Rating: R | Word Count: 394 | Warnings: Sexual content
Summary: It was a bittersweet affair at first.
"Sin, you know I don’t drink."
"Except when you do!"
Ja’far has to admit, the bounce he hears in his King’s voice is one he thought had died long ago. “Mm, so what’s the occasion?”
Sinbad sets down the fragrant pitcher before turning around and gracing the other’s hand with a filled glass. “When it’s a beautiful night like this, and the people are dancing with their bellies well-fed, is that not the perfect one?”
He lets him talk, a small smile falling on his lips as Sinbad remembers times of their youth and that this scene of theirs happened before, right when Sindria had grown anew.
"Good times," Ja’far says, taking the first sip of tangy wine since he’d received it. "I hope you’re not hinting at going abroad again, you know you’re old back can’t handle it anymore—Sin!"
"Hey now, I can’t let you get away with calling me old all the time," Sinbad remarks with a grin after he’s pulled Ja’far to him. "Remember, you’re slowly insulting yourself with that word as the years go on."
"Yes, yes." Though they played this game often, Ja’far never can keep straight-faced, instead showing that ridiculous flush, but how could he not when Sinbad’s this happy. "Shall I pour you another round, my King?"
Sinbad glances down at their nearly full cups. “Are you suggesting something?
Their eyes meet rather quickly. “Want to find out?”
It’s empowering to hear her name like this, soft and lewd and Sinbad watches as more shades of cream and decor are tossed away. Ja’far’s cheeks are a lovely shade of rose, freckles brushed with an allure that only Sinbad herself is able to capture, and she’s good at that. “This is natural for you, isn’t it, or rather, it’s unacknowledged?”
Ja’far’s already moving in, body so close she can almost feel the heightened pulse when her lips barely come to meet heated skin under the woman’s ear. “Don’t ask stupid things, Sin.”
Their frequent affairs always start quickly like this, teasing and hot until Ja’far is seated across Sinbad’s thighs, her own tightly squeezed around them. Her Queen is eager, smeared marks and bites already decorating across pale flesh. “S-Sin…ah!” Why must she be so sensitive, no matter where or how Sinbad touches her. She withers beneath those thick lips, bumps raising down her arms as her fingers dance within those dark, soft locks.“You had so many offers tonight, yet you—mmm—stole me away from my duties, hm?”
Sinbad does not respond right away, fingers tugging the dark sash spilled around Ja’far’s hips loose. “There wasn’t much more,” she murmurs, hands wandering up a thin waist and over something much more satisfying. Pink puckers beneath her touch and she grins when Ja’far’s breath hitches under the contact. “I’d like for my right-hand lady to exhaust herself elsewhere tonight.”
why don’t i ever finish anything i start
You ask yourself how you can still laugh.
The weather is a wonderful thing today, bright and happy with just the inkling of a soft, sea breeze, and you allow yourself this one time to actually enjoy it. You’re sure he’d be amazed by how much you’ve changed. It’s almost haunting.
You’re no King. You could never amount to him.
And you try to hold back, knowing you can’t fall down his path despite how dark you’ve already become, the black side of fate eating you alive. Even Aladdin’s different around you.
He passed on his own curse. “Sin, you’re such a fool, a cruel man….”
Live for me.
The ink tips over, but you let it soak through, showing the monster you really are. It’s too late.
Sinbad had always been used to death—his parents, comrades, and even life taken by his own hand.
But now, he has never felt so low.
Ja’far tells him after the news that she expected it. A disgusting body such as hers is never meant to nurture. Even as calm as she had been, Sinbad witnessed that dark grey dim slowly into the the black it had been so many years ago.
The scroll room is quiet, nothing by the soft scratches of his own mindless scribbling echoing off of Ja’far’s and it takes everything he had not to just fling the damn quill elsewhere. “Ja’far.”
“Mm? Yes, my King?” Ja’far barely spares him a glance, as if the bags under her eyes were enough to anchor her to the ivory paper.
“……” Hah, useless really did ring true right now. “Are you sure that you’re—”
“Sin, please, what’s done is done, just—please work!”
It’s with that crack that he’s at her side in seconds. “You’re not alone anymore, Ja’far, you never have been! Bare it all, bear it with me, she was mine, too!”
Ja’far grit her teeth, it being all the worse when Sinbad indicates he’d actually been thinking about it. “You should have known I can’t mother anything.”
probably not what you had in mind, anon, but i tried and wow this just kind of went everywhere i’m sorry
Pre-Sinja. Just a little thing and not as sad as I thought it’d turn out since I kinda gave up at the end. /o/
The first sign is when Sinbad brushes off his wine.
Ja’far thought it very odd, though he had been relieved at the time—maybe his King was finally settling down.
The second sign is when it takes a good three tries to get the man’s attention. Of course, Sinbad just waves it away, claiming he was too into his work.
But the third…
Sense and speed are what aid Ja’far when he finally finds the light, reduced down to a broken, pitiful man, face marred something bloody.
He’ll never see again.
It’s a few days later when Sinbad finally rises and brought into a dark, dark world. But even so, he welcomes it, the warm embrace that quickly reminds him that he still has hope. “Sorry, Ja’far.”
I can’t be your eyes anymore.
(( i have this headcanon that because of the curse breaking his body, sinbad will slowly lose all sense and emotion before he finally dies ))
What is it like to be used? To be thrown, tattered and silent until you can no longer walk?
What is it like to be loved? To be held, cherished, and the only capture of one’s eye?
You believe in neither, focused only on one purpose of your own. Denial seeps through every course inside you, as if it matches the toxic poisons from his pretty words.
Time’s up and here he is, ripe and beautiful before the kill. He pleads with nothing, ghostly amber finally giving up the fight.
What a bitter thing.
You’re already a snake yourself.