When Ja'far wakes-really wakes, with his eyes cracking open just far enough to know that he much prefers them closed-everything still blossoms with agony.
It's easy to forget, after all of these years, how precisely cruel Al-Sarmen's 'interrogation' techniques can be, especially if one is particularly close-mouthed as he. Easier to forget still is that he isn't quite so invincible, and ah, when was the last time he had been injured to this extent?
Embarrassing, at best.
Ja'far heaves a sigh, his eyes shutting again as he makes no real attempts to move. Everything feels like lead, anyway, his arms and legs especially, with his fingers numb and tingling and he wonders when their full use will be back, exactly-or if they've even been healed properly at that. He doesn't remember much past initially being able to breathe right again, with Aladdin and… Judal's, oddly enough, voices lingering in his ears.
An eyeblink.
It's not much, as far as movement goes, but it's what Sinbad's been waiting for.
As soon as it's followed by another and another, he's at Ja'far's side in a second, kneeling on the floor to avoid jostling him even the slightest bit. "Are you in pain?" he asks, the most important question first. He can tell that Ja'far is in pain, but what he says, if he can answer, if he's willing to admit that he's in pain, those are the responses he needs. "I sent Aladdin to sleep, but I can have him here in ten seconds." And he'll be personally murdering Yamuraiha's driver.
"Sin." No matter how tired his voice or how hoarse it is, prompting him to swallow after the fact, it's still duly irritated. "Let the child sleep." At least it's a dull pain now, not something sharp and strained, and really, if he can't deal with this, then Ja'far sees himself as a poor candidate to remain a general at Sinbad's side.
In a heartbeat, there's a glass of water resting at Ja'far's lips, close enough that he could sip from it, not tipped so far he's forced to. "He said he'll come back in a few hours anyway." God, Ja'far looks like death, and it's as much for reassurance that he's alive, that he's warm and breathing that Sinbad cups his head gently, helping him lean slightly up to drink. "Judal said you'd need a lot of sleep yourself after having the rukh work through you so much."
It's not the water that makes him choke but rather the mention of Judal's name in relation to any of this. God, he had hoped he was hallucinating. "He was there, wasn't he," Ja'far mutters after taking a long, relieved swallow and exhaling after the fact, his eyes shutting once more. "Why?"
"He didn't touch you," Sinbad assures him, the slightest hint of amusement entering him since the first time he'd realized Ja'far was missing. "Yamuraiha's too far away, and Aladdin needed help." He grimaces, trying not to think about how bad a state Ja'far had been in, that it had sounded like a reasonable plan. Then again, Aladdin hadn't exactly asked his permission.
Aladdin's good at that, come to think of it.
"How… reassuring." Sarcasm at its finest, certainly. Ja'far's next breath is slow and measured, a test to see if thinking about each inhale and exhale makes himself hurt less-it doesn't. "My apologies, to cause so many inconveniences."
"It's good training for the boy. And I doubt Yamuraiha could have done as well, given her level of power and your…"
He trails off, swallowing hard. He hasn't been letting himself think about it-he hasn't really been letting himself feel it, knowing that if he did, he'd have to admit with every beat of his pulse that I almost lost you. "What…" What did they do to you, Ja'far? What were you doing, going after Al-Sarmen alone?
The worst question, the one he wants to ask least, is the blackest one hovering near his tongue. What did you tell them, under torture?
"Where would you like me to start?" It's a weary reply, and Ja'far thinks more and more how sleep would be a much better option right now. "I didn't tell them anything. They don't know about Judal."
"I didn't think you would." Unless you had no other choice. Unless they pulled the levers of your mind, and don't hate me for knowing that they're the ones who set them up in the first place, my friend.
He wants to reach out and touch, to reassure himself that Ja'far is still warm and alive, but ah, they haven't exactly patched anything up yet, have they? His hand makes an abortive little gesture, jerking awkwardly back to rake through his own hair and brushing aside a stray, leftover feather. "You should...get some sleep, no doubt."
But you did. Did you think I would be glad to hand over your pet?
"It was a spur of the moment lead," he dully offers rather than surrender to the insistent pull of sleep. "You know we've been able to uncover anything regarding Al-Barmen's intentions as of late. I felt it would be amiss to not take the opportunity."
"Of course, of course. I never questioned for a second that you had your reasons, you understand." It doesn't help the pull of worry at his brow and damn, he's going to get wrinkles from this.
To hell with the fight. If Ja'far wants to hate him, he's welcome to do so, but it won't stop Sinbad from taking one pale hand in his own and lifting it gently to his lips.
Ja'far's eyes lid, and what little effort he has left in him is used to make sure his fingers don't twitch, but instead curve slowly about Sinbad's hand-not quite able to squeeze, but it'll do, for now. "… Still. I apologize-I miscalculated, and it's my mistake that has caused all of this trouble."
The slight, slow, pained movement of Ja'far's hand against his own is enough to bring a true, warm smile of relief to Sinbad's face. "I think you gave me one or two gray hairs," he chides, thumb stroking over the back of Ja'far's hand. "I wouldn't forgive just anyone for such an offense."
"You had them already, don't blame me." Ja'far's lips slowly twist in sort of exhausted amusement. "More so, I apologize for still coming up empty. I'm not sure we are going to have an answer until they act on their own accord, Sin."
Sinbad sighs, leaning forward to brush the wispy hairs out of Ja'far's face. "Then there's nothing we can do about it. Stand down, go back to your office." He smiles, giving that hand the slightest of squeezes. "That's meant as a reward, not a punishment. After tonight, I'll leave them alone myself."
"… Will you?" is the skeptical retort. Think of the company you currently keep in bed, and whether or not that is even possible.
"Oh, of course. After tonight," Sinbad repeats, meaningfully. "That's not to say that I won't answer in force if they take issue with my personally reasonable behavior, of course."
"Sin…" There are at least a dozen things to say-to chide him on, to tell him not to start more of a war than there already is, but it'll all fall on deaf ears, Ja'far knows, and so he gives in with a little sigh. "Focus more," he murmurs, "on concealing Judal all the more, should you wish to continue keeping him as you are. They'll watch us more now, and they'll see."
"Not if their eyes are plucked out," Sinbad says lightly, for all the world as if it's a joke. "Judal is safe enough, he doesn't like leaving the room, and only Aladdin has been able to walk through the barrier I leave behind." He hesitates, but why have an advisor if you only tell him the things he wants to hear? "I've asked Judal to try and teach Aladdin more magic."
"That…" Ja'far's mouth twists. Putting bias aside-"… isn't a terrible idea. Are you sure Judal is stable enough to be capable, however? Or for that matter, that he won't tell Aladdin something lethal? I realize you have some degree of trust in him now, but your view is as biased as my own, you realize."
"It has nothing to do with my trust in Aladdin. As he is now, he's dangerously untrained-a magician, certainly, but untrained as a Magi. And…" He trails off, a wry, almost rueful grin on his face. "If ever I were to face that boy in battle, I haven't the slightest doubt that he would be on the right side. Maybe I'm just trying to ensure my future good behavior, hmm?"
Ja'far sniffs at that. "I was more concerned about Judal teaching Aladdin something that could potentially kill him. You are the least of my worries."
That, at least, makes Sinbad laugh out loud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bed. "I think that if he didn't instruct Aladdin to kill you, he's a bit more declawed than you expect. Besides, I don't think he wishes the boy any harm."
And now it's time to stop talking.
"You were there," Ja'far points out with a little roll of his eyes. "And I think we all know Judal's new goal in life is to elicit some sort of praise from you."
"Praise he will certainly not get if he kills Aladdin," Sinbad points out swiftly. "If my approval is what he craves, he could do much worse than train up the boy." Almost offhand, he adds, "Oh, did you know his chosen king is Alibaba?"
Well. Sinbad's clearly made his decision regarding that already. Ja'far supposes it could be worse, so long as Judal does indeed remain declawed. "… I had my suspicions. He's made it official, though?"
"Apparently." Sinbad shrugs, tossing his hair back over his shoulder. "Maybe they'll surprise us all."
No, he's not nearly drunk enough that such a thing sounds plausible.
"You don't sound as upset as I imagined you to be." Ja'far's brows slowly lift. "So content with the former Magi in your bed that you don't even mind? That's a bit romantic, even for you."
"Ah, my apologies. I'll stand outside in a thunderstorm and beat my breast and curse what's already been done, shall I?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of the letters you'd have me draft to Scheherazade in spades now, but I suppose that works just as well."
Ah, right. He'd known there was something he'd forgotten. "It can wait until you're truly healed. I doubt you can even hold a pen right now."
"Please don't remind me." Ja'far tries not to twitch. "I'll certainly need a scribe for tomorrow, if there is any way I'm to catch up on all that I missed today, let alone remain properly on schedule."
"Can you manage to retain a scribe without losing your temper this time?" Sinbad asks archly. "I do remember the last time Yamuraiha put you on bedrest. I'll give you all the scribes in Sindria if you promise to leave off the wires."
"It isn't my fault they are all slow and useless." Ja'far scowls. "There must be someone within Sindria that isn't entirely incapable of keeping a decent pace. Find me them, and I will… attempt to remain calm."
"Shall I hold auditions?" Sinbad asks, only half-joking. "That failing, I could ask very loudly in the streets who would be willing to die to keep a properly filed cabinet from falling over, and hire whoever screams the loudest."
"Or barring that, you could be a little more responsible and handle your share at a respectable pace for once instead of rolling around in bed with Judal until three in the afternoon. Honestly, don't you get bored?"
"No," Sinbad says quite frankly. Then, because that's not entirely true, he adds, "At least, not so much that doing paperwork sounds pleasurable by comparison."
"Governing your country should be a far more entertaining prospect," Ja'far grumbles, though it's an empty chide, more reflex than anything else. Really, if he hadn't accepted Sinbad's lack of drive towards any desk work by now… "Whatever. I won't throw anyone out of a window, just find me someone capable enough to stay on top of things. I refuse to allow my mistakes make Sindria suffer."
Strange, how the vast amount of time Sinbad feels as if it's him being dismissed from Ja'far's company. He stands, placing a kiss on the top of Ja'far's head, then dusting one over his freckles out of force of habit. "I'll send the first victim-er, scribe in before I leave. Do try not to murder anyone who tries to heal you? I'd consider it a personal favor."
"I'll refrain." You don't have to leave. It's on the tip of his tongue, bitten back at the last second, and Ja'far shuts his eyes with a slow exhale. "If it is all right with you, however, I will try to rest in the meantime."
Sinbad blinks. "Of course. Rest as much as you can." He hesitates, hand on the doorknob. He should leave, and not make anything worse. It will be a more comfortable silence between them now-he knows their fights well enough to know that much.
For some reason, he speaks, though he tries to ignore the impulse. "If you're awake-that is, I'll look-may I check in on you, when I return?" I miss you, even when you're right in front of me.
"Since when does my king need to request an audience with his advisor?" Ja'far sighs at that, the tiniest of smiles on his lips as he sags back into the bed, shutting his eyes. "I won't protest, certainly."
"Then I'll be back." And if you're sleeping, I might just crawl in next to you and fill my nose with the smell of your skin until the morning. And if you're awake, I might just sit and talk with you while you can't escape until you fall asleep on my shoulder. "For a moment, at least."
Don't make it sound so pleasant. "As you wish, Sin."
It had been a long night. After dealing with some of the agents who had captured Ja'far-probably not all, they're slippery like that at the best of times, curse them-it had seemed natural, necessary even, to crawl onto the bed behind Ja'far instead of retreating up to his own room, burying his face in the back of the younger man's neck and falling asleep almost immediately to the sound of Ja'far's soft breathing.
No matter that the dark of night has become bright sun, it feels like no more than two minutes have passed when he stirs, blinking sleepily at the sensation of movement in his arms. "Mmm. Sorry."
"You're fine," is the sleep-husked sigh to follow. Normally waking to Sinbad wrapped around him is exasperating at best-now, though, it's a balm to sore, still-throbbing muscles and deep body aches, with the man's warmth seeming to permeate through his whole body and leave him far less in agony than he should be. "When did you get here?" Ja'far tiredly adds, cracking his eyes open to squint out the window. Too sunny to be terribly early, and that sort of makes him grimace. Another day lost, at this rate.
Sinbad huffs out a little laugh against the back of Ja'far's neck, the soft fine hairs tickling his nose. "About an hour after I left. Didn't take me long. Forgot how much I like sleeping next to you." Usually, of course, Ja'far doesn't let him, preferring to take up as much or as little of the bed as he likes without having to worry about inconveniencing anyone-or at least not liking to be shoved about in his sleep. Still, there have been occasions, and Sinbad relishes them every time.
"I can't be that pleasant of a bedmate right now." Ja'far's eyes lid before simply sliding shut, content to slowly relax in spite of lingering pain. He tries not to think about how he must have been so very dead to the world if Sinbad had returned so quickly and he wasn't aware. More importantly, though-"You're warm," he murmurs, tipping his head back with a quiet sigh.
Very slowly, and as gently as if Ja'far were made of spun glass, Sinbad curls an arm around his waist. "You can have all my warmth. I'm just grateful you're here to feel it." Sappy, sentimental, and if he hadn't been so totally terrified at Ja'far's condition the previous day, he'd have kept it behind his lips.
It's impossible to repress his snort, no matter how the words are nice and he does rather like them, all the same. "So little faith in me, Your Majesty?"
Sinbad takes a slow breath, letting his eyes slide shut. "Mm. What I say next depends on how sleepy you are. Do you feel up to hitting me?"
"… Depends on how insulting it is." Ja'far wonders if he can lift a hand yet, anyway, or if it's even worth it.
"Ah, not insulting, just…" The smell of Ja'far's skin is in his nose, maybe the only thing that keeps him calm now. How can he say that he'd thought he'd die too, seeing the bloody mess of Ja'far fall to the ground, even with his equip being almost unable to hear a heartbeat? "Only a bit sentimental."
"I won't hit you for that." Ja'far lets his head loll back a bit more, eyes half-open as he looks up at Sinbad. "But lest you've forgotten-I have told you before that I have no intention of dying before you."
Odd, and a bit ridiculous, how much every beat of Sinbad's heart relies on the continued liveliness of such a fragile creature. "When that thing dropped you...I thought I'd be following."
"Not allowed," is the quiet chide in return. "You have a country to think of instead, you know."
"Not if you aren't serving in it." Sinbad buries his face in Ja'far's upper back, inhaling deeply. "Sindria would fall apart without you in a matter of days, anyway. The best I could hope for would be to become a wastrel ruffian again."
"You aren't that hopeless at paperwork," Ja'far grumbles, eyeing the fall of Sinbad's hair over his shoulder, stark against the paleness of his own skin, and he hazards lifting a trembling hand to grasp for it, frowning in concentration to make his fingers coil about it. "Besides, I found you just as tolerable as a wastrel ruffian. I'm sure the rest of the country would, too."
"Mmm. Maybe." Except this time I'd know what I was missing. "Do you ever miss those days? Before I had a throne and you had an office?"
"I ended up sunburnt quite a bit more, so not particularly. Though… things were much simpler, weren't they?" Ja'far muses. "Sometimes, I wonder if you weren't happier then, never mind the endless supply of alcohol and women now."
"Much simpler," Sinbad agrees. "Didn't have to worry about thousands of people every time I wanted to do something, just about me, and you once I picked you up." He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Ja'far's neck. "I don't mind, if you prefer things now. I've always been the simple one, you're the smart one."
"… The very idea of you being simple makes me wonder how far Judal's influence stretches upon you," is the dry retort to follow, Ja'far's fingers giving a weak squeeze upon Sinbad's hair that was probably supposed to be a tug. "Make a few heirs already, and Sindria will be good in hands when we both are dead and gone."
Sinbad nuzzles into the touch, a rueful smile on his face as he does. "I make heirs all the time, you just don't seem to like them very much."
"Legitimate ones," Ja'far wryly retorts. "You know, the kind you make with a wife."
Sinbad tries to repress the instinctive shudder that rakes through him at the word, but pressed close like this, it's impossible to manage. "But if I had a wife-" god, the word is so sour on his tongue- "I wouldn't be able to spend mornings like this with you."
"… I'm hardly a substitute for the type of woman you enjoy," Ja'far drawls, lips twisting in amusement in spite of himself.
"No, you're not," Sinbad answers truthfully, curling a finger to bare just an inch of Ja'far's shoulder to kiss. "They're a poor substitute for you."
Ah. Flattery, of the most awkward sort. At best, Sinbad would normally receive an eye roll for his efforts-now, however, and Ja'far is inclined to blame his injuries and the haze of pain that seems to be his existence, he gets a little shiver, a subtle burrowing back into Sinbad's much larger form.
"I'm no woman."
"Forget the metaphor," Sinbad grumbles, vaguely annoyed with himself for forgetting how Ja'far hates being compared to his girls. "It was intended as an expression of how much I care for you. Your…" He'd almost lost Ja'far. Almost lost him, and the thought of how close he'd come….. "Be more careful, hmm? Think of what would happen to Sindria without you."
You underestimate your own subjects, and everyone else that pushes paper in this place.
But it's not worth saying, and so Ja'far leans back against him with a little shrug. "You've already told me that I am confined to office work again, haven't you? I'll steer clear of paper cuts."
Sinbad nearly protests that he's only confined because of his injuries, but stops himself. In all honesty, if he could confine Ja'far for the next year, he would. "Good. Consider it your punishment for scaring the heart out of me." He closes his eyes, rubbing his nose into the dip of Ja'far's neck. "Your wires are wrapped around my heart, you know."
"That sounds dangerous." All right, Sinbad's being slightly cute. Just slightly. Ja'far's shoulders roll a bit, his head tipping forward to openly allow Sinbad better access to the nape of his neck.
"Very." Sinbad buries his face, leaning forward to rest his hand on Ja'far's chest, feeling the thud of his heart. "It hurts every time it beats. And if you get too far from me, we both know what would happen."
A little scoff escapes before Ja'far can properly stifle it into a pillow, but it's affectionate, all the same. God, but Sin lays it on thick sometimes. "Well, then," he murmurs, deciding it's not such an awful thing to humor Sinbad right now, especially when the words make him smile. His fingers slide over Sinbad's, loosely clutching. "I suppose I'll have to be careful about not straying, then. My wires only stretch so far."
"Good. You can just stay here in my arms." Sinbad smiles into the moonlight hair, pressing a kiss against Ja'far's neck. "Not such a bad place to be, hm?"
The door opens a bit louder than necessary, and a blur bounces into the room. "Oh, I think they're still sleeping," Aladdin says, suddenly chagrined. "Can I heal him like that, or should we come back later?"
Any other time, Ja'far would have hastened to put distance between them. It isn't so much out of embarrassment as it is propriety, especially in front of a child. Now, with that hardly a possible thing, he merely sighs, shutting his eyes in resignation. Maybe he can feign sleep-
"They're not sleeping," is the familiar grumble to follow, and Ja'far feels his skin prickle. "Oi, stupid king. Move over and let Aladdin get this over with already."
Sinbad groans, stretching out in protest of moving. As much as it sends a less-than-good message to move away from Ja'far on Judal's say-so (and when did his life get so complicated?), he does want Ja'far to get over that pain as soon as possible. He rises up, giving Ja'far's hand a last little squeeze. "Got to let them work," he says with a smile, taking up a spot in the corner.
Aladdin gives Sinbad a big beaming smile, then hops onto the bed to kneel over Ja'far. "Are you feeling better? Do you need to eat? I wasn't sure if it would be better if you had food or not. Oh, I drew you a picture!" he adds, pulling out a brightly colored scroll.
Ja'far settles upon ignoring Judal-easy enough, when Aladdin is beaming at him, the smile contagious enough that he can ignore the sharp twinge that goes through his nerves when he moves to prop himself up a bit. "I'm feeling much better, thanks to you," he reassures the boy. "And maybe later, I'll eat something… until then, show me what you drew?"
Aladdin reaches out with charcoal-smudged fingers, pointing to each blob in turn. "This is you, lying down," he explains, "and this is me and Judal helping. See the rukh? Oh, and that's Sinbad with the sword. And Masrur's head outside the door." He reaches up, touching Ja'far's cheeks, smiling broader when he feels the warmth of his skin. "Look, I even put your freckles in! Judal told me not to forget."
Ja'far imagines it went more along the lines of grumbling about how Aladdin shouldn't forget his 'stupid freckles', but, ah, details. Aladdin is so honestly, earnestly sweet that there's not any real chance for him to be annoyed at the moment. "You're a very talented artist," he praises with a smile. "You'll have to let me keep that at my desk, once I get back to work… which should be soon, thanks to you… and Judal, so it seems." He spares the other boy a sidelong glance. "Thank you." It isn't quite as stiff as he imagined it would be, thankfully.
Judal's head inclines, just slightly, and Ja'far thinks he might have muttered something about having not done anything, though it's hard to tell (not that he cares, either).
There's a hint of sternness, stuffed with concern, in Aladdin's expression. "You can't go back too soon," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm gonna make sure you're all healed up as soon as I can, but Yamuraiha probably needs to fix your hands." He remembers something, and leans forward, laying a hand on Ja'far's forehead. "Your brain didn't go bad, did it?" he asks anxiously. "You weren't breathing too well for a long time."
He can't help but laugh at that. "I can assure you, keeping my brain from going bad was a priority on my end," Ja'far gently teases, tipping his head forward a bit into Aladdin's hand all the same. "If that happened, Sin would be in an awful state, now wouldn't he? He scarcely knows his way around the office, let alone the filing systems here."
"Hey now," Sinbad objects from his corner, but Aladdin laughs, no matter if there is a hint of fear-Ja'far has to stay alive, has to stay healthy, he doesn't want to lose anyone else.
"Don't worry, I'll have you really healthy again soon. I'm gonna do magic now though, so …" He looks back at Judal, curious. "Does he have to be lying down?"
Judal gives a small shrug from where he leans against the wall, obviously too uncomfortable about being in Ja'far's room to even consider properly sitting. "Doesn't have to be."
"I can lie down again if it's easier for you," Ja'far assures him, shifting to do just that. Ah, he'll be glad when it no longer is a challenge to move and keep from wincing the whole way.
"Don't worry," Aladdin reassures him, settling into the most comfortable stance he can, preparing to hold it for hours if he has to. "You'll stop hurting soon. I ate and slept a lot so I'm ready to go!" He breathes in deeply, looking over at Judal. "Sharrl Shica to mark the worst spots, right? Can I focus it on his whole body at once, or just parts?"
"… Generally, it's more effective in focused, spot treatment, but you can do everything at once if you keep the flow of your rukh steady enough." It was a lot easier to play teacher when Ja'far was unconscious. Now, he's just self-conscious, never mind that the snake doesn't even spare him a glance. Good, you've got creepy eyes anyway, don't look at me with them.
Aladdin bites his lip. He can do it. He's sure. He hasn't gone through years of training just to fail because he can't control his own rukh.
Then again…
"Is it more dangerous to do it all at once? I-I want to make him better as fast as I can." It hurts, to see Ja'far in so much pain, Ja'far who everyone knows is the ears and hands of Sindria if Sinbad is the heart and strong back. It doesn't feel right that he should be so crippled, unable even to sit up or lie down without pain suffusing his face. And when Aladdin has the power to fix it, as he does, it's his duty, isn't it?
"If you're-" An idiot that can't control their rukh properly-nope, censoring that, considering their company. "If you can't keep everything steady, then yeah, it can be. Also, it's probably a little more painful." Kind of an understatement. When one has nearly every bone in their body broken and is rapidly healed over such a fast span of time, there's a deeper understanding of pain.
"Aladdin, it's fine," Ja'far dismisses. "Just do whatever you feel comfortable with-even if that's nothing right now. I don't mind waiting for Yamuraiha."
Well, that's certainly unacceptable. As bad as it would be to cause Ja'far pain, he can hardly do nothing because he's afraid of not being good enough. He was good enough yesterday, and yesterday he hadn't practiced or anything.
He squares his shoulders, a frown creasing his forehead. "What's the thing that's worst?" he asks Ja'far. "I want to make sure I do everything right, so I'll just fix what's bothering you the most first."
"Honestly, it's not anything terribly specific," Ja'far admits with a shake of his head. "You did a good job yesterday, Aladdin. At most, I think it's a rather large amount of deep tissue bruising left at this point… and of course, my hands and arms aren't in the best of shape, but if you just want to help with everything else, I'm sure Yamu can take care of those and save you the trouble."
"It's no trouble!" It's a little heartbreaking, that even after all Ja'far's done for him, he still talks about saving Aladdin the trouble of healing him. "Um, I think hands are really complicated and I know yours are really important to you, and Yamu knows a lot about stuff like that, so I'll focus on the other stuff."
The rukh flows easier today, the water already spilling from his fingers before he utters the first spell.
Aladdin is a quick study, there's no doubt about that. For that, Ja'far is eternally grateful. It isn't that he wouldn't mind waiting for Yamuraiha to return-Sinbad still looks as though he's going to kill something every time her name is mentioned, though-because less stress and strain on Aladdin is a good thing. That being said… if the boy is going to have anyone to practice on, Ja'far supposes he's as good as he can get, considering his higher pain tolerance, and the irritating severity of his injuries.
It does hurt, but when does healing not? Ja'far is merely glad he's skilled at keeping his expression neutral, never mind the uncomfortable pinpricking deep within muscles and organs that aren't supposed to be so easily felt. After a moment, though, he can breathe even easier, and that beyond everything is a relief. "You'll outdo her soon, you know," he tells the boy teasingly. "Yamuraiha isn't pleasant when she's jealous."
To have Ja'far talking more easily, breathing more easily, sitting more easily-well, that's worth it all, isn't it? Aladdin heaves a sigh of relief, leaning over against Judal's chest without really thinking about it as the room spins. "I really hope," he says wistfully, his eyes slightly misted from his efforts, "that we can live in the kind of world where two healers is too many."
"Too much," is the flat retort, and Judal gives Aladdin a little shake. Even if he can't see the amount of power that's being used, watching Aladdin is a pretty good indication. "Seriously, you don't have to fix every little thing. Let his body do some of the work, you're gonna hurt yourself if you keep this up."
"But I helped." Aladdin looks up into Judal's face, eyes earnest and bright despite their fog. "I did a lot, I know I did."
"You've done plenty," Sinbad moves forward to reassure him. "Both of you have." He gives Ja'far a Look-Didn't they? Be nice, he helped save your life.
I already thanked him once, do you want me to rub his nose in it or something? "Both of you did, thank you," Ja'far says nonetheless, lifting a hand to gently ruffle Aladdin's hair, never mind the numbness still lingering in his fingers. "Go and eat something-or rest properly without worrying about me."
Aladdin butts his head against Ja'far's hand, pride and satisfaction and determination all flickering over his face. This is a good step; if even Ja'far, who hates him so much, can admit that Judal did good, they'll have Judal back the way he's supposed to be and actually being helpful in no time. "Okay, and you get some rest too! The rukh is funny like that, it likes it when people take care of themselves." He tugs on Judal's hand. "Let's go to the kitchen!"
No, dammit, I want to stay and get Sinbad out of here for at least ten minutes. Never mind that Judal knows Sinbad isn't going anywhere-an exasperated sound escapes before he can choke it back, even as he yields to Aladdin's tug with a last, quick glance in Sinbad's direction.
"… The next time he is in here," Ja'far flatly says as the door shuts behind them, "drag him over here so I can tighten the fastenings of his robes and make them sit properly on his shoulders." How can the brat stand it to be slinking down all the time, anyway?
Sinbad very carefully represses any trace of a smile on his face. He'd known that if Ja'far could just spend a few moments with Judal as he is now, instead of the Judal with the power of a young god and the sense of a young chicken, he'd see just how changed the boy is. If he's attempting to mother him already, well, that's certainly a good start.
He sinks down to the bed, checking for himself that Aladdin's left Ja'far in better shape. "He's probably used to doing it with magic. He couldn't even braid his own hair without help when he first got here."
"Or he's trying to seduce you constantly-harlot," Ja'far mutters, idly shaking out one of his hands with a frown. Annoying, but of course Al-Sarmen would spend the bulk of their time, prior to nearly killing him, making sure he couldn't use a weapon properly. The sooner Yamuraiha returns, the better.
Sinbad does smile at that, taking one of Ja'far's hands between his own and gently rubbing. "When you're better. Until then I think he knows I won't leave your side." I'd stay here once you're well too, but you always think of a reason to put distance between us.
"… That better not be literal," is the low warning, never mind how it sounds less a threat and more a gentle chide. "You have duties as a king still, regardless of how I am."
Sinbad laughs, settling back onto the pillows. "It's as literal as you'll allow me to be. I wouldn't want to be a burden on your convalescence." He switches to the other hand, stroking along the just-healed tendons, gentle brushes of his thumbs. "I mean, I did conquer a kingdom just a few days ago."
"Is that a request for a few days of rest and relaxation, then, Your Majesty?" Ja'far softly inquires, eyes lidding as his fingers twitch and flinch on their own accord before slowly curling. It doesn't hurt-it's more along the lines of not being able to feel the touch properly at all, which is a shame, knowing how pleasant it would probably be.
"Only if I can spend them with you." Sinbad presses a kiss to the curled fingers before setting them down on Ja'far's lap, moving down to pick up one of his feet. Probably not in as much pain as his hands--killing them once wasn't enough, I should have kept them alive for days and made them truly regret-but there's got to be little on his body that feels good after what he'd been through. "Otherwise, you know I get bored."
"And you won't be bored sitting alone with me?" There's another, reflexive twitch and kick that follows Sinbad's touch, though this time, it has far more to do with being obscenely ticklish than anything else. Ja'far grits his teeth and tries not to growl. "Must you?"
Sinbad tweaks a toe, then slides up to rub over the old raised scars on the inside of Ja'far's legs instead. "Of course I mustn't. If you'd prefer to have me rub something else, your wish is my command."
Ja'far isn't sure how suspicious he should be of that phrasing, exactly. "The king, taking commands? Unseemly." Ah, but that does feel nice though… Ja'far sags back slightly, a slow rush of breath leaving his lungs.
"Surely you're the first to admit that you serve an unseemly king." A slow grin spreads across Sinbad's face at Ja'far's expression, and he works his hands up and down, brushing a kiss across the ridge of one scar. "In fact, that's one of the least offensive words you've ever used for me."
It has something to do with how sore his muscles are, or maybe just how tired he is; that's why this feels so good. Ja'far shuts his eyes-inhale, exhale, don't shiver, too late-and fists a hand into the sheets as well as he's able, shifting to self-consciously press his knees together. "I could think of a few more insults. You seem to like them."
Ah, so it's working. Sinbad rarely has the patience to touch Ja'far like this, not when just one of those shivers, one of those blushes, is usually enough to make him throw Ja'far onto his hands and knees and take him so hard he can't walk for hours.
Now, with that removed as an option, well, there's no choice but to be gentle. At least this way he can see the look on his face, see the changing interplay of expressions, find the spots that make him shudder and work them harder. "Of course I do. You're at your most adorable when you're insulting me."
Ja'far's breath hitches, his toes slowly curling with each knead of Sinbad's fingers. "'Adorable'… please don't us that word," he mutters, his head tipping back as his teeth sink briefly into his lower lip. Really unfair, he wants to accuse the older man-he's in no state to ignore what Sinbad's fingers are capable of, or how good it feels when they dig just right into the worst of sore, bruised muscle.
Ugh, but maybe this once… he just won't ignore it. Nearly dying-really nearly dying-makes one reevaluate certain things.
It's with a shuddering little exhale that he unlocks his knees, letting his legs splay open, just a bit. "Come here," he quietly says, lifting a hand to slowly crook a finger.
Even after more than a decade, Sinbad is helpless. Helpless to resist anything like a command from Ja'far's lips, helpless to try, helpless even to want to. It should probably be against some sort of law, to have the King this helplessly at someone's beck and call, but it feels just too sweet to obey. He crawls up, obeying the crook of that finger, hovering near his advisor's face; invitations are important, from Ja'far.
"You really thought I was going to die, didn't you?" Slim eyebrows arch, and Ja'far's knuckles slide over Sinbad's cheek, back through his hair to loosely tug him down. "How many times do I have to tell you that I will follow you until the end?" he adds in a murmur, spreading his legs to better cradle Sinbad's hips between his thighs. "It's far from the end yet-we still have a lot to do."
Sinbad sinks down into that welcoming embrace, holding his weight on his arms to keep from squashing Ja'far, much more of a consideration than he usually affords. He meets those lips-a bit chapped from worrying at them, something he always misses when he kisses anyone else-with his own, soft brushes, gentle movements, and oh, if he's never treated Ja'far as spun glass before, he certainly is now. "Al-Sarmen likes to ruin my plans. They know how I value you, if not how I cherish you."
Ja'far's eyes lid before shutting entirely, both of his arms winding their way around Sinbad's neck. "Then," he breathes, the part of his lips yielding a gentle scrape of his teeth against Sinbad's lower lip, "we will simply have to be smarter than them, and I will have to be stronger. I won't let this happen again."
"Nor will I." Sinbad sucks softly on Ja'far's lip, letting him go for a bare second before kissing him again. "Can't have anyone saying I don't take care of my generals. It would make me look bad as a king."
He pulls back slightly, eyes meeting Ja'far's dark black ones, his own more serious than usual. "And seeing you like that nearly killed me the first time. I won't let it happen again." To never kiss Ja'far again, to never feel the slight weight of him in his arms, to never be scolded or whacked by his hand again-
He could kill them all over again.
"It won't happen again," Ja'far simply agrees, fisting his hands tighter in Sinbad's hair no matter the effort it takes, tugging him back down. It hurts, the realization of how stupidly weak he is still capable of being, and furthermore, it makes him angry. If he's to remain at Sinbad's side, shouldn't he be better than that? I've become complacent and arrogant. Stupid, stupid, stupid-
For once, he willfully shuts his mind off, lurching up for another kiss, mouth and hands equally hungry.
Ah, he wants this too much. Ja'far's mouth is a siren, luring him in with promises of paradise, the drag of soft hands a challenge as much as it is an invitation, and he only barely stops himself from being dashed on the rocks at the last minute. A long, deep kiss, and then Sinbad pulls back. His breath comes quick, his eyes shining as he murmurs, "You would entice me to far too much, my friend."
A soft snort follows that and Ja'far sags back into the pillows, decidedly breathless and flushed. "Is it too much if I insist upon it?" he archly replies, and one hand's fingers tiptoe their way down Sinbad's arm, grasping for his wrist to pull the hand to his mouth. "It's an invitation," he simply adds, pressing his mouth to the palm of Sinbad's hand, his eyes darker still as his tongue flicks out on a little, hissing breath. "When has my king ever turned down such a thing?"
Sinbad lets out a groan and oh, this simply isn't fair. Ja'far knows him too well, knows which levers to pull to elicit a strong response, knows better than anyone in the world how to make his king rise for him. "You," he manages, voice hoarse and strained, "are supposed to be an invalid. You try my self-control when I'm trying to think of your well-being."
And to prove it, Ja'far's lips drag up one long finger, teeth just grazing the tip of it before it catches against his lips and is drawn into his mouth with a languid suck and lave of his tongue. "Even still," he breathes, as he releases it again with a slick pop, "my body is yours, should you desire it."
Ah, well. He'd tried.
Sinbad slides down, a look of tormented acceptance on his face as he edges Ja'far's sleeping tunic upward, baring him for Sinbad's eyes. He nuzzles the top end of that scar, following the line of it to bury his face between the younger man's thighs. He'd washed the blood and sand off of Ja'far himself, after Aladdin's first healing, and there's no trace now of any smell but Ja'far's skin, subtle and enticing on his tongue as he opens his mouth, closing his eyes as he sucks in the tip of Ja'far's cock.
If he won't be a docile convalescent, he'll at least enjoy himself.
The shudder that rakes down his spine is already almost too much to bear, and Ja'far thinks, a little hazily, that he rather likes it like this. It's easy right now, sinking down into the sheets and grasping at Sinbad's hair, splaying his thighs wider with a shiver, all because he isn't thinking about it, and once in awhile, that's fine.
Or so he thinks for the moment. That'll change tomorrow, but right now, god, Sin's tongue feels nice.
This, the four or five times Ja'far has ever let him do it, is the most Sinbad is ever able to spoil Ja'far. He loves it, despite the taste and the technical difficulty of how exactly he's supposed to lick and suck when his mouth is full, despite the nagging sensation that this is really the wrong side of dignified even for him-despite all of that, he loves it. Ja'far never abandons himself so much as now, when there's no pained edge to the pleasure, when it's all the slow drag of his mouth, the soft caress of his hands, the wriggle of his tongue up the underside of Ja'far's cock.
The way his back arches isn't helpful for either of them-never mind that it lets his cock slide further along Sinbad's tongue and that's good, it reminds him of his own aches and pains, the little edge of tension that takes his breath away and leaves him trembling.
He's a masochist, certainly, because Ja'far likes that, too.
His toes curl into the bedsheets and he belatedly lifts a hand to silence himself, biting into his own knuckles with a weak groan escaping around them as he squirms, each drag of his king's mouth make him twitch and tense all the more.
Breathing, that's important. Sinbad tries to remember how to breathe-through his nose, yes, that makes sense-when Ja'far is sliding slippery slick and hard over his tongue, bumping against the back of his throat. For a second, he considers finishing Ja'far with his hand, something that's at least a bit less strenuous than this.
Then he looks up, catching a sight of the lost, eager pleasure on Ja'far's face, and he swallows hard, swirling his tongue around the head before diving down again until his nose brushes soft hairs.
It's more a squeak than anything that breaks from his throat, and Ja'far's eyes squeeze shut, his own breath sharp and fast through his nose. Sinbad's mouth is unfair, hot and slick around him and enough to leave him writhing with even the slightest prod of that tongue against him. When he dares open his eyes, just for a second, the sight is altogether too much-it's obscene how Sin looks between his legs, his own cock buried between his king's lips, and the tremor that rakes down his spine is as good as much as it hurts.
He tries to keep himself still, or at least not to cry out when he comes, and he thinks he manages both at least partially, never mind the gasping, heaving breaths that fill his lungs as he spills over Sinbad's tongue.
It's good form to swallow, and Sinbad does, licking his lips, then the tip of Ja'far's cock until both are as clean as his tongue can make them. The taste isn't any sort of problem, not when it's so very Ja'far. It's the texture that reminds him he's drinking a man's seed, and, well, at least he keeps himself from making a face.
He wipes his mouth with his fingers, easing himself up to stretch out alongside Ja'far, other hand coming to comb gently through his hair. "Much better than yesterday. I'll have to thank Aladdin somehow."
"… Do it without implying any of this," Ja'far manages with a breathless little laugh, eyelids heavier by the moment as his breathing considers returning to normal. "Treat him to a dinner of his favorites, or something along those lines," he murmurs, shifting to curl onto his side, closer to Sinbad as he lazily buries his face into the man's neck, one hand languidly sliding down his belly.
"After that, I'll give him the whole damned kitchen." Sinbad nuzzles down into Ja'far's hair, his hand following Ja'far's down. "Your hands are still hurt, I can take care of it myself."
Ah, well, there's truth in that. Ja'far tries to recall a time he was more miffed about not being able to do something sexual and comes up empty. His fingers curl loosely at Sinbad's hip, still lingering all the same. "… Then at least let me watch."
Somehow, that casual request is more overtly shameless and arousing than all the faces Ja'far had made the entire time his cock was in Sinbad's mouth, and he has to suck in a hard breath as all the blood leaves his face. He nods quickly, once, and parts his robes, scooting back a handsbreadth as he takes himself in hand. Somehow it's a dozen times more sinful, more sensual when Ja'far is watching, and he groans at the squeeze of his own fingers. How the hell have they not done this before? Ah, probably because he'd thought it too filthy an activity for straight-laced Ja'far.
There's a shiver that runs through him, and no helping the way his face colors at watching something so-well, is there another word for it other than lewd? Never mind the times he's felt Sinbad's cock in his own grasp, the weight of it between his fingers, or how it's felt inside of him; this is almost a dozen times worse (better?) and he feels his teeth in his lower lip before he realizes he's worrying it.
It's probably the realization that it's his fault that Sinbad is like this, most of all.
That prompts another shudder and Ja'far licks at his lower lip, realizing he's bitten it until it's bleeding. "What are you thinking about?" God, if he hadn't spent himself so recently, or if his body weren't so tired, he'd be squirming all over again.
If he didn't hate them down to the very core of his being, everything they stood for, and everything they'd ever done, Sinbad could almost thank Al-Sarmen. He's never seen Ja'far so uninhibited, not even when he'd been drunk and sucking on Sinbad's cock-all right, maybe just that once. His breath hitches into a long groan, watching the scrape of Ja'far's teeth over his lip. "You. All you," he pants, stroking faster. "The way you look when I'm fucking you hard. The way you squirm around on my fingers. The faces you make when-ahh-when you want me inside."
That would be right now, without a doubt.
Ja'far shudders, curling his knees up towards his stomach, and god, it's hard not to reach out and grab Sinbad's cock and tell him to put it in him already. No matter how he aches, no matter how his body wants to scream in protest at the very thought-
He has to touch him, at the very least.
It takes him a scarce moment to squirm closer, to catch a golden hoop of an earring within his teeth, all as his own, far weaker hand pushes Sin's away, his thumb dragging over the head of his cock. "Later," is the heavy promise, exhaled on a breath that leaves him shaking, and Ja'far twists around, worming his back flush to Sinbad's chest, reaching down between his thighs to grab for Sinbad's cock and ease it between them. "For now-please-like this-"
Nothing has ever been so difficult for Sinbad in his life as being gentle is now.
He breathes deeply, eyes fluttering shut at the press of soft, creamy thighs around his cock, squeezing him as tightly as the weak muscles of Ja'far's body can manage.
He's slick enough to slide easily between them, letting out a long, slow groan as he does, hips canting forward and ah, if touching himself in front of Ja'far was lewd, this is simply obscene, and his cock is dripping enough to make it an easy glide forward and back as he curls around Ja'far's back. He nips gently at the younger man's neck, breath coming quick and eager, and murmurs, "It feels just like you're taking me inside. Like when you want it even though it's always too much for you."
He's so hard he hurts.
The quiver that rakes through Ja'far leaves his muscles bunching, his head bowing forward with a trembling breath as he wriggles his way back as if he's riding Sinbad's cock. That image cements in his brain, makes him remember times that Sinbad's hands have been on his hips, picking him up as if he weighs nothing, and setting him down on the same, thick cock now sliding against him. He swallows hard, eyes trailing down to watch-to the sticky, dripping head of Sinbad's cock as it fucks between his thighs, and god, it's all he can do to bite his lip and keep back a whimper.
"… like it when it's too much," he admits on a rasp, and he has to shut his eyes, the eager little shudder that runs through him leaving him entirely out of breath.
"You do, don't you?"
Sinbad's voice is shaky and rough, and his hands dig into Ja'far's hips for just a second before he remembers himself, remembers the reason he has to be good, and goes back to curling an arm around Ja'far's waist instead. It's easy, doing it like this, to be flush against the smaller man's body with every thrust, to nibble on the shell of his ear as he rocks forward. "I'm always too much for you, right?"
His eyes go dark, heavy-lidded as he admits, "When you scream and cry, it just makes me want to take you harder."
Ja'far groans, the sound as eager as it is frustrated as his legs clench, squeezing tighter around Sinbad's cock. He wants Sinbad to grab him, to roughly shove him down and fuck him-thoughts he normally doesn't care for unless the exact mood strikes, and that's a rare, rare thing and they both know it.
"Wish you would." To be denied when he does want so badly is agony, and Ja'far sucks in a ragged breath, burying his face down into the sheets as he squirms his way back with an unsteady, mindless whine. "Later," he manages to pant out, "later, I want you to hold me down-take me until I'm begging you to stop-" And then I want you to do it again.
Sinbad takes it back.
He hates Al-Sarmen.
To hear such filthy things dripping from Ja'far's lips, to imagine them, to not be able to do them because of how fragile Ja'far is right now-that's as much torture as he can imagine, and it's with a frustrated snarl that he lurches forward, jaw clenching with the effort of being gentle. Ja'far is in the mood now, but they both know it could easily be years before he is again, and oh, Sinbad hates Al-Sarmen.
"I will," he murmurs, though they both know he won't, not unless Ja'far asks him again, and explicitly. "I'll spread you open and make you scream, Ja'far. I'll kiss the tears on your face, and when you beg me to stop I'll just take you harder."
Even saying it is too much, and he stops himself from biting at the last second, buries his face in Ja'far's shoulder and shudders, spilling over the front of Ja'far's thighs, arm tight across the younger man's waist as he pants, hips moving in needy little jerks.
The shivers and twitches that run through his own muscles are akin to a second orgasm of his own, and Ja'far sags back into Sinbad, weak and boneless and all the more pleasantly exhausted for it. Just the thought of Sinbad doing to him-it makes desire twist low and hot in his belly, leaves his skin flushed hot, and god, he wants.
"… You have my permission," he finally manages, still breathless, still a little to riled to speak without his voice hitching every other word, "to remind me later."
Sinbad nods, all he's really capable of at the moment after such a powerful release-ah, he'll have to remember to change Ja'far's sheets before he leaves, knowing how finicky the younger man can be. The thought of reminding him, of being able to really do it later when Ja'far is well and rested and wanting it-
He needs to stop, or he'll be hard again in less than a minute.
A breathy kiss to the back of Ja'far's neck follows, and Sinbad lets out a contented little noise, resting his head back on the pillow. "I will." Another kiss, because Ja'far is addicting. "Know that I won't hold it against you, should you change your mind."
Ah, he's never so accommodating as he is with Ja'far.
"… Maybe you should." He's probably not lucid at this point, what with how heavy his eyelids are. But Sinbad is warm, and he's scarcely felt so content. "String me up with my own wires, see what I do," Ja'far sleepily mumbles.
Ja'far is injured, of course. He's exhausted and weak and in pain and probably hallucinating at this point, and if Sinbad were any sort of a decent man, he wouldn't take that as any sort of permission once they're awake.
Hmm. Time will tell. It's so hard to tell when the urges will come on him.
"Whatever you say, Ja'far."