his face. “I didn’t think he’d get drunk so quickly!”

“Who else poured him a glass?” Sinbad growled.

The three on the couch exchanged timid glances and then, heads bowed, each gradually raised a hand into the air.

“So that makes one, two, three glasses...” he counted.

“Four.”

“Sharrkan, I already counted you.”

“Uh, actually I lied,” the swordsman confessed. “I poured him two.”

This time, it was Sharrkan’s turn to hide behind Yamuraiha. Unfortunately for him, the magician was in no mood to serve as his shield and she smacked him over the head with her staff. The king sighed. The only thing left to do now was to find Ja’far and send him to his room to sleep it off. He would burn out sooner or later and Sinbad would rather find him sooner. He wasn’t looking forward to hauling his advisor’s drunk albino ass up all those stairs on his own. It took him a while to locate Ja’far again but when he found him sitting in a pile of cushions near Masrur, he breathed a small sigh of relief. While Ja’far looked like he was fading, he was still definitely conscious.

“Looks like you’re ready to call it a night,” Sinbad chuckled, crouching down to offer a hand.

“Sin?” Ja’far mumbled, squinting at the king. “You agree with me, right? That it’s really hot in here?”

He started fanning himself with his hands.

“Yeah, it is. Let’s take you back to your room where it’s nice and cool, okay?”

Instead of answering him, Ja’far gave him a piteous look and inserted one slender finger into the collar of his shirt.

“It’s so hot...” he moaned.

Sinbad twitched. Was it just his dirty mind playing tricks on him, or did that sound way more erotic than it should have?

Chapter Text

“It’s really hot in here,” Ja’far repeated, his cheeks glowing pink.

And as Sinbad watched, he reached for the buttons on his shirt and started undoing them. His fingers, normally so clever with a knife, were clumsy from the alcohol in his veins and he cursed, frustrated with his own inability to undress himself.

“Ja’far,” Sinbad started, “I don’t think—”

The rest of the sentence died on his tongue when the top three buttons suddenly popped clean off, revealing skin so soft and smooth he forgot why he wanted Ja’far to stop.

“Finally,” the white-haired man gasped, eagerly tugging at the next button down.

Sinbad swallowed, suddenly feeling as uncomfortably warm as Ja’far looked. He watched a single bead of sweat slowly drip down the side of Ja’far’s cheek, clinging to the curve of his jaw as it followed the line of his neck downwards. Perhaps the wine had finally made its way to Sinbad’s head; that would explain the sudden urge to help Ja’far pluck off the rest of the buttons as quickly as possible.

“Sin,” Masrur murmured as the last button came undone. “Your nose is bleeding.”

The general’s sober voice brought Sinbad back to his senses just as Ja’far began to shed his heavy outer green-embroidered robe. He immediately clamped a hand over his nose and tried to put on a serious face.

“Ja’far, stop that.”

“Stop what?” the freckled young man asked innocently, shrugging his shoulders out of his sleeves. “Sin, what’s wrong with your nose?”

“Never mind that,” the dark-haired man hastily replied. “Ja’far, I mean it. Go back to your room and go to bed.”

“No!”

Ja’far crossed his arms over his chest and puffed out his reddened cheeks in a pout so adorable, Sinbad could have sworn the man was doing this on purpose, just to mess with him.

“Ja’far...”

“I said no!”

He turned to the redheaded general sitting next to him, his lower lip quivering.

“Masrur...”

Sinbad nearly dropped his wineglass as Ja’far practically *crawled* into the Fanalis’s lap and draped his arms around the man’s muscular neck.

“Help me out here?”

The blood must be pouring out of his nose by now, he could feel it. He should pull Ja’far off of the armored general immediately but it was becoming very difficult to tear his eyes away, much less move. Something about the sight of the very drunk Ja’far, with his eyes half-lidded and his robes all but melting off of his body was very appealing. But as Ja’far’s hand began to slide down Masrur’s chest, the king felt a little stab of annoyance.

“Okay Ja’far, that’s enough,” Sinbad declared, picking his advisor off of Masrur and attempting to drag him away.

But before he could pull Ja’far fully to his feet, the former assassin shot Sinbad a sharp glare and smacked at his hand, knocking aside the goblet Sinbad was about to hand over to Masrur. Wine sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto the floor, splashing dark droplets of liquid onto Ja’far’s face and clothes. Unnerved by the man’s behavior up until this point, Sinbad and Masrur exchanged a hesitant glance.

However, instead of wiping the wine away crudely with his sleeve and then yelling at them like Sinbad expected him to, Ja’far paused for a moment, as if in thought, before slowly sliding his tongue over his upper lip.

“Mmm...”

Sinbad’s mouth dropped open. He could only watch slack-jawed as Ja’far delicately caught a single droplet on his finger and brought it to his lips, carefully licking the digit clean. Sinbad found himself oddly fixated on his advisor’s enticingly pink tongue, half-wondering what it would be like to taste the wine steadily soaking through those softly stained lips if he dared to come so close. A languid grin slowly appeared on Ja’far’s freckled face.

“Sharrkan’s right,” he mused aloud. “They really do serve the best wine at banquets.”

As Ja’far cleaned himself up, Sinbad became very aware of a certain sensation in his pants. Shoving his wineglass at Masrur, he grabbed the intoxicated Ja’far and hauled him over his shoulder, ignoring the man’s indignant protests and promptly carrying him out of the dining hall like a sack of potatoes. Only when they’d reached Ja’far’s room did he finally yield to his advisor’s demands to be put back down. But as soon as Ja’far’s feet touched the ground, he swayed a little and started falling backwards into his own bed. At the last second, his hand shot out and grabbed onto the nearest object in an attempt to keep his balance. Unfortunately, that object happened to be Sinbad’s necklaces and the next thing he knew, the he found himself dragged into bed with his drunken advisor

If Sinbad was uncomfortable before, the feeling in his pants was now unbearable. The pleasant heat radiating off of Ja’far’s body, the sight of all that bare skin exposed by his disheveled robes... Sinbad felt his hand moving on its own, reaching out. As if reading Sinbad’s mind, Ja’far let out a muffled groan and carefully stripped off his wine-stained outer robe, leaving only his sweat-soaked, thin linen shirt with the collar buttons all undone.

“Ja’far... are you tempting me?”

They were so close, he could count every last freckle on Ja’far’s nose. Instead of answering, the gorgeous young man opposite him quietly stared long and deep into Sinbad’s eyes and slowly traced the curve of the dark-haired man’s cheek with his fingertips. Sinbad could feel the blood rushing hotly in his ears as Ja’far’s lips parted and he inched even closer. And then, closing his eyes, the scent of wine heavy on his breath, he whispered, “I’m tired.”

And he promptly fell asleep on Sinbad’s chest.

As much as Sinbad wanted to stay here like this, if Ja’far woke up with them in this position the next morning, there would be hell to pay. What a time for common sense to kick in... He somehow managed to disentangle himself from Ja’far’s grasp, no easy task given how strong the man was, tuck the sleeping government official in, and make it back to his own room without running into anyone. That night, King of Sindria spent some very long and frustrating hours lying awake in his own bed trying to think about something, ANYTHING other than Ja’far’s sweaty, half-naked body and the kinds of things he could do to that man to coax a moan from his soft lips.

***

“I still don’t understand how talking about that in front of everyone was ‘for my own good,’ much less professional or appropriate,” Ja’far responded icily.

“Well it’s not like I mentioned anything specific.”

“You certainly made it *sound* like something happened between us,” Ja’far snapped. “I have no recollection of such a thing... unless you did something to me while I slept.”

“I didn’t touch you, I swear!” Sinbad cried, as Ja’far stalked forward, Household Vessels in hand. “If anything, you kept coming on to me! You even pawed at Masrur!”

“That’s a bold lie, even coming from you, Sin.”

“I’m dead serious, Ja’far. Your suggestive behavior last night makes me concerned for you.”

He gripped the shorter man’s shoulders and fixed him with a determined gaze.

“But don’t worry, Ja’far. I will take full responsibility for last night. As your King, I swear to you that I, Sinbad, will safeguard your innocence!”

Chapter Text

“Innocence?!”

Ja’far would’ve laughed if Sinbad didn’t look so serious.

“What are you talking about?” he snorted, brushing the king’s hands away. “I’ve been killing people since I was six. I even tried to kill you! Since when have you ever thought of me as innocent?”

“Not that kind of innocence,” Sinbad explained, waving his hand dismissively. “The other thing. You know what I mean!”

“I’m afraid I have *no* idea what you mean, My King,” Ja’far deadpanned although the aura he exuded could only be described as angry to the point of being demonic. “Few can comprehend the minds of perverted dungeon conquerors.”

The king swallowed and took a step back.

“Well, in any case, I’m glad we had this talk. I will definitely be keeping an eye on you!” he shouted as he ran for the door.

Ja’far sighed and decided to shrug it off and go back to work. They would probably forget all about this by tomorrow, by which time something else was bound to happen and take all their minds off of last night’s banquet. Sadly, he was only half-right.

***

“I can’t believe this, Sharrkan,” Ja’far snapped. “I know you’re usually in charge of other things but we are extremely behind and we need every person we can get to help finish this month’s paperwork!”

“Oh Ja’far,” Yamuraiha sighed, “If it’s brains you’re looking for, you won’t find them in *his* head.”

“I was going to do it!” Sharrkan groaned, “Just give me some more time.”

“How much more time do you need?” the parliamentary official groaned in exasperation. “These scrolls have not budged an inch since the last time I was here. I wouldn’t be surprised if this pile has already begun to gather dust.”

“It’ll get done, I swear. I’ll start after a quick spar with Masrur, okay?”

He cowered as Ja’far shot him a withering look.

“You’re not going anywhere until you finish this,” Ja’far hissed.

He left the swordsman quivering in his seat as he began sorting through the scrolls on the desk, looking for the one with the highest priority. It should’ve been marked with a red ribbon... But something was off. He quickly did a count of the scrolls on the desk and noticed one extra.

“What’s this?” he inquired, lifting a particularly heavy scroll from the pile on Sharrkan’s desk. “I don’t remember giving you something this dense to sort through.”

The tanned general immediately sat bolt upright, his green eyes widening in panic as he yelled, “Wait, don’t open that!”

But it was too late. As Ja’far lifted the substantial document from the table, the simple cloth tie keeping the thing rolled up snapped, and the scroll unfurled, displaying a life-sized painting of a naked woman of impressive proportions to the entire room.

“Woah, her boobs are bigger than Yamu’s!” Pisti instantly pointed out.

There was a sudden clattering of metal in the corner and without turning around, Ja’far understood that Spartos had fainted. His grip on the scroll tightened and his hands began to shake. An audible gulp came from the other generals as they watched the scroll quietly hit the ground in a crumpled heap and they all shrank back. The terrified Sharrkan could only sit, glued to his chair, as Ja’far slowly reached inside his sleeves for his Household Vessel.

“Ja’far! STOP!!”

Suddenly, everything went dark.

“Sin! What--?! Let go of me!!”

The freckled general struggled to pry the two large hands that had suddenly clamped themselves over his eyes off of his face. Bararaq Sei fell to the ground and a flurry of clattering chains and sandals rapidly slapping against the tiles assured him that Sharrkan had seized the opportunity and made his escape.

“You mustn’t look at that, Ja’far!!”

“I said let go!” Ja’far yelled, throwing Sinbad off of him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Says the man drawing a weapon on his king!” Sinbad shot back, pointing his finger at his advisor. “This is treason!”

“Oh spare me! Don’t act like this whole thing has nothing to do with you.”

He seized the scroll from off the ground and thrust it into Sinbad’s face.

“We wouldn’t be so behind if you would just keep up with your work. I’m dividing everything up between the generals because you keep running off! And I don’t know where you’re going all the time but now I have a pretty good idea.” He brandished the scroll. “I’m willing to bet he got this from you.”

“Okay, first of all, I did not give him that. I only showed him the general location in town where you could buy those. Second of all, I will be confiscating that, not you.”

Sinbad punctuated his statement by snatching the offending document out of Ja’far’s hand. He watched as his general grew even more indignant and tried to take it back. Unfortunately, Sinbad was half a head taller and had longer arms, holding it just out of reach. When Ja’far reached for his weapons again, Sinbad shook a finger in front of the man’s face.

“Nope. You don’t get to keep this.”

“Who said I was keeping it?” Ja’far asked, completely serious. “I was planning to burn it.”

Deciding not to comment on what a huge waste that would be, Sinbad coughed and tucked the scroll into his robes. He stood up straight, crossed his arms and put a serious expression on his face.

“Ja’far, I completely agree that nobody should be looking at those kinds of pictures at work. However, I’d like to keep you away from those images for as long as possible.”

“Wait, why me—Oh my God.” The freckled government official slapped a hand to his face. “Does this have something to do with what happened at the banquet? Is that what this is about?”

“Ja’far...” The king took both Ja’far’s scarred hands and held them tightly with a look of fatherly concern. “I swore I would safeguard your innocence and I meant it. I would not forgive myself if you were to be corrupted by such an image.”

“Then allow me to remove that painting from this world by burning it.”

In a flash of robes, the scroll was soon back in the former assassin’s hand. On his way out of the room, he turned and shot a snake-eyed glare in Sinbad’s direction.

“While I appreciate your sentiments, I’d like to remind you that I’m not a child any more, Sin. You do not need to concern yourself with protecting my innocence. However, if you want to put me in a better mood, I suggest getting back to work right this instant.”

The door slammed, sending a shudder throughout the room and Ja’far was gone.

Chapter Text

In spite of how infuriated he was at Sharrkan’s escape and Sinbad’s interference, Ja’far decided to put the incident out of his mind. He knew better than anyone how pointless it was to dwell on the king’s idiocy. There was no telling when that stupid dungeon conqueror would do something even more outrageous and Ja’far was much better off saving up energy so he could yell at the man the next time something happened.

Because there would most certainly be a next time, he thought, sliding his fingers across the knives hidden beneath his long sleeves. He sighed. Every last hair on his head was already white. Surely the next step would be to start losing some of it from the stress of it all. He closed the door behind him, thankful to be in the relative peace and quiet of his Sinbad-free office where he could enjoy a nice cup of tea and try to get through the scrolls on his desk. Some days, he wasn’t sure which would kill him first: Sindria’s enemies or its king.

***
Several nights later, the dinner bell rang just as he finished the last set of figures. With a satisfied smile on his freckled face, Ja’far pushed back his chair and got up to go to the dining hall. He’d gotten a lot more done than he’d expected that afternoon and what better way to reward himself than with a nice dinner with the other generals?

It had been a strange week. A few days after the “scroll incident,” a fierce wind blew through the courtyard, scattering Ja’far’s scrolls and flipping his long skirt. Within the hour, Sinbad approached him with a pair of pants in his arms and two bloodied scraps of paper stuck in his nostrils. While Ja’far agreed that it was convenient in a way, it was hardly necessary... Then, not three hours later, when an intern had sheepishly asked Ja’far to dinner sometime, the poor newbie found himself being dragged back several centimeters before the King of Sindria himself appeared and quietly demanded to speak to his general in private. When Ja’far asked what he needed, Sinbad merely mumbled something about finances and immediately left the room. Too confused to be fully angry, Ja’far merely sighed, went back to apologize to the intern and continued on with his day.

Truthfully, he was still a little angry at Sinbad. Given the way the man had been conspicuously looking into Ja’far’s goblets to see what he was drinking, perhaps he should eat quickly and avoid the man for a bit. Sinbad was an abnormality to be sure, but his behavior following the banquet was downright insane. Ja’far thought for a minute and decided he could always go back to the office, try to get a head start on tomorrow’s work before it inevitably piled up until it buried them all. It was with this thought in mind that he pushed open the door to the sound of several people laughing uproariously.
Seated at the center of the throng was Pisti, a large goblet of wine in her hand and a huge drunk smile plastered on her face as she continued her story.

“So the guy ends up sneaking out the window in the middle of the night, right?” she said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “But he didn’t even have time to get dressed! He just wanted to get out of there before the husband came home. So, he grabs his clothes and clambers out, thinking he can put them on while he’s hiding in the bushes. He takes out his shirt and puts it on, then his hat and his jacket, one thing at a time... He’s about to leave the bush when he realizes--!”

She paused to take another swig from her cup as her captivated audience waited in anticipation.

“He had grabbed everything except for his pants!!” she exploded as the crowd cheered. They were all still laughing when they spotted the white-haired government official approaching, his hands calmly hidden inside his sleeves as usual.

“Pisti...”

The youngest general immediately sat up, blood draining from her face but not nearly enough to mask the hearty glow of an intoxicated Artemyrian.

“Ja’far!” she stammered, “You’re done early!”

Ignoring her clumsy attempts to hide her drink, Ja’far could only sigh and cross his arms disapprovingly. Normally he would chastise her for taking off early but knowing her, she’d most likely conned someone else into finishing the work for her. At least it was getting done. Moreover, after dealing with Sinbad and then finishing the piles of paperwork on his desk, he really didn’t have enough energy left to continue being angry. In fact, that goblet of wine was beginning to look very tempting...

“I trust the work I handed you is being done somehow?” he asked calmly.

Given the guilty look on her face and the way her eyes darted past him into the hallway, he must have hit the nail on the head.

“Yes...”

“Good. Then I’ll be taking this.” He neatly retrieved her glass from behind her back. “And if you manage to tell me a story good enough to make me laugh, I won’t increase your workload for tomorrow. Does that sound fair to you?” he finished with a small smirk.

For a moment, the girl could only gape at him, her brown eyes wide. But then that characteristic mischievous gleam re-emerged and she grinned at the thought of a challenge.

“Ooh, I’ve got one,” she declared, rubbing her palms together as excited whispering resumed around the room.

But before Pisti could start on the latest of her bawdy tales, someone swiftly walked into the room. Still considerably buzzed, Pisti leaned to the side to see Sinbad approaching, his Metal Vessels gleaming in the bright candlelight. At once the babble that had filled the room died down to a quiet hum as the people turned to greet their king.

“King Sinbad!” Pisti exclaimed. “Hey, you’re just in time! Ja’far said that if I could make him laugh, we get less work to do tomorrow. So, ya wanna hear a story?”

Ignoring the fact that Pisti had twisted his words to her convenience, Ja’far turned and gave the King what he hoped was an agreeable smile. He made sure to keep the goblet tucked inside his sleeves so that Sinbad couldn’t see it. He’d had a long day and he had spent enough time not being hungover to decide he needed a drink. He earned it and Sinbad was not taking this away from him.

“So, I once met this guy from Reim,” Pisti began. “And he was pretty good-looking right? But he says he can’t get a girlfriend no matter what—says he tried everything! He said he tried getting this girl flowers, writing her poetry, offering to take her to the theater, but nothing worked! So he asks me, ‘Pisti. You’re a cute girl. What would make you want to go out with someone?’ And I tell him, ‘Well, I like a guy who’s strong and brave. Hey, why not try joining the Coliseum? Then lots of girls will want to go out with you!’ But then he looks at me and says ‘No way!’ And I’m like, ‘Why not?’ And he says to me, ‘Pisti, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t just want a girlfriend. I wanna get laid. And how am I going to do that if some monster rips my --censored-- off?!”

Sinbad tried to clap his hands over Ja’far’s ears but it was too late. As the entire room erupted in a chorus of laughs, an irritated Ja’far swatted his king’s hands away with one hand as he whirled and glared at the man.

“Ja’far, I don’t think such jokes are meant for your ears,” Sinbad said honestly in answer to the look on his parliamentary secretary’s face.

“What are you talking about? I’m at least seven years older than her!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Sinbad said sternly and he turned on his youngest general and admonished her. “Pisti, you shouldn’t be talking about that stuff at dinner either! It’s unbecoming of such a young girl.”

Pisti was struck silent, her mouth falling open in a wide O as she gaped at Sinbad.

“Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” Sharrkan’s panicked whisper echoed in Yamuraiha’s ear. “The King just told someone off for telling a dirty joke?!”

“Ja’far, you’re coming with me.”

“H-hey, let go of me!” Ja’far protested, as Sinbad dragged him outside by the wrist.

“My wine...!” Pisti’s called piteously as the door to the dining hall slammed shut.

As soon as Ja’far was in the hall, he wrenched his hand out of Sinbad’s grip and irritably snapped, “Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“That’s what I should be asking you!” Sinbad said, seizing the glass of wine out of Ja’far’s pale hand.

“Hey—!”

“Ja’far, I don’t like it when you drink.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ja’far groaned, massaging his temples. He had it up to here with the man’s behavior over the course of the week and if Sinbad knew what was good for him, he’d give that wine back right now before Ja’far had an aneurysm. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on and it was all Sinbad’s fault.

“You don’t like it when *I* drink? I believe the night of the banquet was the first time I’ve touched wine since... since...”

As he struggled to remember the last time alcohol had touched his lips, Sinbad sighed and crossed his arms.

“See, there you go. You probably don’t remember because every time you do drink, you pass out pretty quickly and someone has to take you back to your room. Only last time, you managed to stay awake for a while and—!” He stopped talking abruptly as the memory of a flushed and drunkenly seductive Ja’far crept back into his mind.

“...and what, Sin?” Ja’far drew out slowly, approaching the man with a curious eye. “You look like you’re thinking about something dirty. If anyone’s corrupted me, it’s you, you filthy hypocrite.”
And with that last statement, he snatched the wine out of Sinbad’s hand and chugged it down to his king’s horror. Wiping the last drop of wine from his lips with the back of his hand in an uncharacteristically messy gesture, he threw the metal goblet onto the ground with a bang and stalked towards Sinbad.

“Ja’far...” the taller man stammered, as the knives came out. “Put those away... Calm down.”

“BARARAQ SEI!!”

A scream echoed in the halls as the corridor filled with light. Within seconds, Ja’far was dragging a half-fried Sinbad, arms bound tightly to his sides, by the ankles down the hall to the king’s chambers.

“I’m sorry, Ja’far,” Sinbad croaked, “Did you want to hear Pisti’s jokes? Okay! You want to drink more? That’s fine, too!”

But the apologies died in his throat as the man threw a snake-eyed glare at him. The king didn’t speak again until they were inside his room, where Ja’far unceremoniously threw Sinbad onto his own bed. Then, he took off his keffiyeh and began loosening his own robes. First he untied the green cords and black sash. Then he shed the outer robe. Sinbad watched, mesmerized as Ja’far slowly shrugged it off of his shoulders and let it hit the ground with a satisfied sigh. When Ja’far paused to throw him a sultry glance from over the shoulder, making sure that the man on the bed was watching, realization hit. Sinbad’s jaw dropped.

Ja’far was treating him to a private strip show.

“You’re asking what I want?” Ja’far asked sweetly, licking his lips as his fingers moved to undo the buttons at his throat. They came undone, one by one. Then, he turned and pulled the white shirt over his head, giving Sinbad a good view of the muscles of his back before he threw the cloth onto the ground. There was nothing Sinbad could do but lie there, stock-still, and watch as Ja’far proceeded to remove every last scrap of cloth covering his pale body. Only then did he crawl over to Sinbad and undo the wires. That was when Sinbad saw that the tell-tale flush on Ja’far’s freckled cheeks had spread down his neck to reach his chest.

The former assassin leaned forward, lips brushing against Sinbad’s ear in an almost kiss and whispered:

“I want to show you just how ‘innocent’ I really am.”

He slowly licked Sinbad’s ear.

“Now get to work.”