1: Untrue
Somewhere deep within himself, Jafar had come to believe he had two faces. The first was a quiet, stoic and impenetrable visage he used around other people. And the second was one he kept hidden, deep within himself like a shameful secret he was secretly proud of. But then, some people are naturally deceptive and adept as such things. Other people, such as his partner, are a lot more honest than that. And him.
So the silver-haired man had eventually reached the conclusion he was a little of both; honestly enough with his actions, yet extremely dishonest with his intentions. Even he knew that was a selfish, and very wrong, way of thinking.
Yet the thoughts were there. They surfaced in the manner of crimson gashing cutting agonising tracks across his mind – a reminder he shouldn't do this. Looking down, surprisingly similar red marks are circling Masrur's wrists from where Jafar has him bound beneath him. Almost as if the assassin's wires used were in mimicry of his own thoughts. Those wires were tighter than Jafar thought, and tighter than the Fanalis cared for. Yet even if those strong and marked wrists struggled and could easily free themselves, they didn't. Even as Masrur seemed nervous he allowed this; as it was important to Jafar.
That person was stronger than him; and crucially very patient all things considered. As those wires cut into flesh, deep enough for crimson to ooze out and leave thin grazes of blood, Jafar told himself it was no big deal. He lied to himself, telling himself Masrur would like this. After all, his lover had claimed to fulfil the wish of doing whatever he wanted. And allowing him control.
For a moment, it was almost believable. Or at least that dark, secret side of himself felt sated and wanted this. So he continued.
Control like this, for now, was too intoxicating anyway. It was something liberating, and he had yearned for. Having Masrur bound to the assassin's bed of all places, and to agree to this. His darkened, almost serpentine eyes flicked to the sheets rippling below their shifting bodies; much like a sea of scarlet. A tone of lust, of carnal desire, or even sin to most people. To Jafar, it just reminded him of blood. Much like those shallow grazes at Masrur's wrists sending those delicious trickles down his muscular forearms. As he shifted, positioning himself at the waist of the bucking figure below him, he enjoyed it. Perhaps more so as his younger lover was struggling so much. But then, he told himself, it was fine. And having someone so powerful bound and helpless beneath him was what he currently needed.
Ironically, at the start Jafar told himself he wouldn't do this. Instead he would try and give Masrur what he needed to. That he wouldn't just give in selfishly to the temptation of his own pleasure and pain. Needless to say, he had failed.
He had already taken things too far. And kept lying to himself.
"...The wires are really hurting now," Masrur told him honestly and indicated to the headboard above him. Even now, and even agreeing to something like this, he didn't fully comprehend why such a thing was necessary. But they were different. Even if Jafar has assured Masrur he'd release him if he felt any pain, he was quietly enjoying the sight of the pain he inflicted. He just told himself if it was that bad, his partner would free himself. But then, that was conveniently forgetting that Masrur stated he'd do this if it was what he wanted. And he did. Those scarlet eyes gave him a searching look, assuming he would stop. Yet didn't seem completely surprised when he didn't.
Perhaps he should feel guilty right now. Instead he felt triumphant, and instead allowed that darkened part of himself to crave and enjoy this. That side of him that wanted to dominant, and to harm.
If he could overpower someone like this, or even talk someone like Masrur into it, it seemed he was proving something himself after all. Even if this would only happen if that other person was talked into it. For that reason, Jafar tried not to feel pleased with himself. The problem with that was that he was...he was really, really pleased with himself right now.
He shifted his body down, teasing over the one pressing up to meet him. That calm, collected facade he usually presented was long gone; that polite and quiet he had spent years pretending to be. Like years ago he was instead unrestrained – free to have what he wanted. And what he wanted was the pleasure to come.
As he mounted Masrur's naked form tightly between his pale and deeply scarred thighs he squeezed as tightly as he could. Which felt excruciating, in a good way, and knew his partner wasn't enjoying this ordeal. Both of them were used to pain, after all. Yet it was different for Jafar; formerly as an assassin those agonising moments were the commodity used for something more final, and deadly. Even now, every instinct he held back was still rooted in such things. Mingling such a thing with pleasure was something he was barely used to. Partially as he still feared someone – anyone – getting so close as even to touch him. Yet strangely since Masrur, he was finally allowing himself to be caught in the rapture of this moment.
He started, slowly and steadily and with the same malice, to grind against the body below him. And closed his eyes, as something engorged seemed to beg its way inside him. He rejected that much; at least for now, and still wanted to control and refuse someone so much more magnificent than himself. Masrur gasped somewhat desperately, all but crying out in his frustration as the slight and porcelain body rose and he grew increasingly keen to penetrate it. That would happen; when Jafar felt like it. For now his nails, so neat a mere hour ago, continued to embed themselves in Masrur's hips. There he clung to him, like a predator keeping an unrelenting grip upon his prey.
Masrur disliked rough sex immensely, even if he felt he would change his mind. His preference was more to slowly and softly dominate his lover, as he had with the female lovers Jafar knew he had taken. It was up to him to change his mind, and so he continued. Besides, since him it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, or since he had lost himself to someone else. Seemingly forever since he had lost himself to the salt of sweat and submission for someone of his choosing. Even if he wasn't too sure what true intimacy was, and didn't really care. He was more content with thinking of how that stiffen organ would feel like inside him, currently swollen and pressing against his backside. A slight groan escaped him, even as he tried to not make a sound.
Such a thing was enough for Masrur it seemed. More than his grinding at any rate, and he didn't really notice Masrur free himself from his wires. He was being eyed over; perhaps judged for giving into his own violent and selfish ways again. That he had lied to himself nothing was wrong. He looked back, feeling those strong hands grip his waist. Guiltily, he looked down at the angry red gashes encircling Masrur's wrists, something like malicious shackles of passion he had inflicted upon him.
His body stilled itself, feeling Masrur sit up. Even if that throbbing pressure was still demanding entry, Jafar's first thought was simply that he would leave in protest. A thousand thoughts, all borne from regret and his own hushed and forgotten fears of being thrown away, gushed hotly through him all at once. This was too much; he'd be rejected now. Dark, unreadable yet calmed eyes met with a scarlet fire demanding something of him. He assumed it was to explain himself.
"...I," Jafar began, yet Masrur shook his head. If not an explanation, he wasn't sure what he wanted. A thumb stroked over his lips, silencing him. It lingered, before trailing back to his hip. As that part was over, it seemed his partner wanted his turn. He wasn't angry at Jafar doing what he had, but it seemed he had earned his turn. For now, that didn't seem a bad thing. That fire and violence had faded from Jafar, even if he wished he had longer to savour it.
By now, Masrur had gripped Jafar by the waist to effortlessly lift him. He was pressed back into the soft bed as his lover how moved to lean over him. Marked wrists gripped his own, yet tenderly held them above his head. Right then, without the usual wires wound a little too tightly round them, he couldn't help but notice just how exposed his forearms looked. It was also fairly bewildering, just how easily he could be lifted. It was something Masrur seemed to like doing; and he had come to associate it with what led to the gentle dominating of his body.
Those insecurities dissolved as he felt warm and moist lips draw delicately over his neck, seeking out his throat. That sweat-beaded and hardened body pressed down, pinning him and holding him against the sheets below. He made no move to stop it.
The licks and kisses continued, Masrur keen to explore him gently. As if he, too, wanted Jafar to see that this way was better. For now it was, and he tilted himself back against the pillows. He tried to shift a hand, wishing to run his fingers through the head of vivid red hair as it moved slowly down his body. Yet even trying to move made the grip on his wrists tighten, holding him there even if it was still too gentle for his tastes. He went to protest, yet felt a tongue invading his mouth, calmly licking within him as if to convince him. He didn't know what to make of those kisses, aside from how they seemed dripping with emotion and wanting him to understand. Satisfied Jafar was no longer going to speak; a few more were given to reassure him before the same scorching mouth continued down his body. He lay there, somewhat helplessly as Masrur seemed to want to seek out and savour every part of him, and quench the already stifled fury within him.
That anger had faded after all; it was long gone. Masrur, the little he understood of Jafar, seemed to know that much. But then, Masrur also agreed to try and be rough with him. Right now he was just gently caressing him, which was infuriating.
In the next moment, as a dry and unprecedented pressure took to penetrating his body, it wasn't something he expected. Without any warning, Masrur slowly had already begun to take him in a slow serious of deepening thrusts. And that he did like. Along with his hands held down tightly, and the mouth steadily branding his chest with love bites, his weakening body liked this more. He cried out deeply to show as much, even if he knew Masrur would want this to be more gentle. But then, he wished to make him happy, and seemed to want to give Jafar something he had never experienced before. He continued to lie back, enjoying this and not wanting to stop.
It was as though a lever flipped in Jafar's mind, steadily bringing him back to that false, calm face he came to show people. His attitude softened, and he began to become that person he aspired to me. Someone, like when he had a master controlling his every motion, which wishes to be held and dominated again. Silently he begged his partner to take him, over and over against, whilst he was powerless to stop it. Masrur's face is flushes as he looks up, noticing his look and encouraged by it. He seemed glad to be able to calm his lover down, even if he started to become gentler. As such, those once violent thrusts into his body became slower. They encircle deep within him, as if savouring something that he's never felt before. It was as if he was sinking in quicksand, into that man's comforting arms, and become something better. Someone that isn't quite as dark and disturbed as Jafar felt he was.
It almost happens. As that steady pace continued within his soaked body for a moment it almost felt enough. One of the hands gripping his wrist moved to stroke down his body. But as he was near as strong, it seemed he could be restrained easily with just one of those large hands anyway. At least, that was thought both men seemed to like. He felt himself being pushed heavily into the bed, and surrendered to him. As the cold piercing adorning his lover's lip slowly rubbed and circled a satiny pink nipple, he felt it slowly harden. The freezing sensation was followed by the warm tip of Masrur's tongue tease and lap moistly over the delicate bud, before parting his lips to claim and suck upon it. It was something new, one of these softer things Jafar decided he liked, so he arched back and moaned to let him know he was enjoying it. He definitely liked this powerlessness under someone stronger; just as much as he liked overpowering such a person. Masrur's free hand feathered down, lightly pressing into the other side of his chest, pinching softly and in timing with his fevered licks.
Still moaning heavily, he felt his body growing numb, lost in the sensation of his chest and body being played with. Masrur's lusty moans reached him, but even then this was too gentle; he wants more than this. His body shuddered, yet in this intoxicated state there was a growing need to be fully controlled; to become nothing more than a helpless plaything.
"...It isn't enough, is it?" he heard Masrur as softly as his lips and fingers continued to work at his erect chest. Dazed, he shook his head, and then tightened his thighs around his partner to bring him closer. The Fanalis didn't seem to want to admit defeat; that much as Jafar hadn't enabled him to see how pain was a release at times like this, he himself didn't have much enjoyment in tenderly being made love to. "I'll try going harder then..."
He nodded, somewhat thankfully. As the grip tightened painfully on his wrists, he at least conceded something. "I like what you're doing though...did you do that with your other lovers?"
"This...?" he seemed somewhat pleased to do something he liked. As such he continued to lick and pinch over the sensitive nubs on his chest, seemingly pleased as Jafar arched back with another throaty mean. Encouraged, the thrusts sped up again, becoming more painful until his very core moved and trembled under the weight of this new and spirited assault. He knew, really, Masrur was doing all this as he had fallen deeply in love with him the past months. And felt if he could calm Jafar, and make him happy, then he would be told he was loved in return.
Deep down, Jafar was only just getting used to sharing someone's bed and allowing them close. He was too fearful and detached to feel he could do such a thing, but knew Masrur would give him what he was always denied. If he wasn't drunk on this sensation he'd have thought about this more clearly. But right then, he felt truly alive.
By that moment, Masrur held an iron grip on him, and he couldn't as much as struggle. The hand gripping his wrists, and the painful lovemaking held him there. The lips once tenderly kissing his chest had grown deliciously painful, as had his hand. Sharp teeth now gripped and rolled roughly at the swollen bud between them, before biting it. He shuddered as pain itched and prickled through him, and looks to the fingers pinching just as roughly at his other nipple and he knew it excited him. He just wished Masrur enjoyed this. He did, he enjoyed being made to take this, and how helpless he was at his lover's hands.
Jafar finally relaxed into complete surrender, and felt light headed. Those dark, somewhat snake-like eyes, flecked with gold in their somewhat excited moments of either arousal or murder, fade in their brilliance and became soft again in appearance. He felt exhausted finally, yet made to continue with the strong, drenched thrusts still enjoying him. He rocked with them, defencelessly and relishing their overbearing strength. Masrur looked up, liking his expression it seemed. Even if he disliked harming him, he definitely enjoyed dominating him this much.
A while passed before a twitch seemed to resonate in the powerful form above him. With it, Jafar felt a flood of head gush out, drowning him from within. Their locked bodies, submerged in the sweet, pearly fluid, pressed together as Masrur released into him thickly. His wrists were finally released, yet could still feel that throbbing inside him, as though his lover wanted to stay there. He didn't move, instead finally getting his wish of stroking through Masrur's hair, his shoulders, and keeping him there.
With a little nervous coercion, he allowed the Fanalis to gather his exhausted body in his arms, despite finding such a thing strange. A hand passed through his damp, silvery hair and usually he disliked contact outside of sex. Now however, he was too tired and simply relaxed against his chest and closed his eyes. Another, and soft, kiss was stolen as Masrur reached down, and he didn't reciprocate it. Outside of those moments, after all, Jafar didn't know what he thought about kissing. He should have reciprocated, but Masrur didn't seem to mind.
He watched the large hand reach out, drawing over the marks left on his body as if guilty. To Jafar, his body is so marked to not really mind such a thing. It would be a while before Masrur would leave, so he settled in to listen to his steady heartbeat. After a long moment, as if braving himself, Masrur leans down to whisper in his older lover's ear, "...I love you."
"I love you too," he lied quickly in return without thinking. Mainly as he thought if he didn't say those words, all this would stop.