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Language:
English
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Published:
2019-12-28
Completed:
2019-12-31
Words:
5,625
Chapters:
4/4
Comments:
25
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82
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Where Your Mouth Is

Summary:

In which two idiots call each other's bluffs.
Completed!
Taking requests and fic prompts!
Sequel here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603884

Chapter Text

“I hope you’re taking this seriously Mozenrath, otherwise, the deal is off.”
The aforementioned sorcerer snarled his reply.
“Oh I intend to get my gauntlet back, hero, and you’re going to be the one to give it to me.”
Aladdin jabbed a finger at him accusingly as the quarrelsome pair walked through the high city gates, sparing only a glance at the name – Getzistan – etched proudly in gaudy script across stone.
“Only after you help me save Jasmine.”
Mozeranth rolled his eyes dismissively.
“Of course, who could forget about the peril-prone piteous princess?”
“This isn’t funny, Mozenrath, she could be seriously hurt!”
Mozenrath rose his hands in mock surrender. “The only thing that’s going to be hurt is the ears of any man at the receiving end of her shrieking.” He saw the continued argument and blocked it with a question.
“So why exactly can’t you storm in with Genie a’blazin as per usual and take her back yourself?”
He leaned closer, peering with a smile as Aladdin struggled to respond.
“Well, it’s complicated. When Jasmine and I were investigating the underground slave trade in Getzistan, we weren’t exactly…upfront about it with their ruler.”
“So you were sneaking around, typical.”
Aladdin ignored him, pressing on, “We didn’t know how high the corruption went, and thought we could handle it ourselves, quietly. And you know Genie, he doesn’t do quietly.” He pressed on before the ugly comment on Mozenrath’s lips could be voiced. “When Jasmine went missing during our mission, and I, I-I couldn’t find her, I knew I had to tell the Sultan. His committee demanded we handle this delicately, in-and-out, without alerting Getzistan’s king of anything if possible to avoid any insult or even war.” He said the last part bitterly and Mozenrath couldn’t resist digging in.
“I have to be honest, hero, letting some pampered bureaucrats tell you how to save your wife seems a little, well un-heroic.” He smiled, slick as oil. He was surprised when Aladdin smiled somewhat self-depreciatingly himself.
“I guess I have to be honest, too, Mozenrath. I don’t think I’d have anyone else go with me to save her besides you.”
“Why, Aladdin, you flatter me.”
Aladdin pretended not to notice the mocking pantomime and continued.
“I need someone who knows the underbelly of the city, who is familiar with the seedier, criminal places”
“Else.”
“What?”
“Someone else who knows the seedier, criminal places” Mozenrath replied with an acrid smile.
“Yeah, yeah, very clever Mozenrath. Let’s just focus, okay?”
Easier said than done, Mozenrath thought bitterly. The afternoon sun blaring down from an unsmiling heaven coupled with the longing ache in his skeletal arm set him on edge, made this little venture tedious to the point of painful. Add to that the noise and push of one of the busiest dens of sin in the desert, and Mozenrath was practically frothing to get back his gauntlet, stolen, of course, by the wonder troupe and whisked away far from his scheming and needful clutches.
A simple rescue mission, even for someone distasteful, will be difficult without his traditional means of magic, but, with a knowing pat at the inside of his robes, Mozenrath assured himself he was still quite the formidable sorcerer.
Aladdin led them deeper, past the more touristy areas of the city, past the residences and food markets, where the crowd thinned from families to men in raucous groups who shambled sideways from alley to alley.
Mozenrath grabbed Aladdin’s arm and pulled him to a stop outside one such alley.
“Listen, I know you’re used to bursting in and barreling through but getting any information on your little princess’s whereabouts will take tact. Remember my plan.”
Aladdin jerked his arm free.
“I remember, I remember” he grumbled.
“Really? Because you’re still dressed like Agrabah’s golden boy. Also, you’re walking ahead of me; a good slave walks behind. We’re never going to pass for a buyer and his slave if you can’t put your precious ego aside.”
“Don’t lecture me on ego, you-”
He was cut off his indignant tirade when Mozenrath shoved a bundle into his arms.
“I knew you’d compromise this somehow, so I procured an outfit befitting a slave for you. You’re welcome. Now change, I’ll watch the alley.”
With a momentary pause and a dark look, Aladdin retreated back into the alleyway.
Mozenrath congratulated himself on his own attire – the finest indigo and gold embroidered robes with his satin turban. He looked every inch the wealthy proprietor or mogul looking to buy some human labor or ornamentation. For himself, he preferred dead slaves – much less hassle.
“Explain to me one more time why I have to be the slave?” came an exasperated comment from the shadows behind him.
“Are you serious? Have you seen yourself? Have you seen me?” Mozenrath laughed unkindly.
Whatever comment Aladdin was planning on rejoinding with was lost to Mozenrath as Aladdin emerged from the alley in his own new attire.
Gone was the tatty vest, pants, and fez combo and in its place was a gauzy, maroon number that frankly insulted the imagination. The top was in half with bell sleeves, transparent and fitted at the wrists with gold bracelets. The pants were loose and extremely low-slung, barely clinging to cut, revealed hipbones and ended in soft, beaten velvet gold slippers. Around that narrow waist was a thin gold chain. The deep red shade practically purred on the healthy glow of his dark brown skin. Only one thing missing…
“Come here.”
No, that sounded too choked. Mozenrath made himself try again after clearing his throat.
“Come here.”
Aladdin glowered at being told what to do by Mozenrath, but shuffled unwillingly to stand in front of him. From his pocket, Mozenrath drew out a stick of charcoal, and after instructing an increasingly stiff and uncomfortable Aladdin to close his eyes, drew thick, smokey lines around each eye. After running a hand through the streetrat’s hair to loosen it, the ensemble was complete.
Aladdin put his hands on his hips and eyed Mozenrath.
“Is all this necessary? I look like a…a…”
“Whore. Yes, that’s the idea.” He continued, ignoring Aladdin’s flinch. “The highest bidders will be concerned with one thing only – bed slaves. They will undoubtedly bring some of their own companions and we’ll need to blend in.”
“If anyone has touched Jasmine” Aladdin glowered, his fists tensing and the muscles of his arms taut against the flimsy fabric, looking as far from a bed slave as possible.
Mozenrath waved his hand dismissively.
“I wouldn’t worry, hero, as ‘lovely’ as your little princess is, she is likely still stuck in the auctioning rooms. She’ll be quite the prize.”
“She’s no one’s prize.” Aladdin insisted.
“For once, you are correct.” He quipped in reply. “Now come, I want my gauntlet back as soon as possible so let’s get the happy little wife home, hmm?”
So deeper into the city’s guts they strode, Aladdin mercifully remembering to walk behind Mozenrath with his eyes downturn, as instructed. Though that might be more due to his embarrassment than any acting suggestions by Mozenrath. He had to have felt his own bared skin, felt the eyes of passerbys, both interested and otherwise. Mozenrath smirked to himself at his rival’s discomfort and called back a jab.
“Young as you are, please at least try to not look so naïve or you’ll blow the whole thing.”
“You’d be surprised, Mozenrath, what I know. Remember, I grew up on the streets. I’m not as naïve as you think.”
Mozenrath quirked an eyebrow, interested, and turned, but Aladdin said no more, simply meeting his eyes levelly.
They reached the target at last, a narrow staircase, unobtrusive and nearly hidden between an opium den and a lender’s shop.
“I don’t even want to know how you know of this place,” Aladdin muttered as they descended into the increasing shadows.
“Amorous men are stupid men, and easier to con.” Mozenrath said with an easy shrug.
Aladdin scoffed as they reached the door, a heavy, wooden impasse with a small slit high up in the middle. A polite knock, and Mozenrath was greeted by two piggy eyes in a ruddy face.
“What’s the password?”
Aladdin panicked momentarily – they didn’t even discuss that, but then rolled his eyes when Mozenrath simply blew black sand from his robes into the man’s face, who gave a yelp of alarm and then was silent.
“The password is Mozenrath, Lord of the Black Sands.”
“Yes, Lord Mozenrath.” The brute brainlessly intoned as the door swung open.
Aladdin was about to make a remark on Mozenrath’s own ego when he was stopped short, Mozenrath leaning into his face.
“Remember, under no circumstances are we to break cover. They find out who you are and they’ll whisk away your princess to lands unknown. You’ll cause a panic and lose her. Once someone purchases Jasmine, we’ll get her back and, more importantly, you’ll give me my gauntlet back.”
“I know, I know” Aladdin replied, practically dancing in his impatience.
“While we are here, you are my slave. Make sure you act the part. Think you can handle that?”
A smile with canines showing in a gleaming white arc.
Aladdin surprised him by yanking Mozenrath’s collar and bringing him further in.
“Make sure you can handle it.”
Mozenrath laughed, raising his eyebrows, and leaning back before turning to walk through the door, beckoning Aladdin to follow.