No matter where he was, or who he was with, Sinbad could not be denied his nature. He had been created by the Gods themselves to a thief. Proteus knew for certain that this was a fact. For Sinbad had returned to Syracuse after ten years, and with those God granted powers, he had stolen the heart of the prince, again.
What a foolish prince this had to be, Proteus mused, to fall for a wanted criminal. If knowledge of their love reached others ears, disaster would befall them. But Proteus had spent ten years without his best friend and lover. He couldn't stand to lose the man again. He just wasn't sure what he would choose: Syracuse, or the man he loved?
They would have to treat their situation carefully. No one could know. Not the servants, not their friends, not his father. They would both just have to wear kid gloves for the rest of their lives together.
The thought of Sinbad's large, chapped hands enfolded in kid gloves made him snort – a most unprincely like gesture. Beside him, Sinbad stirred, lifting his hat from his confused face. Proteus grinned at him, pushing himself up on his elbows so he hovered over his love. "I'm learning horrible habits from you." He teased, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
Grinning, Sinbad tangled his hand in his loose hair. "Let me teach you another one."