Easy in, easy out-that's the idea of this, anyway. Kouha knows he attracts a lot of attention, pink hair and ruffles and stockings and all that, but wolf whistles he can deal with from a bunch of creepy old guys. They think he's a girl, anyway, which is hilarious.

It's later, though, with the sun down already, and so this shouldn't be a terribly difficult thing to accomplish. He's picked locks since he was a kid, and Sinbad's studio has a really, shitty old one that takes him about two seconds to crack. Now, just to wave a magnet in all the right places and-

Ah.

Okay. Things not expected: Sinbad still being there, but sort of… suspended from the ceiling from some really interesting looking rope work. Kouha can't even bring himself to be annoyed about his plans being interrupted by the most irritating person; he's way too amused. "… Someone playing cat's cradle with you, I guess. Huh."

This is not the way Sinbad had anticipated spending his afternoon.

It had been bad enough, the way Ja'far kept pushing him away even when Sinbad was being very charming. Bad enough, that Judal still won't answer a single message. Bad enough, that his star is being a diva again and pretending like he won't work unless Sinbad looks the other way on letting an underage kid join up. Bad enough that Ja'far had lost his patience with the adorable passes Sinbad was making at him and had done some freaky fast ropework and strung him up from the ceiling of his own studio, then left him there.

That was all bad enough.

And now, the youngest kid in the Ren family is standing there bold as brass inside Sinbad's studio, making fun of him.

Sinbad sighs. "What do you want to get me out of this?"

Kouha's eyebrows slowly arch up. "I dunno. You sure this isn't part of some really involved game of yours? You used to be into some freaky stuff, back in the day."

"Your brother owns a studio," Sinbad says with a growl. "You should know that what an actor does on film isn't what he's always into. Or does Kouen not tell you much?"

A little shrug follows. "He tells me as much as anyone should tell an underage kid," he lightly replies. "Now, shouldn't you be a little sweeter if you want me to get you down?"

Sinbad narrows his eyes. "You want me to talk sweet at you? When you just broke into my studio?"

"Maybe I was leaving you a love letter."

Sinbad regrets his position. He regrets many decisions. Pretty much he regrets everything. "Fine. What do you want, please and thank you?"

Kouha smiles, looking very sweet himself. "I want you to ask me nicely."

Sinbad supposes that if he ignores the poison smile and the creepy look on his face, Kouha isn't bad looking. "Please let me down from here." He tries to look nice. "Please."

A little hum leaves his throat, and Kouha starts examining the way the rope is tied and leveraged. "Hmm, that sounds nice. Keep at it. Hey, are you coming out of retirement any time soon?"

"Hadn't planned on it. Why, is big brother not letting you make videos, and you're convinced you're a budding star?" If he can just get one limb free, he can get out of this...

Kouha casually yanks on one rope, which just so happens to tighten them, just a little. "Nah. I was just curious if you'd be making any more videos where you're whining like a little bitch. You put Ju to shame."

Damn, how prevalent are those videos? He'd been popular in the day, sure, but there haven't been a huge increase in royalty checks lately or anything. Does Kouen have his own private library? That's a little disturbing. He grits his teeth at the tightening of the rope-yeah, he's going to kill Ja'far. "Do I hear an offer in there?"

"You're not really my type nowadays." With another, casual tug, the rope loosens and unravels, and Sinbad's knees hit the set's bed. "That's a start, isn't it? You just asked me to let you down, not to untie you."

"It's a start," Sinbad agrees, wriggling a little to try and get free-what is Ja'far, a fucking boy scout? Where did he learn knots like these?-with little to no success. "Well. Thanks for the help, I'm sure I can take it from here." Somehow. "And since you were kind enough to help me out, I'll overlook the fact that you broke into my property."

A yank, and the rope tightens again. Kouha leaves it that way this time, with just enough slack in the one suspending Sinbad as he waltzes back over to the bed and with a firm shove of his foot to the man's chest, easily tips him backwards. If his plans are ruined, then he might as well have a little fun. "I'll give you another reason to overlook it." A hand snakes out, thumb deftly unbuckling Sinbad's belt. "So, is it a camera trick that makes your cock look so big?"

Shit, I'm being molested by a child.

Hard on the heels of that thought are a few he's less proud of having.

He's as pretty as a girl-might as well get something out of the Ren family for a change-I'm tied up, no one can say I molested him-

Sinbad's cock twitches under the curious hand, and he can't quite bring himself to protest. If he's going to be tied up, he might as well have a little fun with it. "I never use camera tricks. See for yourself."

Oh, wow, Sinbad is easy. And, judging by the growing bulge underneath his hand, definitely not lying about the camera tricks thing. Kouha runs a tongue over his lower lip, setting a knee to the bed as he crawls closer, thumb popping open the button of Sinbad's pants and eases the zipper down soon after that, his fingers wriggling their way inside to palm Sinbad's cock. "No kidding," he breathes, pulling it out with a yank of Sinbad's pants down in kind. Don't compare it to your brother's, people frown on that. "Guess I see why Judal was so messed up now, I bet you're fun."

"I have my moments." Sinbad sucks in a breath at the rush of air against his cock, straining again with the ropes to no avail. As long as he's stuck here, he might as well get something out of it. "You have a nice hand. It's the only thing about you that doesn't look girly."

Kouha's eyebrows arch at that. "You have a problem with the way I look?" he casually asks, his fingers squeezing and sliding up as he says it, his thumb dragging over the head of Sinbad's cock. "The first time you saw me, you sure as hell checked me out."

It doesn't take much effort to bend low when he drags his lips over the same path his thumb just took, a flick of his tongue following, warm and wet. It also doesn't take much to arch his back a bit as he does it-head down, ass up as he sucks and licks at Sinbad's cock, a quick bob of his head drawing him even further into his mouth.

"I didn't say I had a problem with girly," Sinbad says with a groan, bucking up as far as he can (not very) into Kouha's mouth. The brat is talented, Sinbad will give him that. "You're too good at that. Is everyone in your family a champion cocksucker, or just you?"

Kouha exhales a breathy, pleased sound through his nose as he swallows hard, grabbing at Sinbad's hips to hold him down when the next slide of his lips brings him to swallow nearly all of him. Ah, god, he is big. Looks big, feels bigger down his throat, and it makes his jaw ache even when he pulls back just to have the head between his lips, dripping slick and messy over his tongue. "Just me," he breathes, looking up through his lashes. "You're a way bigger slut though, aren't you? I bet you wanna come."

Sinbad's eyes lid, the sweet wet heat of Kouha's mouth more than making up for the indignity of the uncomfortable position, and Kouha's not bad to look at. He's pretty, in an unconventional way, and he sucks cock like someone that loves it. "Yeah. Go on, take it all, make me come like a good boy or girl or whatever you want to be."

A low, amused giggle, and Kouha pulls back with a last, lingering swipe of his tongue over the precome beading at the tip of Sinbad's cock. "You're supposed to ask nicely. Test failed." He slides off of the bed without another glance back. "You can stay there, have a nice night!"

Sinbad curses, struggling against the ropes violently. He hates the Ren family, hates them more than anyone. "Come the fuck back here, you little slut!" he shouts, struggling hard enough that he nearly topples onto the floor. I'm going to kill them all.

"Really rude! Who would want to suck your cock when you've got a mouth like that?" Kouha calls over his shoulder, the door swiftly shutting behind him after he takes out a security camera or three.

Ah, that being said-the ride home is going to be a difficult one.

He'll never understand Koumei's fascination with being in class day in and day out. It isn't as if he intends to ever use all of those degrees, anyway; it's just an excuse to avoid working eventually, Kouha thinks, but whatever. What matters is that the man is easily accessible when Kouha wants him, and that's right about now.

Running up the mansion stairs is easier said than done when he's still this twitchy. "Mei! You better be in your room!"

Koumei perks up at the sound of his brother's voice, the only interesting thing he's heard all week. He stands, the edges of a bathrobe hanging loosely over his boxers, and opens the door to arch one eyebrow at Kouha as he runs up the stairs. "Oh boy," he murmurs to himself, shutting his textbook on early 1600s dialectical differences between Paris and Lyon, "this is going to be good."

The door to Koumei's bedroom promptly slams shut behind him, and Kouha huffs, annoyed as he shucks his coat in one swift yank. "Lie down and get your cock out already, I've had a really stupid night."

"Someone's in a mood." Not like Koumei minds, and Kouha always knows how to treat him right, so where's the harm? As long as the doors are properly shut and locked, which he checks before shucking his boxers, laying down on his back. "You better get me hard first. I've been bored until you got here."

"Shut up."

It takes a second before Kouha's down to little but his stockings, the thick material of them easily kept bunched up and above his knees. He climbs onto the bed, one stockinged foot sliding up between Koumei's legs as he stands above him, eyes lidded. "I don't have to do any thing. I already dealt with one slut that didn't know how to take orders tonight, I don't-" And he shifts his weight, just enough to carefully grind his heel in, "-want another one."

Koumei shudders, eyes going dark as his cock hardens under Kouha's pressing foot. He never gets hard as fast as when Kouha's over him, telling him what to do, and his hands twist in the sheets as he ruts up helplessly against the too-cruel touch. "Sorry. I'll do what you say." Even saying the words makes his mouth so dry it's difficult to lick his lips.

Slowly, Kouha's lips twist into a smile. "That's a good boy," he croons, the grind turning more to a stroke, his foot dragging languidly from root to tip. "Look at you, already so hard for me. You have the best cock, Mei. I want it in me."

Koumei nods, swallowing hard. He wants to be, wants to beg Kouha step on me, slap my face, tell me what a filthy whore I am for my little brother's cock, but that's topping from the bottom, and Kouha doesn't like it. Instead he just presses up against that friction, breath catching. "You want to sit on it? Or do you want me to-"

He cuts himself off with a little self-deprecating laugh. "Never mind, of course you want to sit on it." Not like you'd ever let me top. Not like I really want to.

Kouha laughs, pressing down a bit harder when Koumei lurches up. "What, you actually wanna shove me down and fuck me? That's new." His foot slides away and in one, easy movement, he drops down to straddle Koumei's hips, wriggling down against him with a breathy sigh, a hand immediately reaching back to grab for his brother's cock and guide it to slide up against his ass. "You really are a pervert," he taunts, his eyes lidding. "Wanting to fuck your little brother so bad, you're already this hard."

"I only get hard like this for you." Koumei's eyes lid, and he arches up, feeling the teasing heat of Kouha above him, already imagining how good it would feel to be buried inside it. "I guess I really am a pervert, huh? God, your cock looks so nice," he mutters, voice gone husky, eyes dark. He can almost taste it, mouth watering now at the thought.

"Maybe," Kouha murmurs, dragging his fingers over his own cock, biting his lip as that touch alone nearly does him in. It's all to make his fingers slick from his own precome, and he drags his thumb over Koumei's lips, rubbing it slowly against them. "I should make a new rule for this week. No one else is allowed to fuck you. Then you'll be all twitchy and squirmy by the time I show up, hmm?" His hand draws away again, just enough to slap across Koumei's cheek. "Grab the lube, whore, I know you've got some close. You probably jerk off thinking about me."

Koumei is shivering now, trembling from the words and the taste and the slap most of all, even as the threat makes him mentally shudder. No one fucking him at all? Now that's cruel, when sometimes it's all he can do to make it through the week until Kouha's visits even with his extra little playtimes. "Course I jerk off thinking about you," he murmurs, reaching for the lube without looking, grabbing it from the shelf by memory. "Four times thinking about your last visit, and how you let the candle drip all over me and gave me rug burn."

Dammit. He is really not going to last at this rate.

Normally, Kouha considers this a study in practicing self-control, loving how he can string his brother along and make him squirm with just a few well-placed cracks of his hand or a few well-said words. But god dammit, he's riled up, he's aching, and Koumei is pushing all of his buttons and he can't snatch that bottle away fast enough.

"Good," he manages to gasp out when his slick fingers drag over Koumei's cock, dripping and messy. "Just want you to think about me. No one treats you right-ahh-like I do-" His fingers are still slick when they spread open his own hole, and his eyes roll back when he lifts himself just enough, just to press down on that hard cock and god, the head pressing inside and stretching him open is enough to make his chest heave. A groan, and Kouha shoves himself the rest of the way down, mouth falling open at the deep, thick stretch of him, the aching twinge that ripples straight up his spine.

"I do think about you," Koumei breathes, bucking up into the slick sweet heat of Kouha's body, biting his lip at the squeeze of his little brother's ass, something he so rarely gets to feel. "Mmm, even when you're riding me and just using my dick to think about someone else's."

Dark eyes flick up to meet Kouha's, and damn it, if Kouha's not going to give him what he needs, he'll get some of his own back. "Whose dick are you thinking about riding, little brother? Is it Kouen again?"

"God, will you shut up?" Kouha groans, and he lurches forward, shoving a hand over Koumei's mouth while his other hand scratches up his chest, nails long enough to leave nicely deep, red scratches in his wake. A hard shiver rakes up through him, and he wriggles down, sighing at that deep, slick press of Koumei's cock up inside of him. "I'll fucking strangle you if you say another word-ugh, fuck, who am I kidding, that turns you on," he breathlessly laughs, fingers dragging up to pull and pinch cruelly at one nipple. "Whore."

Koumei shudders hard, bucking up into Kouha's ass with a strangled noise, his body on fire now with every cruel touch, begging for more with every arch and thrust of his hips off the bed, pushing his chest up into every punishing touch as much as he can. This, this is what he loves, Kouha holding him down and abusing him, that pretty doll's face above him saying nasty words that Koumei believes about himself, every bit. Yes, I'm yours, fuck me hard, hold me down and slap my face, strangle me with your hand or your cock, whatever you want, whatever you want, just hurt me-

A strangled, ragged mewl leaves Kouha's own throat, and he eagerly grinds back down, chest heaving as he rides and wriggles on top of his brother's cock. "Good-good, fuck your brother's ass, you slut," he pants out, thumb dragging over Koumei's lips once more before he pries his mouth open, stuffing a pair of fingers into his mouth to twist them against his tongue. "Put that cock of yours to use, you're only good at being my toy."

Koumei sucks greedily on Kouha's fingers, easy enough to imagine his cock, or even better that it's this way, that he's not good enough for Kouha's cock, that he's only good enough to suck on his fingers and take whatever Kouha wants like a good pet-

He's going to come, but he can't, Kouha is a fucking bitch when he comes and doesn't mean to, and not in the good way. Koumei squeezes his eyes shut, a tear leaking out as he tries hard, sucking in air through his nose as he makes those fingers sloppy and wet.

"Look at you, you're so fucking sloppy, just like one of En's whores." Kouha's hand yanks away, backhanding Koumei as the next, aching slide of his own body down that hard cock makes him hiss and shudder, his back arching. "You wanna make your little brother just as messy, Mei?" Kouha pants out, shoving a hand down to grab for his own cock, a rough stroke enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. "Fuck-god, go on, come, fill me up, maybe I'll c-come on your face if you're good enough-"

That permission is all it takes, and Koumei cries out as he comes, hips snapping up hard against Kouha's ass, all the torture of not having him for the last several days finally relieved in one long, messy series of spurts. "Messy," he pants, face flushed and licking his lips at the thought of Kouha coming on his face, eyes trained on that pretty flushed cock. "Please, Kouha, you're so good to me, no one knows how to treat me right like you do, you know what I need-"

God, that's good, feeling Koumei spasm and twitch and lurch up inside of him, pressing deeper still and making his eyes flutter as his breath catches hard. He almost, almost loses himself just with that, but it's a last, desperate effort that makes him heave himself up and off of Koumei's cock with a whine, fingers squeezing tight around his cock as he slides up to kneel just over Koumei's face. "Damn right I know-what you need-open your mouth, slut," Kouha pants out, his eyes squeezing shut as a last jerk of his hand is all it takes before he's spilling over his brother's face, his other hand scrabbling forward to grab at headboard for support as his vision blurs with each hard, aching spurt over Koumei's face.

Koumei strains to catch what he can, but there's something just as disgustingly good about having Kouha come all over his face as there is about swallowing it down, and Koumei's cock twitches painfully even now so soon after coming. He shudders, licking his lips, but doesn't move to wipe the rest onto his tongue, not yet, just in case Kouha wants to take a minute to look at him debauched and pathetic like this. "Did you enjoy using me?" he asks, low and obedient.

Kouha's vision slowly returns to him, and he manages a shaky, hazy little nod, grinning as he slowly sinks back to sit on Koumei's chest. "Yeah," he breathes, and he thumbs one flushed cheek, smearing his come over his brother's freckles. "You're always such a good toy, Mei. I'll keep you."

Koumei nudges his face into the touch, liking the debauched way it feels to have Kouha rub his seed all over his skin, relaxing back onto the pillows of his bed. "Thank you."

His mouth twitches into a small semblance of a smile, and he remarks dryly, "Ten years ago I wouldn't have thought Dad cheating on Mom would be the best thing to ever happen to this family."

Kouha laughs outright at that. "Please. Maybe the best thing to happen to your dick." He rolls to the side with a graceless thump, sprawling out with a content little shudder. "Ahh, that was good. Sorry that I got caught up for a minute, hope I made up for it in the end. You came pretty hard."

"You're fine," Koumei says with a wave of his hand, then sets his hand down on Kouha's head, stroking his hair. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his bathrobe before it gets painfully sticky, then stretches out. "Who got you so worked up, anyway? Usually you'd just fuck them up and then come to me."

Now sated, it's easy for him to butt his head up against Koumei's hand like an affectionate cat. "That stupid Sinbad guy," he grumbles, eyes lidded. "I went over to his studio to fuck with his videos and stuff, and he was still there and strung up for some reason and ahh, I might have sucked his cock a little bit. I guess I kinda see what Judal likes about him."

Koumei's eyebrows raise. "Kouen doesn't want you messing around with him," he warns. "He doesn't want anyone to talk to him. Can't you fuck with his videos with your tech shit from farther away? And…"

He hesitates, then lowers his voice and asks, "Is it really as big as it looks?"

"Really big," Kouha insists, rubbing his head up against Koumei's hand again. "It's really nice. And you know, I tried to get into his system the other night, but he's got some serious defensive stuff on there. Manually wiping it in person is the only way to go, and if I can't get in there… mmn, I'll rig something up, one way or another."

"Just send Judal," Koumei suggests, petting Kouha's head with gentle strokes of his hand. "You said Sinbad's got a sad little crush on him, right? Should be easy. I'm surprised Kouen hasn't already done it."

"En's being all weird and possessive, I think he's still mad about how Judal set him back the other week. Though if it fucks things up faster… yeah, I'll throw that suggestion out to him," Kouha sighs. "Hey. You like the way I dress, right? That asshat kept making comments about it, made me want to bite his dick off."

"I'll bite him for you. You look fucking hot." Koumei's eyes lid as he walks a hand down, plucking at the top of one thigh-high sock. "Remember how I jumped you the second you came home from end of term?"

Ahh, Koumei always knows just what to say. "Yeah," Kouha happily purrs, nuzzling his face into his brother's neck. "Good, so long as you like it. Next time I'm home, I'll wear something special for you underneath my uniform. It'll be a surprise, you'll like it."

"Mmm, you're too good to me," Koumei says with a shiver, and knows it's true.

Ja'far isn't gone that long.

A couple of hours at the absolute most, and it's time spent relatively nearby, for that matter. Honestly, Sinbad deserves this. He told the man nothing shy of a dozen times to back off-just because they have sex once doesn't mean he wants it again so soon and damn it all, Sinbad needs to learn to keep his hands off of him in the workplace.

Ja'far doesn't quite expect the sight that greets him upon returning, however.

"… Did one of your girlfriends drop by?" It's getting dark out, and it's not a farfetched idea, considering the state of things.

Sinbad doesn't like having time to think.

He's had far too much practice with it in the past, far too long shut up with only himself and his thoughts and the memories of an awful day for company, and he doesn't like the way his thoughts race, never has. It feels like the old days, and he's cold besides, the ropes digging in painfully in ways they hadn't when it had been Ja'far who'd tied him up, before that little bitch had fiddled with the ropes, and it's been nearly half an hour since he's been able to feel his left arm, aside from it growing steadily colder. The fact that it's humiliating to be hanging trussed up like a turkey with his cock out is nothing compared to knowing how helpless he's been, how one of the people who wants to destroy him had had him completely at his mercy, and the person he'd counted on most of all had let it happen. No, more than that, he'd been the reason it had happened.

"One of the Ren brothers," he says, voice as cold as it's ever been with Ja'far. "Down. Now."

Oh.

Ja'far shuts his mouth, papers and coffee set down in an instant, and it takes only a few swift pulls to unravel the bindings. "You're not injured, are you?" Stupid, really stupid.

Sinbad tries to flex his left arm, but it doesn't respond right away, until he manually slaps it into shape with his other hand, getting a bit of stinging, prickling feeling back in the oddly off-white limb. "Just my pride. He broke in and thought he'd have a little fun." A second to take stock of the state of his arm, and in all honesty, it would look stupider to try and do up his fly one-handed than to walk around like this.

Ja'far grabs for the arm reflexively, thumbs kneading and pressing into numb, tingling nerves immediately. "I'm sorry." Yes, that was definitely one of the less intelligent things he's ever done. What sort of bodyguard is he, exactly? "I shouldn't have left you. Or tied you up at all."

Sinbad pulls his arm free, turning away. "I have to see what else he tampered with." He pauses, still facing away, and says quietly, "I won't bother you with my advances again. That should please you."

"That's not-"

He could stand a slap to the face, probably, for how his hands shake a little when Sinbad pulls his arm away. No, Ja'far thinks he deserves worse than that. He had left Sinbad all alone, tied up and helpless, and if something worse had happened, it would have been all his fault. This is bad enough, to be honest.

"I'm sorry." That doesn't quite cover it. "I… do you want me to go?" Or come into work at all again.

"Don't bother, I'm leaving." Sinbad manages to slap some feeling back into the arm eventually, and fastens his pants only a little clumsily before yanking on his coat. "You can stay if you want. Trust me, you'll be as alone as you want."

"… All right."

Better not to argue, when Sinbad clearly doesn't want him to. He's been disobedient enough for one day, hasn't he? He really should have just let Sinbad do whatever, then this wouldn't have happened. Numbly, Ja'far grabs for his paperwork again. "I'll… lock up everything, then."

He's leaving. He'd decided that, while he was struggling futilely against his bonds and trying not to think that anyone else could come in, that he'd never been so helpless, that he was just going to walk out and not say a word.

He stops anyway, hand on the doorknob. "What bothers me most," he says, despite knowing that really, he shouldn't say anything, "is that I read you so wrong. That you took me so seriously you felt the need to do that. I must have frightened you terribly. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't apologize."

That's probably the fifth time Ja'far has attempted to straighten out the mess of file folders now. "I should have just let you. There's no excuse for it, I'm supposed to protect you and instead I carelessly left you here for this to happen. I… I was being stupid and selfish and it won't happen again."

"No," Sinbad says quietly, "it won't."

Because I thought you wanted me, and you were just indulging me. That's fine. I was foolish to assume that just because I bullied you into it and you humored me that you would feel something else for me. It won't happen again.

"Good night, Ja'far."

"… Good night." There's not much good about it, honestly.

If his anxiety is good for anything, it's keeping his apartment clean.

He's probably scrubbed it down about six times now. The windows are open no matter the chill-something he remedies when he comes to his senses and watches the heat gradients in a dozen cages fluctuate too wildly-and he's left with the astringent smell of cleaning chemicals and cardboard.

Organizing. Right. That's what Ja'far tells himself. Not like he has a lot of belongings, anyway, barely enough to fill half a dozen boxes, but having it all sorted in the event that he does pick up and leave is a good idea.

This isn't intruding, Sinbad tells himself. It's just an employer checking on the welfare of an employee, nothing to be concerned about, nothing to worry that Ja'far will hate him over. It's only that Ja'far has been acting odder than usual, and there are all those mental health evaluations Ja'far's been bothering him-reminding him, he reminds himself-about completing, and he'd forgotten, and now is as good a time as any.

Right?

You're just going to make things worse, you damned fool, Sinbad's mind hisses, but he's hardly gotten better at listening to it over the years. He knocks, trying to make sure he looks every inch the concerned employer, because Ja'far wants him to keep his distance, and the old woman next door is peering through her apartment shades at him. Distance, right. Sinbad can do that.

Maybe.

No one ever comes and knocks on his door except the postman and Sinbad.

Ja'far briefly considers hiding in a box. It would be easier, at least. Eventually, he realizes that would make things even worse, and slowly, reluctantly, he moves to the door, cracking it open to peer up at the other man.

Sinbad attempts to look professional. It's easy, when he's talking to other businessmen, inside and outside the industry, when he's talking to...well, almost anyone, except Ja'far. It's always been impossible to fool Ja'far.

That's probably why this stings so much.

He tries for a smile, but it comes out more uncertain than he intends. "I, ah, wanted to check on that gravid rattlesnake of yours. Thought she might need a heating pack again."

Ja'far stares up at him, perplexed. "… She's fine," he slowly says, stepping away from the door to let it swing open a little bit more, an invitation if Sinbad wants to take it. "Did you really come out all this way for that?"

"Ah, no. That was meant to be a joke." Sinbad cautiously steps in, adding in what he hopes is a more confident tone, "We've got mental health examinations coming up at the studio, and I thought I'd...take the...initiative in…"

He trails off, noticing the boxes and almost feeling the blood drain from his face, looking from them to Ja'far and back, then shutting the door behind him and reaching for Ja'far's hand. "Look, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I'll never do it again, I was wrong to yell at you, please don't go!"

It takes a moment before it clicks what Sinbad is going on about, and Ja'far blinks, tugging his hand away with a shake of his head. "I'm not-I wasn't planning on going anywhere. Just-it makes me feel better, having things packed if I need to." He probably sounds like a crazy person. Well, all things considered… "I… look, I don't understand what you're apologizing for."

"For-"

Sinbad falters, remembering in the nick of time that women don't like hearing I'm sorry for whatever made you mad at me, and figuring Ja'far probably won't like it much either. "For touching you when you didn't want me to, I'd been drinking that day. And for yelling at you when you came and cut me down, you didn't know that crazy bitch was going to break in. For not coming after you sooner. For...everything?"

The furrow in his brow deepens. "… You just annoyed me, that's all. You're always drinking, besides. I'm the sorry one, I shouldn't have tied you up and left you like that. Even if I didn't know that kid was going to show up, I should have anticipated something like it and I…" Ja'far catches himself, exhaling a slow breath, attempting to steady his voice. "Basically, I'm horrible at my job."

"Your job," Sinbad points out wryly, "is to do the books. Your hobby is playing my bodyguard. Unless you've forgotten, I don't actually pay you for that, because you won't let me."

"A good thing, considering what happened."

Sinbad waves a hand. "An obnoxious teenager gave me half a blowjob, I've had worse days."

Ja'far sucks in a breath. "You said you wouldn't try and touch me again, though."

On reflex, Sinbad looks down to check his hands, and backs up a step worriedly. "I'm not! I didn't, did I? Sometimes they wander, I didn't mean to…"

Now he's just confused. Is he missing something? He's not that maladjusted, is he? No, don't answer that, brain. "That's not what I meant. I mean-I don't want you to do that. To stop touching me, I mean." And now his face is red. "I was just annoyed before because you wouldn't stop when I told you to. I'm not… I don't want you to do it all the time."

Sinbad sighs, running a hand back through the hair around his face. "You don't have to say that just because you feel sorry for me, or because you think I'm angry at you. I get it, you were humoring me, but you don't have to. It's fine, if you don't want to do it again. You know how I feel, but it's fine."

"… But I'm not. And I wasn't." He's getting a headache. "And I… don't? Not really, at any rate." Ja'far sighs, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. "Why does this have to be so complicated? I just told you, it's fine, I was just annoyed then when you were touching me. I get it, I'm not like most people that like you pawing at them all day and night."

"But you always tell me I'm annoying when I touch you," Sinbad points out, "and then that time, you let me make love to you. Even then, you told me I was annoying. It's hard to tell when you're being serious, you always have the same face." He blinks. "And what do you mean you don't? I've been obvious about how I feel, haven't I?"

"You've been obvious that you want to sleep with me." Definitely a headache. "And I think if I'm glaring at you and telling you 'no' and threatening to cut your hands off, that should be a hint."

Sinbad holds up his hands. "Fine, fine. I just…" He sighs, looks around for a chair to flop down on, and sits gingerly on a box marked [BOOKS AA-MY]. "You could take a little initiative, then. If I could tell when would be a good time, it might be easier to avoid you when you're a hairsbreadth away from leaving me naked and vulnerable for my enemies to find."

"… Would threatening to cut your cock off be a better initiative?"

Sinbad raises a single eyebrow. "I did offer to stop trying. Several times. There's no need to go to those extremes, I'm...for god's sake, I'm not going to rape you, it was just a pinch."

"15 of them, I counted. And a hand on my thigh. Kneading. Touching my hair. For several days. I-does it not occur to you how frustrating that can be?"

Personally, to Sinbad it sounds flattering. His smile is more of a grimace, as he hesitantly tries, "No?"

Ja'far exhales a long, weary sigh. "Well, it is. It's very frustrating. It has nothing even to do with you, it's-look, do you even know how little I masturbate?" he finally, irritably replies, no matter how stupid this conversation is becoming. "Every few months, maybe. That is about the extent of my sex drive, so when you keep poking at me, I want to bite your hands off."

"So...you don't want me to stop touching you," Sinbad reasons aloud, no matter how his mind shrieks that Ja'far isn't quite human, "you just want me to do it once every several years?"

The urge to slam his head into the wall is overwhelming. "Touching me is one thing. Initiating sex is something else. And you don't even have to stop doing the latter, just-not every five minutes, and especially not at work."

"Sometimes I just can't help it when I look at you."

"You and your horrible impulse control," Ja'far mutters, raking a hand back through his bangs. "Sit on your damned hands, then."

"Fine, fine. If I do, and I stop touching you-ah, except on the occasions, however frequent or infrequent and impossible to determine they may be-will you unpack and stay?" Sinbad asks hopefully, starting to reach out to take Ja'far's hand, then changing direction mid-course and sitting firmly on that hand instead.

"… I wasn't going to leave. I told you, I just-" An exasperated sound, and Ja'far steps forward, reaching out to grab hold of Sinbad's hand before he can sit on it this time. "Do you have any idea how much I want to slap you sometimes?"

"So slap me." Sinbad curls his hand around Ja'far's, squeezing gently. "I'm a big man, and I've been slapped many times by people less pretty. I'd certainly prefer it to being strung up from the ceiling alone for hours. Seriously, if I bother you, slap me. I don't mind."

"You'll probably like it," is the low, weary accusation.

Sinbad laughs. "What do you care if I do, so long as it gets the point across? You have to have some way, and I'm not going to stop feeling the way I do."

"… I don't get it," Ja'far slowly says. "I'm boring, not particularly attractive, and nothing like what you are usually interested in. You would enjoy yourself much more, even, with that kid from Kou Studios."

Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, an odd look on his face as he tilts his head. "You aren't going to make me say it, are you?"

Ja'far's brow furrows. "Say what?"

Sinbad sighs. He tugs Ja'far to sit down on another box, squeezing that hand, and says, a little amused, "You're going to hate this."

He leans forward, kissing the back of that hand, and looks up into Ja'far's eyes. "Do you really not know I love you?"

The confusion is there for another, lingering moment. "But I knew that. I love you, too, you're my closest-"

Pause. "Oh." Not as a friend. That is definitely not what Sinbad is talking about. Another pause, and Ja'far eventually manages, "I'm fairly awful at this."

Sinbad shrugs. "That's fine. I don't mind. But you know, now, and that's important to me." A little awkwardly, he releases Ja'far's hand. "Do you...are you...is it all right? God, you don't need to feel the same way or anything, I just wanted you to know since you can't seem to figure out what I like about you."

"I'd die for you." It's blunt and a dozen times more awkward and probably the worst way to say it, but whatever. Ja'far sucks in a slow, calming breath. "That's right along the same line, isn't it?"

Sinbad can't help the way his chest tightens at that. He nods, and reaches slowly for Ja'far's hand again. "Yeah. It's close."

"Good." Ah, he's really bad at this. Holding Sinbad's hand he can do, though. "I'm sorry again for stringing you up from the ceiling."

"I didn't mind that so much. I deserved it, and I'd have apologized to you, if that damn Ren kid hadn't showed up," Sinbad admits. "I just wish you'd stuck around."

"… Did you ever figure out what he wanted in the first place?" It's probably better to get off of more awkward topics and move to something productive.

"Judging by which brother it was and the way he broke in, something with computers," Sinbad says, grateful for the change in subjects. "He's supposed to be quite good with them. I looked him up after he showed up at my apartment, really obnoxious kid."

"I will make sure everything is appropriately protected, then, just in case." Ja'far heaves a long sigh. "They probably won't leave you alone lest you leave that favorite of theirs alone."

"But I have! I mean, yes, I've tried calling him," Sinbad admits, "and I tried to go see him a few times, at the studio and at his apartment, but as you said, that's not prohibited in his contract! And I haven't even done that lately. I've been too busy thinking about your freckles."

"You-wait, what?" Ja'far fixes a bland stare upon him. "What about them? They're just there."

Sinbad reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb over a freckled cheek. Ja'far can always slap him, after all. "They're intriguing. I always want to...I don't know, count them. Find patterns in them. Suck them off your skin."

At that, Ja'far feels his skin flush. "That sounds… time-consuming and also impossible?"

"But I like the impossible. The impossible is fun to try." Even now, Sinbad can't stop his eyes from tracking over the little spots, certain that his thumb should be feeling something, some bump or roughness, but encountering nothing but smooth skin.

"But-" Ja'far shuts his mouth for a moment, liking, in spite of himself, the way Sinbad's thumb feels brushing over his cheek. His eyes lid, head tipping forward, just slightly. "I guess-if that's what you like…"

Sinbad cups Ja'far's cheek, smiling at even the way Ja'far leans into his touch, something he'd thought he wouldn't feel again. "If you teach me what you like, this needn't be all about my pleasure."

"… But I liked everything last time." Ja'far blinks up at him through his bangs. "I just don't like it when you touch me in public, a lot of times."

"I will try to be better." That's pretty much as good as he can manage, and even though just now he'd promise much more, he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to Ja'far, all too well. "Are you worried someone will find out? It doesn't matter, you know."

Ja'far shakes his head. "It isn't that. I don't care. It's more… I don't want other people to watch. Why should they be privy to something like that? I'm not inviting them into my bedroom."

Sinbad decides that means Ja'far is being possessive, because that's adorable. "Very well. If I keep my hands off of you in public, does that mean I get to do it more in private?"

"Well," Ja'far says, head tilting, "I will be less likely to be annoyed with you, so the likelihood of me letting you touch me in private is higher."

"Ah, is that how it works? No wonder it took me ten years." He starts to tug Ja'far down to his lap, but stops, then stands, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. Doubtless you want some time to re-organize your things without me getting in your way?"

Ja'far's mouth twists into a slow smile. "You aren't in the way," he says. "But if you behave a little longer, I will take you out to dinner."

Sinbad promptly sits on his hands. "You may be onto something with this incentive business," he admits. "I can feel myself becoming better behaved already."