A/N: the title makes this sound hot but it's really not lmao.. i write about only the softest most tender love please forgive

Once the deed was finished, Sinbad rolled off of Judal's still trembling frame and sank into the pillows with a long, breathless sigh. In Sinbad's figure there was the easy nonchalance of a man pleased, content, and completely unbeknownst to the crushing weight that sank in his partner's heaving chest. Judal couldn't blame him, though; it wasn't as though he'd ever said anything.

Sinbad was a kind lover out of the bedroom, always caring and attentive, always gentle. But Sinbad was a man who thrived off of power and lust, the sort of man who could really lose himself between the sheets, though he probably didn't mean to. Judal didn't mind that, not really, but Sinbad had never talked dirty to him before.

Now that he had, Judal couldn't say that he'd liked it.

They were laying together, Judal unusually silent as he laid on his side, facing Sinbad but unable to force their gazes to meet. Through the corners of blurry eyes, he could just see Sinbad's smile.

"Do you really think that I'm a dirty whore?"

His voice came out smaller than he'd meant for it, but from the corner of his eyes, Judal watched as the smile crumbled from Sinbad's warm features. There was only silence as he came to an upright position, propped up onto one sinewy forearm (even now, Sinbad was handsome, from his strapping chest and strong jaw and kind, worried eyes), attentive even as Judal looked away.

"What?" asked Sinbad, voice low, gentle, but there was horror in his words, even still. Judal wished that he'd never said anything to begin with. "Why would you ever think such a thing?"

"You said it," Judal murmured, in that small, trembling voice. It was strange; loud, arrogant Judal, gone quiet like a mouse, curling in on himself with pale, shaking hands brought up to his chest. He just couldn't understand it. How could anyone say that to the one they were supposed to love? "You asked me if I liked it."

Sinbad's eyes went wider then, clouding with realization and something unusually genuine. "Oh Judal, of course I don't think that," he promised, features gone soft when he reached across to draw calloused fingers over the fair, porcelain skin of Judal's bare shoulder. "It was just dirty talk, Judal, I didn't mean it."

"I didn't like it," Judal whispered, face buried and smearing damp eyeliner in the sheets, rolling slowly into an upright position after he felt the burn at the back of his eyes. "There's your answer."

"I had no idea it would mean this much to you," said Sinbad softly, watching carefully the way that Judal refused to meet his gaze, like a beloved pet that had been kicked for the first time. Sinbad, sitting too, now, with sheets pooled low at his waist, a sight for Judal's eyes even now, though blurred and thick with tears. "I'm so sorry, Judal," he said, hand lifted to tuck back a stray lock of Judal's long, pitch colored hair. "I'll never do it again, I promise."

Judal, finally, risked a glance upwards to meet his eyes, and heard the first, soft cry that fell from his own lips. It was humiliating; he shouldn't have cared about something like this. Still, Judal couldn't help thinking back to when Al-Thamen had brandished the word before him, you dirty little whore, after they'd made him into one themselves. Judal had lived years under that title, less a magi than a whore, and to finally escape it and find the word haunting him still was almost too much to bear.

"You don't really think that I am," he whispered again in that fragile, tear-strained voice, unable to force the final word past swollen lips for the second time. "Do you?"

"No," Sinbad assured, taking Judal's hand, soft and unblemished, into his own, massaging circles gently into the back of it. "Of course not. I could never think that about you." The finger that reached forward to swipe the rolling tear from Judal's flushed cheek was gentle, tender, and although the strain was still there in his heart, Judal found it difficult to remain cross. "I'm so sorry."

Judal nodded slowly, with long fingers tightening just faintly in Sinbad's hand. "Alright."

"You know," said Sinbad gently as Judal turned his head. "You can always talk to me, if there's something bothering you."

There was something, even still, and the thought alone made Judal bow his head. There was a moment of hesitation before the whispered admission, a long breath passed, with slim fingers kneading gently the palm of Sinbad's hand. "I don't like it when you're rough."

"You don't?"

"Not really," Judal murmured, glancing away, with the color of shame dusting fair cheeks. "You must think I'm so boring."

"Of course I don't," Sinbad assured, and with his free hand he angled Judal's face up to meet him, all soft edges and tightened lips and glassy eyes. "What don't you like about it?"

Judal went back to gnawing at his lip-a nervous habit-as carmine eyes darted away. "I don't know," he said, "I don't like it when you pull my hair and hold me down. I don't like it when you hit me and call me names. I don't want that," he admitted, sheepish.

Sinbad didn't say anything for a while, sparing a moment to study the way bite marks littered his slight, delicate frame, the way that Judal's long hair-his pride-had been rendered a disheveled mess of snarls. And the way he curled in on himself, head bowed, eyes cast low-a look of utter defeat-Sinbad was a fool for not noticing sooner. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to be a bore to you," said Judal, softly. Judal couldn't have possibly denied him-Sinbad, who had loved him and given him the world, and asked only for this in return. All he wanted was for Sinbad to be happy, like he was when they'd first finished, smiling and gentle with love in his eyes. If this was what it took to see that look, then Judal had been willing to bear it. "I wanted to please you," he said. "I wanted to make you happy."

"How can I be happy when my lover is in pain?" asked Sinbad, and that was enough for Judal to look at him again. The look in Sinbad's eyes was genuine, kind and warm, a look that no one else had ever shown to him. Judal's chest felt warm. "What would make you happy, Judal?"

It was something Judal hadn't thought much about; as much as sex was in his physical appeal, it wasn't his drive, it wasn't what enamored him. Judal was emotionally driven, a romantic at heart, and what made him happy wasn't the harsh, rough intimacy of sex, but rather the tender caress of a lover.

"All I want," Judal said finally, "is for you to touch me like you love me."

Sinbad's eyes grew wide, for a moment, but then that look softened into a smile, something tender, a look that made Judal want to melt. The hand that came up to caress the small of his waist was achingly gentle, the way that Judal liked, and the hand that went into his hair was gentle this time, rather than harsh. Judal made a needy little sound when Sinbad's lips came closer, and Judal could just feel the exercised restraint in the man's body, rendered caring and gentle, sending butterflies fluttering in Judal's stomach. The lips that pressed against his own were warm and sweet, gentle and attentive. Judal made the little sound again, craving desperately this new feeling of warmth budding within him, and Sinbad deepened the kiss, careful still, and loving.

Sinbad slowly tugged away after a while, with Judal still held snug in his arms, warm and safe. Judal's hands rested upon Sinbad's shoulders, clinging desperately to the fleeting touch, as if fearing it might slip away. Sinbad risked another smile.

"Like that?" he asked, combing languid fingers through Judal's precious hair. Judal's rose-petal lips tugged into a fragile smile.

"Just like that."