Jafar always thought Jasmine would look better in red. Once he happened to mention something along those lines to her, and from that day on she only wore blue. The next time she appeared before him, she flipped her long black hair in a decidedly provocative way, as if daring him to comment.
He said nothing, but merely bowed politely, and raised one ironic eyebrow at her.
The line had been drawn, and the two opponents had happily positioned themselves on either side.
He was seen scratching his infernal (red) parrot's beak with a smidgen of affection. She made sure to have her (hungry) feline with her when next she passed him by. He would whisper in the king's ear about marriage, and the good it would do unruly girls, only the next morning to come upon Jasmine draped at her father's feet, looking up at him and claiming how he was the only man she would ever love, and how much fun she had together with him, just the two of them. And how, oh daddy dearest, she hoped her and her beloved parent would spend forever together.
Jafar would smile as he passed her, and bow, and say all that was courteous, and she would lose her temper and show just how well red would suit her, as she gave impetuous commands, and ignored the strings he attempted to tie to her.
As everyone else in the palace danced with timed precision to his tugs, she would sprawl next to her tiger, and look up at him with a challenge in her eyes.
It would be useless to deny he dreamt of collaring her, and bringing her to his heel. And even more useless to claim that he himself was not being collared by her even as he sought to tame her and finding himself longing to kneel before her, and feel her as his, even as she made him hers.
In his dreams she would smirk at him with his own practiced hauteur, decked from head to toe in deep red, the scent of blood and apples on her breath as he towered over her, and let her lace her fingers through his clothing as she pulled his head down to meet hers, in and act at once beautifully submissive, and utterly possessive.
He always awoke from those dreams panting slightly, and a little less inclined to smile at Jasmine than usual. Instead he would grit his teeth, raise an eyebrow at her, and bow, ignoring Iago's inane chatter.
To which she would smirk her own smirk at him, smooth down her billowing blue outfit, and leave, her tiger at her heels.