Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi", Part One "Procurement"guiltyhousewifeApril 30 2011, 14:32:45 UTC
He was older, much older than the other bacha bazis - nearly 18 by the look of him, judging by his greater height and muscle mass. The cut of his toned arms and stomach distinguished him too; dancing boys were supposed to represent the fleeting age when a prepubescent boy possesses the curves of a woman. They were meant to be soft, and feminine, but Jafar could tell with the barest of glances this boy was neither soft nor feminine: his hands were too calloused-looking, his bare-feet dirty, his stomach dipping inward slightly telling of instances of near-starvation. His strong jaw was pointed up at Jafar, not looking away like the others, and his wide mouth was carved in an angry half-snarl.
Well, this was interesting.
Jafar ignored the nervous movements and expressions of the slaver as he took time in examining the fumingly silent boy who had yet to drop Jafar's gaze.
"I thought you people weren't supposed to hit them in the face?" He drolled, using his staff once more, though this time to move the boy's face slightly to the side to better see the large, freshly-purple bruise under his eye. With glee he noticed the disgusted twitch the boy gave, pushing the staff away before being cuffed rather hardly on the back of the head by the stony Ennuch.
The slaver was quick to explain away the indiscretion, seeing Jafar's upraised brow.
"Oh, of course not. Only the finest, most perfect specimens we sell here. Only, this boy," he spoke the word like it was a household illness, a plaguing insect, "has been particularly hard to handle, so extreme measures were needed."
Extreme measures indeed.
Jafar's eye was intelligent and observant enough to catch signs of abuse when he saw them. The bruise on his face tallying with the cut on his ribs, the swollen wrist, the sign of blood at the ears and the cracked and bleeding lip spoke loudly of physical victimization. But why? Perhaps, Jafar mused, conventional methods had proved useless with this boy. The other dancing boys were quiet, weak creatures. A sharp word, the gesture of a sword, or even promise of the status they might gain from their position as bacha bazi would be enough to keep them docile and obedient.
In any case, one would be crazy to purchase such a boy. He was too old, too rough, too scrappy to mold into a beautiful dancing boy. He made a pitiful sight, his ragged clothes contrasting with the pretty, gauzy outfits the other boys wore.
"What a sad little street rat you bring before me." Jafar said, directing his words at the boy.
"Go to hell!" the boy snapped, breaking his silence as he jerked away from his captors long enough to take a swing at Jafar.
Luckily, Jafar had expected/counted on such a reaction, and fell back just far enough that the blow missed him. Instantly, the boy was set upon by both the Ennuch and the slaver, as well as other traders who had seen the commotion. To attack the Sultan himself was the highest treason, and an impossibly foolish move for someone so lowly. A thick rope of leather came down upon the boy's back, and fists and feet kept him in the dirt as he was laid into by the swinging instrument.
There would, there should, be death for such insolence.
"Ah ah ah ah, don't kill him yet."
The boy's punishers looked up, confused at their Sultan's quiet command, obeying nonetheless. The boy lay still in the sand, though surly eyes slid round to him at his next words.
"Bring me the boy after you beat him."
Though astonished, the slavers nodded and bowed, mumbling obedience. The Eunuch leaned down to gather the boy, dragging him off out of sight to be thoroughly punished before being presented to the Sultan himself.
Jafar smiled at the questioning eyes as he made his way back to his royal litter, amused at his own eccentricity.
Yes, the boy was damaged. Yes, there were millions of better, more refined dancing boys to be had and coveted. But something in those large, dark eyes, heavily lashed and heavy with passion excited his curiosity. He'd make him into a proper bacha bazi yet.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi", PART TWO "Polishing"guiltyhousewifeApril 30 2011, 21:33:04 UTC
Technically it is the palace slave trainer who is responsible for direct bacha bazi-training. He would diligently and meticulously mold the purchased-boys into worthy entertainment of the Sultan and his associates. He was hard man, with a pitiless eye, carrying a large, knobbed stick that whacked errant backs and knees into correct positions for dancing, cracked across the knuckles of those who dared to speak or act out of turn.
Jafar approved of his methods.
From him he learned much about his strange boy. He learned the full depth of the boy's obstinate, as grimly and disgustedly reported by the slave trainer:
How the youth would look aghast at the feminine boys in their ornamented robes, refusing to don such garments himself until given a solid beating.
How during such beatings, he would not cry like the other boys, but raise his head and back, not bending to bodily pain until the last blow would crumple him unmoving to the ground.
How despite his sullenness to those he hated, he was warm and kind to the other boys, taking the blame for their mistakes, sharing his meals with them, striking a conversation with even the shyest of lads.
The boy had a warped notion of justice, and with the end of a his stick, the slave trainer tried to impress upon him the reality that justice is relative, and the justice in his world now was not his to delegate.
He had learned about his purchase too, through his own interactions with him.
For example, Jafar had learned his name.
"I'm not 'boy', I'm not 'slave', just Aladdin." he said defiantly up into Jafar's face. His fists were to his sides, understanding finally the foolishness of attacking the Sultan. Nearby, Aladdin's handlers stood nervously, trying to gauge their ruler's patience with their charge's attitude.
They were almost relieved when Jafar himself swung his staff into the boy's stomach, dropping him to his knees.
"My dear boy, I could call you dirt and you would be just that - Dirt."
He let his red magic wash over the boy, and for the first time he saw fear in Aladdin's eyes as his body was involuntarily and painfully twisted back upright, pulled flush against Jafar, So close, Jafar could feel the twitch of constrained-muscles, the sharp hip against his thigh. Thrilled, he tipped Aladdin's chin up with clever fingers.
He held the boy's face there, devouring the expression in his eyes, until he felt the first spasm of despair in those dark orbs, letting him drop bodily once more to the floor.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi", PART TWO "Polishing"guiltyhousewifeApril 30 2011, 21:34:59 UTC
Of course he took the boy, multiple times. He was just as much Jafar's bodily-possession as was his wife, his harem girls, and the other bachas .The harem girls, with their regrettably dead eyes, gave like warm dough to him, going where he told them to go, sucking what he told them to suck, moaning when he told them to moan. His wife was satisfying enough as well, though the hatred in her eyes was somewhat tiring. The other bachas cried at first, some keeping the tears inside, but soon learned from the harm girls how to turn desire into power, becoming flirtatious flimsy things quick enough.
Not his boy.
Jafar, thrillingly enough, had to fight to keep him down on the bed. Not even the threat of his death by the palace guards was enough to make him submit, and when pined and speared by his flesh, he gave such a howl of pain and rage. Flashes of fear giving way to angry denial, the thick mop of black hair crashing and turning widely on the pillows. The tightness around him griped Jafar's shaft in something like pain, and he gasped despite himself, wrapping his long hands around the boy's neck as he drove the unbendable body deep into the mattress. Though sweaty and bruised when he was done, Jafar was immensely satisfied after the end of such a fuck, not quite understanding himself why such defiance, normally a cue for his own anger, excited him so. And predictably, like they all do, the boy fought less with each nightly visit, accepting his reality as much as his pride would allow.
He knew this was unheard of, so much interest paid for a boy most would never have picked up in the first place, nor deigned to keep when he proved ill-suited for the role of dancing boy. And he'd never make a proper dancing boy, not really.
The other bacha bazi had already finished their training, performing at parties and meetings held at the Sultan's pleasure, impressing all who attended.
Not his boy. The slave trainer still struggled to clump together the sand in hopes of refining a diamond.
Why the unusual-effort, why the dragged-out patience, Jafar could not fully explain himself. Perhaps it is because the fire in the boy's eyes, when Jafar came to visit him at night - the strength of his spirit - attracted him, reminding him in a distant way of his princess-turned-queen, before her own spirit broke.
He had a feeling that when Aladdin broke, it would be a much more thrilling display. In fact his grand ball planned for the next full moon counted on just that for entertainment.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi", PART THREE "Performance"guiltyhousewifeMay 2 2011, 14:35:28 UTC
Jafar looked the faces of the men gathered 'round.
Fellow-sultans, shahs, chieftains, lords and kings. In Agrabah together, in his kingdom, in his palace.
Out of fear.
First year or so of his reign Jafar had spent razing his neighboring kingdoms to the ground in an elaborate, impressive show of force. To prove a point. To make a statement. He put fear out into the world, letting survivors of the foreign cities spread the tale of a sorcerer-king, and more clever than insects, other rulers came to his door now with gifts, ambassadors and treaties.
They knew, at least now after so many who dared stand against him fell, that both fighting and fleeing were useless.
It was better for everyone involved to accept his reign as legitimate, to try to gain his favor and friendship. Being courted all week with assuages to his ego had put Jafar in a generous mood, inclined to let everyone leave alive, more or less. But first, dinner that night, and an hedonistic feast, with equally hedonistic entertainment afterward.
His bacha bazis were to be put on display, to the excitement of the kingdoms who shared in the ancient tradition of dancing boys.
After the plates were cleared by his servants, the long tables removed from the room, the traditional preparations began. Out of his own treasure-rooms were fetched, massive carpets in the richest reds, golds, and purples, laid on the bare ground. Cushions of all textures, sizes and comforts were brought in as well, in various piles and positions against the wall, settees, and ground. Behind a large dark curtain, Jafar's royal musicians tuned their instruments, while servants wandered refilling cups with wine and various spirits. During all the preparations, passed around too was a tall, ornate water-pipe, of which several rulers took lascivious pulls, loosening their tongues and bodies.
Jafar watched with an amused eye as the fools dared to settle into something resembling comfort in his presence. His good will should never be presumed. He distinguished himself by his straight-backed, black and twisted-chair, higher than the heads of the others, to make no small point.
A general feeling of excitement and pleasure buzzed in the air, hooded under the dark arm of Jafar's hospitality.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi", PART THREE "Performance"guiltyhousewifeMay 3 2011, 21:12:31 UTC
Clothed in impossibly rich and ornate garments, they came with silent, composed faces, a small, secret smile in their eyes. They came with pleasant noises as well, in the silence before the music started: a tinkling of bells around their wrists and ankles, the swish of their colorful and gauzy scarves draped with artistic-carelessness around them.
They granted graceful smiles to the men whose hands inadvertently went out in unconscious desire to touch them, aware of the pleasing-effect their clean faces, smooth and shining hair, dark lined-eyes and soft skin made.
And then they danced, danced their complex routine of sexual interest and demureness to the tune of flutes slowly, hauntingly, climbing up and down the scales, the rattle of other instruments interjecting a rhythmic counterpoint.
Jafar himself was not as entranced and lovestruck by the display as his honored guests were. Yes, he was satisfied with the beauty they adorned his palace with, but his mind was already two steps ahead, planning, waiting, speculating on Aladdin's entrance.
Would they have to drag the boy in? Would he cooperate?
In the expectation of anger, Jafar's fingers inadvertently gripped his snake staff in a white-knuckled embrace, vowing that he himself would beat the boy to death with his own staff if he dared humiliate him tonight.
The music ended, and the boys bowed and left, some staying comfortably but icily in the laps of the more important guests.
Jafar waited with baited breath, staring hard at the curtain where the bacha bazi had entered, waiting...
The music had stopped its gentle song awhile ago, and several of the seated men now became aware of the silence, though none dared move when their tempestuous host looked so intent and expectant.
Then, without warning or reason, the music started again.
But this time, it was just a drum, a small drum, not pounded, not beaten, but agitated with a sweep of the hand across the taut surface, a gentle thump, then the sweep once more, building a simple rhythm.
The curtain moved, thrown open in one startling move, and Aladdin stood there, alone.
Jafar felt the snarl on his face rise, eyes wide as he, and no doubt his guests, took in the boy's appearance.
No scarves, robes, or skirts adorned his most difficult dancing-boy. No traditional garb, no textual symbols of honor and tradition. No, he was blatantly, obtrusively, scandalously bare. Or mostly so.
He wore only thin, scarlet leggings, stopping above his ankles. Streaks of red paint smeared across his face and arms, his eyes large and bright in their gaudy-framing. It was peasant garb, whore-garb, and in the tiniest, impossible-second before the dance begun, Aladdin fearlessly met Jafar's eyes, and he read the taunting message there.
If I am to be a whore, even a pampered palace whore, then I may as well dress like it. Right, sorcerer?
Along with his vow to slaughter the street rat when given the first, discreet-opportunity, he would also have the palace musicians killed. Gone was the carefully-selected music Jafar himself had chosen, and in its place, the drums were joined by other percussion instruments, so the music itself sounded tribal and savage. His guests looked around in confusion, uneasy with the charged turn of events, but soon they found their eyes drawn back to the boy and his dance.
Jafar too, let the glow on his staff die down in watching the boy move.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi" END END ENDguiltyhousewifeMay 3 2011, 21:13:11 UTC
His dance, like his outfit, resembled nothing like the bacha bazi before him. Bacha bazi entranced their audiences with their feminine movements, the sway of their hips, the expressive dance of their arms. Aladdin was pointedly unfeminine in his dance. His movements were powerful, erratic yet nubile and clever, without strategy or style, but angry and passionate.
Jafar found himself realizing, that though classless in his appearance and performance, Aladdin's dance was having an effect on those around him. Jafar knew the effect the snap of the boy's hip, the flexible sweep of his leg, the taunt muscles of his abdomen and chest stretching and coiling to follow his body in athletic poses and feats was having on his audience.
He knew it affected them, because it affected him.
His eyes dropped in pleased satisfaction as he felt desire curl up warmly in his body. He laughed, giving condescending applause when Aladdin drew himself up flawlessly from a split on the ground. The boy's eyes snapped to Jafar's in anger. He did not want Jafar to actually enjoy himself; it would make useless his act of rebellion . However after a moment of internal struggle, a defiant smirk spread on Aladdin's face as he danced forward to Jafar himself, coming almost within hand's reach, before kicking up his heels and moving tauntingly away, drawing attention to the ornaments around his ankles.
Jafar noticed with surprise there were no bells around the boy's feet, but rather they were strung with bright red feathers, long stemmed feathers, long feathers -
Parrot feathers.
No, he wouldn't have.
None would be so foolish as to attack Jafar so directly. But a quick look around him confirmed Jafar's suspicions. Iago was gone, and had been so since last night, he remembered.
Oh, the streetrat would die, and slowly. Only the paralyzing effect of volcanic rage kept Jafar from making a scene, watching with a boiling gaze as Aladdin smiled warmly upon taking a drink of the wine offered to him by one of the seated men, basking in the attentions of the dinner-guests.
With a dramatic slam of the drum, the dance was over, and his lean, dark body shinning with sweat, Aladdin smiled and bowed without modesty. A slight nudge of his arm turned Jafar's attention downward, into the smiling, bearded face of another ruler looking up into his.
"Jafar, I must confess, I have never seen anything like tonight's display. It was truly something special to behold. I daresay you stumbled upon a diamond in the rough with your angry little sparrow and his intoxicating dance."
Aladdin met Jafar's gaze once more, the maliciousness in the boy's gaze blatant, no longer hidden under the sheen of sexual desirability.
Jafar paused, considering, before a slow smile melted across his face.
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi" END END ENDseekingnevadaMay 6 2011, 07:50:45 UTC
OH MY GOD. IAGO. I NEARLY DIED.
Seriously, I can hardly get my head on straight because of this. I found myself laughing and cringing and holding my breath all in turn throughout the course of this fic.
Just... the details. What Aladdin was wearing, and his comparison to the others, and how he treated the other boys. It's so perfect. And oh my god, the diamond in the rough. YES.
In short: new. favourite. fill.
(Also, I'm going to be laughing for ages at the Iago bit. Oh my god, seriously. XDD )
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi" END END ENDguiltyhousewifeMay 6 2011, 16:30:48 UTC
Lol, well thank you so much for your comment.
I had to throw in the Iago-bit. It was actually a last minute decision, because I planned for Aladdin to cooperate somewhat, but at the same time, he's Aladdin, he's got to get back at Jafar somehow. And I didn't feel like writing Iago-dialogue, so I killed him. :D
Re: Title: "Bacha Bazi" END END ENDrberryberetJune 10 2011, 20:38:53 UTC
Aaah! I LOVE this! I've read all of your stories (...I think) and this is one of my favorites. You always write the characters so perfectly, and this prompt was amaaazing!
Re: Bacha Bazi - Podfic!guiltyhousewifeJuly 1 2013, 15:33:50 UTC
Hi! I just wanted to say I've listened to your other podfics before and loved them and wanted to listen to this one but I can't...it won't let me when I press the link, could you please provide another link?
Well, this was interesting.
Jafar ignored the nervous movements and expressions of the slaver as he took time in examining the fumingly silent boy who had yet to drop Jafar's gaze.
"I thought you people weren't supposed to hit them in the face?" He drolled, using his staff once more, though this time to move the boy's face slightly to the side to better see the large, freshly-purple bruise under his eye. With glee he noticed the disgusted twitch the boy gave, pushing the staff away before being cuffed rather hardly on the back of the head by the stony Ennuch.
The slaver was quick to explain away the indiscretion, seeing Jafar's upraised brow.
"Oh, of course not. Only the finest, most perfect specimens we sell here. Only, this boy," he spoke the word like it was a household illness, a plaguing insect, "has been particularly hard to handle, so extreme measures were needed."
Extreme measures indeed.
Jafar's eye was intelligent and observant enough to catch signs of abuse when he saw them. The bruise on his face tallying with the cut on his ribs, the swollen wrist, the sign of blood at the ears and the cracked and bleeding lip spoke loudly of physical victimization. But why? Perhaps, Jafar mused, conventional methods had proved useless with this boy. The other dancing boys were quiet, weak creatures. A sharp word, the gesture of a sword, or even promise of the status they might gain from their position as bacha bazi would be enough to keep them docile and obedient.
In any case, one would be crazy to purchase such a boy. He was too old, too rough, too scrappy to mold into a beautiful dancing boy. He made a pitiful sight, his ragged clothes contrasting with the pretty, gauzy outfits the other boys wore.
"What a sad little street rat you bring before me." Jafar said, directing his words at the boy.
"Go to hell!" the boy snapped, breaking his silence as he jerked away from his captors long enough to take a swing at Jafar.
Luckily, Jafar had expected/counted on such a reaction, and fell back just far enough that the blow missed him. Instantly, the boy was set upon by both the Ennuch and the slaver, as well as other traders who had seen the commotion. To attack the Sultan himself was the highest treason, and an impossibly foolish move for someone so lowly. A thick rope of leather came down upon the boy's back, and fists and feet kept him in the dirt as he was laid into by the swinging instrument.
There would, there should, be death for such insolence.
"Ah ah ah ah, don't kill him yet."
The boy's punishers looked up, confused at their Sultan's quiet command, obeying nonetheless. The boy lay still in the sand, though surly eyes slid round to him at his next words.
"Bring me the boy after you beat him."
Though astonished, the slavers nodded and bowed, mumbling obedience. The Eunuch leaned down to gather the boy, dragging him off out of sight to be thoroughly punished before being presented to the Sultan himself.
Jafar smiled at the questioning eyes as he made his way back to his royal litter, amused at his own eccentricity.
Yes, the boy was damaged. Yes, there were millions of better, more refined dancing boys to be had and coveted. But something in those large, dark eyes, heavily lashed and heavy with passion excited his curiosity. He'd make him into a proper bacha bazi yet.
(Parts Two and Three Coming Soon)
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Jafar approved of his methods.
From him he learned much about his strange boy. He learned the full depth of the boy's obstinate, as grimly and disgustedly reported by the slave trainer:
How the youth would look aghast at the feminine boys in their ornamented robes, refusing to don such garments himself until given a solid beating.
How during such beatings, he would not cry like the other boys, but raise his head and back, not bending to bodily pain until the last blow would crumple him unmoving to the ground.
How despite his sullenness to those he hated, he was warm and kind to the other boys, taking the blame for their mistakes, sharing his meals with them, striking a conversation with even the shyest of lads.
The boy had a warped notion of justice, and with the end of a his stick, the slave trainer tried to impress upon him the reality that justice is relative, and the justice in his world now was not his to delegate.
He had learned about his purchase too, through his own interactions with him.
For example, Jafar had learned his name.
"I'm not 'boy', I'm not 'slave', just Aladdin." he said defiantly up into Jafar's face. His fists were to his sides, understanding finally the foolishness of attacking the Sultan. Nearby, Aladdin's handlers stood nervously, trying to gauge their ruler's patience with their charge's attitude.
They were almost relieved when Jafar himself swung his staff into the boy's stomach, dropping him to his knees.
"My dear boy, I could call you dirt and you would be just that - Dirt."
He let his red magic wash over the boy, and for the first time he saw fear in Aladdin's eyes as his body was involuntarily and painfully twisted back upright, pulled flush against Jafar, So close, Jafar could feel the twitch of constrained-muscles, the sharp hip against his thigh. Thrilled, he tipped Aladdin's chin up with clever fingers.
He held the boy's face there, devouring the expression in his eyes, until he felt the first spasm of despair in those dark orbs, letting him drop bodily once more to the floor.
Reply
Not his boy.
Jafar, thrillingly enough, had to fight to keep him down on the bed. Not even the threat of his death by the palace guards was enough to make him submit, and when pined and speared by his flesh, he gave such a howl of pain and rage. Flashes of fear giving way to angry denial, the thick mop of black hair crashing and turning widely on the pillows. The tightness around him griped Jafar's shaft in something like pain, and he gasped despite himself, wrapping his long hands around the boy's neck as he drove the unbendable body deep into the mattress. Though sweaty and bruised when he was done, Jafar was immensely satisfied after the end of such a fuck, not quite understanding himself why such defiance, normally a cue for his own anger, excited him so. And predictably, like they all do, the boy fought less with each nightly visit, accepting his reality as much as his pride would allow.
He knew this was unheard of, so much interest paid for a boy most would never have picked up in the first place, nor deigned to keep when he proved ill-suited for the role of dancing boy. And he'd never make a proper dancing boy, not really.
The other bacha bazi had already finished their training, performing at parties and meetings held at the Sultan's pleasure, impressing all who attended.
Not his boy. The slave trainer still struggled to clump together the sand in hopes of refining a diamond.
Why the unusual-effort, why the dragged-out patience, Jafar could not fully explain himself. Perhaps it is because the fire in the boy's eyes, when Jafar came to visit him at night - the strength of his spirit - attracted him, reminding him in a distant way of his princess-turned-queen, before her own spirit broke.
He had a feeling that when Aladdin broke, it would be a much more thrilling display. In fact his grand ball planned for the next full moon counted on just that for entertainment.
Reply
Fellow-sultans, shahs, chieftains, lords and kings. In Agrabah together, in his kingdom, in his palace.
Out of fear.
First year or so of his reign Jafar had spent razing his neighboring kingdoms to the ground in an elaborate, impressive show of force. To prove a point. To make a statement. He put fear out into the world, letting survivors of the foreign cities spread the tale of a sorcerer-king, and more clever than insects, other rulers came to his door now with gifts, ambassadors and treaties.
They knew, at least now after so many who dared stand against him fell, that both fighting and fleeing were useless.
It was better for everyone involved to accept his reign as legitimate, to try to gain his favor and friendship. Being courted all week with assuages to his ego had put Jafar in a generous mood, inclined to let everyone leave alive, more or less. But first, dinner that night, and an hedonistic feast, with equally hedonistic entertainment afterward.
His bacha bazis were to be put on display, to the excitement of the kingdoms who shared in the ancient tradition of dancing boys.
After the plates were cleared by his servants, the long tables removed from the room, the traditional preparations began. Out of his own treasure-rooms were fetched, massive carpets in the richest reds, golds, and purples, laid on the bare ground. Cushions of all textures, sizes and comforts were brought in as well, in various piles and positions against the wall, settees, and ground. Behind a large dark curtain, Jafar's royal musicians tuned their instruments, while servants wandered refilling cups with wine and various spirits. During all the preparations, passed around too was a tall, ornate water-pipe, of which several rulers took lascivious pulls, loosening their tongues and bodies.
Jafar watched with an amused eye as the fools dared to settle into something resembling comfort in his presence. His good will should never be presumed. He distinguished himself by his straight-backed, black and twisted-chair, higher than the heads of the others, to make no small point.
A general feeling of excitement and pleasure buzzed in the air, hooded under the dark arm of Jafar's hospitality.
Then, the bacha bazi entered.
Reply
They granted graceful smiles to the men whose hands inadvertently went out in unconscious desire to touch them, aware of the pleasing-effect their clean faces, smooth and shining hair, dark lined-eyes and soft skin made.
And then they danced, danced their complex routine of sexual interest and demureness to the tune of flutes slowly, hauntingly, climbing up and down the scales, the rattle of other instruments interjecting a rhythmic counterpoint.
Jafar himself was not as entranced and lovestruck by the display as his honored guests were. Yes, he was satisfied with the beauty they adorned his palace with, but his mind was already two steps ahead, planning, waiting, speculating on
Aladdin's entrance.
Would they have to drag the boy in? Would he cooperate?
In the expectation of anger, Jafar's fingers inadvertently gripped his snake staff in a white-knuckled embrace, vowing that he himself would beat the boy to death with his own staff if he dared humiliate him tonight.
The music ended, and the boys bowed and left, some staying comfortably but icily in the laps of the more important guests.
Jafar waited with baited breath, staring hard at the curtain where the bacha bazi had entered, waiting...
The music had stopped its gentle song awhile ago, and several of the seated men now became aware of the silence, though none dared move when their tempestuous host looked so intent and expectant.
Then, without warning or reason, the music started again.
But this time, it was just a drum, a small drum, not pounded, not beaten, but agitated with a sweep of the hand across the taut surface, a gentle thump, then the sweep once more, building a simple rhythm.
The curtain moved, thrown open in one startling move, and Aladdin stood there, alone.
Jafar felt the snarl on his face rise, eyes wide as he, and no doubt his guests, took in the boy's appearance.
No scarves, robes, or skirts adorned his most difficult dancing-boy. No traditional garb, no textual symbols of honor and tradition. No, he was blatantly, obtrusively, scandalously bare. Or mostly so.
He wore only thin, scarlet leggings, stopping above his ankles. Streaks of red paint smeared across his face and arms, his eyes large and bright in their gaudy-framing. It was peasant garb, whore-garb, and in the tiniest, impossible-second before the dance begun, Aladdin fearlessly met Jafar's eyes, and he read the taunting message there.
If I am to be a whore, even a pampered palace whore, then I may as well dress like it. Right, sorcerer?
Along with his vow to slaughter the street rat when given the first, discreet-opportunity, he would also have the palace musicians killed. Gone was the carefully-selected music Jafar himself had chosen, and in its place, the drums were joined by other percussion instruments, so the music itself sounded tribal and savage. His guests looked around in confusion, uneasy with the charged turn of events, but soon they found their eyes drawn back to the boy and his dance.
Jafar too, let the glow on his staff die down in watching the boy move.
Reply
Jafar found himself realizing, that though classless in his appearance and performance, Aladdin's dance was having an effect on those around him. Jafar knew the effect the snap of the boy's hip, the flexible sweep of his leg, the taunt muscles of his abdomen and chest stretching and coiling to follow his body in athletic poses and feats was having on his audience.
He knew it affected them, because it affected him.
His eyes dropped in pleased satisfaction as he felt desire curl up warmly in his body. He laughed, giving condescending applause when Aladdin drew himself up flawlessly from a split on the ground. The boy's eyes snapped to Jafar's in anger. He did not want Jafar to actually enjoy himself; it would make useless his act of rebellion . However after a moment of internal struggle, a defiant smirk spread on Aladdin's face as he danced forward to Jafar himself, coming almost within hand's reach, before kicking up his heels and moving tauntingly away, drawing attention to the ornaments around his ankles.
Jafar noticed with surprise there were no bells around the boy's feet, but rather they were strung with bright red feathers, long stemmed feathers, long feathers -
Parrot feathers.
No, he wouldn't have.
None would be so foolish as to attack Jafar so directly. But a quick look around him confirmed Jafar's suspicions. Iago was gone, and had been so since last night, he remembered.
Oh, the streetrat would die, and slowly. Only the paralyzing effect of volcanic rage kept Jafar from making a scene, watching with a boiling gaze as Aladdin smiled warmly upon taking a drink of the wine offered to him by one of the seated men, basking in the attentions of the dinner-guests.
With a dramatic slam of the drum, the dance was over, and his lean, dark body shinning with sweat, Aladdin smiled and bowed without modesty. A slight nudge of his arm turned Jafar's attention downward, into the smiling, bearded face of another ruler looking up into his.
"Jafar, I must confess, I have never seen anything like tonight's display. It was truly something special to behold. I daresay you stumbled upon a diamond in the rough with your angry little sparrow and his intoxicating dance."
Aladdin met Jafar's gaze once more, the maliciousness in the boy's gaze blatant, no longer hidden under the sheen of sexual desirability.
Jafar paused, considering, before a slow smile melted across his face.
"Yes, it seems I have."
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Information on bacha bazi:
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Seriously, I can hardly get my head on straight because of this. I found myself laughing and cringing and holding my breath all in turn throughout the course of this fic.
Just... the details. What Aladdin was wearing, and his comparison to the others, and how he treated the other boys. It's so perfect. And oh my god, the diamond in the rough. YES.
In short: new. favourite. fill.
(Also, I'm going to be laughing for ages at the Iago bit. Oh my god, seriously. XDD )
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I had to throw in the Iago-bit. It was actually a last minute decision, because I planned for Aladdin to cooperate somewhat, but at the same time, he's Aladdin, he's got to get back at Jafar somehow. And I didn't feel like writing Iago-dialogue, so I killed him. :D
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Listen here
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The podfic can now be heard here. This video can only be seen by those with this link. :)
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