Night Two: Fifty Kisses

Night-time and its accompanying shadows had long since descended, and for a reason Judal couldn't remember – nor cared to know – he found himself alone in those same rooms Sinbad had stayed in. The difference was they were now his, even if the man's musty scent still clung to the walls and sheets once he was gone. He doubted it mattered in the slightest why he was there, anyway; he couldn't find the energy to care about such things. No, instead he just stared out, past that balcony and up to the bleached full moon high in the sky. Boredom played like a well rehearsed song upon the dark Magi's mind, and he found himself being more than a little complacent that night. Complacent enough for the ruby jewelled and malevolently hued ebony sceptre he often kept close to lie just beyond his reach.

A lazy summertime breeze wafted over him, and proved neither too soft nor too harsh. Painted, violet eyelids closed, concealing their crimson fire from the lavish and peaceful rooms, and his slim arms folded behind his head on the silken white pillows beneath him. He pondered when, exactly, he had tired and grew bored of such places. More and more it seemed pointless, as if he wanted more. Well, he knew what he wanted most; that idiot king who had a tendency to blunder into his life, mess up his plans, and refuse him at every given opportunity. How could he not notice an idiot like that? After all, no one refused his offers of power.

Well, such things were useless to think about. The dark Magi knew seeing that idiot was enough to keep alive that foolish dream of them allying - to make Sinbad his - within his mind. And besides, it was too tempting to resist catching another glimpse of him.

He considered, vaguely and with dwindling interest, just when in time he had been so over saturated and indulged in this luxury. It's all he had known and took it for granted – but he was special, so why then wouldn't he? It seemed freedom and power, even if they seemed mere names for things, proved very restricting when everything was so easy. He had little to gain or to lose, but then he was also liberated from contending with such things.

Come to think of it, in a way that perfect moon was just out of his reach, too. Maybe that was why it caught his eye – shining brightly and perfect, yet forever far away and mocking him. What an idiotic eyesore indeed – should he make the moon his? The thought made him smile for a moment, but that smile faded just as quickly.

Then it happened; and he froze.

He was aware of a sudden, yet light, pressure slip past one knee. And then the other. It was a touch that – seemed – like a hand, but surely it couldn't be one. It was lighter than a feather, and not unlike a kiss - from what he had been told a kiss was at least - and soft as an embrace. Glaring heatedly he looked down, and as such over the curves and shading of his own perfect nude form. Hm, now why was he naked again? Well, he didn't quite remember that, either. Clearly that was important; he just lacked the enthusiasm to really think about it.

That was, at least, in the brief and tenuous moment before his downwards gaze was met with a pair of amused, amber eyes.

Hm...that was definitely not what the oracle expected to see as he looked down.

"Good evening, Judal. Isn't this just such a lovely night?" Sinbad – that damned idiot king who always, always refused him; why was he talking to him so casually? And like this no less? He had seen much more pleasant evenings, anyway. Two palms stretched up, curling lightly over his softly toned, ivory body in the manner of a slightly wild, violet haired cat – even if such things didn't exist – calming his prey. Oh, he wished..."So, do you always sleep like this, or is this your way of apologising for breaking into my rooms earlier?"

"...The hell did you get in? Get out! This instant!" Judal yelled loudly, seeking to push those leering, perverted hands away from him.

"You know that's familiar, don't you? I asked you to leave earlier too, do you remember that?" shifting up, that king ran his immaculate nails gently over his prey's stomach, admiring the muscles there tense ever so slightly from his touch. Sinbad was dressed as he usually was – those robes of white and deep purple, and numerous gold and silver metal vessels glimmering over his chest, wrists and hands. He always had that casual grace of being both regal and practical; the dark Magi knew that and would never, never admit just how wonderful he found such a thing.

"Yeah, well...I'm who I am, so I can go anywhere I want to. You should know better though – you're meant to be a damned king aren't you?" he retorted loudly, or began to. A strong, yet gentle hand pressed over his protesting lips to silence him. He glared up furiously; this man didn't know his place.

"Ha, what are you going to do? Is someone powerful like you going to start begging for someone to help them?" he taunted him softly, running a jewelled thumb gently over his lips. Really, him of all people, being mocked – and by that man? The one who refused him so much? Ridiculous, but then surprisingly no one was running in to help him. Stranger still, no magoi was there, already bending to his whim. His eyes widened as satin-like lips drew down and pressed feathery warmth to his shoulder in a kiss. One kiss laid there...two...three...he had never been kissed before. "Or if you don't think you quite have everything in this world yet, Judal, I can give you something you really do want..."

...Six...and that idiot had descended to his chest. Still, there seemed no real way out – or more embarrassingly any help – there was just the alluring warmth and power of that man pressing down upon his body. His eyes widened; was this feeling helplessness? No, surely not, as he wasn't helpless in the slightest so why should he entertain such things? He struggled, enraged at being caught like this, and more importantly being caught by – him – of all people. How irresponsible for a king to actually...

...Eighteen...the aforementioned irresponsible, and often idiot, king had risen to his neck. He felt the strange, new sensation of the tip of a tongue gliding over his throat, as if savouring him. The bastard lingered before pressing his full weight upon him and reached up for his hands, holding them in his tightly. The dark Magi watched that sceptre of his roll away as he did, further way, and fell from the bed. He watched it shatter upon the white marble ground in a thousand, fractured shades of midnight, in fact. As if oblivious to such a thing, Sinbad took to loosening his hair, a bronzed hand drawing through its endless, ebony silky strands in a throaty and longing moan before burying his face in it.

...That sceptre was expensive, he thought to himself angrily. Twenty-seven, and he felt a whispering caress of breath meet with his ear, the hand not gripping his own tightly taking to cupping longingly at the soft, sensitive skin of his upper thigh. He trembled, shuddering, and for a moment was so...infatuated with that content, gentle expression that he carelessly forgot to glare.

"So you're not going to call out anymore then?" fingers played over a slightly – or maybe that was a little more than slightly – more sensitive part of him. Judal's body arched, and he cried out loudly as colour rose and stained his cheeks passion red. He felt a hand grasp and circle tightly round the organ that was throbbing – and steadily growing – between his legs and again struggled to get away. Sinbad really was going to ruin him; he actually had the audacity to do this. "...Such a beautiful voice; you're just like my own cute little songbird..."

"...S-stop it, go away. This isn't funny anymore you bastard..." not that it had been funny to start with; Judal was positively seething. Thirty-six kisses, and that perverted being was looking up from somewhere around his stomach again. Seduction was scalding in both that gaze and smile Sinbad gave him; and he both shivered and felt as though he couldn't breathe. He almost forgot how to. Fingers traced over the pale, smooth curve of his hips before shifting down. The dark Magi's fingers gripped weakly at the pristine and unmarked – and of all things – ironically pure white sheets to stop himself from crying out again. This was too much...far too much... "Are you listening to me?! Go..."

"I'm listening to one part of you, it just sure as anything isn't your lips...not until you sing like a good songbird for me again, at least..." a tongue, warm and moist, ran over him...there...and he cringed away. All of those thoughts of seduction, and ambitious promises had long since melted away. He himself was overpowered and effortlessly seduced, not with strength, but one single touch and he had never, ever expected that.

He clung helplessly to the soft cotton below him and felt that man lift before taking him – and yes, him – into his mouth. Those lips both enjoyed and teased over something which seemed to enjoy the contact immensely. Here he was, being so effortlessly controlled by that one king he had always wanted more than...well, anything else. This lovely and clear night of whitest white and darkest shadow, and here he was just a body and slave to a skilled mouth and hands threatening to defile that fragile shell of his body. That same body which, despite being meant to hold neigh limitless power, refused to respond to him.

A soft moan escaped him, pathetically, his thighs parting as if following an unspoken command of a king he didn't follow, and allowed Sinbad to shift closer. It appeared the sensation of that soft, scalding warmth sucking at his body, slipping on and off him like a soft, ebbing summer tide, was too much for him. He gave in, furious eyes closing to the lure of a man who was making his powerful body nothing more than his captive. He wasn't going to admit that that invading touch was what he wanted, that his body and soul were begging to be one with that perverted, irresponsible person. But he was certainly close to it.

He shivered as the tantalising, soaked warmth drew off his body. A strong, almost loving hand was stroking inquisitively over his raised thigh and rested against it, as if deep in thought. "Yo...idiot Magi..."

"...Ah! S-stop it your breath is too damned cold! Don't talk down there!" he all but screamed in frustration, the pleasant air chilling against the damp part of his body in a way that shouldn't excite him. He didn't try to wriggle away, but he was alarmed that he lacked the strength, or will, to move. Any other night, and he would never let his guard down this much, around anyone, and especially an enemy. The deep blush rose in his face again as fingers drew teasingly up his inner thigh before Sinbad planted another – and forty-third – kiss there.

"You complain...a lot. But...say," those amber eyes, burning with a rather strange and bright fire, caught him as he was watched curiously. "Aren't you wondering why no one's come running to you? I've been here for a while, and you'd think someone would have burst in by now. It's a little peculiar, isn't it, little songbird..."

...He should stop calling him that damned name. "There are more peculiar things, I'm looking at one of them..." but, no, he was right. That lack of strength inside him, Sinbad actually touching him, none of this made any sense at all. It was almost as if this were a dr-

"So, do you want to know why?" Sinbad grinned softly, mischief playing over his radiant face. His eyes shone brightly as he drew up, a hand playing over a strange, dark and light glittering chain around Judal's neck the Magi hadn't noticed was there before. Fifty – and the final kiss granted was the chastest of all and planted on his lips. He realised it was that he hungered for the most; it tasted of his own pleas and desires – of his own body – and he liked it. "That's right, Judal, you guessed it already. You're really just dreaming of me..."

"...HUH?!"

His eyes snapped open.

That idiot king, and his idiot king smile, faded away as Judal woke – actually woke – within that perfect night. He bolted upright, trembling and shaking, and was aware of the sensation of a deep, painful throbbing between his legs. He had a fairly good idea what that was. Heat came, beading over his clammy body and made his soaked hair cling to him, despite the innocently cool nocturnal breeze. In nothing short of a complicated mingling of flawless anger, arousal and more than anything bitter disappointment he felt his teeth grind. "You...fucking bastard idiot irresponsible perverted king! Who the hell are you, making me dream that about you for!?"

But, of course, Sinbad hadn't made him dream a thing, and he certainly wasn't there. Those fifty kisses – concluding in Judal's first ever, proper kiss – had never been granted. Perhaps that would be what shouldn't be given to a man who until mere hours ago really did believe he had everything...