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?
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.
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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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