Disclaimer:

This isn't a love story. This story is about power, manipulation, and furious sex. After all, neither Barbarossa nor Sinbad seem to have romantic inclinations and I take pride in keeping the characters as they are in their original universe.

That being said, in my opinion there does seem to be some sort of nearly-sexual tension between them, which in recent events has been ruined thanks to Serendine and Al Tharmen (f*ck those guys).

Men like Us

"I know we will be very good friends."

I shook hands with the man in front of me, who seemed to receive the gesture in a firm, yet rivalry fashion. At that moment I had decided he would serve my cause—his position, his intelligence and political influence, everything he had was for me to use as it fit my purposes. He was well aware of this.

Today, however, two days after that, he has provided me with a new perspective about ideals I held every so firmly, methods I believed unavoidable, and results I took for granted. He has made me change my mind in so many aspects the old, stubborn me, would be furious about it.

If this had happened a year ago, I'd probably be mad at him and myself. After all, this particularity about my existence has placed me on a pedestal on which I don't belong, and I, naively, looked down at the world thinking I would never fall. And along would come Barbarossa, with the intellect and experience I lack, and his presence would have shaken the ground under my feet, making me fall while trying to drag him down with me, only to realize he was immovable and this would have made me despise him even more.

But this is something different. He's not my mentor like King Rashid, nor my companion like Ja'far and Mystras.

For lack of a better word, Barbarossa is my equal. Potentially, at least, since it's obvious which of us is one step ahead when walking towards the same goal?

"To manage a company is quite similar to governing a country," Barbarossa was looking at the company's expansion plans, "although in a much smaller scale."

I poured myself another glass of wine. We had been talking about that for over two hours, it was late and honestly, I was plain bored and it showed. No matter how fascinating he found those unfamiliar numbers and financial plans, to me they seemed tedious because of the humdrum routine they represented. It's the sort of task I ask Ja'far to do in order to escape it.

For this very reason I feared he might ask me about these issues and I wouldn't know how to reply (but Ja'far would). It was the first time I felt anxious about accidentally shattering the image somebody had of me, to suddenly go back to being the Tyson peasant and not Sinbad, the dungeon conqueror and owner of the Sindria Trading Company.

I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I didn't notice Barbarossa moving until I turned and saw him right beside him, just staring at me. I almost spit my wine. So damn sneaky, he seemed more a snake than a dragon.

"I get the feeling you have lost interest." He crossed his arms and smirked like he was nagging a distracted child. "I believe it has been enough for today. Is there anything you feel like doing at the moment?"

'Women and wine', I thought.

"Wine and chattering about something else than politics," I said.

I had never seen Barbarossa with a woman, which made me think he was quite sneaky in that regard as well.

"That limits my conversation," he arched one eyebrow and started putting the scrolls away. "But I bet you have hundreds of stories you could tell me."

Knowing he had already read all of my books, for the second time that night I feared becoming a disappointment.

The breeze at the veranda, although dry, lifted the spirits after hours spent under the suffocating flickering of the candles in the studio. A good-looking woman served two cups of wine, and as Barbarossa signaled she left the container on the table and went back inside.

Her breasts were so big they made her face look small. I glanced at her through the corner of my eye and when I turned around I found Barbarossa's stare perched on me just like before, as if trying to turn my skin inside out.

I've come to find that's just the way he looks at people, the eyes he was born with, and you get used to it after a while; but when it comes unexpected it almost makes you jump with fright. His crooked smile whenever I get startled by his presence tell me he enjoys it. I, on the other hand, feel clumsy whenever this happens.

"You know, once, when I was on a business travel to Imuchakk, I met a woman. She was maybe two feet taller than you, and had an extremely beautiful face," I chose to change the subject. And about this story, I never dared to mention that such woman resembled Rurumu in many ways, because it would have earned me a smack on the head that would have left me unconscious for days. Even in that far away villa I was afraid Hinahoho would know if I said it out loud.

I thought he would be interested in hearing about a nameless woman from a distant country he had never seen, whose culture is very different from ours. I spared him the intimate details because I didn't want him to see me as mundane and under his level.

"... and I couldn't even say good-bye on the day I sailed back. I didn't understand what was going on, so I asked Hinahoho. He burst into laughter and said I had offended her in a way I could never take back."

I thought it was hilarious.

But Barbarossa just stared into the nothingness of the night sky, with the cup leaning on his crossed leg. He nodded by mere courtesy and I help but sigh with resignation. Then I tried to pour myself more wine I noticed the jug was empty.

To amuse myself I focused on staring at him the same way he usually stared at me, and ended up analyzing his features. His strong jaw contributed to the severity of his face, and next to mine it made me look like a child; the way his fringe hid his eyebrows made it difficult to read his expression, making him seem perpetually mad. His cheeks were slightly pink, so probably I wasn't the only one how had a little too much wine.

When he turned to me, I knew I hadn't startled him at all. Another failure. Instead, he stared right back and held his gaze on me as if we were on a battlefield. This went on for a while, as the arid breeze made my eyes tear. In the end, I surrendered and blinked, and he burst into victorious laughter; not the kind of laugh you would find warm, or endearing, but full mockery. I shrank in the divan, rubbing my eyes.

The maid brought us more wine.

"You will never beat me in a stare match. Junior tried for years and failed miserably."

A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of his brother. I was afraid the conversation would detract from the usual subjects and he would talk about him. I hadn't found the right moment, if such a moment really existed, to comment on how Drakon was an important part of my company.

Not to mention Serendine.

'Marry me, Sinbad.' Her voice echoed through my head like the chime of wedding bells.

I emptied my cup in one, deep swallow. That promised had to be buried and left behind. She would have to abide to my orders as the boss—in the Sindria Trading Company, she was not a princess. Not even in her country. I chose Barbarossa, same as Partevia will eventually do once the election comes around.

Just how different can the shackles of marriage be from the chain I myself threw around my neck by siding with this suspicious man? Greatly different, perhaps, since he at least had something to offer in return, something tangible—the villa we were at, the wine we were drinking, the party members following him around like loyal dogs.

Serendine? She could offer only the blood in her veins, which in face of the political revolution Barbarossa was leading, had lost all value.

I shook away my thoughts of Serendine and Drakon and the entire work load I would have upon my return. Last time I was away for so long, we nearly went bankrupt.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you for a while" I started but had no idea of how to phrase my questions tactfully. It seemed way too personal and yet, it was something I had asked nearly every man I knew. Plus, didn't he say I could ask him anything? "Well, what is your opinion of women? I mean... how do you feel about them?" Be it the wine or my nerves the question came out paused and awkward.

He looked at me, silently, with his hand on his chin as if in deep thought.

"You mean, politically? Partevian women will play an enormous role in the future of our nation, once I win the election."

I buried my face in my hands out of sheer frustration. As much as I had struggled to ask, he hadn't even understood the question. I couldn't help but sigh.

"Do you disagree?" he asked with a frown. "You can openly state your opinions, though I sincerely did not take you for a sexist man." At this point, he seemed quite convinced of it.

"That's not what I meant!" I leapt from my seat, drunk and irritated, which spilt the remains of wine in my cup all over my shirt.

To my surprise, Barbarossa took out a blue handkerchief, the same deep blue from all his electoral propaganda. He tried handing it to me but as I tried to take it, it slipped through my fingers and fell on the floor in a slow, flowy motion.

Barbarossa sighed impatiently, picked it up and tried to clean the stain himself.

"Stop that, I'm not a child," I snorted, snatching the handkerchief and doing the task myself. "God, I shouldn't have drank so much," I openly admitted. I didn't wanted to think... know, rather, how frequent this sort of tragedy was for me.

"There is not wrong in it. You are in a safe place, surrounded by people you can trust. You are with me," Barbarossa said, matter-of-factly, as he sat at the other end of the divan. "I told you we would be good friends, can you feel it yet?"

Even in my drunk stupor I could identify an obvious mannerism Barbarossa had when he himself was drunk—he would speak way too quickly and make no pauses, as if his usual filter just had become a little loose. His face, usually pale, now exuded a subtle crimson tone on his cheeks, reminded me he had been drinking nearly the same amount as I, a heavy drinker.

I couldn't help but laugh. I had been too worried to notice he was just as tipsy as I was.

"About your previous question," he leaned forward on the pillows, since divans have no backs, resting his face on one hand and looking straight at me, "what did you mean then?"

How to ask without sounding vulgar?

"Well, as a man, what do you think of women?" I said, then shook my head. Still to ambiguous. "What is your taste in women?"

He arched a brow.

"I see. You mean, in bed?"

I felt the back of my head tingling.

I heard such expressions every single day. Sometimes they came in a reprimand from Ja'far. Sometimes from Mystras, looking for advice amidst innocence and inexperience. Once in a while, they would come from Rurumu together with some 'lord Hinahoho' and 'exceptional'.

But to hear it from a man like Barbarossa, uttered in such unnecessarily soft tone, gave the impression he too had been wanting to address the issue for a while.

"Well, Sinbad," he stood up and walk to my side.

And he cornered me between the velvet pillows of the divan and himself.

"I am not interested in neither women nor men..."

His hand reached out to mine.

"... who are not on my level."

And he pulled the handkerchief in a slow motion.

I held by breath so hard I felt I was underwater, but I couldn't afford to breathe that sigh of relief until his face wasn't so close to mine, to give away how nervous he had just made me.

And then he had that damn crooked and triumphant smile, like just having won a game I didn't even know we were playing.

"It's getting late. We should go to sleep if we want to attend business in the morning," he declared, finally distancing himself, and I struggled to fill my lungs with air as quietly as possible. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and signaled for me to follow him inside.

As he stared from the shadows of the door frame, a shiver down my spine let me know it might be dangerous to come along.

I was so startled I had sobered up.

"Would you mind if I stay here a while longer?" Sadly, that came out more as a plea than a casual comment.

"As you wish. You are my guest," he murmured hurriedly. "Good night."

"Thank you. Good night."

I shrank between the pillows as I heard a few footsteps indicating he was going away. But the sound stopped abruptly, and I heard him calling me.

"Sinbad."

Cautiously, I turned my head to look at the door, where he was still standing.

"Men like you and I must stay together. We are friends, so do not hesitate to ask or request whatever you desire. I have nothing to hide from you."

I stuttered something between Yes and Sure and Thank You Good Night and watched him disappear behind the embroiled curtains hanging from the doorframe, getting lost in the shadows of his home.

My whole body was tense until the echo of his footsteps gradually faded away. Feeling safe, I laid face up amongst the divan's pillows, reached for the jug and drained its last contents.

I sure wasn't drunk enough to come to terms with Barbarossa's insinuation.