Alibaba isn’t used to standing in a row with giggling, rambunctious girls. Even more so, when none of them even know who he is. Well, sort of, but they all find it funny.
He passes off as one, that’s for sure. They all call him cute pet names and do his hair all nice and give him new jewelry, dusting his eyes and painting them with kohl. He’s not used to hearing the metallic noise of bracelets banging together, especially on his own wrists, or the draping fabric that hugs his hips; the hoops hanging from his ears, the amulets and ruby gold that drape the scarf covering his mouth- belts that rattle and sing with coins whenever he moves.
They’ve totally made him up to be a woman, curvy and nice and well... nothing like a king at all, but do they care? Probably not.
He just can’t dance. They can, though. He’s supposed to be easily hidden from the crowd- a mess of red, yellows and pinks- but yet Alibaba believes he stands out among them all, with hair cascading down their backs, long eyelashes. He’d expect them to be preforming for a festival, or some rich trader with lots of money to give them and silver and gold as far as the eye could see. But he’s surprised when it’s completely the opposite of his expectations.
When the large brass doors open and Alibaba is left, trying to stay relaxed with his hands behind his back, girls laughing and speaking to each other around him, his face is already red to begin with. Light filters into the room and when he sees who enters, the pit of his stomach turns it on itself and he suppressed the obvious urge to vomit, eyes narrowing slowly. He knew it’d be a man... he knew it would! However..
This is not just any man.
Kassim looks smug. He looks refreshed and ready and devoid of the fact that their king is missing– though right there, garbed in uniform and tense when he can feel the rings dig into his palms, clenched hands at his sides. He’s not as rich, but he definitely has royalty on him, and Alibaba knows that as soon as the girls go quiet, he’s paid for one of them, at least– any one he wants, with money from his own pocket. Money that was paid to him by none other than Alibaba himself.
The doors slam closed and Kassim stands in front of them, dressed to the finest, expression slack. His heart shrinks to the size of a pea.
He wants to disappear.
But he doesn’t look very different, at least. He could pass off as a girl, a beautiful one, at that, though the makeup on his face is rare, unnatural and irritating. He’s trying not to look, trying not to make it obvious– that if Kassim was able to pick him out of the crowd, his dignity and pride would vanish in a near instant.
“You’re all so pretty,” Kassim says with a sly smirk on his face. “Too pretty. I’ll treat you all well, I promise.”
Alibaba grits his teeth.
“Don’t take it personally if you’re not my taste.”
You’d think that after years of being friends, and even more after being appointed to the high throne, being able to identify him would be an easy task. It wouldn’t be hard, obviously– anyone would be able to recognize Alibaba without even trying, the dusted freckles beside his ear or the gentle scar along his jaw, the muted blonde hair that falls straight against his back. But when Kassim walks up, tapping their shoulders gently, one by one deciding who he wants– for whatever reason, he completely soars right past him. He looks, but he doesn’t search, and Alibaba is strict with tension for a minute before he relaxes.
But the relief doesn’t last long.
“You,” Kassim says, and he’s pointing right at him.
He doesn’t speak. He’d give it away. The girls beside him giggle and urge his back forward and Alibaba is staring at the goddamn floor with the most silently horrific expression when hands envelope his and tug him forward. Oh, how stupid he was! To let this happen to him in the first place. He should’ve never joked around with anyone– never even joked around with Sinbad. As if doing that was a good idea in the first place.
But there is no denying that it’s not so bad, the fact that it’s Kassim. If it were some greedy merchant with hungry eyes and cold skin he would be much more reluctant. But the hand on his is warm and it’s tan, lovely and brisk to the point, and Alibaba feels much more comfortable with the soft lines around his eyes or the fact that.. well, he knows him. But then again, it’s– it’s not that good of a thing, either. Kassim would never–
“Come on,” he says, sternly for a moment, but then his voice softens and Kassim laughs, deep and raspy. “Don’t be shy. I’ll only get rid of you if you can’t preform, see. I am sure the–“ he pauses and scoffs. “King, wouldn’t be very happy that he helped pay off the expense of someone useless!”
Alibaba thinks that all hope is lost.
Does he know? Ha, certainly not– how could he? Unless he pulled him right out, joked around a little, decided to ease him out of the embarrassment. But moments later, that’s easily not the case, and he feels the jealous burn of the dancers staring into his back. They can’t be angry with him.. wouldn’t they be glad? Their own dolled up little masterpiece, walking off with the King's adviser. Wouldn’t they?
Kassim leads him into this room. His room, of course, though not one he actually slept in, down the opposite direction of the hall. They followed a long, winding red carpet down the corridor, Alibaba's fingers tight around the ones pulling him forward, nice and easy. They walk in and there are no windows, except for one that rises high under the ceiling, guarded off by railings and bars, and the sun can pour in, but only slightly, over his feet. Kassim leaves his hand and sits down quickly onto a long, ivory couch, decorated with pillows and small beads.
Promptly, he’s in a comfortable position, arms sprawled out against the back. Alibaba feels a little unusual standing in front of him, clutching the fabric over his mouth, teeth biting his lip, but...
“Well? Aren’t you going to do something? I picked you because you looked like you would actually be of use to what I paid. Don’t disappoint me.”
Alibaba breathes out slowly. Oh. Oh, that was right, he– “Yes..”
“Yes?” Kassim repeats.
They look at each other. With shame that burns auburn red against the back of his neck, Alibaba glances at him, catching the gaze of his eye, and whispers, “Yes, master.”
He doesn’t even know– well, know who he is, and this would be a little easier if it still couldn’t be obvious. He knows what he has to do, what Kassim expects him to do– and maybe if he didn’t look like.. himself underneath all the plaster on his face, he’d be able to. The bangles bounce and rock with sound, coins singing as he walks, and it’s all so strange, how musical he can make it– the act of approaching him. Alibaba gently places his hand on his hand on his knee, spread open to give him room, but it’s only then that he makes a terrible mistake.
Maybe staring him from afar was alright, but– up close?
Kassim freezes. Temporarily, of course, but it’s that blind moment where nothing happens and every single nerve in his body seizes up, contracts and pulls in on itself. Alibaba stares, gawk eyed at him, before slowly a hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin.
“Alibaba?” Kassim asks.
Alibaba smiles nervously. “Uh, yes?”
“What are you doing?”
Well, you see, they wanted to dress me up, he thinks about saying, but he doesn’t– because that’d be silly, especially coming from him. He doesn’t know what to say– maybe that he could bullshit the excuse and blurt that he wanted to get in bed with him, but that’d be easy without all the trouble, seeing as though he could.. to put it simply, get anything he wanted. So all he does is sit there and try to catch his breath, teeth clenching inside his mouth– that he’s dead, dead, completely dead--
“Well, you see,“ Alibaba begins to echo.
“What are you wearing?”
He goes to pull away but he’s anchored there, against his knee, bent over awkwardly. Alibaba shifts and the jewelry shifts with him, cold and uncommon against his skin, the echo bouncing off the insides of his ears nothing short of annoying. “What does.. what does it look like?”
All Kassim can do is stare at him. He stares and stares and, for about a minute, it’s like that’s all he knows how to do. But then he begins to laugh, quietly at first, almost so that he can't hear.. so much, in fact, that when it grows loud, it's rattling the calming complexion of his thoughts. He loosens the grip on his wrist, but instead places it down below, brushing over his ribs. “It looks like you wanted to play dress up.”
“Sorta silly,” Kassim says. “But it’ll have to do. Amazing, how I might be the only one that ever gets this opportunity. Bless my instinct for women, I tell you, Alibaba. You had me fooled for a second there.” He touches his hips, drags fingers tenderly over his hip belt, eyes looking into his– and it plummets, his sanity, everything.. pride? Out the door. “You make a very, very pretty girl. I wonder how many people have told you this!”
Before, when he didn’t know it was him, he’d be happy to obey, but now, it’s a different story. “What are you doing?”
“I ordered those girls because I was having a pretty bad fuckin’ afternoon,” he says, leaning up, and Kassim tugs him down against him with a sharp yank and his mouth is at his ear, now, husky voice warm against the cold along his cartilage. “And I expect you to make it up to me. Surely, you didn’t have a problem before, right?”
All at once, he’s lost. Alibaba realizes with obvious reluctance that this is something he can’t win. He got into this himself, and now he can’t get out– and he’s screwed up, real bad, but it can’t be helped. He’s not going to be told what to do, even– even with the current circumstances, but it must be a real treat, having him, high authority of Balbadd, spilled all over your lap like a goddamn dog. So it’s up to him to know, up to him to figure it out. Up to him to rely on instinct to pull him through.
Kassim is waiting when he slowly rises.
Waiting, but not for long, and Alibabas nerves are on fire as he glances over his shoulder at the door before hovering his knee over the spot between Kassims spread legs. He leans in, there, bending over and ignoring the weight of gold around his ears, in his hair, tying the long tail over his shoulder. When he reaches forward with a ringed hand and slides it down the other mans chest, he can feel the warmth of his skin and it makes him shudder.
Could– could he have wanted this?
He doesn’t appear to have a problem with it. If he did, he would object to how easy it is for Alibaba to part the scarf over his jaw and drape it over the arm of the couch. He’d push him away, tell him to stop, but all he does is tilt his head back and wait for him to move, fingers tapping along the oakwood rim behind his neck, humming softly as he smiles in his direction. He must look so appealing like this, pants bunching up as he twists his body, and he’s pulled away all at once, staring at the wall– a Kassimless part of the room, when hands slide along his hips from behind and pull him down.
Kassims lips touch the back of his neck and roam to his shoulder, Alibabas body rolling back as he tries to get used to it, the feeling of being dominated by someone whose never touched him like this.
He swings his arms back, elbow bending against the shoulder behind him, the rings adorning his wrist catching in the heavy braided dreadlocks that he finds. His hand twists into them to pull his head forward, hips hiccuping as he touches Kassims thigh, breathing heavy for a moment, relishing in the moment, and--
“You can move, right?”
He obeys to the command. He doesnt know if its something he wants to do, at first, seeing as though the option of decline is there, hanging absent in his grasp. But he does the opposite, trying not to break his silent character and ruin the few seconds he has, perched above the curve of hips beneath him, body rocking down slowly with gentle force. He fits perfectly, his back pressing against the loose cloth of Kassims stomach, and the hands that hold him down help and swivel them backwards.
“Kassim,” Alibaba says, voice staggering. “We– oh-“
He can’t protest. Why would he? It’d be pointless, seeing as though the younger man would merely ignore it, but all he can do is try to forget about the heat pooling, the burning of his cheeks. When he grinds down and hears the rasp of Kassims groan against his shoulder, nose pressing into his skin, it stings– the pleasure that threads through his system, his fingers clenching on the hair he holds. If only he refused to let them dress him up, get him all pretty.
His stomach is cold, exposed to the air, the eyeliner around Alibabas eyes warm and itchy, but it’s only slight. Kassim moves his head and he uses it as the opportunity to lean his own back, tenderly against his shoulder, but its short lived when he feels lips tilt and press to his jaw before finally finding the curve of his mouth.
Dancers and their masters aren’t supposed to kiss. It’s a forbidden act of stranger and stranger, a mere greeting of relief, but it’s different– how they know each other mutually, how the urge to care no longer applies. It’s hard, trying to kiss him like this though, his eyebrows knit, but it only lasts a moment before Kassim rolls and thrusts his hips up, hands guiding him to move, Alibabas legs spreading as he parts his lips to gasp and exhale shakily onto his cheek.
“You’re hard,” he says. “I can’t take this off-“
“Then don’t,” Kassim groans. Fingers push off his shoulder to tangle in the long blonde cascading off his shoulder, twisting it in a loop around the digits trapping it. “You don’t gotta– you don’t, y’know– I just need to–“
Alibaba’s pressed very gently against the front of his harem pants and it’s driving him crazy, the fact that Kassim won’t touch him– but he won’t ask. He can’t ask, under a subject like this, so all he does is awkwardly grind his hips backwards and generate hot friction against what he feels between the curve of his ass. He could do this all day, feel the overpowering sense of Kassims breath ragged and heavy against his neck, riddled with husky groans and words of appreciation, but more importantly--
More importantly, when Kassim smirks and tells him to–
Alibaba is more than happy to oblige, nodding softly to let go of the thick braids in his palm and slide down between his legs.
Right now, it’s arousal that clouds his thoughts and chooses his decisions for him. It’s arousal that coats and lurks quietly in his movement, red faced with narrowed eyes and messy hair. He doesn’t look very different, disheveled, maybe, but it changes when he presses his lips to the inside of Kassims clothed thigh and parts the cross of his pants, loose around his hips, pulling out his cock. It’s warm and big in his grasp and Alibaba stares up at the slumped form of Kassim above him with narrowed eyes when he pants and moves over, breathing hot over his skin.
Hands curl into the base of his hair and part the jewelry and Alibaba opens his mouth to run his tongue slow, agonizing and wet down the shaft, before he takes him into his mouth and closes his eyes. It’s not that hard to take him down.
Or maybe it is, if he wasn’t so eager– his hand curling against the couch before dropping down to knead himself through the thin, red fabric of what they dressed him in, restricting his touch. He wishes they had time– so that he didn’t have to do this, mercilessly getting off to the low hum he hears wafting into his ear, but it’ll have to do, what with how he can feel the tension, the grasp against his head.
“Good girl,” Kassim says, and Alibaba moans against what’s around his mouth and tries not to lose his concentration when hips thrust up against the roof of his teeth. “I wish you could– ah, dance..”
He’s being treated like what he’s dressed as– a feminine figure, someone decorated in shimmers of light greys and golds and dark violet scarlet, skin flushed, chest heaving as he bobs his head slowly and tilts his head to the side. He can feel his bangs part, hair kneaded softly, head pushed forward to take more in as he begins to touch himself through the front of his pants, and every single noise– every one, comes back straight through Kassims mouth, a mantra of pet names and dirty words.
He’ll ruin their nice clothing, the ones they gave him. That’d be rather unfortunate, considering the circumstances– but he can pretend he threw them out, got rid of him, that he fled and in order to resume order in peace he had to pitch the evidence. He could, he really could, but when Kassim is clutching his hair so hard it hurts nice and his body is so hot he feels like Amon has possessed it, he loses the ability to think properly.
Kassim comes first, naturally, under the influence of rare simulation, the tight heat of his mouth, with a muffled groan and canting hips, although Alibaba doesn’t follow quite quickly after. The taste is bitter and he doesn’t like it but it turns him on, especially when he pulls back and it’s all over his fingers and down his chin and he’s– he’s panting hard, even when Kassim lets go, lazily satisfied, chest rising slowly as he lets his head go. It’s different, a new experience, definitely– one that leaves him dizzy with fuzzy eyesight, but it’s the burn, the way his hips throb with the need of release.
Alibaba uses the couch to push himself up and he’s wobbling, terribly aroused, laughing slightly. “Well, you–“
He does as he’s told. It doesn’t quite feel the same when he slides into his lap this time, but this hand is better than his own, loosening the hip belt and reaching in to finish him off, slowly– quickly, at some point, Alibabas yelp muffled in the curve of Kassims shoulder as he pushes into his touch and sighs against his skin, face warm with embarrassment. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the moment, one directly devoted to– to the girls, and–
“You’re a king, alright,” Kassim says into his hair after, his fingers sticky when he pulls them back out and wipes them on his pants nonchalantly. “You look like it. Even when you’re a girl. Between my legs, too.”
“Did you know it was me?”
He pauses for a minute. “..Haha, obviously not. Do you think I would pick you if I did? I’d probably call you out on it and give you royal shit, that hey, Sinbad should come and fetch your sorry ass, that old guy– pretty much confined to the comforts of his own bedroom. I mean, this is probably his fault. He tells you what to do a lot.”
“Well, it technically is,” Alibaba admits sheepishly. “I mean, he told me to go enjoy myself, so–“
“At least it wasn’t his dick you sucked,” Kassim says sharply. “I need a smoke. Get out of that and get dressed or something. You look ridiculous. I promise I won’t run the country while you’re gone, or something.”
They sit there for a moment. He’s calmed down, breath slowed, eyes focused, and when he climbs off his lap and pats himself down, messed up clothes and hair and everything, all he can think about is keeping the outfit, rather than throwing it out, maybe for other reasons– but, perhaps because he wants to hang it up somewhere and look at it while picking out his morning clothes.
“Yes, master,” Alibaba says, playing with the hoop of his earring as he taps his knee playfully and tries not to smile. “Will do.”