(Flashbacks con't, part three!)

Sinbad's books are about as bad as Ja'far expects.

Sinbad hardly needs to take a personal day when Ja'far is the one working on it all, but he does anyway, all to spend the afternoon and into the evening perched upon his couch with Ja'far. It's a little annoying, having the man hover around him when he's trying to work, but for the most part Sinbad leaves him be, only occasionally offering him wine or beer and shrugging it off when Ja'far declines time and time again.

"You need a bigger couch," Ja'far finally sighs out, stretching out his legs to drop them unceremoniously into Sinbad's lap. "Or you need to move. Pick one."

"I don't see why I should pick," Sinbad says cheerfully. "This is fine by me." He hesitates, looking down at Ja'far's feet. How many times has he seen Ja'far limping a bit after a long day, trying to keep everyone from seeing? Sinbad's seen the scars; there's not a place on Ja'far his old bosses had left alone, whether they were trying to punish him or improve him, Sinbad had never asked. I'll stop if he tells me to, he promises himself, and gently tugs off one of Ja'far 's socks, starting to rub his foot in slow, firm circles.

The touch surprises him, and Ja'far jerks with a squeak that he can't quite bite back. "Sin-" Unfortunately, that sound of protest dissolves into a groan, and Ja'far sinks back, huffing out a breath that he wishes sounded a bit more annoyed as the motion sends a few pieces of paper fluttering to the floor. "You don't… have to do that."

Sinbad turns, giving Ja'far a slightly shy little smile. "You're doing work for me, it's the least I can do. Unless it doesn't feel good?" He drags his thumb up the arch of Ja'far's foot, feeling the tense pressure, and god, his feet are tiny.

"Doing work because-ahh-because I work for you," Ja'far protests on another groan, shutting his eyes briefly as his toes curl. That's just not fair. "Not that I can work like this, though," he mutters, flopping back uselessly and making an absent grabbing motion towards the other man. "Give me one of yours, then. I won't have idle hands."

Sinbad's grin widens. "I was just trying to make your feet relax," he murmurs, twisting around to lay his foot in Ja'far's lap too. "Don't yell at me later when you get mad about the work you didn't get done."

"I can't work when you're doing that," Ja'far growls, and promptly grabs at Sinbad's bare foot with both of his hands. "I'm ticklish, and I know how tense I am, so it's literally impossible. You, on the other hand," he mutters, digging his thumbs into the bottom of Sinbad's foot and dragging them along the arch of it, "probably don't even need this."

Sinbad's breath leaves him in a sharp, sudden exhale, eyes lidding heavily. "Never get foot massages," he admits with a slow, shuddering breath. "God, that's nice."

"You're easy," Ja'far murmurs, rolling his eyes in vague amusement as he works his thumbs in slowly. "And you're not very tense, thankfully."

Sinbad squeezes his fingers down around Ja'far's heel, dragging in slow, even circles. "Not like you. How are your feet so tiny, anyway?"

Reflex bids him to kick, and Ja'far bites down another, rather squeaky noise as he squirms. "Don't remind me. It's so hard to find shoes in my size. Ahh, god, lighten up a bit, way too much-"

Ah.

Shit.

Ja'far really shouldn't sound so erotic when he squirms and moans like that.

Sinbad swallows hard, touching more gently as he shifts slightly, moving Ja'far's foot a small, hopefully unnoticeable distance further down his own leg as he does. "You're just too sensitive."

"I know, I told you I'm ticklish," Ja'far groans, sagging back as his fingers try to keep up their kneading along Sinbad's foot. More accurately, he sort of squeezes helplessly as his leg twitches within Sinbad's grasp and he wriggles back further into the couch in a reflexive attempt to get away. "You're going to kill me," is his sigh as he flops his head back over the arm of the couch.

Sinbad should not be thinking how good Ja'far looks right now, stretched out and-the only word is writhing because of his touch, plaintive little noises coming from his mouth, and he tries to remind himself sternly that no, no, this is Ja'far, this is the tiny kid who trusts him, and no one else in the whole goddamn world trusts him. That helps, and he switches to the other foot, working his way up and down the sole. "If you die, I'll stop massaging you," he promises, tweaking a toe.

"Nooo-" It's a rather pathetic sort of moan, but Ja'far can't find it in him to care right then, not when having his other foot worked on makes him squirm and kick anew, a shuddering breath escaping past his lips. He abandons his attempts at massaging Sinbad in return to grab one-handedly at the back of the couch, using it as some sort of grounding when all he wants to do is writhe. "No stopping."

A thousand remarks come to Sinbad's tongue, and somehow, he stops them. He knows instinctively, knows for certain that if he remarks on it, says you look like you want me to touch something else, or the way you look makes me want to kiss you right now, or anyone would think we were having sex if they heard you, Ja'far will stop. He'll flush embarrassed, and he'll see Sinbad not as his friend, but as just a man, as a potential threat.

Fuck that.

Still, Sinbad's eyes trail up one leg as his fingers work, eyes tracing the line of a sweetly curved thigh, and damn but college has put some nice meat on Ja'far's bones. "You grew like a weed while you were gone. What did they feed you? I'll buy the same."

"Don't you dare," Ja'far bemoans, his head lolling to the side as his fingers knead against the back of the couch helplessly. His foot flexes in Sinbad's hold, a slow twitch and quiver of muscles dragging up the entirety of his leg. "Junk food, cafeteria food so bad that even I can tell-if I never have to eat it again, it'll be too soon."

God, this is ridiculous. Ja'far has to know, he has to know how erotic he's being, Sinbad's getting surer of it with every minute. Maybe this is a test, he thinks desperately, and slowly works one hand up the back of Ja'far's heel, to massage the tight, tense muscle of one calf. "Gotta feed you something. I can afford more than chicken noodle and peanut butter now. Obviously."

"That doesn't mean I'm picky," he gasps out, leg twitching anew when Sinbad's fingers work up higher. "That's-ahh, god-" That might have been a curse in Russian that follows-or five.

"Up." Sinbad bends Ja'far's legs, standing and holding out a hand. "Come on, you're getting a full massage where I've got room for it. I bet you've never had one before, have you?"

Ja'far stares at him, a little dazed, and slowly shakes his head as he reaches out to take Sinbad's hand. "Haven't," he manages, hauling himself to his feet (albeit in a sort of wobbly fashion).

"Well, now's your chance." Sinbad tugs Ja'far towards the bedroom with an arm around his waist, all too reminiscent of helping a young boy with the flu down to the showers. "Strip to whatever you're comfortable in, I've even got massage oil."

Ja'far sort of flops against the foot of the bed once he gets there, tugging off his shirt in short order. "… You're sure you want to keep working on my legs?" he warily presses, fingers on the waistband of his pants. "I kick. And squirm. And am generally unpleasant."

"You've been hanging out with too many people who don't appreciate your particular flavor of pleasantness," Sinbad says easily, tweaking Ja'far's nose. "But I don't mind, wherever you think you need it most."

"… All right," is the sigh of a response, and Ja'far wriggles his way out of his pants, nude when he flops onto the bed. It's hardly the first time he's been naked around Sinbad-and god knows Sinbad is far more guilty of that than he.

Shit, Ja'far has grown up.

Sinbad's seen him naked a dozen times and hardly noticed, but Ja'far's certainly never had an ass like that before. Junk food, huh? Make a note for shopping…

He leaves his jeans on, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he climbs on top of Ja'far, dribbling some of the massage oil onto his back, letting his hands slide through it, working up and down the lean, tense muscles there. "Always so tense. You love work so much, I figured doing it would relax you more."

"I told you your couch wasn't the ideal work environment with you clinging to me all day," Ja'far groans, burying his face down into a pillow as his fingers clench into the sheets. His back muscles fairly twitch underneath Sinbad's touch. "Next time, I'm starting in… ahh… an actual… office… or desk…"

"You can have Nathan's office, of course. I'll, uh, have it cleaned first," Sinbad promises, working his thumbs slowly under Ja'far's shoulderblades. "Don't be mad at me for clinging, I missed you."

"Not mad, just pointing it out." He was going to say something else, but the words catch in his throat when something unravels at the top of his back and leaves him sagging into the mattress. "God."

"By the time I'm done," Sinbad promises, running his thumbs down either side of Ja'far's spine, working up to his neck, "I won't have to worry about you kicking me. You won't have a working muscle left. In a good way."

Ja'far manages a sort of strangled moan in response, unable to really respond or complain at that idea when his head lolls forward and firmly down into a pillow.

Sinbad grins, moving on to the tense, hunched muscles of Ja'far's shoulders. God, he's glad he'd said nothing, this is better than sex, especially with Ja'far. This is trust, something Ja'far never gives out, and it's at least as intimate as the vast majority of sex Sinbad has had in his life, slowly working out the kinks of Ja'far's body, feeling his entirely authentic groans and wriggles. "Just relax," he murmurs. "You're home with me now."

"And you have a nice bed," is the groan to follow, tension melting away in layers beneath Sinbad's fingers. Ja'far is fairly certain he'd kill anyone else that tried to put their hands on him like this, but Sinbad is different, and also, very, very good at this. "That was a good purchase."

"Glad you approve. It actually cost more than the lease of my car, but I thought it was worth it. Has some kind of technology they only use in planes and space stations, but I just thought it was the softest one I've ever tried." Gently, Sinbad brushes Ja'far's hair neatly down, rubbing his fingertips up the sides of his jaw, to his temples. "Maybe that's why I don't share it very often."

"Hardly believe that," Ja'far murmurs, not unkindly, a low, rumbling sound pulling from his throat as his eyes flutter shut. "You said you had girlfriends."

"I do." Sinbad's smile is a little rueful, rubbing back down again behind Ja'far's ears, down to the front of his shoulders. "Not the kind of girlfriends you bring home. We hook up at their place, or in the studio."

"Mmnnn, shouldn't sleep with your employees," he infers. It's not fair, how those careful touches send shivers from the source of unraveling muscle all the way to his fingertips. "Bad idea, what if you fight later?"

"I don't sleep with my employees, I have more professional pride than that," Sinbad says with a gentle pinch to one shoulder. "Girls just want to see where the magic happens so I give them a tour. You know, so they can feel like a bad girl, on the set of a porno flick, without actually doing anything mommy and daddy can find out about."

"Ah, reassuring," Ja'far sighs out, turning his head to press his cheek to the mattress. "I thought I was going to have to scold you more."

"I'm not entirely useless without you around," Sinbad murmurs, working his slow way down Ja'far's arms, amazed when he finds tension there too. "Just unhappy."

His fingers twitch, far from on their own accord, and Ja'far bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a stupidly high pitched noise over just having his damned arms worked on. "… If you were so unhappy about it," he manages on an exhale, "you should have said something."

"Just because I missed you doesn't mean I wanted you to come home. I mean, I did want you to come home," Sinbad admits, working down to forearms, then down to one hand at a time. "I just didn't want you to come home because I was unhappy. You wanted to go to school to help me, I thought that was great. If you can get in to a school like Harvard, you should definitely take advantage of it."

"… Still." Ja'far's eyes crack open, watching Sinbad work on his hands through hooded lids. "If you had asked me to stay here, I would have. School is school, wherever it is."

"But I didn't want you to stay because I asked you to." Sinbad switches to the other hand, dragging his thumbs down the palm, slowly tugging on each finger. "Besides…." He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

"Besides?" Ja'far echoes, exhaling a slow, measured breath as he watches the odd little twitches of pleasure run through his fingers.

Sinbad sits back on Ja'far's thighs, tipping out a bit more oil as he starts working his way down Ja'far's back. After a few quiet moments, he says, "You've never had any friends but me. If I tried to keep you with me….I mean, that's abuse. Stockholm Syndrome, whatever. You deserve the chance to decide what you want to make of your own life, and if it's with me, that's wonderful, but if it's somewhere else….I'll be happy as long as you're happy."

"… I've never had any other friends because I don't desire anyone else's company," Ja'far lowly drawls, letting his eyes flutter shut again with a long, drawn-out sigh. "You're over-thinking this. That's my job, not yours."

Sinbad's mouth quirks in a little smile, hands working down to the small of Ja'far's back. "I'm not stupid," he says softly. "I just don't understand why someone who doesn't like the idea of sex wants to work for a porn company."

"Because-ahh-it's your… company," Ja'far manages to bite out around a groan, squirming underneath the touch and grabbing at the pillow as a means to try and stop. "I wouldn't care if you were money laundering. I'd still do it with you."

Sinbad's hands pause. "Is it okay if I keep going?" he asks. "I don't want to skip important muscle groups, but if it's gonna make you tense up and undo all my hard work, I will."

"I'm already half a puddle, just do it," he huffs in response, flopping his head down helplessly. Besides, it's just a massage. Sinbad has made that very clear, at least.

Satisfied with that answer, Sinbad works his thumbs into the big muscles at the top of Ja'far's ass, working down with as much professionalism as on his shoulders. He prides himself on his massages, working slowly and meticulously, sticking to the muscles and not, definitely not making a comment about how round and sweet and juicy Ja'far's gotten. Nope. "Did you make any friends? Any fun classes?"

"N…o…" Ahh, he's going to die. That shouldn't feel so good, and it makes tension start to unravel in his thighs, making his nerves spark before they melt and go nearly numb. "Mmn… well… one. Took an elective… toxicology. Poisons. Venom. I like snakes."

Sinbad laughs, working his way down to the tops of Ja'far's thighs, fingers and thumbs digging into the big muscles. "I remember. Remember that corn snake I found in the desert? I thought you were going to take him home with us."

"Wanted to," Ja'far wistfully sighs out, and his legs sort of spread wider-as much as they can, at any rate, what with how they want to tremble and twitch. "He was cute."

"He actually was," Sinbad admits, remembering the twitchy little face he'd woken up to, perched on his chest as if he were a sunning rock. "When you get settled into your apartment, you can get a pet snake, you know. We'll make sure to get somewhere that allows pets."

"Given up on keeping me here already?"

Sinbad blinks. "You said you wanted your own place," he points out, working his way down one thigh. "I…." His hands still, and he sits back on his knees for a moment. "If you want to move in to my apartment, I want you here. If you want to move in to my bedroom, and keep a dozen snakes all over the place and yell at me for kicking and turn my home gym into a library, I want you here. You said you wanted to go, so I'm okay with that."

Ja'far twists around, propping himself onto one, shaky elbow before giving up and flopping back down in short order. "I just… don't want to make things difficult. And I think we might drive one another crazy, eventually. I think I have gotten too used to living on my own."

"You mean," Sinbad says carefully, "that you think I'd drive you nuts. I've lived with you before without being driven insane, I doubt I've gotten any worse at it."

"I think I've gotten a bit more… ah, what's the term-OCD? Something like that. Over the past year and a half," Ja'far wryly admits. "You don't want me reorganizing your things fifty times."

Sinbad doesn't argue. It doesn't seem like it'll help much, anyway. "Well, whatever you decide. And you can still stay here as long as you like no matter what, whether it's until you find an apartment or until I break you of that reorganization thing. Or until I can find you some better clothing," he adds, working his way down to Ja'far's calves. "Turn over, I'm gonna do your front."

"… What's wrong with the way I dress?" Ja'far suspiciously returns, and slowly, painstakingly, flops over onto his back.

Sinbad starts low, deeming that the least dangerous part, working up Ja'far's legs in slow, measured slides. "You dress like a little girl wearing her mother's castoffs," he says bluntly. "Or a hipster. Same thing."

"I'm just wearing what's comfortable. Most of my time was spent in a library or my dorm, why should I bother getting dressed up?" Ja'far defensively retorts, giving into the urge to kick a bit.

"It's not appropriate for an accountant of a successful modeling studio, though," Sinbad says, working his way up to Ja'far's thighs, an appreciative little smile on his face. "We'll have to get you some adult clothes, like suits."

"Mmn. Which I'll wear when I'm not pouring over your books. Modeling, that sounds so innocent."

"Modeling," Sinbad says, mock-sternly, "involves arranging humans in tasteful ways for aesthetic appreciation. I fail to see how I'm not doing exactly that."

Ja'far calmly puts his foot in Sinbad's face. "Tasteful. Key word."

"And who decides what is tasteful, exactly?" Sinbad counters. "Is Rodin's 'The Kiss' tasteful? It shows two lovers in a passionate, adulterous, nude embrace. That's in an art museum, and I'm some kind of sleazeball?"

"I didn't say you were a sleazeball," Ja'far sighs, dropping his foot down again. "Just that most porn isn't exactly tasteful by definition. More power to you, I suppose, if you create something that is."

"Have you…" Sinbad's eyes widen, and he moves up to Ja'far's stomach and chest. "You haven't seen any of my stuff, have you?"

"Well… no. I don't exactly seek it out," Ja'far admits, sinking back into the mattress. "You know I have the sex drive of a… what's something that has a very low sex drive?"

"Panda," Sinbad supplies immediately. "But you were just a kid, I figured that might have changed."

"It's only been a year and a half," Ja'far wryly points out. "I haven't changed very much."

"You put on inches! Lots of inches!" Somehow, Sinbad refrains from looking down between Ja'far's legs. It's difficult. "Besides, I thought you might be interested. You know, because it's me. On a purely aesthetic level."

"Only a few! And just in my legs, it took awhile to let out all the hems in my pants," Ja'far sighs. "And I can't say that I ever really wanted to watch something like that, but if it's part of the job-are you still actually in the movies you're making nowadays? Or just producing?"

Sinbad works his way up, straddling Ja'far's hips and massaging his chest and shoulders, mentally congratulating himself for every single second he doesn't kiss the boy. "I'm still in them sometimes. Only when I think it'll be a big draw, though, and we're putting out so many films I don't have time to do them all. I'll officially retire soon."

"Mm, good. You have a lot more important things to focus on." He feels rather like a puddle at this point, pleasantly melted and wobbly, and so he gives up and shuts his eyes again, not even having the strength to squirm.

Sinbad's hands don't stop, gently moving over the front of Ja'far's shoulders, down his arms and back up, considerably pleased. "You really didn't make any friends at college? I mean, you're not exactly outgoing, but someone must have taken a shine to you."

"Do my professors count?" Ja'far returns, exhaling a heavy whoosh of a sigh. "Friends are just distracting. I didn't go there to make friends."

"Professors can count," Sinbad decides after a moment's consideration. "If you talked about things other than schoolwork. By the way, I want you to meet my-okay, don't tense up, I know how you get, but I want you to meet my new bodyguard."

Ja'far tenses up. "Your new bodyguard? And what else would a professor and I talk about except schoolwork?"

Sinbad waves the second question away. "New after you left," he explains. "He was a good kid, he needed a place to stay, and he doesn't have any mathy-skills like you. Seemed like the least I could offer him."

His eyes narrow a bit, but Ja'far slowly, reluctantly relaxes back again. "What are you, a child collector?"

"Only the children who don't mind being collected," Sinbad says cheerfully, then pauses. "That sounds creepy, doesn't it? Whatever, I'm not sleeping with him."

"Thank you, for that additional bit of information," Ja'far drawls. "Well, I hope he's at least good at his job." It shouldn't ruffle him that Sinbad has someone else around in his absence to protect him.

"Pretty good. I'm not dead yet, right?" Sinbad puts the rest of the information away until tomorrow. He's just gotten Ja'far relaxed, no need to bother him with talk of Kou Studios right now. "You'll like him, he doesn't talk."

Ja'far squints up at him. "… How do you stand him, then?"

Sinbad shrugs. "He's good at a lot of stuff. Just not talking. Great for lifting heavy things, though! Poor kid was in a gang, way too young, I actually got into a knife fight to get him out of it."

It's going to give him hives, hearing about all of the things Sinbad did in his absence to nearly get himself killed. "Can you not tell me things like that right now?"

Sinbad's brow furrows, and he stretches out, laying comfortably on top of Ja'far. "Worried about little old me?"

Ja'far opens his mouth, then settles back with another sigh, flopping an arm over Sinbad's back. "It's… troubling, to think I wasn't here when you were nearly getting yourself killed," he admits.

"Doesn't matter. You're back now. Here, feel, I'm perfectly healthy."

"You're certainly perfectly heavy, at least," Ja'far mumbles, but makes no attempt to shove Sinbad off.

"You're less bony than before," Sinbad points out, snuggling happily onto his side, pulling Ja'far to his chest. "It's fabulous, much better for things like this."

"I'm starting to think you just want to keep me around as one of those… squishy stress ball things," Ja'far sighs, but nevertheless lets himself be pulled around and thoroughly cuddled. Sinbad is warm, at least, and he can't complain about much when his limbs feel like goo.

"One that complains a lot," Sinbad agrees, spooning up comfortably. "I do feel much less stressed when I'm squishing you, that's for sure."

"Good to know." Ja'far's eyes shut as he presses his face to Sinbad's shoulder. "For what it's worth… I am glad to be back here again. With you."

For a while, all the strange thoughts of how Ja'far's body has changed, the creeping heat of being so close, and the way the easy, affectionate touches don't feel quite so innocent disappear, and Sinbad presses a friendly kiss to the top of Ja'far's head. "Good. I'm gonna try to keep you happy. You're gonna be proud of my company and me, I promise."

"Don't be stupid," Ja'far sighs in return. "I already am."

A few weeks pass, and it's hard to remember why he ever left in the first place.

First of all, cleaning out Nathan's 'office' is a bit of an adventure, but other than that, working for Sinbad is surprisingly easy. It makes him wonder what he needs college for, and if not for that little urge to finish everything he starts, Ja'far doubts he'd even bother going back-especially with how clingy Sinbad has been since his return. It's sort of pathetic in a way, really…

Whatever. Ja'far can't deny that he missed Sinbad as well, and so being able to curl up behind a desk and sort through numbers while the man hovers somewhere near in the other room is nice. Also, he's right. Masrur, his new bodyguard, is very pleasant company.

"Ja'faaaaaaaaar!"

The drawn-out call is high-spirited and light, Sinbad bounding in from the studio's main floor, over-excited and eager. "Ja'far, I just signed a new actor! Check over all the paperwork and start background checks, will you? I don't want anything to go wrong!" He looks around at the office, eyes lighting up. "Wow, you really finished making this place your own, huh? It looks great!"

"If by great, you mean clean," Ja'far drawls, shutting a file folder on his desk and reaching out to take the new paperwork from Sinbad's hands. "Honestly, I don't know how you didn't have rats from the mess he left behind. Also, I have to ask-what constitutes 'bad' in a background check for a porn star? Some of your other actors do have records, after all."

Sinbad waves that away, finding a clean spot on Ja'far's desk and hopping up onto it, legs swinging. "Anything in the last year with violence needs to be checked out, anything they didn't report but beeps should be checked out, more than three convictions for drugs should be red-flagged, stuff like that. I think….three? Of my guys have records. I checked them out, two were self-defense and one was a wrong-place, wrong-time kind of thing."

"Fair enough," Ja'far replies, sighing in brief annoyance at the sight of Sinbad on his desk before shaking his head and turning away to his computer. "Do you have to sit there?" he casually tosses over, grabbing his reading glasses and perching them onto his nose while he types. "I have chairs."

"Not hurting anything," Sinbad says with a grin, kicking his legs. "You look cute in glasses, how come I haven't seen that before?"

"Because I never bothered before-school ruined my eyes," Ja'far grumbles, twitching a bit at the sound of Sinbad's feet thumping against the side of his desk. "Did you need something else? This background check isn't going to happen instantly, you know."

"Ah, not really," Sinbad admits. "Just want to make sure you rush that one through, the kid's dad was friends with Rashid, I figured it was the least I could do, get him a leg up, so to speak."

"Yes, yes, I'll rush it." Ja'far leans back, stretching his arms up over his head with a sigh. "Oh, while you're here-I was thinking, by the way… about next semester."

"You-ah." Sinbad composes his face, trying as hard as he can to wipe out the sudden apprehension. "If you leave again, of course, I'll leave it to you to find your replacement. Don't want you coming back to another Nathan infestation."

"I was thinking to switching to an online study." The younger man tilts his head, looking at Sinbad from over his glasses. "Assuming you want me to keep working here after another week of me micromanaging your business for you."

Sinbad's face lights up, and he makes no effort to hide his relief and delight. "Stay forever! I'll cut back on your work load, of course-do you want to hire an assistant? That can easily be arranged."

Ja'far makes a face at that. "Absolutely not. I don't want anyone else interfering with the way I do things, I have enough mess to clean up as is. Now, will you stop making those sad puppy dog faces all the time?"

"How the hell do you sound so much like a mom all the time?" Sinbad asks with a laugh, jumping up off the desk to tug Ja'far's hair. "Don't answer that, I probably don't want to know. Are you coming home with me tonight, or have you found an apartment yet?"

"I don't sound like a mom," Ja'far protests, reaching up to bat Sinbad's hands away. "And-ah, I'm still looking for apartments. You don't mind if I stay a bit longer at your place, do you?"

"I told you you can stay forever," Sinbad reminds him. "You're the one who's so eager to be sick of me. I'm going out with the boys before heading home, you want to come?"

"I'm not eager to be sick of you-trust me, I wish you were a neater person," Ja'far sniffs, leaning back and folding his arms. "And no, I'll pass. Just don't come home too drunk, I don't want to listen to you."

Sinbad pauses at the door, sighing dramatically. "For someone who says he likes me, you sure hate everything about me."

"Is today guilt trip day or something?" Ja'far snaps, scowling over at him. "Get out, I have work to do."

Sinbad leaves with a laugh, heading out with his friends, all of them piling somehow into a taxicab.

Four, maybe five hours later, a pleasant buzz in his mind that isn't enough to make his steps or his words clumsy, he finds his way home, unlocking the door and going immediately to the bedroom, taking off his clothes as he goes. "Ja'far? You home yet?"

Ja'far's head pokes out from the blankets, glasses still perched atop his nose as he uncoils himself from around the book he holds. "You don't reek of alcohol," he remarks, rolling onto his back. "That's an improvement. Did you have a good time?"

"Had fun," Sinbad agrees, tossing his tie and jacket on the floor, kicking off his shoes as he crawls in next to Ja'far. "Kid's got a weird stage name picked out, but I think he's got great stage presence. And I'm not really one to talk, huh?"

"Mm… at least you sound like a porn star," Ja'far wryly replies, shutting his book and pulling his glasses off to set them both aside. "I ran that background for you, by the way. Nothing but a bit of petty theft. I'm assuming that passes the bar."

"Yeah, his family's fallen on hard times lately. He's a good kid, told me about that himself. Felt like he was a burden on his family so he stole some cash to buy a new coat." He shakes his head, shaking the ponytail out of his hair. "Times are shit, man."

"They certainly are. Your hair is going to end up strangling me in my sleep one of these nights," Ja'far adds on a sigh, watching it pool down Sinbad's back.

"As if you wouldn't wake up while being strangled," Sinbad sniffs. "Knowing you, you'd have a knife out and hacking off my hair before you even turned red."

"Probably. It's sort of obscenely long, it could use a trim."

"I had it trimmed last month!" Sinbad protests. "Come on, it's my signature. At least I take good care of it, most of the guys with long hair can't say that."

Ja'far tilts his head, eyeing it. "Looks a little ratty to me right now."

"Shut your mouth." Sinbad huffs out a breath, turning his back on Ja'far and throwing himself down onto the bed.

A shake of his head, and Ja'far reaches over him, grabbing the comb off of Sinbad's nightstand. "That was an offer, by the way," he murmurs, gathering up Sinbad's hair into his hands as he stretches out next to the other man. "There's no way you can comb all of this properly yourself, anyway."

"Tell me it's pretty," Sinbad mumbles into the pillow. "Tell me my hair is nice. And if you say the g-word I'm going to gay-marry Nathan in a giant ceremony that the studio will pay for."

"… G-word?" Ja'far hazards with a blink, and he slowly works his way through Sinbad's hair, fingers plucking out the worst tangles. "You do have nice hair, though."

"That's better." If Ja'far doesn't remember the horrible, hateful word he'd brought up months ago, Sinbad isn't going to remind him. "You have nice fingers. Most people pull too hard."

"I'd like to think I know how to handle your hair by now." The comb glides without hitch through that particular section of hair, and Ja'far moves onto the next. "You just have a lot of it. I don't know how you stand it…"

"It's easier when I have you to take care of it," Sinbad admits happily, stretching out his limbs. "You'd think girls would be better about doing it, but they always seem to think you can handle more pain if you're a man."

Ja'far makes a face at that, and runs the comb up high along Sinbad's scalp. "Unnecessary."

"Gotta have a gimmick. It was popular when all I had to sell was looking good on camera," Sinbad points out. "Now it's kind of my trademark. I'm bringing non-sleazy ponytails back."

"… And replacing them with slutty ones," Ja'far mildly replies.

"Rude. What's slutty about this? I've worn it this way since I was a kid. No one thought it was slutty when my mom tied it back, that was just the way they did it in her country."

"You know, the mom card doesn't work with me because I barely remember my mother, and she also sold me to the mob."

Sinbad frowns. "Okay, that's a decent point. Hey…" He reaches up, stroking a thumb down Ja'far's arm. "How come you've never told me your real name?"

Ja'far hesitates, a little shrug following before he keeps up his slow, methodical combing. "Because it doesn't matter. I don't want to use something they gave me."

"But you're using the name a terrorist group gave you instead, and they tortured you and made you kill people."

"At least they wanted me."

Sinbad winces. Ouch. He turns, gripping Ja'far's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I want you."

Ja'far's lips twitch at that. "I know. That's why I'm here as a Harvard business drop out."

"You didn't need it." Sinbad butts his head against Ja'far's hand, smiling upside-down at him. "If you'd wanted to be an entrepreneur, that's one thing, but all you ever wanted to do was help me, right? You keep telling me you don't care about money. Stop wasting it on Harvard, I like you just the way you are."

"… Then I guess I'll send in my withdrawal papers officially tomorrow." Ja'far's eyes lid, heaving a little sigh as he gives Sinbad's hair a gentle tug. "What a waste of time and your money. I should have just done the online school thing from the beginning. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. It's good for you to get out and experience stuff. And if it means you're happy to stay here with me now, it's money and time well spent."

"As long as you're sure." Ja'far snorts lightly, finishing up his combing and setting the comb aside as he flops back. "Though I think I mostly experienced the library. That's not a bad thing, though. Also, it's cold up there… it reminded me of where I was born, a little."

Sinbad twists around, pulling Ja'far back against him as he curls up, burying his face in Ja'far's shoulder. "You never have to go back to anywhere you don't want to be," he murmurs. "Just stay with me, I'll keep you safe forever."

"You're being dumb," Ja'far immediately protests, huffing out a breath into the top of Sinbad's head. "You're not supposed to protect me. I work for you to do that, remember?"

"You're dumb," Sinbad counters. "I have to protect the person that's protecting me, or I'll be unprotected!"

"That's not how a bodyguard works! That's defeating the purpose!"

"You're just mad because you got an easy job, being a bodyguard slash tax accountant for someone everybody likes," Sinbad teases. "Come on, no one's going to take a hit out on me. I'm lovable."

"But you're rich, and because you're well-liked, that makes people angry," Ja'far protests, wriggling back to frown at him. "People have died for far less."

Sinbad waves a hand. "No one's going to kill me for my money, I have a will set up. The only people who don't like me are other studios who think I make them look bad."

Ja'far's frown deepens. "Isn't that for me to determine, not you? Honestly, Sin, you can be very oblivious at times…"

"That's why I hired Masrur!" Sinbad tugs Ja'far closer, flicking off the light with one long arm. "I'm not that dumb. Have you sparred with him yet, tried him out? He's a hulking guy, right? I'd think twice about tangling with him, guy that size."

"I haven't, and he certainly looks formidable…" Then again, size means little over skill, but Ja'far bites his tongue all the same. He sighs, pressing his face down into the sheets. "Whatever. I'm sure between the two of us, we will be able to keep you in one piece."

"That's all I ask. You two do that, and I'll take care of everything else." With Ja'far at his side, Sinbad is actually convinced he can do it.

It's strange, the way his body moves even when he's unconscious, and Sinbad would have sworn that he hadn't moved from where he'd fallen asleep, except that he wakes up in the same position hours later, stark naked and curled up against Ja'far.

And interested.

It had been easy to pretend before, but now, feeling that soft skin, that soft hair against his face, Sinbad bites his lip, feeling all too acutely the way the stiff head of his cock is pressed against one of Ja'far's soft, supple thighs.

Because that's not awkward or anything.

It's another, long moment before Ja'far actually stirs, waking courtesy of the way Sinbad's breath shortens, no longer the long, easy rhythm of sleep. At first, he pauses, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark room, making sure no one else is around and trying to kill them before he shifts where he lays, and-

Oh.

His face lights bright red, and Ja'far is certain that such a thing is visible even in the dim light. Maybe, maybe if he doesn't move or say anything-

It's wrong, of course, to take advantage of Ja'far while he's sleeping, and Sinbad doesn't. He just….

Well, he can't quite help the way his hips twitch, just a little, in a steady, slow, needy little rhythm, rubbing gently against Ja'far's thigh, eyes still squeezed shut in the hopes that maybe, maybe he won't notice until afterwards.

It was too much to hope that this would just go away.

Ja'far bites his lip, sucking a slow, measured breath. Really, he should have expected it. Sinbad is Sinbad, after all, and the man has never quite been able to keep it in his pants. That's never really extended to him until now, but sleeping naked in a bed together sort of lends itself to that opportunity.

Still. He can't let it just… happen.

"… S-sin-" Ja'far swallows. Ah, yes, this is very awkward. "Sin-can you... not?"

Sinbad freezes. He'd been preoccupied, too preoccupied to notice that Ja'far is awake, and he should pull away, should give a little self-deprecating laugh and apologize.

But he's so hard.

"Sorry," he mutters, swallowing hard, though he can't quite pull away. "If you-if you don't mind-it'll be fast, I won't hurt you-"

"I… ah… I… mind."

Haven't they had this conversation before, when Sinbad has tried to shove a girl in his lap, or drag him to a strip club? This is a dozen times worse in a way, because it's Sinbad, and something like this could make things so complicated between them when it shouldn't be.

Ja'far's face is still blazing when he wriggles away-or tries to, what with Sinbad's arm tight around him. "Sorry. I'll go sleep somewhere else."

This is not what Sinbad wants.

He forces himself to wake up the rest of the way (difficult, when other parts of his anatomy are clamoring louder for his attention than his mind is) and reaches a hand down, shoving his cock down between his legs. "Sorry," he says again, more chagrined. "You can sleep here, I won't do anything. It happened in my sleep, I'm sorry."

Sinbad sounds like such a kicked puppy that Ja'far can't help but think he's in the wrong for saying no. He shakes his head firmly, grabbing up his pants, discarded the night before, and pulling them on. "It's fine, really. I'll just… the couch is fine."

Sinbad sits up, the sheets falling off of him as he watches, crestfallen. "You-shit, I'm sorry, you don't have to go, it's just something that happens!"

"I'm not mad at you." Ja'far sucks in a steadying breath, his hand already on the door. "We'll just-sleep better, like this. Probably."

"Dammit, are you afraid of me?" Sinbad demands, standing and throwing out a hand, holding the door shut. "If you're not afraid of me, and you're not mad at me, you shouldn't have any problem, I said I won't do it again!"

"You and I both know you can't guarantee that!" Ja'far yanks angrily on the door once before glaring up at Sinbad. "And that's never happened before, so if it's that unpredictable-I didn't even know you were even…" He trails off, flustered, face turning red again. "Interested. In me."

Sinbad's face flushes too, and he swallows hard. "I…"

Shit, cards on the table, he's never gotten anything by being coy. "Right, the truth of it is that it happened in my sleep and you could have been anyone," he admits. "But also, you did get really hot, and since you came back...I like looking at you. If you weren't so noisy about not wanting to have sex with anyone, I'd have already asked you, or tried to kiss you."

"I… I didn't get hot! I blend in with your furniture!" Ja'far protests, waving a hand in flustered dismissal. "You're just saying that because you missed me and wanted me to stay-I already told you I would, so just… quit it! You never have sex with guys except when it comes to your films, don't think I don't remember that!"

"I-"

Sinbad throws up his hands, leaning heavily against the door. "I don't know! I've never wanted to, but you came back all-grown-up, you know? Look, don't be mad at me for noticing, I just think you're really gorgeous and-but if you don't want to, that's fine, just don't get freaked out!"

"You're insane," Ja'far huffs out, grabbing at the doorknob again no matter how Sinbad leans against the damned thing with all of his weight. "I'm not-I'm not freaked out. I'm just… don't you think that would make things awkward? Plus, I'm not gorgeous, and definitely not the kind of person that needs to be the… boyfriend-" God, that word is strange. "-of a porn producer."

"Okay, but forget about all that." Sinbad moves, pressing Ja'far back against the door, blocking the way with his body. "Just forget about awkwardness and what kind of person you think you are and what kind of person you think I am, okay? Just….all that matters to me is if you want me or not."

Ja'far swallows, the hard bob of his throat decidedly nervous. All right. Maybe he is a little bit freaked out. "I… haven't ever thought about it." And that's the truth, at least. "I don't… I don't really… do the sex thing. So that's already a big issue, I know how you are-"

Sinbad raises his eyebrows. "Oh? And how am I?" Ja'far looks like a nervous rabbit, but dammit, he wants answers.

"You have a lot of sex. With a lot of people." Ja'far looks up at him, eyes panicky. "Can you… not pin me like this? It kind of makes me want to stab you. Reflex."

Immediately, Sinbad pulls back, sitting on the bed. "I just didn't want you to run away," he says quietly. "Doesn't…." He exhales a breath, annoyed. "Doesn't your dick work? You have to know that it doesn't speak for all of a man, right?"

Ja'far sags back against the door before slowly sliding down to flop onto the floor, rather like a puppet with cut strings. "It works just fine, I guess. I just have never… it has nothing to do with you," he suddenly, worriedly adds, glancing up. "I don't want to have sex with anyone. That would be a problem, wouldn't it? Because you obviously want to… do that with me, and I don't, so you'd just get frustrated and then your feelings would get hurt and I don't want to ruin anything."

Sinbad debates for a moment sounding disgusting, and decides that it can't be much worse than what Ja'far's already felt from him today. "Look….yes, I like sex. And yes, I want you, okay? But….okay, first of all, I can still be friends with someone after that. And second of all, I want to have sex with like, everyone. Not most guys, sure, but you're….special, so whatever, that doesn't mean it's gonna hurt me if you say no." He swallows, raking a hand back through his hair. "Can you….still trust me? And be my friend, even knowing that I think you're really hot and sometimes I might think about you like that?"

Slowly, Ja'far nods, his expression still worried. "… Yeah." Even though you're wrong, and wasting your time, and this is already stupidly awkward. "But… I still think I really should go sleep on the couch."

Sinbad sighs. "If you want. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of this to happen, I was trying to ignore it."

"You need a real girlfriend," Ja'far mumbles, slowly heaving himself up and to his feet.

"I have lots of girlfriends," Sinbad counters. "I just don't want to sleep next to them every night."

"Then you need to find one that you want to do that with."

Sinbad looks up, meeting Ja'far's eyes, and asks softly, "What if the one I want to do that with...doesn't want to do that with me?"

"… You're guilt-tripping me," Ja'far quietly replies. "And that's not very fair."

"I was asking a question. I'm sorry if it made you feel guilty." Ugh, the bed is cold when it's just him, and Sinbad slumps back, a veritable thundercloud gathering over his head.

It's probably in his best interest not even to reply, especially when he doesn't know what to say. Ja'far makes a grab for the door, this time escaping in short order. Somehow, he's fairly certain he made this a dozen times more awkward than it was already going to be.