The desert night is deliciously cool, giving relief to the peasants and nobility alike. Children playing in the street do not feel their eyes sting with sweat. Lovers embrace, delighting in the warmth of each other's body rather than drawing away from the sticky flesh in discomfort. Men laugh together and drink red wine, tempers cool like the earth beneath their bare feet.
Agrabah is at peace. Their Sultana has taken care of her people and the Royal Vizier has brought new life to her eyes.
In the palace, still reeling from the stolen kiss on the balcony, Jasmine sinks down into the sheets on her bed, her warm body heating the material around her, relishing the luxury of cold silk.
Nights like this are the hardest. It is an evening for caress and rejoicing in the body of another. She never denies herself that she is lonely. She longs for companionship, for comfort, for wit, for solace from the troubles of the throne. She has found that to some degree in Jafar. But tonight, she doesn't miss the words or the smiles. Tonight she only wants to be touched.
Her hand reaches to touch her own thighs beneath the sheet, to play with the soft flesh where her legs meet her sex. She teases herself like only she knows how. Five years a widow, she is quite adept at bringing herself to release.
She toys with herself, building the tension to near breaking point to make the relief that much more intense. Her other hand finds her breast and she cups herself gently. In her mind, rougher hands hold her there, large hands with a stronger grip. She moans softly at the images she creates.
Timidly, she knows who those hands belong to her in mind. She sees black eyes glaring at her, hungry and fierce. She could be shocked at herself, ashamed. But in this moment it is her truth and she can't deny it any more than she can deny the heat radiating from her desperate form. She allows a soft name to escape her mouth and smiles at herself a little, surprised by the boldness of even thinking such a thing.
She loses herself again nearly touching that one perfect spot when she hears a baritone break the silence of the room.
"You called for me?" comes the silky purr she knows well.
She is shocked and blushes his favorite shade of crimson, taking one deep breath that swells her chest. Embarrassed would be an understatement but she does not deny it. Far more urgent is her need, and looking at his eyes as they crawl over her naked form, only partially obscured by a thin silk sheet, undoes her completely.
"I - I didn't think you would hear," she breathes.
"I always hear and I am bound to heed. But had I known," he pauses and looks down her frame before returning to lock eyes with her gaze. "Had I known the force of the lamp would not have been needed to bid me to you."
She groans in response and closes her eyes, drowning in the intensity of the moment.
"Will you lie with me, Jafar?"
He growls a throaty, "As you wish," as he removes his cloak and stalks to the foot of her bed.
He rips the sheet off of her before crawling onto his knees between her legs, bare chested and only clothed in his black satin pants, the bulge at their front evident to her wandering gaze. He presses himself against her, gripping her legs beneath her knees to hold her hard to his body before sliding his hands up her thighs. His arms are on either side of her, supporting his weight as he leans his body over hers. He takes one soft breast into his mouth, tongue flicking gently against the darker tip inside his lips.
She clutches to him desperately, hands clawing at the skin of his back, gripping the tense muscles in his neck.
He moves his face to hers and whispers deep and low, "is this what you wanted?"
She whimpers a, "yes", and could nearly weep with the anticipation.
He slides himself out of his silk pants, leaving the waistband low on his hips, and positions against her. Jasmine writhes and clutches at the silk sheets as his mouth explores her neck, her breasts. He does not enter, but slides his shaft down the length of her entrance. She can feel him pulsate against her, enhancing her own desire. She begs in a whisper, "Jafar, please…"
He stops a moment and raises his head to her face. He searches her almond eyes and answers her plea with his own. "Release me."
She looks at him and doesn't understand.
"Make the wish. Release me. I would take you as a man, not in servitude."
"I-I can't. My people... How can I know you would stay?"
What she means is "I don't want to let you go. If you are free you might leave me to rule alone… to live alone. I'm afraid to wake up and you not be here with me." But she can't find the words to say it.
What he hears is "I don't trust you. Your power is too important to my rule. I'll never let you go from your bonds. You will always be a slave."
His eyes darken and he pulls away from her, lifting the waistband of his black pants, feeling himself throb painfully against the satin in want of her but refusing to be used in this way. "I may be bound to do your bidding, but you can't have everything and give me nothing, Princess." He spits her old title out, dripping poison in his rage.
Her own anger rises. "Give you nothing?! What do you want that I have not offered you, including my body?"
"This," he gestures to her bed with a sneer, "was never about giving anything. You want someone to warm your bed. Well this was never part of our deal."
The tears sting her eyes. She believes she sees clearly now. The deal. All of this…it was simply his attempt to shorten his time bound to her. She feels used and wraps her arms around herself to cover her body, glaring at him in shame. "Get out."
"As you wish." Red smoke chokes the air and all that remains is his black cloak still shed on her floor.
XXX
Jafar does not come to Jasmine in the courtyard the next day, nor does he make an appearance at their evening meal. She knows she could call him, command him to her, but she is stubborn and hurt. She wants him to come to her. She wants him to prove she was wrong. As the day passes and he makes no move to approach, she falls into an accepting despair.
She feels foolish. She imagined he had warmed to her, cared for her. Bitter tears well in her eyes many times through the day. As darkness falls, she retires to her chambers alone and weeps.
Down the hall in his own chambers, Jafar paces the floor, rages against himself, tears the draperies from the walls, panting in exhausted anger. He feels something he has never experienced. He doesn't know what it is.
Jasmine could tell him; it's betrayal.
XXX
After the better part of a week, Jasmine waits in the courtyard, a second tea cooling on the table, when he finally appears.
She has passed through every way of thinking she can imagine. She was hurt, angry, sad, numb… Now she is just Jasmine. She waits for her Vizier and has no more illusion of control over the man that was Jafar; that is now a powerful Genie. But she still needs him.
He bows stiffly as red smoke clears and sits.
But he does not lift the tea.
"Good morning." She doesn't call him by either name or title, unsure what is appropriate.
"Morning."
She gestures to the table. "Would you care for tea? I could have a fresh cup brought…"
Jafar shakes his head. "That is unnecessary."
Cold. He's cold. Because she knows the truth? It feels unfair he can turn on her yet make her feel like she should grovel.
She looks away across the courtyard, hiding her eyes from him, willing the tears to dry in the hot desert breeze. "Dignitaries arrive tomorrow to discuss trade to the south. I'd like you to join me in welcoming them when they arrive midday."
"I will be there."
"Thank you. That is all for today."
"Until tomorrow then."
And with that he is gone in another cloud of smoke. She lets her tears fall.