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Ja'far protested, with furrowed brows and an agitated albeit muffled noise from the depths of his throat, feeling a dull ache radiating from his knees. He failed to notice it at first but now it was nagging away at him, crawling up his thighs where it was met with another ache, just as familiar to him and undoubtedly less endurable. Which one was worse he couldn't be certain, less so when his jaw entered the foray, adding to his mounting misery. Another noise, higher pitched and tinged with the essence of urgency, evaporated into the tense air.
Air. What a luxury, one Ja'far was presently denied and intermittently permitted whenever his King was so inclined. A luxury he was becoming increasingly less generous in bestowing the closer to his euphoria he became. Sure enough the painful throb of his knees became further and further down his list of priorities, even as he felt the bone of knees melt through the cool cotton of his robes. Had he been more in control of his rational thought Ja'far may have considered the notion of adding padding to those very robes to reduce the strain on his joints, considering the increasing encounters that lead to this very scene. When Ja'far swore his loyalty to this man on bended knee little had he realised that was where he would remain.
His throat gurgled, constricting tightly as limits were breached and rewritten once again, a thick globule of saliva slipping from his bruising lips. It drizzled messily down Sinbad's cock, pooling at the base like sea foam, bridging from Ja'far's mouth as at long last he was set free. With a gasp that threatened to pull all the air in the room into his lungs in one go Ja'far filled his lungs to capacity, breathing deeply lest it be his last, breathing in with as much gusto as a man saved from drowning. He glanced upwards though instantly regretted it for the smirk of his self-indulgent King awaited him, greeting him with a curious mixture of lust and absolute control. That in-exhaustive ego, a surmountable obstacle, behind which dwelt the rarely glimpsed vulnerable boy still living in Pertavia. A truth only known to Ja'far through late night story telling as they regained their composures, a truth reinforced by the way Sinbad clung to him fiercely in the early hours, pressing his cheek to Ja'far's chest as a child nuzzling into his mother's warmth. It was at these times that Ja'far would run his fingers through Sinbad's hair, placing a tender kiss upon the crown of his head and drawing their bodies closer, as if to harbour their shared heat for the long, cold day ahead.
Though right now was a rare occasion, an anomaly, one that was to be cherished and locked away to be relieved in those quiet moments when separated. Ja'far loathed those nights, the feeling concealed beneath layer upon layer of his unyielding dedication to his country – no, it was not Sindria he pledged every waking second to. It was Sinbad.
The man whose large hands were snaking beneath the emerald green of his headdress and carelessly letting it drop to the floor at their feet, releasing the snowstorm that was Ja'far's hair. In an instant they shared a glance, Ja'far panting and Sinbad impossibly composed, a thousand words spoken between them without a sound.
No sound, that was, but for the polite tap, tap, tap on the door. Reality was knocking, and it echoed through Ja'far's mind like thunder.
The look the clandestine lovers shared changed slightly.
'Unless we are at war I must ask not to be disturbed. I am still hung over from the night before.' With a faint laugh and an unfaltering, mischievous gaze, Sinbad answered the call whilst never taking his eyes from Ja'far. He was enjoying himself, as was his nature to chase adventure big or small, yet Ja'far was far from joining him in the sentiment. The fear of discovery jolted through him like lightning, striking into his heart the powerful realisation of what he had been allowing himself to do.
'My king, please pardon the intrusion. I have urgent business with your advisor, Ja'far.' After a hesitation the muffled voice spoke out through the thick wood of the door, afraid to disobey his King's orders but also weighted in place by the need of the country they served. It was a difficult position to be in, one Ja'far was all too familiar.
He was about to speak, to answer the call of duty, but found the words imprisoned in his throat, unable to find a way out as Sinbad drove them back down with the tip of his cock. In a swift motion that left Ja'far's head spinning, Sinbad had seized the opportunity to slide himself back into the warmth of that mouth the second Ja'far's lips had parted.
'You wish to speak with my advisor?' Sinbad said, his voice perfectly smooth even as he worked Ja'far's head up and down the length of his cock, his broad palm forcing out the rhythm with its steady presence on the back of his head. Up and down, up and down, drawing out until the swell of the tip remained before sinking himself all the way back inside, each time feeding the illusion that he will let Ja'far go.
'Y-yes, that is correct, Your Highness.'
Ja'far felt his anger flare within himself. It bubbled in the pit of his belly, boiling over the arousal he'd been riding on prior to this interruption. Now he felt frustration, annoyance that Sinbad would allow this folly to continue, to drag it out for the sheer satisfaction of it. He had no say in the matter, of course, the turn of events out of his control just as much as their intimate act was, regardless of how much he squirmed and clawed at the floor, feeling the air he regained quickly leaving him.
'I see... ahh, I think he's a bit preoccupied right now.'
Preoccupied!?
He had the teeth to bite if only the will.
'Is that so?' Another pause. Another few seconds and Ja'far could feel the colour exploding in his face, his gurgles growing louder along with the unformed pleas for release that he could not suppress. 'I do apologise for my impertinence, My King, but it is truly a matter of urgency that I liaise with your advisor. The palace cheese stores are due to be replenished and I am afraid the delivery we have received is far below the quality our country demands...'
Ja'far beat his fist against Sinbad's thigh. His eyes clenched shut, watering as the onset of his suffocation made him light headed. He knew that new supplier was bad news, and he cursed his decision to give them a try. He would need to speak to the supplier immediately, arrange a new delivery before the palace chef's and the subsequent delicate palates of the palace inhabitants came to know of the issue.
'I'm afraid he's not even here right now. Why don't you ask around and see where he is at at this time? Now, please leave me be. I feel my head is about to explode.'
Ja'far's train of thought derailed, leaving behind the worries of his kingdom and the urgent need to rectify the cheese order and throwing the fear of being discovered in this position out along with it. Faintly he heard the hurried apologies and the matching footsteps escaping down the hall. He would probably spend the rest of his day searching every inch of this palace for that which had been right under his nose. Or, more accurately, right under Sinbad's nose.
When at long last the coast was clear the cruel grip that held Ja'far firmly in place loosened, and for the second time that afternoon he rocked back, sucking in air too quickly that he began to cough. He indignantly wiped the saliva from around his mouth onto his sleeve, displeased that he had been reduced to these measures as he glared up at his King.
'This game is over.' With gritted teeth Ja'far clambered to his feet, holding his head up high as he stalked angrily to the door.
'Arw, come on.' Sinbad pleaded, 'Besides if you leave now that guy will have some unavoidable questions...'
Ja'far felt himself tense. His palm caressed the handle of the door, cool and soothing against his skin, tempting him to pull just a little more and escape to freedom down the hallway, away from the shame that loomed over him. Literally, Ja'far realised, as those jewelled fingers pressed to the door just above his head.
'You left something behind.' Sin purred, voice low and breath hot against the sensitive shell of Ja'far's ear. It sent a shiver down his spine, fuelled the anger in his blood at his own weakness. He closed his eyes against it, took a quiet breath – still feeling the burn in the back of his throat – and steadied himself.
'My apologies, Your Highness. I will retrieve it immediately and be on my way...'
'Not so fast.' Within the velvet folds of that voice Ja'far heard the traces of a smirk. 'It's not fair that I am to be the only one left half finished.'
'That cannot be helped under the present circumstances.'
'As King it is my duty to ensure total compliance, especially from those who serve so closely to me. It wasn't so many years ago that you were trying to kill me, if I recall correctly.'
'That was- Sinbad...' His words fell out of his mouth and onto the floor where they piled up, useless and lacking in substance. His robes were being pulled up, palms hardened by sword wielding brushing over his quivering thighs, that in contrast were soft and supple to the touch. He sighed in undeniable pleasure as Sinbad's hand found it's way to the centre of his hips, to where the bittersweet sensation of unrequited arousal had built up earlier before dissipating. It was back now, stoked easily and quickly by practised hands. His knees went weak, his body now held up only by his outstretched hands on the door and the strong arm around his waist. All too quickly he had swollen to hardness, Sinbad well versed in his favourite areas, squeezing at his tip so the precum oozed out to slick his next downward stroke. That in itself was enough to have Ja'far tilt his head back, barely shutting his mouth in time to stop his moan from being heard.
'Does that feel good, Ja'far?' Sinbad cooed. He emphasised it, too, with a languid stroke from the base of Ja'far's cock to the tip, letting every inch of illicit sensation sink into him. 'Answer me.'
'Y-Yes...' Half a whisper and half a whimper, Ja'far was melting as smoothly icecream on a Sindrian summer afternoon. Sinbad's power to have people flock to his side was not just a tool for common use; it had far more erotic implications as Ja'far had unwittingly found himself on the receiving end of on several occasions. His own rational thought, the very foundations of his existence since he came to be by Sinbad's side, were torn asunder by mere questions spoken directly into his ear. It didn't matter what was said to him, his legs shuffling slightly wider to allow the bend of his of hips to be more pronounced, the curve of his ass rubbing pleadingly against Sinbad's own erection. To Ja'far's satisfaction it was still aroused, but that in turn only heightened his own feelings.
'Sinbad...'
'Your headdress. You can leave when you've earned it back. If you'll pardon me for awhile I have some papers to sign – that is what you originally came to see me about, is it not? - My personal advisor will be most annoyed if I don't complete them.'
'...Wh...'
'Oh, and... you must stay like that until I'm ready. That's an order.'
That's an order.
How childish, Ja'far thought bitterly as the pleasure abruptly cut off. As he listened to the sound of Sinbad returning to his desk, to his duties, the lewd display he had given himself over to now reared its ugly head. There was no denying his behaviour, his fast descent into decadent debauchery, at the hands of his King no less. He let himself be too easily swayed, no better than the women in the bars and whore houses who swooned over this smooth talking barbarian. He was no King. He was a tyrant, a terrorist to Ja'far's sanity, to the fragile hold he had upon himself. A thought flickered in his mind, to use his old instinct and act out. To wipe that smirk of that handsome face once and for all, to finish what he had been assigned to do all those years ago. Of course he would never go through with it. He owed everyday of his life to this man, for the time before Sinbad was no life at all. And that was an unspoken truth between them and one that made his situation now all the worse to digest. His nails sunk into the door, deep enough to leave marks.
From across the room the sound of a quill clinking on the ink pot replaced the heated breaths exchanged moments prior, followed by the chasing of the sharp tip across the paper. It scratched endlessly, signing of name and sealed with the royal stamp, the securing of trade routes and future treaties, the establishment of military movements through territories and all other matters of business. Ja'far had drawn up various contracts and perused the rest before presenting them, gathering them into his arms and strolling through the lofty halls of the palace to Sinbad's quarters. His own private rooms were not far from Sinbad's, allowing him to carry out his own daily duties more easily – he was to ensure the linen was fresh, scented with the delicate fragrance of rose, that the bath water was correctly heated and that the petals floating on the surface were unsullied. He was responsible for checking over the King's clothes for the day, and helping him dress before ushering in breakfast. Once eaten, Ja'far would retire to his own quarters to retrieve the papers, his fight to maintain his King's attention focused keeping them occupied until lunch time.
That was the routine, until things became like this.
Ja'fa felt the tremor in his knees, his toes impatiently fidgeting in his shoes, as the seconds dragged into minutes. He mused over the idea of wriggling his hips, or pleading with a soft moan, perhaps even a sultry glance over his shoulder. All of these whimsical fancies he cast aside, screwing them into paper balls and launching them to the side of the room, knowing that any action would signal his defeat and Sinbad's victory. His nails dug harder into the wood of the door, his ears picking up the sound of the palace as it carried on carelessly, unaware of the mischief taking place between King and advisor. Footsteps hurried two and from and Ja'far felt his heart seize each time, hearing them grow louder and louder as they came to the door and just as quickly pass it by. Snippets of meaningless conversations, dialogues that for his ears had no beginning and no end, one merging into the other and through it all the constant scratching of quill on paper.
If only he was this studious the rest of the time, Ja'far thought sourly.
Clink, clink, clink, and the quill's thirst for ink was fulfilled. If only his own were so easily quenched. His throat felt dry. The tremor in his knees was now in his thighs.
The chair creaked. Sinbad must have sat back, the incessant scribble momentarily silenced as he pondered something. Or was he enjoying the view? That made Ja'far's blood quicken – anger, or arousal? It was becoming hard to differentiate between the two, his need for climax overriding his normal responses now that it had been left so long.
The hallway beyond seemed somehow to grow quiet as if it too held its breath in anticipation for the King's next move. Could they all somehow see this elaborate game of chess, where they waiting to see if Ja'far would ultimately find himself in a state of check mate? Had he been caught from the very beginning, believing himself to have made the choices that lead him to this? It was infuriating to think but not at all impossible, given Sinbad's notorious string pulling. It was an intricate web he weaved, but Ja'far did not like to think of himself as a fly. His struggling only tantalised his captor, who would surely rush over to entangle him more, preserving him for later. Better to remain still and wait it out.
'Come to me.'
Check mate.
Slowly, not trusting his own legs any more, Ja'far turned from the door. 'Don't let your robes fall.' Sinbad instructed and he complied, gathering the hem in his quivering palms and making careful steps towards the desk. He glanced at the mostly finished scroll, Sinbad's delicate letters still drying on the page. At any other time Ja'far would have been elated to see the King working for once but now he could think little beyond what may be in store for him.
'This last part requires your input.' Sinbad pointed to where his own words trailed off, the unstained whiteness beckoning for purpose.'
Feeling foolish with his lower half exposed as they talked matters of state, Ja'far's cheeks blazed. 'I see, then I shall read over your part and contribute as required this evenin-'
Sinbad scraped his chair noisily back, creating space between himself and the desk. He gestured with his hand to the quill, neatly sheathed inside the ink pot. 'I feel it is an urgent matter that requires your attention immediately, Ja'far.'
Swallowing the lump in his throat Ja'far nodded, wishing the world beneath him would open up and swallow him all the same. He stepped into the vacated space, shivering involuntarily as Sinbad manoeuvred him, positioning him as though a puppet, bent over the desk with the scroll laid out before him.
'Please, go ahead and read it out. It will be easier to identify mistakes if you do.'
'Sin... I can't help but feel you have ulterior motives to this request...' Ja'far pressed his clammy palms to the wood of the desk, struck with a sense of curious nostalgia as he felt a gentle warmth radiate back to him where Sinbad had been leaning as he wrote these words. His heart skipped a beat. There were times, many nights ago, that Ja'far would run his fingers across the surface of this desk. The rare occasions that Sinbad retired to bed first, the only trace of his being here the warmth remaining in his absence, scraps of his being that Ja'far religiously pieced together and wrapped himself inside like a blanket. For years it was all he could hope for, scalding himself for his own fruitless desires and still returning the next morning to collect the next carelessly discarded shred whatever it would be, ignoring his reason just long enough to let his heart flutter. Now he was bent over the very desk he watched Sinbad work at for hours on end, the scroll he would soon carry with dignified grace to be delivered carefully stowed in his arms sprawled out in front of him, the ink turning into bottomless pits of a language he suddenly found himself unable to fathom.
'The following is a letter from His Highness The King of Sindria, herein referred to simply as Sinbad, to address the matter of trade between the following routes,' as Ja'far read the king's own words out loud he noted no obvious mistakes, the words cleanly constructed and the formalities all in place. Yet as he spoke each word he could not ignore the brushes against his lower legs, that at first were almost unnoticeable, but by the end of his first sentence crept further up his trembling flesh, the calloused fingertips pressing into the paleness of his inner thighs and inching them further apart. By the third sentence Ja'far was aware that his posterior was inappropriately angled, his face now inches from the very words he was supposed to be reading. This was... most embarrassing, perhaps more so than before when he was left at the door like a berated child. All too late Ja'far would realise his King was a man of whimsy, as playful as the boy he had been when they met even now, even when the games were of a considerably more adult nature. Follies Ja'far never experienced in his youth, and he wasn't overly sure he wanted to part-take in todays game.
'Sin, please... I don't think this needs to continue on any longer does it?'
'Indulge your King for awhile, Ja'far. It's an important document and I must make sure it is written properly. Please fulfill your role as well.'
Ja'far took a deep breath, steeled himself against the unashamed fingers that probed dangerously across his ass, and continued diligently onwards. '...The Sindrian Kingdom would like to offer...A-ah!' No amount of steeling could defend against that. The game was set and Ja'far understood his fate now, the wicked twist his peaceful day had taken truly against him. If he came through this trial with any shred of dignity left it would be a miracle, though the chances were slim as he felt Sinbad grope at his ass without cease, kneading into him and massaging the softness in his palms. He rolled his hands around in wide gestures, exerting pressure momentarily before releasing again, letting out murmurs of appreciation. This was how fruit at the market must feel, Ja'far pondered.
'Keep going.'
His voice shook but he took up the challenge, unable to back down under the unwavering command of his king. '...The Sindrian Kingdom would like to offer several goods that are currently extremely rare as items of trade. Rest assured all goods a-are of a significant quality and... and... ahh... are of great poten- potential value to your people...nhn...Sin, please... you-your...'
'Mhm? My what, Ja'far?'
Don't make me say it. Is this not enough for you already?
Of course it was never going to be enough. Pulling him to his knees was not enough, just as attacking him at the door and leaving him there, half-finished, was also not enough. This childlike essence lived on, and it would spell the end for Ja'far. He was already unravelling, his composure crumbling faster than pastry and leaving him in just as much of a mess. The cause of his misery now was not just Sinbad's ample hands. It was his tongue.
Hot, slippery and wet, it traced over Ja'far's salted skin, lapping at him with strangely firm strokes that left him tingling. It was a sensation he was as of yet to become accustomed to, swaying his hips in a feeble attempt to dissuade Sinbad from this lewd pursuit. It was weirdly erotic to be licked so intimately, to be tasted in a way he never imagined possible. He wasn't entirely sure it was pleasurable, but somehow his body reacted eagerly to the caresses, his cock swelling and rising between his legs with renewed vigour. It was verging on painful as he remained in this awkward position, fighting the urge to reach down and end his misery himself. For sure Sinbad would punish him far harder for that and his elation short lived.
'St-stop this already...' Ja'far panted, reaching to take his own cheeks in his palms and spreading himself wide. His chest leaned heavily on the desk, making his already strained breaths even more laboured than before. He felt as though he may suffocate, the constriction making the blood pound through his throbbing head. '...Sin...'
'When you ask me so nicely, how can I say no?'
Ja'far braced himself on the desk, listening with tense anticipation as Sinbad leisurely parted his clothes, teasingly bringing the tip of his cock to Ja'far's loosened hole where he hesitated to push forward. 'Are you sure you're ready for this?'
'Just do it already.' Ja'far snapped.
As Sinbad's cock entered him Ja'far let out a hearty moan, far louder than he had meant to, guttural and far from human in its sound. His body was used to this invasion by now, even craved the sensation of being filled to the point he could not sleep some nights without abating it somehow. The worst of it was when not even his own fingers could cure his feverish needs, no matter how hard he tried to recreate the deep and targeted thrusts that Sinbad was deploying now. The tips of his fingers never quite reached his sweet spot the same way, as intensely, as frequently or as pleasurably.
'Ahn...ah...S-Sin....nhn...' Peeling a hand away from his ass cheek Ja'far used it instead to catch the sweet moans leaking from his mouth, muffling them into the fabric of his robes. His brows knotted tightly together above his clenched eyelids, upon which he was quickly beginning to see brilliant flashes of white, exploding across his cloaked vision with every thrust of Sinbad's hips. Over and again he drove himself mercilessly into Ja'far's hungry body, not caring as the desk wheezed and screeched along the floor beneath them, doing all he could to satiate their needs.
'Does it... feel good?' Sinbad asked, bringing his body close to Ja'far's so that he could whisper hotly into his ear. It changed the angle and depth of his thrusts so that they became shorter, deeper, almost frantic. 'Tell me, Ja'far.'
'Hng...Feels...'
'Say it for me.'
Ja'far shuddered as Sinbad licked and nibbled on his earlobe. '...It feels go-good...! Hurry...'
Shamelessly defeated by his own lusts Ja'far cared not for what filths he let slide from his lips. Whether he spoke as dirty as the whore or as pure as the priest it did not matter – they were one and the same when entranced by maniacal lust. 'There... do it there... more... like that...!'
'Demanding aren't you.' Sinbad had a melodic tune to his words, as if tickled by Ja'far's unbound carnality. He did as he was bid, gripping a slender hip with one hand and positioning the other on Ja'far's shoulder, anchoring them together as he drove himself in harder and faster, pounding his subordinate into the desk, who was all too happy to receive.
Ja'far couldn't think. His brain was jostled about, fragmenting his common sense into pieces and leaving nothing in its wake. He was going to come, quickly, the sensation building in his lower abdomen with no external input. His cock strained painfully, the fluid dripping freely from his tip and tainting the air with a raw, salty flavour.
'Ja'far... loosen up a little you're so tight...nhn...'
'C-can't...Sin...-!'
'Damnit!' Sinbad abandoned his grip on Ja'far's hip and circled underneath, taking his cock in hand and pumping it in tandem with his thrusts.
'Hng... Sin...Sin... n-no... more.... can't...' Ja'far's garbled sentence never made its end. He knew not if Sinbad could even translate what he desperately meant to convey between the frantic moans he let out, but it was surely too late. He felt himself come undone, his body tensing as his orgasm took over, cock twitching as it spurted his seed across Sinbad's hand. He bucked into it, dragging the last of it from himself until no more was to be had. Breathlessly he collapsed onto the desk, not caring as Sinbad used his body for his own gain now, holding Ja'far close as he buried himself deep and released himself inside.
Ja'far could feel the heat filling him, shuddering at the peculiar sensation, too weak to do anything. He barely registered the tender kiss upon his cheek as Sinbad pulled himself out slowly.
'You're let off your duties concerning the country for rest of the day, Ja'far.' Sinbad stated evenly. He added, 'Your King is feeling unwell and is not to be disturbed. You will see to it he is well again by tomorrow.'
'Yes... My Lord.'
'I shall retire immediately to my quarters.'
Left to his own devices Ja'far pushed himself up from the desk, wincing as his bones protested, his back and hips the loudest of all. Straightening himself up and fixing his clothes he carried out the command of his king quickly, ignoring the slow trickle of semen as it escaped down his thighs. He vaguely wondered if people knew his relationship with the King at times such as this and simply chose not to be the one to lift the veil on it, their faces placid and unassuming as he weaved the foundations of the lie to secure their evening together was undisturbed.
It was a miracle Sindria was as progressive as it was when Sinbad prioritised this way.
Yet again, it was Ja'far who allowed him to slack off. He mused this as he closed the door to the King's bedroom and slipped out of his dirty robes. But the country could wait awhile, the palace would make do without its regular supply of cheese a day or so. The whim of his King was far more important.