Title/Prompt: Crave the Rose
Rating/Warnings: Explicit
Word count: 1743
Summary: Being ensnared in vines has given Jasmine some very specific fantasies...
Notes: Written in September 2016 for afterandalasia as part of youcandothatinfanfiction 2016. This has been hosted on AO3 and I'm just now getting around to posting it here.
Set after the animated TV series episode "Garden of Evil".
But he that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose
- Anne Brontë.
On occasion, Jasmine would wake and think — if only for a split second — that she was back in the garden. The silk canopy above her bed hung like the draping moss influenced by Arbutus' hand, and the moonlight filtered through the lattice across her windows like it had through the trees.
She wished she had been able to enjoy it properly. She wished she could go back, though the garden was one of those rare things she and Aladdin fought about, his shame making it a topic he never wanted to discuss.
(Arbutus will live on, she would often say, but it didn't matter — Aladdin could only linger on his scimitar slicing through that rose and the way the garden had withered.)
She thought of the garden often. She thought about Arbutus snaking his vines through the palace to find her, and the way those vines had wound around her legs and crawled up her body, squeezing and writhing so carefully, holding her so securely as tendrils brushed behind her ears and at her throat, against her wrists and the inside of her thighs.
It had not been purposefully intimate. She had been dragged out of the palace, after all, with much kicking and screaming. It was only afterward, when she was lingering on what had happened, that she stopped to consider what might have happened if those vines had slid just a little higher, just a little tighter, with just a little more intent.
She slipped a hand between her thighs and stroked herself, biting down on her lip as she realized it had only taken mere imaginings to cause her to grow slick and wet. She looked over at Aladdin, sleeping soundly beside her, and closed her eyes, fingers circling carefully.
Sometimes she wondered if Genie could replicate what Arbutus had started. She was always too ashamed to ask. Discretion was not exactly one of Genie's talents, and she knew if she were to indulge her fantasy through his magic, Aladdin was bound to find out somehow.
Not to mention how incapable she felt of describing her attraction to the situation, for it was something she barely understood herself — but the idea of being helpless and tampered with set a fire burning deep in her belly. A princess was supposed to resist lust and smut; Jasmine could hardly be blamed if she were rendered physically helpless to do so.
She drew her legs together and imagined them bound, forcing her fingers deeper between her thighs, stroking herself faster and with more intent. She raised one hand and cupped her bare breast, circling her finger around her nipple, eyes closed so that she might picture curling tendrils sliding over her instead.
She stifled a moan, but it was enough to cause Aladdin to stir beside her, sighing in his sleep.
She rolled towards him and kissed him, hungry for more than she could give herself, and he mumbled and started kissing her back, hands warm on her skin before he had properly awoken.
"What's wrong?" he breathed, confused.
"Nothing," she whispered. "Kiss me." She wriggled closer to him, blood pulsing, and nipped at his mouth, rough in her affection to encourage the same in return, for she was aching now, her imaginings more and more vivid.
"Hold me," she said, grasping his hand in hers and pulling it above her head, encouraging him to pin her there as he settled between her legs.
He pinned her wrists with one wide hand and grazed the other between her thighs, fingers seeking through her dark curls. She moaned and bit at his mouth again, catching his lip between her teeth, and he breathed a sigh and rocked against her so she could feel the evidence of his pleasure, already hot and hard against her thigh.
"Please," she whispered, arching under him. His grip on her wrists loosened but she caught his fingers in hers and pulled him back again, sucking against his neck and gasping for him to hold her. "I'm yours," she said, and he groaned and thrust his fingers inside her, curling and twisting so she sobbed with delight, drawing him closer with her knees clamped to his hips.
If he was still confused about being woken so suddenly, Aladdin didn't stop to seek answers. He wound his fingers into hers and pressed her hands hard above her head, using the weight of his forearm to pin her as he thrust his fingers into her, causing her hips to buck with each movement, her gasping breath punctuated with throaty noises of encouragement.
He grinned against her neck, sliding his tongue over the hollow of her throat and trailing a wet path down to her breasts. His marks would not be seen on bare skin in the heat of the day, for even her most revealing outfits would cover her here, and so he bit down and claimed her with his teeth as she writhed beneath him.
"I could almost believe you're performing for gold and trinkets, Princess," he murmured, and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked sharply, drawing a loud moan from her. "Trading yourself for riches?" His fingers twisted inside her and she clenched around them.
"How dare you," she answered, her voice cracking, for even the idea of him paying her gold coins in return for her body set her quivering. "I should have your hands cut off for such slanderous talk…"
"Wouldn't you miss them?" His dark eyes flashed at her in the moonlight and he grinned and sucked another bruise onto her skin.
She closed her eyes in response, images of her earlier fantasy suddenly uncoiling in her mind — tendrils to snake around her ankles and draw them apart to expose her and hold her open as Aladdin worked his hands and mouth. She moaned and tightened around his fingers, waves of hot pleasure rolling from her core to her most outer nerves, shaking her from head to toe, writhing under the firm grip of the hand pinning her wrists.
When the intensity had abated, he let her go, stroking his long fingers down over her body gently, rubbing his thumb against his teeth marks. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." She sat up and encouraged him onto his back. He gazed up at her, sweat gleaming on his chest.
"I liked it," she whispered, easing herself onto him, her knees digging into the soft bed. Sometimes it still hurt when they did this, but tonight she found herself relishing the intimate ache of it. "You are the only one who has ever treated me like I won't break."
He was too distracted by the rolling of her hips to question her further. He pushed himself up with his hands so he could kiss her, his blunt fingernails scratching over the small of her back as he drew her closer.
Jasmine wondered what he would do if she rendered him helpless beneath her, arms and legs ensnared so he was held still and she could do what she liked to him. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, indulging herself in her fantasy, pretending he was beneath her with no chance of escape and she was using him for her own physical pleasure.
His hand moved to her hip, guiding her rhythm, and she whimpered, arching her back. He took hold of her long braid with his other hand and held it so she was kept in place, and she bit her lip and thrust harder against him.
"Good?" he asked softly, and he tugged her hair.
"Yes," she breathed. "More."
He bit down on her nipple again and she whimpered and shook, desperate for more. She raked her hands through his hair and down his back, scratching him roughly, and he growled and grabbed her wrists, twisting them behind her back and roping them with her braid, forcing her body to arch.
He fell back and grabbed her hips again, balancing her and guiding her as moved above him, the heat in her belly steadily growing, sweat glowing on her skin. She flexed her hands and tugged gently, succeeding only in pulling her own hair and thrusting her breasts out, Aladdin's fingers reaching up to pinch and pull them gently until she was gasping and shuddering, pleading with him to give her more, more.
His hands were rough and callused and he ran them over her smooth skin with no intention of being gentle. She cried his name and ground down against him, fingers clutching desperately at the air as he worked his hand between her legs and drew her to another climax.
She bucked and shivered helplessly and he arched beneath her, his lashes dark against his cheek as he closed his eyes and moaned, her name breaking at the back of his throat as he spilled inside her, his hands grasping her hips in a bruising grip.
She slumped against him, listening to his heart thunder in his chest as they caught their breath. After what seemed a long time, he fumbled with the knot of her braid and freed her wrists before he rolled and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling against the top of her head and pressing kisses to her brow.
"Will you do that again?" she asked, her throat dry.
"Right now?" he asked, looking panicked.
She laughed and snuggled closer. "No. Just — I don't know. One day. Tie me." She looked up at him shyly. She had only ever considered inducing such pleasure magically, because that was the only way she had been able to pass it as an acceptable excuse. Asking Aladdin was more mundane and she worried that it was therefore more unacceptable.
"I could do all sorts of things to you," he said, looking slightly dazed at the thought. "What would you do if I tied you up only to tickle you?" He gave her a wicked grin and she shuddered in delight.
"You wouldn't."
"I might. A street rat can't be trusted, remember."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "You were never a street rat."
He kissed the top of her head. "I'm starting to doubt you're a princess," he said. "You're too wild to be someone so noble." He stroked his fingers through her hair and she closed her eyes, his heart beating soundly in her ear.
"Not completely wild," she said, feeling pleasantly drowsy. "Perhaps just a rose with thorns."