It was a game that they played.

They never agreed that it was a game, to be sure, but there were unspoken rules and neither of them dared test the limits, because who knew what happened when the game ended? It was a web of subtleties: soft brushes of hands in dark corridors, fleeting eye contact across crowded rooms, a stray paper moved out of place, a gesture, an soft comment in passing. Days growing colder and darker and the shadows under their eyes growing, but when had they ever played under fair conditions?

Xx

Djinn equip. Ja'far knew before he even turned around to acknowledge the other's presence; sight was unnecessary when he could feel the heavy weight of magoi flowing around him, ebbing and pulling like the steady tug of the ocean currents against a ship. He opened his mouth and breathed in, soundlessly, tasting the bitter tang like desert wind and metal against his teeth before he set down the scroll he'd been perusing – best he do so, or it'd likely end up on the floor – and turned, tucking his hands into his sleeves. Eyes closed, he bent his head in a short bow to the man leaning against the windowsill. "My lord."

Fabric rustled, and Ja'far could hear the pad of heavy footsteps across the floor as the other approached. "My loyal advisor. Still up, this late at night?"

"Someone has to do the work, since the king delights in shirking his duties." Fingers on his chin and he bared his throat, eyes still gently shut. A small shiver ran down his back as a thumb traced a trail along his jawline, the small scratch of a fingernail drawing both pain and pleasure. He could feel the heat of the other mere inches away, thick and burning more fiercely than any summer midday sun. By now he was pretty sure he knew - or could make a good guess for - what the other's equip was, but he waited, patient. It was a game, after all.

"Impudent." That purr resonated in the air between them, throaty like a cat basking in the sun. "Very impudent, my advisor, daring to speak out about your king like that. Now," he breathed, and Ja'far nipped his lip involuntarily as lips brushed against his ear, "Whatever am I going to do about that?"

"The king shall do however he wishes. However," and Ja'far pivoted, graceful, escaping that hand along his jaw only to be caught by one hooked around his hip, "I am but a lowly servant, and someone must keep this kingdom running, so if you will excuse me…"

"Humph." A second hand on his opposite hip and he was drawn back, enveloped by warm strong arms against a reassuringly solid chest. Fingers slipped into his obi and he swatted them absentmindedly, twitching at the tickle of fine hair along his neck. His king was always dangerous, but especially so when in djinn equip. "Are you trying to tell me then, servant, that the desires of your king are less important?" A hand trailed up his side, inch by inch.

"That is exactly what I said – or did I stutter? I think not." He whirled, sudden, placing his hand against a bare chest and feeling the rumble of surprise. He finally opened his eyes and looked up at his king, framed against the window and the stormy sky outside. Pale colors and gold eyes greeted him, tinted with an expression he had not the nerve nor words to describe. "But if I may be so bold as to inquire, why the… feral form, lord?"

"I'd get rusty if I never had practice." Hands reached for him again, and the other gave a short huff has Ja'far shifted, dodged before being caught once more. "My, and here you act as though you didn't want to be caught." Warm fur trailed along his sleeve, baring his arm, and Ja'far scowled at the errant tail.

"I haven't seen Valefor in a while; was it so wrong of me to ask?" He dug his heels into the floor, resisting the steady tug. All that he got for his efforts was a smug smile, toothy in its assurance, and as he was finally tugged off balance into an embrace he sighed and said, "So, Sinbad, are you simply here to fulfil your daily quota of harassment?"

He yelped slightly as Sinbad bent and buried his head against the crook of Ja'far's neck, ears twitching and brushing against Ja'far's face. "Now, you make it sound like I get tired. You know full well I never can get enough of you, my dear Ja'far." A hand trailed up his back and Ja'far nipped at Sin's ear, feeling they were getting way to close to risky territory.

"Funny. I'd almost believe it if I didn't see firsthand how many women you take to bed every week. Now if you would be so kind as to let go…" Lips touched his cheek and he jerked, startled.

"It sounds as though you are jealous." Hands pulled him yet closer, and it would get difficult to breathe if Sinbad held him any tighter. "Wish to have me all to yourself, do you?"

"Don't be silly, Sinbad," he gritted, and damn the man if he didn't know how to pull Ja'far off balance and make him come unraveled far too easily, "I know full well that you are voracious, and I have no claim to make and – I will cut off your foot if you don't let go," he threatened, squirming as Sinbad's hands stilled against his skin.

"Do you really think that?" As Ja'far furrowed his brow, slightly nonpuzzled, he felt himself pushed back a few inches by hands firm on his shoulders. "You really think that you have no influence on me at all? That you have no meaning towards what I do?" Eyes looked into his, fierce and the sheer force of magoi leaking around him was making it a bit difficult to breathe.

"What do you think?" he managed, heart flip-flopping around in his chest, because suddenly everything was twelve times more intense and overwhelming and this was treading the line of breaking those unbroken rules, because they never spoke of this before. "You are the king. You will do what you wish, when you wish, and I am simply but one of many resources –"

He didn't get any farther, he couldn't, because lips were against his and Sinbad was kissing him, kissing him like a man who is faced with the inevitability of death and was relishing his last few minutes alive, and as his knees wobble and his hands fly up to Sin's bare chest he is pushed, whirled around against the wall with the full force of muscles and skin and fur and clothing and heat and it feels like Sinbad is devouring him and –

And he can breathe again, but only just barely because Sinbad's eyes are centimeters from his and his breath is spilling over Ja'far's skin, heavy with the hint of wine and something undeniably Sin. He has trouble meeting those eyes because there is something in their depths, something almost painful in shock and sadness. "Don't you say that," growls Sinbad, and Ja'far fully understands what they mean by the metaphor of the fledging caught in the gaze of the wolf. "Don't you think – Don't you ever imply that you are meaningless to me."

He is feral and overpowering and Ja'far struggles suddenly in his grasp as he feels tears prick against his eyes, but Sin holds on, not hurting him but not letting him escape, anger quickly fading to be replaced with concern. "Ja'far?" At that voice Ja'far freezes, heart succumbing to fevered insanity and there's not enough air. "Ja'far, talk to me."

"You," and Ja'far gulps, trying to hold back but damn the rules – "How – why – What the hell else am I supposed to think, you have so many others and damn it!" He thumps his hand against Sinbad's chest, once forcefully, twice, then he feels anger slowly being replaced by shame. "What am I supposed to think when you tease and push and I turn and next thing I see you are waltzing away with someone else, and I…" He sucks in a breath, exhales, and turns his head away. "Let me go, Sin."

"No."

"Sin-"

"I won't, because somehow along the line you have gotten the wrong impression." Hands on his chin again, so reminiscent of the beginning of their encounter and his head is forced up again, Sin blurrily coming into view. "I am sorry."

"For what?" Ja'far feels like burying himself in a twelve foot pit or running away for hours on end. "You did as you were entitled to do."

"No." Sinbad's ears droop – the kicked-puppy-dog-look worked very well with the Valefor equip, so it seems – but the eyes that look into his are steady. "I am a fool blinded by pleasure if I didn't see what my actions were doing to the one I lo-"

"Don't, Sinbad." Ja'far's voice wobbles – he's not going to cry, he's not.

"I will say it. At first I thought it was just another fling, perhaps, but you know what?" He looks away desperately but he can't escape the warm voice next to his ear. "I've never met anyone else who felt like you do against me. I've never made love to someone then looked across the room the next day and feel my heart jump to double-time in the way that it does when I see you. I've never been so thankful to see someone every day – someone who I can trust not to throw a knife in my back at my weakest moments but can stand tall beside me in battle and in peace. And after that first time with you I was never satisfied with anyone else – but the depth of it didn't strike me til now, standing outside the barrier with the winds of the storm swirling around me. So I came back." Hands drop and Ja'far looks down in shock at the man kneeling before him, face pressed into Ja'far's trembling hands. "Please, please… forgive me."

Ja'far exhales, feeling a tear trail down his cheek, because how was he to respond to that? He opens his mouth once, twice, then kneels down to Sin's level as Sinbad looks up at him, eyes wide but soft and – and Ja'far leans forward and hugs him, desperate as though he were drowning as Sinbad's encircle him. He lets himself be held, eyes squeezing shut, and after several long minutes he manages to say, "So, are you going to…?"

Lips touch his cheek again, and he looks up at his king. "Ja'far." And there was that smile, the one he'd fallen for long ago. "If it is okay… Stay with me?"

With the feeling of invisible chains falling away… Ja'far smiles back.