It's inevitable, she supposes.

When they're ambushed outside of a dungeon, already exhausted and at their limits, it's all the more inevitable that she would be careless. It's inevitable that she would let someone get close enough to make this happen-though in the long run, it definitely was going to happen, anyway (even if it's been two years and Sinbad still hasn't noticed or asked about it if he has-then again, when they originally met, it wasn't as if she had much to even hide).

The sword's blade slides straight up the side of her tunic, nicking beneath her arm, and Ja'far scowls spinning to rather violently shove one of her own blades between the man's eyes. He's felled in an instant, but the damage is done-something she realizes all too acutely when her chest heaves from exertion, and not only is her shirt slit up the side and threatening to fall off, but the bandages tightly binding her rather ample bosom are falling off all in quick succession.

God.

Dammit.

For quite a while, Sinbad doesn't notice. There's plenty to do, disposing of the men who have the gall, the idiocy to try and ambush a pair of dungeon conquerors, and Sinbad has his hands full felling man after man, only relaxing when the last one is dead. "It's them, all right," he says in disgust, tearing off the cheap disguises the men are wearing, revealing the insignia of a local warlord underneath. "Looks like we're going to have to play Lord Imshi another visit, eh, Ja'far?"

He turns, holding up a bit of the uniform, only for the grin to slide off his face. Ja'far is wounded, is holding his chest, and there's blood-

Ah, no, it's apparent with another look that there's little of his own blood, and Ja'far looks merely annoyed rather than in pain, at the way his chest is attempting to fall out of his tunic.

Something about that isn't quite right.

Sinbad backs up.

He blinks, eyes widening. "Ja'far," he murmurs, stepping close, "don't panic...but I think one of their wizards hit you with one hell of a spell."

She's following an idiot.

Admittedly, Ja'far has known that for awhile. For as intelligent and keen-minded Sinbad can be, for as surprisingly well-learned as he is, Sinbad still is an idiot about the most basic of things, and right now there is no better proof of it.

"No," she sighs, tossing her blades to the ground as she simply turns her back, yanking her torn tunic off entirely to simply make it into a makeshift binding instead. "They didn't."

Sinbad strips off his tunic without a second thought, hurrying close and holding it out. "Ah, I don't mean to argue, but I'm pretty good at spotting when a pair like that is in my vicinity," he teases. "I think I'd have noticed. It's fine, I'm sure we can get you fixed up soon-if you want to, I mean, it might be fun to play around first. That's what I'd do."

The look Ja'far shoots him is as deadpan as anything. "It's called binding." She snatches the clothing away regardless, yanking it on without a second thought. Yep, this is about as awkward as she always imagined it to be. "Believe it or not, but you aren't the most observant person at times."

It's the awkwardness more than anything that tells Sinbad what he's somehow missed. If Ja'far had been changed by a wizard he'd expect anger, embarrassment, but not the dull flush of resignation this looks like. He sits down on a tree stump heavily, looking up in confusion. "How long? No, wait, that's too stupid even for me. Why?"

"… Why not?" Ja'far bends, scooping up her discarded blades with a snort. "Living as a man is much easier. Being an assassin is much easier. I've passed without question for the past two years with you, so I think that is proof enough."

"Are you saying I wouldn't have respected you if I knew?" Sinbad demands, while trying to wrap his head around the fact, replaying scenes from the last two years with growing horror. "Or that you would have been unsafe with me?"

Ja'far settles for staring again, annoyed. "It has nothing to do with you. Do you think I started pretending to be a boy when I met you?"

"I don't know, I've only just now found out that you've been lying to me since the day we met!" Sinbad doesn't remember getting to his feet, but he's there now, face flushed in frustration. "After two years, you didn't trust me? When I've told you everything, always?"

Her brow furrows, now decidedly confused. "… What does this have to do with trust? It just never came up, what does it change between us, anyway? I've lived as a boy since my parents died, I saw no reason to change that. Plus," she adds wryly, "if you knew, you probably would have blown my cover in regards to everyone else."

Sinbad folds his arms, trying not to lose his temper. "That might have been true years ago, but I've grown up! I wouldn't-things would have changed! I wouldn't have bedded that Gaulish girl while you were in the tent, or tried to get you to-well, a dozen things. And I'd have been careful about changing in front of you." Not that he would have stopped, but it changes things.

"… But I don't care about any of that." Ja'far's head tilts to the side. "Why does it matter if I'm a boy or a girl in regards to any of that?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Sinbad's eyes track down, and oh, there's something really nice about watching his own tunic covering that ample bosom. "Wow, how did you keep those hidden this whole time? I mean, they're...binding is all well and good, but...I mean, they're not exactly small." They're large. And lovely.

Ja'far's face flushes in spite of herself. Really, this was the part that she was dreading the most. "No. They're not. It's very uncomfortable."

"You don't...I mean, I know now. Just while we're camped, I mean, once we're camped, you don't need to…" Sinbad swallows hard. "You can relax, if you want."

"And if we're suddenly ambushed? Like we are every other day in this country?" Ja'far sighs, folding her arms over her chest in what she hopes is a deterrent. "My face is up here, Sin."

Sinbad bites back a response about how he can see her face very well, sees it every day in fact, and for those exact reasons it's not nearly as interesting as the things that aren't on display at any given time. He wrenches his eyes up with an effort and a smile. "Sorry. Still...adjusting. I'm usually quite good at not getting caught by this sort of thing unawares, you know."

A long, heavy sigh follows that. "… Can we just head back now? Masrur and Hinahoho are probably wondering what is keeping us."

It bothers Sinbad, that she sounds so dismissive of him when he thinks he's taken this whole affair rather well. "I'll keep your secret," he says, attempting to sound gallant even now. "No matter what happens, even if it's that or my life. You can trust me, Ja'far."

Ja'far blinks back at him. "All right. But you don't need to die for it or anything. It's just more convenient walking around as a boy, honestly. Less questions, far less attention."

Sin, I think you're trying too hard.

All the fight goes out of Sinbad, and his shoulders slump. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just go back to camp."

Ja'far shakes off the urge to ask what's the matter with you? and simply nods instead. Of course Sinbad would be acting a little strange about this. She's expected that for awhile now.

"I don't think Hinahoho knows," she offers on their way back, head tilting contemplatively. "But Masrur does."

Sinbad rolls his eyes, at this point just giving up. "Of course he does. Weird Fanalis kid. I won't tell Hinahoho if you don't want him to know, and...hmm. I don't think his tribe likes their women to fight, so we might not want him to know." He grins, carefree once again, clapping an arm around Ja'far as he had the first night he'd "adopted" the "boy". "Stick with me, kid, and I'll keep you safe."

Ja'far's brow furrows at that. "… But I'm not part of his tribe. Either way, if that's the case, then you need to let me bind these things properly before we get back." She pauses. "Actually, never mind. He'll figure it out now, you'll be staring all the time."

"I wouldn't do that!" Sinbad withdraws his arm, irritated. "You always think the worst of me. I'll show you. I'll be so well-behaved, you won't even believe it's me!" Fortunately, Sinbad doesn't mind irony at his own expense.

Ja'far supposes she is being a bit judgmental. "… All right," she slowly allows, slowing to a stop, and promptly making to pull Sinbad's tunic up and off. "Then like I said, give me a chance to fix these things."

Sinbad's face colors, and he turns away. "I said I was going to be well-behaved, not that I'm looking to be made a saint," he mutters, and catches the tunic, climbing back into it in an effort to keep himself distracted. She's a friend, just a friend, he tries to tell himself. He's never been attracted before (lies, whispers his mind), so he shouldn't be now.

At that, Ja'far shrugs, ripping the remains of her own tunic into a better semblance of bandages. "You're no saint, I know that well. I-" A long-suffering sigh, and she simply turns full-on to face him. "Here, just look already. Get it out of your system, realize they're nothing spectacular and move on."

"Nope, I don't need to," Sinbad stubbornly insists. "You're a woman and my friend, and that's normal for me in people I don't sleep with, or at least will be from now on, and I don't need to look at your chest because if they're really nice, I….I bet they're really nice, aren't they?"

"I'm not standing here topless for my health. Just look already, better now than when we're at camp and you're constantly trying to peer down my shirt."

Sinbad slowly turns, and bites his lip at the sight. He glares up at her, folding his arms over his chest. "That was a mean lie. They're the best I've ever seen."

"You're insane," Ja'far flatly tells him, and proceeds to finish ripping up her own tunic. "They're just breasts, there's nothing good about them. Some warrior tribes have realized that, and cut them off. Maybe I should, too."

Sinbad goes white, and he hastens forward, grabbing her arms in his hands. "Don't. Don't. Swear you won't, they're the best I've ever seen, I just want to-look, just swear you won't, I'll slit my own throat if you do."

"… It was a joke," Ja'far slowly manages in reply.

Sinbad heaves a huge sigh of relief, probably far larger than the response warrants, but the image was so frightening. "Good. Thank you. They are magnificent, though, just so you know. The things I would do to those…" Where are her eyes, again?

"Sin." Really, she should have known that he couldn't just look and get over it. "Sin, you can let me go now. I don't want to know about what you'd do to them, and I am quite certain you've seen better."

Sinbad slowly lets his eyes track up, trying to stop thinking of burying himself into that beautiful chest, sucking and nibbling and caressing, and ah, they're not just large, they're firm, and soft, with a nice shape to them, and he just wants to see if they taste as nice as they-

This is Ja'far, not some random harlot. Pull yourself together!

With an effort of will, Sinbad releases her arms. "Sorry. I'm done. Though you're wrong, I've never seen better."

There's no point in arguing. Ja'far sighs heavily, and the first stretch and wrap of her makeshift binding already makes her chest substantially smaller. "Well… thank you? I think. Now that you've had your fill, please don't stare at them any more."

"I'll do as you say," Sinbad warns, "and I won't stare at them any more than I can help. But…" He grins, leaning in to chuck her on the chin like he's done a hundred times since he'd picked up a lonely assassin kid. "I doubt I'll ever have my fill."

Sinbad behaves himself.

For a while, at least.

He can't really be held to blame for how sometimes when they're on a mission his gaze wanders, or sometimes at night when he's stroking furtively under the blankets he wonders what it would be like to squeeze and stroke that soft skin, or how he makes excuses to walk behind Ja'far, or atop a commandeered wagon while she drives so he can look down her tunic.

But really, he's behaving himself. Not a word, not a touch, not a look that she can see.

And one night, if he has far too much to drink and Hinahoho has passed out after telling campfire stories with Masrur snoring lightly at his side, he can't really be blamed for trying to tug Ja'far onto his lap under the guise of body warmth. "It's cold tonight," he murmurs, hands a little grabby and eager. "You'll get sick, come sit on me."

It isn't the first time Sinbad has tried to do this. Even when the man thought she was a boy, he'd tried to do things like this-though he was normally quite a bit more drunk for that to happen. Not that he's exactly sober right now, but…

"I won't get sick, I'm good with the cold," Ja'far hushedly protests, trying to squirm her way away from those grabbing hands. "Sin, stop it, I'm supposed to keep watch tonight."

Sinbad takes another long, long swig of wine, feeling it burn down his throat to warm his belly, using his other hand to hold Ja'far onto his lap with an arm like steel. "Doesn't matter, nothing ever happens at night, it's too cold for killing. Come on, keep me from getting sick."

Ja'far flops back against his chest with a solid thump, huffing out a hard breath in a mix of irritation and resignation. "Drunkard," she mutters, squirming a bit to try and at least stay on his knee and not between his damned legs. "You're never sick, either."

"The wine kills my sickness." Sinbad leans forward, breath hot against the side of Ja'far's neck, setting the wine jug down for just long enough to slide a hand up to Ja'far's chest, hovering around the side of one breast. "Come, drink some medicine from my lips, let me heal you."

"No." Reaching up, she firmly catches his hand by the wrist, shoving it down. "Sin, quit it. You said you wouldn't do this."

"Not doing anything, being nice," Sinbad murmurs, letting Ja'far's hand steer him down, gliding up one smooth thigh. "You keep your body concealed, but I see what you're hiding, you lovely minx, you know what you do to me."

Minx? That's a new one. "I know that breasts apparently make you stupid," Ja'far mutters, shoving Sinbad's hand to the side next. So he's more drunk than Ja'far thought. She can deal with that. Maybe. "Let me up, you can keep yourself warm well enough."

"But I burn for you." Sinbad buries his face in her hair, and no matter how deeply he inhales, he smells nothing, nothing but the faintest tinge of soap from a washing not a few hours old. "You don't long for me at all?" He's already hard, pressing up against Ja'far's ass, holding her tight. "Not a bit of that lovely body craves my touch, in the dark hours of the night?"

It would be an even more awkward sort of lie to say no, not a bit. That doesn't mean Sinbad needs to hear a damned thing about it, and besides, it's a little hard not to think just a bit along those lines, considering their history. But that's entirely besides the point, and not something Ja'far feels inclined enough to act on, so this is annoying at best.

"There's nothing lovely about it-will you let me go?" She shouldn't shiver so much at feeling his cock so damnably hard against her.

"Tell me you don't want me, and I will." Sinbad closes his teeth lightly around Ja'far's ear, the wine maddening him, making him far bolder than he has any right to be, one hand coming up to cup a breast, thumbing over the nipple. "You needn't fear me, tell me to stop and I'll never touch you again, lovely, fair, entrancing mistress of my heart."

All right, that's outright irritating.

It's one thing for Sinbad to flirt with her. It's something else entirely for him to be a drunken fool when he's doing it, and talking to her like she's another one of his whores that he's paying a pretty coin for. Ja'far snorts, shoving his hand away roughly, wrenching herself free from his hold. "I told you, warm your own goddamn lap. I don't fear you, I want to smack you into the damned fire. Go pay for it if you want an entrancing mistress."

Sinbad takes another long swig of wine, then sighs dramatically, dropping down onto his back. "She toys with my heart," he remarks to the moon. "No idea how many times I've grasped hold of my manhood to the thought of that milky skin, those bouncing, firm, delicious breasts, no idea how many sonnets I've composed and torn asunder for her eyes. Do you see this, my friend?"

"I'm going to kick your face in," Ja'far flatly retorts, standing over him with her arms crossed. "Not only are you obnoxious, but you're obnoxiously drunk. Just go to sleep already so I don't have to think about you."

"So cruel, for one so fair," Sinbad says mournfully. "Will I need to die for you before you see how I pine? Let me get a bit more wine in me and I'll stop talking, I'll become a creature of base grunts for you and chase you on all fours."

"… Right. I'm going to go start my watch."

Sinbad drains the jug, which is silly, since the wine doesn't even affect him. He lurches to his feet, nearly falling into the fire-could happen to anyone, the fire's in a dangerous location-and fills his hands with Ja'far's ass, squeezing happily. "Your body wants me, even if you don't. Look, it calls to me."

Right. She's done.

Ja'far twists, grabbing Sinbad by the ponytail to toss him bodily to the ground. "Who said you could just grab me like that? Do you do that to the women in-you know, don't answer that," she snaps, scowling down at him. "Keep your hands off of me or I'll cut them off."

Sinbad breathes heavily for a moment, trying to understand when everything had turned so sideways, before he quite catches up. He smiles, looking up at her scowl, relaxing down. "I'm sorry. I'm a pervert. You're quite right."

Ja'far's eyes narrow. "Yes. I know I am. Don't smile at me like that, Sin, it's not going to get your hands on me any faster."

Sinbad wiggles his fingers above his head. "Not trying to touch you. I just like to look at you. Have you ever had a man, Ja'far?"

Why are they having this conversation? Ja'far heaves a long-suffering sigh, rocking back onto her heels. "Why do you care? Would you ask me that if I were a boy?"

"Yes," Sinbad says bluntly. "The only reason I haven't until now and didn't when you were a boy is that I thought they'd had you, your old masters. But you don't get angry like someone who's been trifled with."

"My old masters hardly had such carnal thoughts in mind, and even if they did, it certainly wouldn't be regarding me." She frowns. "So no, to answer your question. I haven't."

Sinbad frowns, staring up at her. "I don't understand your protests. You do a very good job of pretending you think you aren't beautiful, you know. I'd almost believe you if it weren't so goddamn ridiculous."

Ja'far's brow knits at that. "… I'm not pretending. I blend in with the sand. Not to mention I've made a passable boy for over a decade, I think that says it all. And honestly, I don't care."

Sinbad raises up onto his elbows, brows knitting. "But you're gorgeous," he says, as if it should explain everything. "God, I had trouble not looking at you when you were a boy, it's only gotten worse."

"You're drunk," is Ja'far's matter-of-fact reply. "Every girl is lovely to you when you're drunk."

"But you're always pretty to me. I think about you all the time, just look at the books I keep!" Sinbad rarely lets anyone look at the books, the little scribblings of his fantasies and accounts of his adventures that he swears will be published someday, but for the last month, they've been quite a bit more...single-focused.

It's almost endearing. It would be, if Ja'far wasn't firmly convinced that Sinbad's drunkenness is influencing a great deal of this. "Thank you. I think. But you're still drunk, and I still need to go keep watch. And you also need to stop grabbing at me, nothing annoys me more."

"Why," Sinbad asks slowly, the words starting to slur together as he finds the idea of stirring from his back more and more difficult, "is it all right for you to say no, but 's'not all right for me to say yes? I'd...yes you, Ja'far."

"I'm sure." Ja'far turns away with a snort. "Just roll your way back to bed already, I don't want to hear any more of it."

"I disgust her," Sinbad sighs to the moon. "I long for her, and she hates me. Maybe she likes women."

"Good night, Sin." She's following around an insufferable idiot.