Author's note: I decided to give Jafar hair because... his genie form has hair. Sorry for not updating sooner. Enjoy!
A small, broken temple at the edge of the city ruins. Nothing more than another building that once was, or maybe never was.
One old mamluk hobbled over to it. It was an excruciating walk from the citadel to the edge of town, for someone whose legs have been slowly deteriorating for years. The undead normally wouldn't mind that sort of thing, being nothing more than a walking corpse. But this one was… different.
It made its way clumsily into the temple, at last collapsing to its rotting knees in the middle of the dark room.
"M… Master?" The thing mumbled.
On the far wall, next to the shambling altar, a faded sort of shadow slowly crawled up into a dim silhouette. The shadow became slightly darker, and two dead-looking yellow eyes peered out from its abyss. "Hello, Sahib." It said in a dark, cold voice.
The dead man did his best to smile, having very little of lips left on his shriveled face. "My good master, I have returned."
"Tell me the information you have gathered." The shadow whispered.
"Yes, Sir." He paused, coughed out a cloud of black dust, and continued. "The… The visitor in the citadel… He was the one who lifted the curse on Mozenrath."
The shadow gave out a low, creepy hiss. "How did he do it then?"
Sahib gulped. (Which sounded more like a choke, actually.) "The visitor, as I have discovered, is a Djinn. Genie sir. Mozenrath's…. first wish from him was to eradicate… the curse."
"A genie?!" The shadow made an angrier noise and took a physical step from the wall towards the zombie, who took a step back, utterly terrified. "Where did he find a genie?!"
"I don't know!" Sahib shrieked, grasping the top of his turban-clad head with boney hands. "I swear I don't! Have mercy on my soul, please!"
The shadow scoffed. "Your what? Your soul??" The ghost let out a low, cruel laugh at the poor man. "Listen you falling-apart pile of flesh, it's because of me that you can even think or speak. Do I make myself clear?!" The eyes narrowed. "DO I?!"
"Yes my master! I'm sorry! Forgive me, master!"
The eyes rolled. "Pathetic." The spectre moved closer to the man and softened its voice. "Listen to me, I can bring the wretched child down, but I need your help to analyze him when he's not asleep." For the first time, the shadow grinned a row of gray, jagged teeth. "Help me through this and I promise- I will return the rest of your life essence back to you, along with all the gold you can carry for your new life."
Sahib nodded. "Yes, thank you, Master. I will try my very hardest."
"In the meantime," the spectre continued, "I'll stay here until I have enough strength to physically confront him myself. After that you may do what you wish. But until that time…" The dead eyes narrowed, "You must behave like the other mamluks. You are not to speak or act suspiciously. Is that understood?"
"It is, Master." Sahib said, giving a crooked smile.
The shadowed figure of Disdain grinned again and vanished into thin air.
The next morning came in on dull clouds.
Mozenrath's eyes crept open slowly, for one of the first times in the past few days feeling refreshed from sleep. No nightmares. No waking up in fear. Just sleep. Sweet, uninterrupted sleep.
Something was up.
Mozenrath's eyes wandered over to Jafar's lamp, still sitting on the desk at the corner of the room. His brows furrowed. What exactly had Jafar done in the lab yesterday?
Giving a yawn, he tugged the covers off his pale body and got up. He shivered. It was always a little chilly in the mornings, besides being clad in only pajama pants. Walking cautiously over to the lamp, he wondered if Jafar may have been out and about already. He touched it. No, the genie was still in there.
Picking it up, the magic touch nipping gently at his fingers, he gave it a few quick rubs with the palm of his good hand. A blast of red smoke instantly engulfed the room, collecting and swirling around Jafar's tall figure, until it faded away.
Jafar smirked down at the young wizard once he was fully in view. "Pleasant dreams?"
Mozenrath gave a slight smile. He knew he'd say that. "Yes, Actually. What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Jafar raised his eyebrows in a typical know-it-all fashion. "It's an old magic technique known as 'dreamcatching'- used for blocking nightmares in your mind when you sleep, my boy." He grinned. "But since Disdain isn't just a simple bad dream, I threw in a bit of…" He snapped his fingers, making a sort of small flame ignite from them, lasting only for a second. "…reinforcement."
Mozenrath's eyes widened. "Fire?"
"In a sense. Dream spells and protective spells seem to have a nice mix. If he so much as touches you while you sleep, it will be like touching iron after it's been sitting on coals for a few hours."
The mental image of Disdain doing such a thing and screaming in pain like a little girl made the young sorcerer give off a laugh. "Oh good gods, Jafar!!" Relief, and a good bit of sadistic delight suddenly filled the young man. Completely and rightfully overjoyed, he hugged Jafar close, who contently hugged him back, a smile crossing his lips with satisfaction of his own. "You're very welcome."
Mozenrath grinned against Jafar's chest, feeling the little sadist in him begin to prod his side. His voice suddenly became very low and wicked. "I hope he roasts his little fingers. I hope they burn away slowly."
Jafar couldn't help but grin at that. Even if Disdain deserved it, that statement was just evil. Now he was truly seeing the young sorcerer's darker side. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
"Just the fingers?" He asked, hoping to see more of it.
Mozenrath bit his lip with pleasure at the horrible images in his head. "The fingers first. Slowly. And then even slower across the knuckles- every joint in fact."
"The palm and wrists next?"
"With every vein burning." Mozenrath's grip on Jafar tightened. It occurred to the genie that he was probably describing what it had felt like to lose the skin on his right arm, which currently held a firm grip on his cape. Carefully, he loosened the grip on that hand and brought it up to his lips.
Mozenrath gave off a low whine at the sensation that ran through that hand. Being stripped of skin, it was especially sensitive to any kind of touch. Taking note of that noise, Jafar kissed it again, smiling as the wizard shuddered against him.
"Jafar…"
"Make me stop then." The genie hissed, his voice was low and husky, watching the boy closely through those intensely hypnotic eyes. When he could bear it no longer, Mozenrath pulled the man closer to himself, craning his neck forward until his full lips met his. And suddenly the chilliness of the morning air was long gone.
Mozenrath gave a short intake of breath at the contact, the sensations from the mystical ex-sorcerer once again working their unintentional magic. Eventually however, he allowed himself to relax. Jafar gave off another hiss against the boy's mouth, stroking his long fingers across the nape of his neck. It had been quite a while since the genie had done anything like this, especially with someone as wicked as himself. Or as lovely as any courtesan. (but he wasn't about to say that out loud.) Giving yet another hiss, he presses his tongue up against Mozanrath's teeth, urging them apart, which he thankfully had little trouble in accomplishing.
A small moan escaped Mozenrath at the feel of the older man's warm tongue against his, making his grip on the back of Jafar's head tighten. Trying to find his own dominance in all this, he slithered his own lithe tongue along the man's somewhat-sharp teeth and brought his skeletal hand down to grip at the genie's chest.
Jafar's hands began to slowly roam down the boy's back, his brows furrowing in frustration as his fingers ran across several long indents in the pale skin. Scars. The work of Disdain. But he wouldn't think about that. Not now. The young wicked creature presently in his arms was his. His master.
With a hard tug, the pale wizard removed the other's turban, letting it fall to the floor. Jafar didn't have much hair, save for the back of his head where a bit of it was tied up. (What is it with genies and ponytails? He wondered) The genie didn't seem to mind this, though he did cock an eyebrow when it happened. Carefully, he lowered his head and kissed the boy in the indent on his collarbone, giving it a quick lick as well. Mozenrath bit his lip, trying not to give out any whines while this went on. Of course, he ended up letting out a rough exhale as Jafar moved his head lower for a few kisses on his bare chest.
After lingering there for a little while, he brought his head back up to the lips, planting a chaste kiss upon them and pulling back to look at his pale dove. Mozenrath's eyes had gone quite smokey, bewildered by the way this magic had worked its wonders and succeeded many times over.
Jafar gave a satisfied smile and brushed a few strands of loose hair away from the boy's face. "I believe that's enough for now."
He picked up his discarded turban on the floor, dusted it off and fixed it back into place on his head. Mozenrath let out another sigh, unsure of whether it was from disappointment for stopping or from excess excitement that had built up inside him.
Outside the doorway to Mozenrath's room, Sahib finally pulled his shriveled head away from the door. Wow. This was certainly… a strange turn of events. He had originally gone up there just to make sure the boy had gotten up, but what he had found was far more interesting. He rolled his dead eyes. "Disdain… is not going to like this…"