If I don't see you in a week, I'll come kidnap you.

It's been two weeks.

Sinbad stares sadly at his phone, stubbornly refusing to give him Judal's voice for more than a few seconds of breathy, tense "Sorry, not right now" and "Gotta go!" no matter what time of night he calls.

He winds up flopping down onto the on-set bed, slumping facefirst into satin sheets and letting out a noise between a sigh and a groan. "How illegal is it to kidnap adults?" he asks somewhat petulantly, face squashed against the sheets as he stares at Ja'far.

Ja'far doesn't quite look up from his inventory clipboard. "Very. As in the other night when you attempted to drag me bodily home with you-I probably could have sued."

"But that doesn't count. If you can sue your kidnapper you haven't been kidnapped very well."

"So take a course in it or something." Ja'far does lift his gaze then. "If you practice on me, I cannot be responsible for my actions, however."

"You're not very accommodating when I'm unhappy." Sinbad flops over onto his side, waving a hand semi-dramatically down at himself. "Look how unhappy I am. I've worn the same pants two days in a row."

"I was hoping this lovestruck thing was a phase, or perhaps that you were merely surrendering to your drunkard tendencies once and for all." Ja'far pauses, looking at him and shaking his head. "You do look very pathetic, though. More so than usual."

"Being drunk would be more fun. Will you get drunk with me?" Sinbad asks hopefully, sitting up a bit at the prospect. "I'll be cheerful if I'm drunk with you."

"No. You can't make promises like that when you know you're awful and entirely useless when you're drunk." He sighs, tapping his pen lightly against his clipboard. "Honestly, why are you so worked up over this kid?"

"I don't know. It's dumb. Make me feel better." Sinbad tosses a pillow at Ja'far halfheartedly. "Let me buy you dinner."

Ja'far blocks it equally halfheartedly with his clipboard. "Why would spending your money on someone else make you feel better? Sounds more stressful than anything to me."

"No, it'll get my mind off of him," Sinbad insists, and sits up, quite taken with the idea now. "I hardly ever see you eat. You do eat, don't you? Or do you live on tea and my cigarettes?"

A bland stare follows the words before Ja'far simply sighs. "Yes, I eat." Apparently well enough that you feel the need to pinch my thighs regularly. "Honestly, Sin, you just need to let it go. You knew what you were getting into with that kid."

"Not really. It could have been a lot more dangerous than it probably is," Sinbad points out, and sighs. "It isn't as if Kouen likes me much anyway, and I didn't broach any contract rules or union protocols. There's not a thing he can legally do to touch me, and if he tries anything else...well, that's why I have you, isn't it?"

"You really enjoy making my job more difficult, don't you?"

Sinbad shrugs. "It's a perk of being myself. Seriously, can I take you to dinner? We can talk about something besides work and how stupid I am, it'll be a nice change."

Ja'far opens his mouth to argue once more before shutting it again with a long, world-weary sigh. "… This won't be a regular thing," he eventually, reluctantly says. Sinbad does look awfully pathetic.

Sinbad was wrong, this is the best day of his life. He springs from the bed with all the energy of a newborn colt, snatching Ja'far up by the waist and hurrying him towards the exit before he can change his mind. "Excellent! All right, what shall we have? Chinese, Indian, sushi, burritos-there's a great fine dining place on Sunset I've been wanting to go back to, but I never had a date hot enough. What do you like?"

Somehow, he manages to wriggle away for the few seconds it takes to snatch his wallet off of his desk. "'Never had a date hot enough'-Sin, we've been over this. I blend in with your furniture. And I really don't care," Ja'far exasperatedly replies, pulling on his coat. "Honestly, food is food."

Sinbad scowls. "You sound like you don't trust me to know who I'm attracted to. Shall I be clearer?" he asks mildly, snaking his hand down to squeeze one cheek of Ja'far's ass, opening the car door with the other hand.

He's getting good with his aim when it comes to reflexively slapping Sinbad's hands away. "Is this dinner, or an extension of the 'daily sexual harassment with Sinbad' show?" Ja'far mutters, squirming away to drop himself into the car all the same.

"Can't it be both? We're not at dinner yet, after all."

Sinbad slides into the driver's seat, buckling in as he adds, "Don't worry, there can be more sexual harassment with Sinbad later. In fact, you're welcome to plan on it."

For the second time that evening, Ja'far finds himself just… opening his mouth and then shutting it again. "The office is bad enough. Please refrain from doing as much in public."

"If you like. Though if you don't want to be grabbed, you might want to try being less...mm, grabbable. If you can." Sinbad chuckles to himself, turning onto the freeway. "What am I saying, of course you can't."

Ja'far heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Why am I the only one that you like having fat on?"

"You just wear it really well. Why won't you let me film you? Say you're unattractive all you want, but if I don't believe it, there's a good chance our customers won't either. And you work for me, so you can't be that shy."

And now they're back to this. Ja'far rolls his eyes as he leans back into the seat. "I make enough money in my current position, thank you. Also, you don't want me. I hardly have the mind for sex."

Sinbad grins, muttering under his breath, "You've certainly got the body for it," as he turns into the valet parking. "Treat her right, yeah?" he says to the valet, tossing him the keys. "No food allergies, right, Ja'far?"

I heard that. Maybe one of these days, Sinbad will be a little less asking for a lawsuit. It's a good thing it's him, and not someone less tolerant or familiar with the man's tendencies. "Hardly," is his snort as he climbs from the car, pulling his coat tighter around himself. "Sin, honestly, somewhere expensive isn't necessary."

"It's necessary for me. Why make money palm over slippery fist if I never get to enjoy it?" It's nice to have Ja'far on his arm as he enters, the waiters edging each other out to try and take him to a table. Either my reputation precedes me or I just look like a big tipper. "The steak tartare they do here is unsurpassed," he murmurs to Ja'far as the lucky waiter seats them.

The light from the hanging candles hits Ja'far's moonlight hair, and Sinbad's breath falters for a moment. How is it possible that Ja'far just doesn't see what he sees? Does he not own a mirror? Though to tell the truth, Sinbad isn't even sure what it is he sees, other than something he wants.

For the umpteenth time, Ja'far wants to remind Sinbad that this isn't a date, this isn't necessary, this is really wasted on me but it would fall on deaf ears, and that aside-well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like this, just a little bit.

"I will never understand what is necessary about this to you," he says all the same as he settles into his seat. "Next time, we can just go to one of our apartments or something."

"But every time I invite you to my apartment you accuse me of just trying to get into your pants," Sinbad points out. "And worse, you don't even let me into your pants."

"You say that as if my accusations aren't correct, and it isn't as if you haven't tried to do the same this evening three times already." Ja'far's eyebrows slowly arch. "You'd be disappointed, trust me."

"Have you left a trail of disappointed men behind?" Sinbad asks with a grin, signaling the sommelier with the beckon of a finger, ordering a bottle of one of his favorite wines. "Besides me, I mean. I thought you were too young when we met to have left much of a following, but you said you were older than you looked…"

"I'm 25, do the math." Disappointed men-give me a break. "I don't have a 'following.' I'm saying you'd be disappointed because you would be. I'm hardly the porn stars and models you end up dating."

Sinbad levels a gaze at him. "I did date before I became a porn star, you know," he says mildly, taking a long sip of wine. "I do know what it's like to be with someone that does everything because it feels good, and because it's exactly what they want to do. There's nothing wrong with that, and anyone who's disappointed in that isn't worth your time."

He might need to be a little drunk for this himself, if this is how the evening is going to keep going. "You say that as if I date and deal with people in the first place," Ja'far retorts, taking a sip from his own glass. "Also, forgive me, but you do seem to have a type, and I hardly fit it."

Sinbad narrows his eyes. "If you're so uninterested in me, please just tell me," he says simply. "If you find me unappealing, or my personality bothers you so much, or you simply prefer women, please tell me. Then you wouldn't have to spend your time trying to convince me that I don't want to throw you over this table right now when I very, very definitely do."

Ja'far tries not to inelegantly choke on his wine. He sort of half succeeds. "I-" Right. He's flushed because he's trying not to die an early death by wine, that's his excuse and he's sticking to it. "… I don't date," he attempts lamely. "That is-I haven't before. And I certainly haven't let people throw me over tables."

"Doesn't have to be a table. Could be my bed, sofa, the backseat of my car…" Sinbad cuts himself off, a bit flushed from the wine. "Just because you haven't done something before is no reason not to try it. Then you'll never do anything. And just because you don't date doesn't…"

He trails off, the words clicking a bit late in his head, and he nearly sprays wine all over the table when he realizes what Ja'far had intimated. "Does that-do you mean you haven't-"

"We're not talking about this." It isn't something he's ashamed of. Not at all, the exact opposite in fact-he simply doesn't care. The problem is the way that Sinbad says it, like it should be some sort of a crime that he's never taken someone to bed or been taken to bed. Why does it even matter? is Ja'far's irritable inner monologue, and he downs back the rest of his wine glass. Yes, he definitely needs to be closer to drunk for all of this.

Back off, he's getting irritable. Then again, sometimes when Ja'far is irritable he talks in that adorable little accent…

No, best not push it.

"So why books?" he asks instead, relaxing back into his chair. "Books, and numbers. Did you want to go to school for it, or is it just a hobby?"

"… I have a degree now, you know. I realize you are a busy man and don't review current employees' updated resumes, but believe it or not, it is not in the 'art of keeping a porn studio's taxes tidy.'" Ja'far reaches for a piece of bread, peeling the crust off first to nibble on that. "But to answer your question-numbers make sense, even yours, when you are entirely infuriating."

"Ah-right, I meant to congratulate you on that," Sinbad says weakly. "I did notice, wasn't it a Business degree? We can call tonight a celebration of that, if you want. Didn't I send you a card, flowers, something like that? I have a distinct memory of sending you flowers."

Ja'far merely gives him a wry stare, not even of the mind to correct him on every detail. It's actually sort of perplexingly cute that the man seems so stressed by it. "Sin, it was over a year ago. You tried to give me a day off of work, I refused. Let's consider tonight a celebration of 'I'll leave that Kou Studios kid alone so I don't get a restraining order filed against me' instead."

"Right!" Sinbad exclaims. "I knew I did something for you! Are you sure you don't want a day off work? You don't even take most holidays off, if I remember correctly." Not that he's the best at noticing, not when he's usually so eager to leave early and get to work late unlike Ja'far.

"I don't take any holidays off." Ja'far tops his own wine glass off, and Sinbad's, too, for good measure. "Days off give me hives. I will pass, thank you."

Sinbad chuckles to himself, draining most of that glass in one gulp. "And you're probably why we're so successful. I couldn't have done it without you, my friend."

"You are astoundingly awful with finances."

"Though your capacity to turn every compliment into an insult at my expense is something I could do without."

"And here I thought you sort of liked it, judging by how your hands tend to gravitate towards me in response."

Sinbad arches a brow. "So, I try to steer the conversation towards something nonsexual you're good at for once, and you steer the topic back to my hands on your body. What does that tell me, pray tell?"

Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, but not before taking a long drink of his wine. "That I need to be far more drunk for this conversation."

Sinbad laughs, signaling the waiter for another bottle. "And here I've never seen you drink even this much of something that isn't tea. What's so special about tonight? I've tried to browbeat you into letting me feed you a hundred times."

"… You looked exceptionally pathetic," is Ja'far's reluctant admittance. "And I would much rather let you take me out to dinner than have you keep chasing after that kid. He's nothing but trouble, for you and your company."

"Are you saying you're some kind of consolation prize? Because I'll have you know you're worth far more to me than that." It's a bit sappy, but Sinbad reaches out a hand, resting it over Ja'far's. All right, Ja'far is right, he does feel far too glad of a simple thing like a hand's warmth, but that's fine, right? It's all right to be a sappy sot for human contact occasionally, isn't it?

"Sin," Ja'far sighs, less long-suffering and now only more mildly put out than anything. For what it's worth, he doesn't pull his hand away, his fingers loosely curling beneath Sinbad's. "I'm your accountant. Are you sure you aren't simply saying that because I talk to all the idiots for you and make sure you make the most money you possibly can?"

"I don't care about money." True, now that he has enough of it to feed himself and live in fairly fabulous luxury. "Is what I've built...does it do anything for you? I know it's me you follow, not the studio, but do you...believe in it, in what I'm trying to do?"

"If I didn't, do you really think I would be working for you at all? I am not a blind tagalong, you know." He twists his hand free to give Sinbad's a little flick. "You ask fairly stupid questions when drunk."

In retaliation, Sinbad just squeezes his hand. "That," he says softly, bringing Ja'far's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it, "makes me feel better than anything has in weeks."

Ah.

His face flushes hot, and he knows, knows it has little to nothing to do with being pleasantly warmed by the wine. "… Must you?" It's a weak protest at this point, at the vey best.

"Much like all the very best of things that I do, no, I mustn't." Sinbad squeezes Ja'far's hand, with no intention of letting it go now that he knows just how nice it is to have in his own. "I don't need to. But I most certainly want to. So I will."

"Incorrigible," is the low, put-out mutter to follow, even as his fingers hesitantly curl their way up within Sinbad's. "If you ask me to come home with you, you should know that I can't."

"Can't?" Sinbad cocks his head, thumb rubbing against Ja'far's palm. "I'd have accepted won't at face value, but for can't you'll have to give me a reason."

Ja'far glances down, a little too fascinated, probably, by the slide of that calloused thumb against his flesh. He blames the alcohol. "My pets have a very strict feeding regimen."

Excuses like that, from someone who doesn't usually bother with them (and is freely holding his hand in public besides), hint to Sinbad that Ja'far doesn't want to say no. He leans in, asking low and dark, "Your place, then?"

At that, Ja'far hesitates, just a bit. I don't exactly have guests over or my apartment is nothing like yours, you know that are on the tip of his tongue-excuses he knows that Sinbad cares absolutely nothing about. Why am I letting this happen? he asks himself a bit worriedly, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip. "I… well… if you want," he slowly, carefully agrees.

All the stress of the last several days seems to melt away, pooling into something low and hot and sweet, electric at the base of Sinbad's spine as he nods, hand tightening on Ja'far's. "It's a date."

The arrival of the waiter with their food is probably a good thing. Dragging Ja'far into the men's bathroom to drop to his knees and suck him off probably would be a bit too hasty, all things considered, and the interruption at least saves him from that.

Ja'far isn't used to this kind of anxiety.

Work is one thing. The stress of a deadline is something he understands, and even the stress or threat of possibly being killed is easier for him to function through. This-the stress that comes with really not knowing and feeling entirely, horribly awkward about the whole thing-is something else entirely.

It shouldn't matter, Sin doesn't care, he wouldn't be interested if he cared.

And yet it's a little difficult to sit through the meal and not think about the possibility of making a friendship he's had for over a decade sort of… fall apart, courtesy of his own ineptness (and lack of desire) when it comes to relationships (and with that, sex).

"You're really not going to enjoy this as much as you think you are." That's his story, and he's definitely sticking to it.

"If you say so."

You couldn't be more wrong.

At least, Sinbad hopes Ja'far is wrong. He can't help but shoot covert glances at him through the rest of the meal, wondering if maybe Ja'far just really will never like sex, if Sinbad can even have a shot at making him enjoy something he hasn't felt compelled to seek out for twenty-five years.

Then he laughs that off, draining his glass as he finishes his meal. Doubt isn't like me. Of course I can. Just as soon as he gives me a chance.

"So how many of those things do you have, anyway?" he asks, waiting for Ja'far to finish eating.

"Things?" A blink, and Ja'far takes his time to finish swallowing before replying. "Ah. You mean my snakes. A few more than the last time you came over."

"Are you any better at keeping them locked up?" Sinbad asks, a little wary, remembering the last time he'd gone over to Ja'far's apartment. "I mean, I know they're, uh, cute, but you can't just let them wander around when they could hurt someone." Someone meaning me, because you're so good with them it's a little creepy.

"I'm very good at keeping them in their enclosures," Ja'far mildly replies, setting his fork down and draining his own wine glass. "Some of them are just smarter than others. Don't worry, I'll go in before you do and make sure there aren't any venomous species loose."

"My hero," Sinbad says dryly. "Do you want to order dessert? Or...are you ready to go?"

"… I think I'm done." There's that little flutter of nervousness again. Ja'far wonders if he is drunk enough for this yet.

Sinbad leaves a few bills on the table, enough that he sees the gleam in the waiter's eyes as he hurries over, and offers Ja'far his arm on the way out to the car. "I think," he says slowly, trying hard to behave and keep his hands to himself, "you're far from done. At least, if I have anything to say about it."

"Just don't wreck your car attempting to touch me on the drive over," Ja'far mutters, reaching a tentative hand out to take Sinbad's arm and allow himself to be drawn along and out of the restaurant. "I don't want to file your insurance claims, too."

"I can behave myself," Sinbad protests, but his heart isn't really in it.

True to his word, he refrains from groping Ja'far on the drive, even though it's far harder than he would have expected it to be when Ja'far looks so attractive and soft and plush and is sitting right there and knowing that in just a few minutes…

He does drive a bit too fast on the way to Ja'far's apartment, but he's only human, isn't he?

"Is there anything you hate?" he asks, once he pulls into the garage. "I mean, from what you've tried with yourself if nothing else."

"… Not really?" Then again, it's a little difficult to answer that question when he isn't the most adventurous. Human, yes, but a hand is a hand if he's annoyed enough to wake up from an odd dream or two. "I'm boring," Ja'far dryly says, unbuckling his seatbelt to let himself out of the car and fish his keys out from his coat pocket. "Let me go in first-you haven't handled any small animals lately, have you?"

"Only the kind that bite when I tell them to," Sinbad says cheerfully, dutifully hanging back outside until he gets the all-clear, with the added benefit of watching Ja'far's ass as he walks in. He does peek his head in; the way Ja'far handles the snakes is an odd kind of sensual all in itself. "Oh, and take the knives off before we get started, I don't want to wind up bleeding for the wrong reasons."

Only one escapee, fortunately, and a nonvenmous one at that. "Mmn," Ja'far mildly offers, the baby python constricting itself around his wrist as he opens its enclosure to put it back inside. Other than the smattering of glass cages, the one-bedroom apartment is simply and rather spartanly furnished; far easier to clean and care for, as far as Ja'far is concerned, and when has he ever needed anything fancy, anyway? "All right, you can come in-don't go near that rattler's cage on the left, she strikes at the glass and I don't want her hurting herself," he adds, bending to hike up his sweater and unbuckle one knife in particular from the inside of his thigh.

Sinbad enters, sucking in a breath at the sight of the knife strapped to one smooth, soft thigh. The snakes are nothing more than background noise after that, and he shuts the door behind him, walking up to slide his arms around Ja'far's waist, gently at first, feeling the weight and warmth of him. "Do you know," he murmurs, turning his head to nuzzle into Ja'far's hair, "how long I've thought of touching you like this?"

He was doing so well at suppressing that anxiety.

It comes back as a long, achy little shiver, and it takes Ja'far a minute to relax, to think and remind himself that it's Sinbad's arms around him, and if anyone is allowed to touch him like this, it's Sin.

"… No," he admits, a little wryly, but turns his head into the nuzzle of his hair all the same. "Nor do I particularly understand it." Just because everyone in the studio calls me your wife doesn't exactly mean I'm the best material for that.

"Years." Sinbad loosens his grip, hands coming to rest on Ja'far's slender waist, almost encircling it there, and he bends to brush a few soft kisses over the side of Ja'far's neck. "I don't know what it is about you that drives me so crazy, but you always have. Well," he amends, with a little self-deprecating chuckle, "not always. Maybe since you were sixteen or seventeen, not when you were a kid."

"Reassuring, to know you aren't entirely a creep," Ja'far quips, more to settle his nerves than anything else, and he exhales a slow, shaky sigh, his own hands briefly moving to pull a blade from his hip that he had forgotten about before Sinbad can cut himself. "… You have big hands," he adds absent-mindedly, and that shouldn't make him flush as much as it does. "Either that, or I'm smaller than I thought."

"Your waist is smaller than I thought," Sinbad agrees, one hand finger-walking down Ja'far's side to slide up under his sweater. "You keep it hidden so well under these big clothes, I thought you'd have more meat on you. Ah," he remarks, pinching one cheek of Ja'far's ass, "there it is."

He doesn't squeak at that. No, that would be entirely undignified. He does squirm a bit, though, entirely in spite of himself, and Ja'far huffs, pulling back slightly. "It's a valiant attempt to keep you from sexually harassing me, though I am starting to think I would be better off not trying."

"Mmm, because you hate it so much when I touch you, right?" Sinbad teases, yanking Ja'far back against him, hands sliding up under the sweater to run up and down Ja'far's abdomen, his sides, his chest. "You don't enjoy my hands on you at all, right? You're just doing this to help me get over the Kou kid?"

"I-"

That's a squeak that time, and Ja'far definitely squirms, face hotter by the second and ah, damn it, he hadn't really bargained on Sinbad's hands and how good his callouses feel over his flesh-

"If that were the case," he manages to rasp out, shivering as he sinks back into Sinbad's chest, "then I think you'd be upset."

"I don't think I could ever be upset with you in my arms." A bit cheesy, but like most of the cheesy things Sinbad says, it's entirely true at the moment. The way Ja'far is snuggled up tight against him is delightful, and he walks them both forward, kissing and nuzzling Ja'far's neck as he urges him towards the bedroom, hands exploring up and down and-

Oh.

He'd forgotten about that.

One thumb comes up under the sweater to stroke over that little silver ring as Sinbad's breath hitches. "I forgot you had this," he breathes, eyes alight. "I haven't seen you with your shirt off for so long."

Why does he even still wear it? Ja'far regrets nostalgia and sentimentality with a groan, gritting his teeth to keep back a very incriminating, throaty noise when Sinbad's fingers pull and pluck at the nipple piercing. "Must you?" It comes out as a gasp, and Ja'far lifts a hand to grab at Sinbad's wrist rather shakily.

Sinbad strokes over the ring, flicking it with his thumb, sitting down on the bed and tugging Ja'far down into his lap before tugging gently on it. "I don't know. Do you hate it? It feels like you like it." The hand that isn't occupied slides down, brushing briefly over the bulge at the front of Ja'far's pants before moving on to squeeze a soft thigh.

It would be a lie to say that he didn't. Each tug on it seems to go straight to his cock-funny, because he's never, ever felt like that before, having it idly touched-and Ja'far shudders, twisting to half-bury his face into Sinbad's neck, hands grasping at the other man's shirt in a rather mindless cling. "… Really… sensitive," is the ragged little reply that he manages to form, his legs spreading wider on their own accord.

In all of a decade together, Sinbad's never seen Ja'far like this. He likes it, probably more than he should, and it's a little harder than he'd like it to be to be gentle when he twists and squeezes. "You feel amazing," he murmurs, and shifts slightly to let Ja'far feel how hard he is. "Look how much I'm enjoying it."

Really, for all the porn he's been privy to over the years, all the time he's seen Sinbad naked, there's still something entirely different about this that makes his skin flush hot and his breath come that much shorter.

"… You…" Ja'far swallows hard, his breath hitching in his throat. "You can pull harder on it." Just a little.

Sinbad hooks the tip of his finger in the little ring, tugging gently, just enough to make himself hiss. "Good," he breathes, and that's about all he can take. He tugs the sweater over Ja'far's head, then dumps him on his back on the bed, crawling over him to take that nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

Ja'far startles himself with how fast his hands lift, dragging up and through Sinbad's hair as he shudders and twitches beneath each stroke of his tongue. It's not fair, how that stupid, pointless little ring, a mark of his training years, years past, should be so damnably sensitive now of all times. His eyes briefly squeeze shut, his breath too-hot, too-ragged, and his cock throbs, straining against the front of his slacks. When was the last time he was this hard? It's embarrassing to think that at this rate, he could come just from Sinbad pulling on that damned piercing.

One of Sinbad's hands trails up the inside of Ja'far's thigh, rubbing and caressing and squeezing, as his teeth close around the little metal ring to give it a tug. "You," he murmurs against Ja'far's skin, "are completely unfair. I could come just from feeling you under my hands like this."

The retort Ja'far wants to bite out catches in his throat, a breathy, mindless little noise all he manages instead. His nipple throbs, seemingly in time with his pulse, and Ja'far drops his head back into the bed, breathing deep to try and steady himself. "That's a lie," he huffs, almost laughing. "You don't even have me naked yet, I know how you are."

Sinbad grins, flashing white teeth. "I said I could. I never said I was going to." He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Ja'far's pants, yanking them down. "And I'm certainly not going to stop so soon, no matter what. You should know by now how much stamina I have, you've certainly seen me use it often enough." Though most of that stamina goes out the window at the sight of Ja'far's thighs, trailing up to...ah.

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "You're not wearing underwear."

Again-it's one thing that Sinbad has seen him naked before, that he's seen Sinbad naked before (far too many times to count, honestly). Like this, though… is something else entirely, and it's difficult to suppress the urge to draw his knees up and curl himself into a ball. "I… is that a problem?" he mutters, fairly certain he's going to start frying his freckles with how hot his face is.

"Not a problem." Sinbad's voice is hoarse, and he can't help the urge to lean down, taking a taste of one smooth thigh, hands spreading them slowly open as he nuzzles his way up. He doesn't have this kind of urge often, but...ah, Ja'far's cock is lovely, pale and flushed and straight with a little bead of liquid at the top, and Sinbad raises up on his knees, flicking his tongue over the head. For someone who doesn't smell like anything, Ja'far tastes good.

It's good that his reflexes are still sharp, and he's fast to clamp a hand over his own mouth, brow knitting as he swallows down a sharp, whining little sound into his throat. It's just a little touch and Ja'far knows that, but it's hard not to squirm, harder still not to buck his hips up, because Sinbad's tongue is hot and slick and ugh, it's unfair how his cock twitches for more already.

"Y…you don't… have to do that," he manages weakly. It's because it's Sin, that's why you're so riled up, he's not fair.

Sinbad closes his mouth over the head of Ja'far's cock, a long, slow suck as his hands run up and down those creamy thighs, one of them sliding up to fiddle with that enticing piercing again, tugging gently as he pulls off, licking sticky lips. "Why?" he asks, voice a little hoarse, Ja'far's taste still on his tongue. "Don't you like it? I can't be that out of practice."

Ah, god, Ja'far is lightheaded.

He thinks he shakes his head, eyes fluttering as his cheeks flush hot. "N..not that. Just…" He can't even look at Sinbad without his cock jumping, his thighs trying to splay wider as they quiver, and he feels like the basest of harlots in about two seconds, all courtesy of the man's mouth. "Just thought… you were going to prefer it the other way around."

Sinbad props himself up on his elbows, an affectionate smile on his face as he wraps a hand around Ja'far's cock, stroking slowly. "I want you in every way. Do you want to suck me off, is that what you're saying?" He palms his own cock through his pants, eyes shutting briefly at the thought, and kicks them off to land on the floor, shucking his shirt after. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do it to you."

"… I've never…" Thought about it? Not entirely true. Sinbad's hands are on him too often for his mind to be entirely idle, and it isn't as if the man isn't attractive. It's more… ugh, how does one even think of people like that? Ja'far twists his head to the side briefly, huffing out a hot breath. "I told you I'm boring," he mutters, self-conscious for the first time that he can recall about his lack of experience in this sort of thing. "Though… I am entirely sure that your cock is not going to fit anywhere in me."

Sinbad doesn't give Ja'far time to think, time to get nervous, time to try and flinch away, spreading his thighs open again and licking a long hot stripe up the underside of his cock. "It'll fit," he promises, stroking a hand up himself to keep from going insane. "If you want it to. How about I finger you a little first and you see if you like that?" he suggests, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth, then letting the tip brush over Ja'far's hole.

The little twist low in his belly, eager and aroused, is almost frightening. Just the brush of Sinbad's finger makes him wriggle, unsure and tense, no matter the distracting slide of Sinbad's tongue against him and ah, he's definitely dizzier by the moment. "I… not sure if I want to do that-yet-" Never mind that the idea of Sinbad's cock inside of him, stretching him out too-big and too-thick, makes his toes curl.

Ja'far swallows hard. "You're always going on about my thighs." Yes, this is safer, this is easier, and he's less terrified of the idea of losing control entirely like this, which prompts him to squirm and reach a hand down, tentatively curling his fingers around Sinbad's cock. "Why not… just…" He licks his lips, still nervous, still damnably nervous. "Use them?"

The image as much as the words goes straight to Sinbad's cock, jumping and twitching in Ja'far's hand. He nods, not quite trusting his voice, and crawls up, urging Ja'far over onto his stomach with two broad hands on his hips. "Easier like this," he whispers, and nestles up behind him, cock pressing eager and hard against that sweet, supple ass. He ruts against it for a few moments, breath coming faster and harder as he feels the smooth curve, and an arm curls around Ja'far's torso, pulling him up hard against Sinbad's chest. He wriggles down, letting his cock slide in between those squeezable thighs, moving to suck one earlobe into his mouth, tugging gently with his teeth as he slides forward as far as he can go.

Ja'far expects Sinbad to like this.

He doesn't expect to like it quite as much himself.

It's obscene to feel that big, thick cock sliding between his thighs, muscles trembling with the sticky-slick rub of it against his skin. Ja'far sucks in a ragged breath, his gaze flickering down in spite of himself, and he bites his lip at the sight of Sinbad thrusting up between them, the impulse to wriggle back and squeeze them tighter together impossible to resist when it feels so surprisingly good, and every thrust between them seems to go straight to his own cock, making him twitch and throb.

He shudders, squirming back against Sinbad's chest, his head lolling at the hot, slick close of Sinbad's mouth around the lobe of his ear. "… Play with it again," is the breathy rasp that he doesn't quite think through as he grabs for Sinbad's hand, shoving his fingers up towards the little ring in his nipple, aching from its previous abuse.

Somehow, this is a thousand times more obscene than actually fucking Ja'far.

Hearing those breathy words is enough to undo Sinbad completely, and he forgets his cautions, fastening his mouth to the side of his neck and sucking, nibbling as he does as he's bidden, teasing and pinching and tugging on that ring, hooking a fingertip through it to make Ja'far whimper. "You like it when I play with you like this?" he rumbles, hips snapping up harder, imagining so easily what it would be like to shove into that sweet curved ass, just as pleased with the lewd press of soft thighs around his cock. "Just using you for my pleasure like this? Are you hard from feeling me using your body?"

Somewhere along the line, Ja'far's mind clicks off. It's a good thing, that, because his cock is so hard he can't think, his nipples aching, his legs trembling and threatening to buckle no matter how he tries so hard to keep his thighs squeezing tight around Sinbad's cock. He can feel every twitch, every jerk of Sinbad's hips, every thud of his pulse that seems to go straight through to his cock, and god if that isn't good.

"Yes-" It's a ragged, broken reply, and Ja'far's eyes flutter, thinking too much on how he's going to have marks all over his neck tomorrow. His head rolls back against Sinbad's shoulder, all the more welcoming for it. "Yes, god-j-just-just use me, I-"

He should be more embarrassed that those words are what do him in, that they're what makes his voice ultimately catch and stutter in his throat as he comes hard, spilling messy and slick with his chest heaving, body trembling so much that he hurts.

Sinbad likes guessing right.

It's much more difficult with Ja'far-everything is, for some reason, but Sinbad's never been one to shy away from difficulty, and this is a prime example of why. Ja'far shuddering in his arms, begging brokenly to be used, spilling hot and wet over his own thighs and Sinbad's cock, is far better than anything else he's ever worked for.

He stills his movements, curling his arms around Ja'far, nipping gently at his neck. "Should I keep going?" he asks softly. "If you're finished, I can finish myself off."

Chest still heaving, Ja'far slowly shakes his head, trying in vain to form words for a moment as he wraps his mind around the idea of that was the best orgasm I've ever had and oh god how do people do this on a daily basis and not die? "I… you… keep going," he eventually settles upon with another, potent shiver.

That's more than enough encouragement for Sinbad. It's slicker now, more slippery as he slides forward and back, letting out a low sigh through his teeth at the tight squeeze of it, the soft press, and he's close to achingly hard. Maybe Ja'far won't blame him if he talks, just a little bit, now that he's done. "Always wanted to see you like this," he murmurs, hands tightening on Ja'far's waist as he picks up a rhythm. "Spread out under me, moaning for me, acting like a whore even when I know you aren't one, god, I just wanted to spread you open and shove inside you so hard you'd come and scream all at the same time."

That's not fair either. Ja'far is pretty sure that he's done and finished, and his body shouldn't be riled by that at all. He bites his cheek, stifling a low groan as he wriggles back in spite of himself, and ah, god, his face is red now. "Maybe… next, then-" Shivering, he lets his head drop forward, hair swinging forward to stick to sweat-slick skin. "You can try… and put it in me. Rub it against my hole, I want to feel it-"

Only a supreme effort of will keeps Sinbad from coming hard right away at just those words. His cock is dripping as he pulls it back, sliding up into the cleft of Ja'far's ass, the thick blunt head catching on that pretty little hole, dragging slowly over it. "Yeah, there you go," he growls, hands tightening on Ja'far's waist so hard they'll leave bruises in that pretty pale skin. "You're kind of a tease, you know? Feel that, feel how much I want to be inside you?"

Ja'far's mouth falls open, the press of Sinbad's cock enough to promise a thick, aching stretch. There's no stopping the breathy little whine that pulls from his throat, the way he wriggles back just a bit more, and the urge to push himself down onto Sinbad's cock, to feel it pressing into him so hard and thick and big is nearly impossible to resist. "I-" The bob of his throat is too-fast, almost frantic. "God, you feel good," he whispers.

"Tell me you want it inside you." Sinbad's voice is a low, hoarse husk, as he rubs slowly up and down, both hands coming up to tease Ja'far's nipples now. He's so hard it hurts, but somehow even that only feels good as he rocks, pressing against that pretty hole again, almost, almost inside. "Tell me you want my thick cock in your tiny little hole, and I'll make it good."

The fingers on his nipples again are too much, making his tongue respond far, far too readily when he can already feel the thick, blunt head of Sinbad's cock pressing against him, so close to stretching him open and-"Want it," Ja'far raggedly gasps, voice thready and desperate. "Just-just put it in-"

Oh god Sin, remember that he's a virgin, be gentle or god help you, a voice in Sinbad's mind reminds him, and he takes a long, shaky breath, reaching a hand down to hook under one knee, hoisting Ja'far's leg up to expose him that much further. "Lube? I have some in my pants if you don't."

Ja'far has half the mind to at least be able to grab for the pants in question, shaky fingers grabbing for the little bottle. Why are you carrying this around would normally be on his tongue, but what's the point in asking at a time like this? "Here," he manages, flipping open the top, twisting to grab for one of Sinbad's hands and squeeze out a generous amount. "Just hurry."

Sinbad slicks his cock until it's dripping, then urges Ja'far up onto hands and knees, spreading his thighs wide. "Just like this," he breathes, "easier like this, open up for me."

He slides up the cleft again, head catching, and this time, his hands tighten on Ja'far's waist, pulling him slowly, slowly back as he pushes forward, inexorably forward a fraction of an inch at a time until the head pops inside. Sinbad barely remembers the first time he'd taken cock, but he remembers how overwhelming and shocking it had been, and he tries, tries to go slow and be gentle. "You….okay?"

If Sinbad looks big, feels big between his thighs-god, like this, it's maddening.

Ja'far sags, sinking down into the bed with a shaky, desperate sound torn from his throat. He feels even thicker inside, and god, he already feels uncomfortably stuffed full even if it's just the head of Sin's cock pressing inside of him, filling him and making him pant hard, heavy breaths into the sheets. "F-fine," he rasps, eyes rolling back as he tries to wriggle back a bit on his own accord onto that hard, slick cock, and it's just too much.

"God," Sinbad groans, unable to help the slide when he's so slick and Ja'far's so wanting, arms wrapping tight around him and holding as close as he can, and Sinbad slides in as slow as he can, eager, needing little thrusts, a bit more every time, a bit harder, a bit faster, and he barely has the presence of mind to snake one hand down to palm Ja'far's cock as well. "You're-with me, come on, I want us to-together-God-"

Over the hard, relentless thudding of his pulse, it's hard to even hear Sin. The touch of his hand is easy enough to focus on, though, especially when he's already hard again, achingly so and oversensitive to the drag of those long, calloused fingers when he's being so thoroughly fucked. It hurts, it aches, every thrust of Sinbad's cock deeper inside of him even though Ja'far knows he's still not even taking all of it, and he whines mindlessly, rutting back against it, down into Sinbad's hand, and that's all it takes before he's spilling again with a strangled, gasping mewl, muscles drawn tight and shivery as his vision flickers.

Sinbad's been good for long enough, and he can always apologize later.

He takes Ja'far's hips into his hands, yanking them back hard as a feral noise comes from his throat, sliding hard, fast into Ja'far's ass, eyes squeezing shut as he loses track of everything, loses track of himself, loses track of anything except how perfect Ja'far is as he slams in far too hard, hips slapping against that perfect ass, letting out an almighty groan as he slumps forward, pulsing hot and wet and slick deep inside. The world spins, and for a moment, everything is black.

A broken, whimpering sound leaves Ja'far's throat as he sags down into the bed, burying his face into the sheets. Everything aches, his nerves singing and twanging rather prominently out of tune, and ah, god, it stings to feel Sinbad hot and slick inside of him, with every shiver of his body reminding him of it in a dozen pleasant(?) ways.

"… Heavy," is his eventual rasp, a nudge and then a shove following when Sinbad doesn't immediately move. That's about the extent of his effort, at any rate.

Everything comes into focus slowly. Sort of frightening, just how slowly, and Sinbad flops to the side, landing on his back with his chest still heaving. "You," he breathlessly accuses, "are far too good at that for someone who was supposed to be a virgin. I haven't come that hard in years."

Ja'far gives up on being any semblance of coordinated and simply faceplants, a low groan escaping him. "Don't say it like I was lying," he eventually says, voice muffled in the sheets. "I've never… any of that."

"Then you're just a natural." Sinbad throws an arm carelessly over Ja'far's back. "I changed my mind. You can't work on camera. No one else needs to see that."

As if I'd ever agree to work on camera, anyway. "Glad to hear it." Is it bad etiquette to want a shower really badly and yet not trust your legs at all?

"Last chance," Sinbad murmurs, "to get out from under me before I fall asleep in your tiny bed."

Too embarrassing to bring up the not trusting legs part. "… I'm not moving." Ja'far is glad, at least, that the room is dark and his face is hidden. "You're warm, besides."

Oddly enough, Ja'far sleeps better than he can recall in any recent memory, even squished into his small bed so close to another man's side.

Sinbad is warm, though, and that probably has a lot to do with it. Ja'far wakes with his cheek pressed to the man's shoulder, his eyes slowly cracking open beneath the light filtering in through a window's blinds.

A pair of slitted, reptilian eyes stares back, and Ja'far exhales slowly.

"… Sin," he lowly murmurs so as to not alarm the man, lest he disturb the rattlesnake that has decided Sinbad's chest is as warm and comfortable as he has. "Do me a favor and don't move."

"Mmm." Sinbad doesn't bother opening his eyes, tightening the arm around Ja'far's shoulders. "You feel good like this too." He's been awake for a few minutes now, feeling Ja'far pressed up against him, tracing patterns over his chest, cool fingers heavy and sinuous. "We should do this more often."

Sinbad is an idiot. "… You have a tiger rattlesnake on your chest and she likes you quite a bit, apparently, but I am very serious when I am telling you to not move because I don't feel like rushing you to the hospital and having all of my snakes taken away because she bit you and killed you."

Sinbad had already been still, but now he freezes completely, slowly opening one eye, and….

Ah.

Yes.

That certainly is a rather large snake.

"Good morning, darling," he murmurs, blinking at the snake. "How much did I drink last night?"

"Enough," Ja'far concedes, and in one, fluid strike, snatches a hand out to grab the snake by the back of the head, gently keeping her mouth shut as he slides her off of Sinbad's chest. "She's gravid, small wonder she likes you. You are something of a furnace," he says, climbing out of bed to put her back into her enclosure. "Also, just so you know, you probably wouldn't have died. I just didn't want her to break a fang off in you."

"Glad to know you have your priorities straight," Sinbad remarks, leaning back on his elbows. "Do you give them little tools to break themselves out? I'm pretty sure one of them got loose the last time I was here, and it definitely wasn't that one. She's pretty, though," he admits. "Not the worst face I've woken up to. Come back to bed."

"Honestly, they only do this when they seem to know you're coming," Ja'far sighs, double-checking the cage before sliding back into bed a moment later, only reminded then of how sore he is and grimacing. "Never getting up again," he mutters, flopping back with a groan.

"I'd be flattered, but you don't sound terribly pleased," Sinbad murmurs, wrapping an arm around Ja'far's torso and pulling him close anyway. "Are you in much pain? Sorry, I tried to be gentle, I just...lost control a bit."

"Just sore. It isn't awful." Ja'far drops his head against Sinbad's shoulder, eyes lidding. "How do you do that all of the time? I think I would probably die."

"It got a lot easier once I started topping," Sinbad admits, then remembers something and winces. "Ah. Sorry if you wanted me to use a condom, I swear I'm usually better at remembering things like that."

"… I write the checks for your medical visits. I know you're clean, so I don't care." That being said, he still feels oddly sticky and ah, god. He needs a proper shower here soon or he'll lose his mind. "Careless, though," Ja'far mildly chides. "For your sake, I hope you at least use one with that Kou brat."

"Of course I used a condom with him, who knows who he's been with?" Not a lie, he'd used a condom with Judal the first time. "But I don't want to talk about him." He tightens his arms, nuzzling down into Ja'far's neck. "I want to be here with you."

"You are here with me." There's something to be said about his bed-it's small enough that it definitely forces him to stay close, whether he likes it or not. A good thing that he likes it, in this circumstance. Ja'far sighs, resting his head down against Sinbad's chest. "You shouldn't plan on this being a regular thing, you know. I hardly have your sex drive."

Sinbad nuzzles into Ja'far's hair, hands tracing little patterns on that soft skin, relaxing back with an indulgent smile. "Once was more than I ever expected to have. And it was better than I expected. I hope you had fun too?"

"I would not still be in bed with you if I didn't." Ja'far shivers a bit, eyes lidding as he slowly unfolds an arm to drape it over Sinbad's chest. "It was good."

Somehow-though it seems childish to say so-just those three words are more of a boost to Sinbad's self-esteem than a career pornstar telling him Sinbad's the best he's ever had. Words mean something coming from Ja'far, and words of praise are hardly faint. "Did I hurt you? It's been a long time since I bedded a virgin."

"You like being able to say that, don't you." A roll of his eyes follows. "Believe it or not, I am not so delicate. I'm just a little sore, nothing a hot shower can't fix." Also, my legs feel like noodles.

"How big is your shower?" The idea of showering with Ja'far is an enticing one, and he runs a hand up the younger man's spine. "I'll have to work on some of my techniques, though. You didn't seem to like my mouth at all."

"Big enough." Good, very good, maybe he'll stop feeling like he needs to itch everywhere if he can actually scrub himself clean. "And it wasn't that I didn't like it. Just… that I didn't exactly expect you to do that." Ja'far starts to carefully wriggle away. "Come on, I need to shower before I go insane."

Sinbad laughs at that, allowing Ja'far to escape his arms before dealing that pale curved ass a playful swat, rolling out of the bed to follow much too close on his heels, all grabbing hands and pinching fingers. "Maybe I should test your skills in the shower, then…"

Ja'far smacks his hands away with a withering stare as he yanks open the bathroom door. "It's too early, and don't make me remind you that pinching and grabbing is not acceptable 24/7."

"Too early?" Sinbad asks, affronted as he enters behind Ja'far, unable to stop himself from touching no matter the recent warning slaps. "You've woken me hours earlier than this for work, I am entirely convinced that groping is more time-appropriate than paperwork."

"I have a young coral snake in the kitchen that I can let out into a dark room with you in it."

"Very cruel! And to think, I can count my fingers on the imprints in your hips." He grabs Ja'far, undeterred, and presses a slew of kisses to his neck. "I don't care how much you threaten me, I'm enjoying you while I have you."

"Sin-" The protest turns a little stressed now when Sinbad does make it very clear that nothing he says will deter him, and with the way Ja'far's body seems to want to twitch and stir just from a few kisses to his already bitten-up neck, he has to wonder how much he should be protesting. A heavy swallow, and he gives the other man's chest a little shove. "You're so damnably obnoxious, at least let me turn the hot water on so we can get under it, I'm cold."

"And here you told me I was like a furnace," Sinbad points out, but he reluctantly pulls back for long enough to let Ja'far play with the water temperature. Damn, but Ja'far really is lovely, shockingly so when out of his clothes, with supple curves like Sinbad has rarely seen on a man and more freckles than he'd ever expected. He steps into the shower, letting water run down his skin as his hands feel the play of it across Ja'far's, wasting no time in starting to suck and nibble again.

"That was when we were in bed," Ja'far lowly points out, eyes lidding and a little, relieved sigh escaping him when the hot water washes over him, rinsing away sweat and stickiness and whatever else. That makes him settle a bit, and makes him far more amenable to the idea of Sinbad's hands on him again, and the brush of those big hands over already formed bruises is oddly alluring, leaving him to shiver. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"If I thought you disliked it," Sinbad rumbles, dragging his hands up Ja'far's torso, avoiding that little ring-for now-and down again, "I would already have stopped. After last night, I'm not sure what your signals are anymore."

Neither do I, Ja'far thinks a little tiredly. "… You can touch," he settles upon. "But don't expect a repeat of last night so soon. I believe I mentioned something about dying."

"Hmm, something of the sort," Sinbad agrees, but tightens his arms all the same. "In my defense, I didn't know how good you would look naked. That has to change a man's opinion about quite a few things."

"It can't be anything you haven't seen before," Ja'far lightly replies, attempting to wriggle his way free and grab the soap. "If you want to touch so badly, wash my back."

Sinbad cooperates eagerly, rubbing the soap up and down, lathering with his hands. "So you don't like sex," he says, attempting to understand. "But you did like last night. So what's the difference?"

"First of all, it isn't that I don't like sex. I just… have never felt a need for it, not like you." And apparently a good portion of the world. Ja'far lids his eyes, allowing himself the indulgence of Sinbad's touch when he isn't pinching him. "And last night… well. It was you, so it was good. I don't think I would want anyone else touching me, I might stab them."

"We talked about that," Sinbad says, a little sternly. "No stabbing anyone who doesn't stab you first, right? Do you know how much I had to pay to have your record expunged after that last incident?"

"Well, so long as they don't touch me-or you-I see no reason to stab them," Ja'far sniffs. "Maybe everyone should keep that in mind."

"Sounds appropriate," Sinbad agrees, and brings his hands up, dolloping shampoo on them and starting to run his fingers through Ja'far's hair. "It's a totally different color when it's wet, huh? Like your eyes, everything about you is so...changing."

"You look far too into this," is the low murmur to follow, even as Ja'far sags back a bit, eyes lidded underneath the attention. "I like to think I'm fairly stagnant on the best of days."

"On the surface. You think much of yourself that is only on the surface, Ja'far. It's one of the most intriguing things about you." Sinbad carefully massages the shampoo, lathering it into thick, stiff peaks. "Most men consider themselves far more interesting than is true. You're the opposite, somehow. You must tell me your secret. Wait, let me guess-there isn't one?"

"… I really have no idea what you're talking about," Ja'far bluntly replies, tilting his head back a bit to look up at Sinbad. "As long as none of that is particularly bad, I don't think there's a problem, is there?"

"Only that once again, I fear we are two men speaking different languages," Sinbad says with a sigh, and nevertheless tilts his head down to meet Ja'far's lips in a wet, slightly soapy kiss.

Well, there are far worse things.

Ja'ar's eyes lid, and he stretches up a bit onto his toes to kiss back, just enough to enjoy before he sinks back onto his heels again. "… I didn't say we could never do this again at all, did I?"

"Not yet," Sinbad allows, "but I must confess, I'm waiting for you to say something like that every minute. Or at least that it will be another ten years, and I haven't impressed you at all."

"Since when have you had such little confidence in your skills?" is Ja'far's snort to follow, his cheeks flushing slightly. "If I was… less than impressed, you wouldn't have stayed the night."

"It's hard to tell, with you." That's the truth of the century, but it comes with an even truer, larger one. "But...I want to learn to read your moods as easily as anyone else's. I want to learn what you like, and when you're only pretending to hate something, and when you aren't."

Sinbad sighs, twisting around to try and wash his own back. "Someday, you'll understand that I'm not just lying to you to get you into bed."

"Turn around, you bloody idiot," Ja'far mutters, the urge to roll his eyes impossible to suppress. "I don't think you're lying to me about anything. I think I know you a little better than that. Instead it's more… hmm. Me being perplexed that you would rather be here with me, when you have a dozen prettier, easier things to toy with at your discretion."

"Since when have you known me to always take the easiest road?" Sinbad asks, turning obediently to let Ja'far wash him. "You can hardly blame me for not knowing your mind. This is the first that you've touched me, really. Not that I mind doing all the work, but...you do put effort into being an enigma."

"… Not really?" He doesn't really try at all, to be honest. Ja'far's eyes lid, and his fingers thread through Sinbad's hair as well, gently working shampoo into it. "The fact of the matter is… I don't quite understand, still, what you find so interesting about me that you must have me in bed, but I suppose that just means I will invite you back again."

Sinbad turns, shampoo and all, cupping Ja'far's chin with one large hand, the other going to his waist to pull him close. "Truly?" he asks, eyes alight no matter the spectacle of his wet, soapy self. "You'll have me back?"

Ja'far slowly blinks up at him through wet bangs. "You are acting as if this is some outstanding thing," he carefully replies. "I enjoyed myself. You are my closest-" Closer to only. "-friend. Why wouldn't I have you back?" He allows a sort of anxious laugh. "In truth, I was afraid I would be awful at this and that would be the end of it."

"If you doubt for a second I enjoyed myself thoroughly," Sinbad says, brushing the hair out of Ja'far's face with long fingers, "I have become more adept at hiding my thoughts from you than I'd ever expected. Don't think so low of yourself. That was as good as I've ever had."

"… If you say so," is the wry little reply to follow, and Ja'far tilts his head to press a hesitant kiss to Sinbad's palm. "I won't say 'no' if you suggest it again, so…"

It means more, when it's Ja'far.

Sinbad doesn't simply wrap the young man up in his arms, but it's a close thing. A smile, real and genuine and grateful, is enough, and he turns to let Ja'far wash his back again. "Good. Then we have a date."