why don't you come with me little giiirl~
An inch off the bottom, I told my hairdresser. Two off the top layers. And while the first past she got right, she decided to double the second one. I've gone from Ed Elric hair to an almost-Reno style. Not that I mind, but eesh. Directions people!
Hopefully I have another fic done tomorrow too ^_^ Spawn, Saiyuki, something with Tarzan, and something with Prince Philip from Sleeping Beauty per request of iamthewind. My disease is spreading.
Title: Exotic Tastes
Fandom: Aladdin/The Little Mermaid crossover
Pairing: Aladdin/Eric, perephial Jasmine/Ariel because I can
Disclaimer: Rat’s. Not mine. Curses.
Rating: R
AN: For inthefire2002, because she encourages this sort of thing *grins*
Summary: Good meals are hard to come by.
The room was crowded and noisy, a loud dull roar of polite conversation and dry jokes he couldn’t understand. And even through all the rich-clad figures there was a deep chill in the air, England’s weather finding a way to seep through all the cracks and crevices. So completely different from his home, where columns were favored over walls and open spaces took up room, that it made his throat tighten in something like panic.
This was far out of his element. This was far beyond him.
Nervous and trying to hide it, Aladdin clasped his hands behind his back and stood straight. Proud, interested, cultivated to a fine civilized edge. Just like all the other men in the room, noble born and purple blood.
He wasn’t either of those things, regardless of his new title and silk clothes. He still slept on the floor when he could get away with it, still nabbed food from the palace’s kitchen as if he wasn’t the one paying the cooks in the first place.
Aladdin shifted suddenly, shaking himself out of his thoughts before he got in too deep. His elbow struck something hard and tinny. Turning his head quickly, the Sultan of Agraba watched with a wince as the butler he had just inadvertently struck staggered with his tray of fancy fingers foods.
‘Odd dervs?’ he thought. ‘Audders?’ He had studied that term too, damn it all.
“Whoa, sorry,” he quickly apologized, hands hovering and ready to catch.
The butler’s face looked pinched and painful. “My fault entirely…sir. Caviar?”
“Thanks.” Trying to appease the man, Aladdin grabbed one of the small crackers covered in black goo and took a bite, smiling all the while. A second later he was still smiling, only with tears in his eyes as he choked on the horrible taste in his mouth. “Wa…ter,” he croaked but the butler had already swept away to attend other guests.
No mercy to be found there.
Brown eyes frantically glanced around the room in search of anything to rid himself of the foul flavor. Apparently it was against policy have things stationed conveniently-in England, at least.
With a sigh and a grimace, Aladdin stuck his tongue out for a moment. A few feet away, a long haired man smirked at him and raised an eyebrow, deep blue eyes laughing until his blond companion hit him in the chest with a glove to gain his attention back. The blond offered the Sultan an apologetic but helpless look while the other stranger….growled?…and shot Aladdin a contemptuous look.
Stuck-up haughty bastard.
“Aladdin, what on earth is wrong?” Jasmine asked, finally taking notice of her husband’s plight. “You look like someone tried to poison you.”
Aladdin grimaced again, more pronounced this time. Maybe he could gain sympathy points and leave early. “I think they might have.”
“Is he alright, your Highness?” a bemused elderly man asked from beneath a bushy white moustache. “He looks rather green, I’d say.”
“Oh, yes. He’s fine. The food here is just so different than that of our kingdom. It can be hard to adjust at first,” the black-haired woman said graciously, bowing her head slightly. The man and his companions looked positively charmed by her and engaged her in conversation again, the Sultan and his illness forgotten for the moment.
Annoyed and feeling slightly rejected, Aladdin inwardly huffed, flicking the purple feather of his turban out of his face. Women milled about in long, over-stuffed dresses, tittering and chirping and covering their mouths every time they opened them.
Snatches of conversations drifted by him, idle gossip that became their lives-
“…haven’t seen him in years, really. Harold heard that there was a curse on…”
“How scandalous!”
“And he, why, he met her on a beach, they say. No real breeding.”
“Positively outrageous. My, the youth these days…”
“Why, the other day Eleanor told me…”
“…a desert country. Would you believe it?”
-and it all seemed so frivolous to him. How could this be their lives? Was this all they did all day? Glances were thrown his way, open stares, because him and Jasmine were so very different from everything these courtiers knew. Just two more specimens from some strange land, a picture book couple come to life. Something else to talk about, he supposed, and Aladdin wished they had brought Rajah with them this time.
Tigers were excellent conversational pieces, especially when they obeyed your every command.
Suddenly very tired and very constrained, Aladdin placed his calloused hand on Jasmine’s bare arm, nodding a pardon as he interrupted the current conversation. Probably about religion or the current state of economics. It usually was.
“If I could borrow my Queen for a moment,” he said, voice thickly accented and fitting strangely around what he considered a horrible mauling language.
“Of course, of course,” the same elderly man from before chortled, already turning his attention elsewhere as a heavily made-up woman grabbed his attention.
“Aladdin, what is wrong with you?” Jasmine whispered harshly, switching back to their native tongue. For that, at least, he was thankful. “You’ve done nothing but twitch and fidget like a petulant child all night. Do you have no manners at all?”
Aladdin looked at her, wide eyes burning in annoyance and hair held perfectly in place by elegant pins and gold combs. Bangles on her wrists rattled with agitated but poised hand movements. Shoulders held back and head held high. She belonged her, with the high and powerful.
She was beyond him, his Jasmine pushed down and away by this proud Queen.
Fingers curling into fists, mad at himself for not being able to reach whatever ground it was she wanted, the dark-skinned man took a deep, controlled breath. “Look, I’m sorry Jas, but I…I just…”
Her eyebrows furrowed in concern now, hand light over his wrist. “I know. It’s so different. But you have to try and get along with these people. We’re their guests, remember.”
“Yeah, and I’m trying. But they’re not making it easy. Or…you know…anywhere near possible,” Aladdin groused, sending a quick glare in the direction of the long haired man.
“But you read all those books I gave you on the culture and etiquette, just like I did. You’ll be fine if you just follow what they said. We don’t want to insult them, right? We may need their alliance some day.”
“Sometimes I miss only having a monkey for company.”
Jasmine smiled and took a step forward. “Well, I’m glad you spread your horizons a bit.” She flicked his turban’s feather once, an imitation of his earlier action, then stepped back. “Just try to mingle a bit. Maybe you’ll find someone interesting.
And,” she added, eyes glittering and suggestive, “maybe you’ll find something exotic to try before the night is over.”
“Jasmine!” Aladdin exclaimed, laughing slightly. And it was; his version.
One shoulder shrugged. “Horizons, remember? Now, I have to go make the rounds. Dinner should be soon anyways.”
She squeezed his wrist in a parting gesture before turning and sweeping off into the crowd, rope of black hair swinging with ever curved step and swing of her hips. Aladdin watched for a moment, suddenly feeling hungry for something as he saw wife lean in close to a red-haired girl. He silently thanked Allah that his country’s clothes were so loose fitting.
Well then. Squaring off his shoulders, Aladdin turned in the opposite direction and strode forward. He had a direct order, after all. And mingle he would. Right.
He paused, frantically trying to remember how one went about that.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him nearly fall over as his balance was tipped. “Watch it!” he said, startled, even as the offending hand turned into a helping one. Straightening out his shoulder cape, Aladdin glanced up into blue eyes.
Really blue eyes. That were wide in confusion, chagrin, and amusement as black hair threatened to fall over them.
“Pardon?” the man asked but Aladdin couldn’t answer immediately, too busy comparing those eyes to the ocean he had passed to get to this land. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Blinking, the Arabian man belatedly realized that one normally answer a question, and in a language both parties understood. “Ah…nothing. You just surprised me.”
“I’m sorry. You just looked lost,” the young man said. He shifted slightly on his feet, as if nervous or uncertain. “I thought I might be of assistance. I’m Eric, Prince of-”
“Aladdin,” Aladdin added quickly, cutting off the rest of the Englishman’s introduction. “Or Agraba. That’s in the East.”
Eric smiled. “So you’re the much-talked about Sultan. Your Queen and you created quite a stir in coming here. You’re a bit of a popular fairy-tale here. Almost a legend.”
One eyebrow raised and a smug grin plastered itself onto Aladdin’s face. “Really? A legend? How big of one?”
“Very big.”
Aladdin wished there was a pillar for him to lean on or something. He always looked his best while leaning on something. “I didn’t know that. Is that why everyone was staring earlier?”
“Maybe. It might have been because you mentioned that ‘carpet’ was your favorite mode of transportation earlier. They’re still puzzling over that.” Eric ran a hand through his hair, a ripple of black waves, and chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s managed to
confuse them like that in some time.”
“You’re not puzzled by it?” Aladdin asked, doubtful. Even he had been stunned the first time he had met Carpet. And that was after the talking sand-lion cave.
Eric shuffled a foot, suddenly looking slightly sheepish. “Well, there are a couple of us that have seen…erm…stranger things in our time. Some of us have been stranger things, actually.”
Aladdin felt his ego deflate a bit. “So, I’m the special of the week?”
“Year, actually, but you’re the most exotic one yet,” the prince smiled, a different more appreciative smile than the last and the ex-street rat wondered if that meant what he thought it meant.
Opening his mouth to respond or ask or possibly proposition, Aladdin cursed when a bell sounded, signaling in a refined way that all the guests should crowd into the dining room and pretend to enjoy each other’s company.
He wanted to enjoy someone’s company elsewhere, personally.
Then a thought struck him and he groaned. In agony.
Eric put leaned closer, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I just remembered that you people use ten different types of forks.”
Laughing, the blue-eyed man clapped him on the back. “I’ll sit next to you and secretly tell you which fork to use.”
“Thanks. But why can’t you just use your hands like normal people?”
The Englishman mumbled something about using hands for other things, but Aladdin was too fascinated by the slight blush on the other man’s face.
Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all…
“Is there a correct way to enter a room?” Aladdin asked wryly, watching the gathering sweep into the other adjacent like a herd of goats.
“There’s probably a correct way for everything,” Eric finally said as they passed the doorway. “It’s usually the most boring route.”
Nope. Definitely wouldn’t be so bad.
***
He was being led through long corridors lined with aged portraits and floral patterns, heavy velvet drapes and heavy dark shadows. But he hardly noticed, ignored the caged feeling he had felt the first time a servant had led him to the guest’s wing.
Instead, Aladdin felt the warm hand around his wrist, tugging and pulling gently but firmly. Hot air brushing across his cheek and feet feeling like they weren’t even touching the ground. Sly brushes of skin under the table, half-lidded glances and coy smiles that made everything simmer and glow inside. Aladdin had always enjoyed meals, was thankful every time he was able to merely sit down and be served, but tonight he couldn’t wait for the dishes to vanish and the hours disappear.
Now it was over and they wouldn’t be missed.
Eric was murmuring something, not too loud as if he was afraid of drawing too much attention to himself. The Sultan found is strange, coming from the man that had run a hand up his thigh while chatting with a Prince of Spain, but the soft words were easy and soft like a well-known song. It moved him along more than hands or looks, and if he closed his eyes it was like the ocean meeting the shore or a shell pressed against his ear.
The stopped at his room and finally Aladdin felt the world catch up to him. If Jasmine was in there…
But she wouldn’t be. She had barely paid him any heed during the meal, aside from one knowing look and smug smile. Instead she had focused her always-appreciated attention on the redhead she seemed to be so fond of.
Aladdin wished her the best of luck. So long as that luck wasn’t currently located on their borrowed bed.
But the room was blissfully empty and waiting.
Turning to press a kiss against the prince’s mouth, Aladdin felt strong arms twine around his waist, gliding easily across fine silk. That heat against, between thing layers of clothes, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet, not past the ice-breath air that crept between them. It sent a chill up his spine, a shiver through his body, and Aladdin felt his hands find a way under white linen and onto pale skin. Traced a pattern of strong muscles that shook as rough fingers roamed over them.
Eric hummed low in his throat as he tore off the Sultan’s wide belt, throwing it aside carelessly and pulled his tunic open and off. The air hit him like a solid force.
Gasping, Aladdin pushed forward more, back arched. Eric ran his lips across the darker man’s neck in small licks and bites, tasting distant spices and dry, fresh winds. One of his hands settled on Aladdin’s lower back, urging him closer until…
“Friction…good…” Aladdin moaned, deciding he was in a sharing mood, and felt Eric nod against his collarbone as they rocked into each other, giving and taking as their breaths became shorter.
Spinning them around, Aladdin shoved Eric back and watched in amusement as the Englishman hit the bed and flopped over ungracefully. Impatiently pushing his own trousers off, he watched Eric do the same with his own dark breeches, hips lifting off the bed and arousal…well, bouncing…
Eric snorted at Aladdin’s amused look and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking his head, the Sultan fell to his knees, long bangs falling into his face as he looked up at the prince. A small grin, a few prowling movements forward, and Eric was twisting the duvet around his pale fingers.
Aladdin ran a hand up knees, thighs, edged around hips as he took the other man’s length into his mouth, tongue exploding with the taste of everything so foreign. He moaned along with Eric, tongue curling around hot flesh, the actions resulting in the foreshadowing protest of cross-stitched threads.
“God…”
Inching forward, then back, setting a rhythm of suction and swirls, feeling the pressure grow in well-earned muscles, keeping hips down. He almost let go, let Eric buck and bruise, anything to make those cries grow higher.
A bit more, he could feel. A bit more, then…
Something ripped.
Aladdin swallowed every drop down and inhaled, savoring bitter salt and musk.
Eventually he fell back onto his haunches and looked up. Eric stared back, already shaking off a dazed look and replacing it with hunger.
The street kid turned ruler gulped and found himself propelled onto the bed, a body hard on top of his and refusing to budge.
“Ready for the next course?” Eric asked.
Aladdin grinned. “I just ate, but feel free.”
Eric took advantage of his offer, licking a line down his chest, unhurried and indulgent. Wanting. Tasting. Worshipping.
And suddenly it wasn’t quite so cold.
Hopefully I have another fic done tomorrow too ^_^ Spawn, Saiyuki, something with Tarzan, and something with Prince Philip from Sleeping Beauty per request of iamthewind. My disease is spreading.
Title: Exotic Tastes
Fandom: Aladdin/The Little Mermaid crossover
Pairing: Aladdin/Eric, perephial Jasmine/Ariel because I can
Disclaimer: Rat’s. Not mine. Curses.
Rating: R
AN: For inthefire2002, because she encourages this sort of thing *grins*
Summary: Good meals are hard to come by.
The room was crowded and noisy, a loud dull roar of polite conversation and dry jokes he couldn’t understand. And even through all the rich-clad figures there was a deep chill in the air, England’s weather finding a way to seep through all the cracks and crevices. So completely different from his home, where columns were favored over walls and open spaces took up room, that it made his throat tighten in something like panic.
This was far out of his element. This was far beyond him.
Nervous and trying to hide it, Aladdin clasped his hands behind his back and stood straight. Proud, interested, cultivated to a fine civilized edge. Just like all the other men in the room, noble born and purple blood.
He wasn’t either of those things, regardless of his new title and silk clothes. He still slept on the floor when he could get away with it, still nabbed food from the palace’s kitchen as if he wasn’t the one paying the cooks in the first place.
Aladdin shifted suddenly, shaking himself out of his thoughts before he got in too deep. His elbow struck something hard and tinny. Turning his head quickly, the Sultan of Agraba watched with a wince as the butler he had just inadvertently struck staggered with his tray of fancy fingers foods.
‘Odd dervs?’ he thought. ‘Audders?’ He had studied that term too, damn it all.
“Whoa, sorry,” he quickly apologized, hands hovering and ready to catch.
The butler’s face looked pinched and painful. “My fault entirely…sir. Caviar?”
“Thanks.” Trying to appease the man, Aladdin grabbed one of the small crackers covered in black goo and took a bite, smiling all the while. A second later he was still smiling, only with tears in his eyes as he choked on the horrible taste in his mouth. “Wa…ter,” he croaked but the butler had already swept away to attend other guests.
No mercy to be found there.
Brown eyes frantically glanced around the room in search of anything to rid himself of the foul flavor. Apparently it was against policy have things stationed conveniently-in England, at least.
With a sigh and a grimace, Aladdin stuck his tongue out for a moment. A few feet away, a long haired man smirked at him and raised an eyebrow, deep blue eyes laughing until his blond companion hit him in the chest with a glove to gain his attention back. The blond offered the Sultan an apologetic but helpless look while the other stranger….growled?…and shot Aladdin a contemptuous look.
Stuck-up haughty bastard.
“Aladdin, what on earth is wrong?” Jasmine asked, finally taking notice of her husband’s plight. “You look like someone tried to poison you.”
Aladdin grimaced again, more pronounced this time. Maybe he could gain sympathy points and leave early. “I think they might have.”
“Is he alright, your Highness?” a bemused elderly man asked from beneath a bushy white moustache. “He looks rather green, I’d say.”
“Oh, yes. He’s fine. The food here is just so different than that of our kingdom. It can be hard to adjust at first,” the black-haired woman said graciously, bowing her head slightly. The man and his companions looked positively charmed by her and engaged her in conversation again, the Sultan and his illness forgotten for the moment.
Annoyed and feeling slightly rejected, Aladdin inwardly huffed, flicking the purple feather of his turban out of his face. Women milled about in long, over-stuffed dresses, tittering and chirping and covering their mouths every time they opened them.
Snatches of conversations drifted by him, idle gossip that became their lives-
“…haven’t seen him in years, really. Harold heard that there was a curse on…”
“How scandalous!”
“And he, why, he met her on a beach, they say. No real breeding.”
“Positively outrageous. My, the youth these days…”
“Why, the other day Eleanor told me…”
“…a desert country. Would you believe it?”
-and it all seemed so frivolous to him. How could this be their lives? Was this all they did all day? Glances were thrown his way, open stares, because him and Jasmine were so very different from everything these courtiers knew. Just two more specimens from some strange land, a picture book couple come to life. Something else to talk about, he supposed, and Aladdin wished they had brought Rajah with them this time.
Tigers were excellent conversational pieces, especially when they obeyed your every command.
Suddenly very tired and very constrained, Aladdin placed his calloused hand on Jasmine’s bare arm, nodding a pardon as he interrupted the current conversation. Probably about religion or the current state of economics. It usually was.
“If I could borrow my Queen for a moment,” he said, voice thickly accented and fitting strangely around what he considered a horrible mauling language.
“Of course, of course,” the same elderly man from before chortled, already turning his attention elsewhere as a heavily made-up woman grabbed his attention.
“Aladdin, what is wrong with you?” Jasmine whispered harshly, switching back to their native tongue. For that, at least, he was thankful. “You’ve done nothing but twitch and fidget like a petulant child all night. Do you have no manners at all?”
Aladdin looked at her, wide eyes burning in annoyance and hair held perfectly in place by elegant pins and gold combs. Bangles on her wrists rattled with agitated but poised hand movements. Shoulders held back and head held high. She belonged her, with the high and powerful.
She was beyond him, his Jasmine pushed down and away by this proud Queen.
Fingers curling into fists, mad at himself for not being able to reach whatever ground it was she wanted, the dark-skinned man took a deep, controlled breath. “Look, I’m sorry Jas, but I…I just…”
Her eyebrows furrowed in concern now, hand light over his wrist. “I know. It’s so different. But you have to try and get along with these people. We’re their guests, remember.”
“Yeah, and I’m trying. But they’re not making it easy. Or…you know…anywhere near possible,” Aladdin groused, sending a quick glare in the direction of the long haired man.
“But you read all those books I gave you on the culture and etiquette, just like I did. You’ll be fine if you just follow what they said. We don’t want to insult them, right? We may need their alliance some day.”
“Sometimes I miss only having a monkey for company.”
Jasmine smiled and took a step forward. “Well, I’m glad you spread your horizons a bit.” She flicked his turban’s feather once, an imitation of his earlier action, then stepped back. “Just try to mingle a bit. Maybe you’ll find someone interesting.
And,” she added, eyes glittering and suggestive, “maybe you’ll find something exotic to try before the night is over.”
“Jasmine!” Aladdin exclaimed, laughing slightly. And it was; his version.
One shoulder shrugged. “Horizons, remember? Now, I have to go make the rounds. Dinner should be soon anyways.”
She squeezed his wrist in a parting gesture before turning and sweeping off into the crowd, rope of black hair swinging with ever curved step and swing of her hips. Aladdin watched for a moment, suddenly feeling hungry for something as he saw wife lean in close to a red-haired girl. He silently thanked Allah that his country’s clothes were so loose fitting.
Well then. Squaring off his shoulders, Aladdin turned in the opposite direction and strode forward. He had a direct order, after all. And mingle he would. Right.
He paused, frantically trying to remember how one went about that.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him nearly fall over as his balance was tipped. “Watch it!” he said, startled, even as the offending hand turned into a helping one. Straightening out his shoulder cape, Aladdin glanced up into blue eyes.
Really blue eyes. That were wide in confusion, chagrin, and amusement as black hair threatened to fall over them.
“Pardon?” the man asked but Aladdin couldn’t answer immediately, too busy comparing those eyes to the ocean he had passed to get to this land. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Blinking, the Arabian man belatedly realized that one normally answer a question, and in a language both parties understood. “Ah…nothing. You just surprised me.”
“I’m sorry. You just looked lost,” the young man said. He shifted slightly on his feet, as if nervous or uncertain. “I thought I might be of assistance. I’m Eric, Prince of-”
“Aladdin,” Aladdin added quickly, cutting off the rest of the Englishman’s introduction. “Or Agraba. That’s in the East.”
Eric smiled. “So you’re the much-talked about Sultan. Your Queen and you created quite a stir in coming here. You’re a bit of a popular fairy-tale here. Almost a legend.”
One eyebrow raised and a smug grin plastered itself onto Aladdin’s face. “Really? A legend? How big of one?”
“Very big.”
Aladdin wished there was a pillar for him to lean on or something. He always looked his best while leaning on something. “I didn’t know that. Is that why everyone was staring earlier?”
“Maybe. It might have been because you mentioned that ‘carpet’ was your favorite mode of transportation earlier. They’re still puzzling over that.” Eric ran a hand through his hair, a ripple of black waves, and chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s managed to
confuse them like that in some time.”
“You’re not puzzled by it?” Aladdin asked, doubtful. Even he had been stunned the first time he had met Carpet. And that was after the talking sand-lion cave.
Eric shuffled a foot, suddenly looking slightly sheepish. “Well, there are a couple of us that have seen…erm…stranger things in our time. Some of us have been stranger things, actually.”
Aladdin felt his ego deflate a bit. “So, I’m the special of the week?”
“Year, actually, but you’re the most exotic one yet,” the prince smiled, a different more appreciative smile than the last and the ex-street rat wondered if that meant what he thought it meant.
Opening his mouth to respond or ask or possibly proposition, Aladdin cursed when a bell sounded, signaling in a refined way that all the guests should crowd into the dining room and pretend to enjoy each other’s company.
He wanted to enjoy someone’s company elsewhere, personally.
Then a thought struck him and he groaned. In agony.
Eric put leaned closer, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I just remembered that you people use ten different types of forks.”
Laughing, the blue-eyed man clapped him on the back. “I’ll sit next to you and secretly tell you which fork to use.”
“Thanks. But why can’t you just use your hands like normal people?”
The Englishman mumbled something about using hands for other things, but Aladdin was too fascinated by the slight blush on the other man’s face.
Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all…
“Is there a correct way to enter a room?” Aladdin asked wryly, watching the gathering sweep into the other adjacent like a herd of goats.
“There’s probably a correct way for everything,” Eric finally said as they passed the doorway. “It’s usually the most boring route.”
Nope. Definitely wouldn’t be so bad.
***
He was being led through long corridors lined with aged portraits and floral patterns, heavy velvet drapes and heavy dark shadows. But he hardly noticed, ignored the caged feeling he had felt the first time a servant had led him to the guest’s wing.
Instead, Aladdin felt the warm hand around his wrist, tugging and pulling gently but firmly. Hot air brushing across his cheek and feet feeling like they weren’t even touching the ground. Sly brushes of skin under the table, half-lidded glances and coy smiles that made everything simmer and glow inside. Aladdin had always enjoyed meals, was thankful every time he was able to merely sit down and be served, but tonight he couldn’t wait for the dishes to vanish and the hours disappear.
Now it was over and they wouldn’t be missed.
Eric was murmuring something, not too loud as if he was afraid of drawing too much attention to himself. The Sultan found is strange, coming from the man that had run a hand up his thigh while chatting with a Prince of Spain, but the soft words were easy and soft like a well-known song. It moved him along more than hands or looks, and if he closed his eyes it was like the ocean meeting the shore or a shell pressed against his ear.
The stopped at his room and finally Aladdin felt the world catch up to him. If Jasmine was in there…
But she wouldn’t be. She had barely paid him any heed during the meal, aside from one knowing look and smug smile. Instead she had focused her always-appreciated attention on the redhead she seemed to be so fond of.
Aladdin wished her the best of luck. So long as that luck wasn’t currently located on their borrowed bed.
But the room was blissfully empty and waiting.
Turning to press a kiss against the prince’s mouth, Aladdin felt strong arms twine around his waist, gliding easily across fine silk. That heat against, between thing layers of clothes, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet, not past the ice-breath air that crept between them. It sent a chill up his spine, a shiver through his body, and Aladdin felt his hands find a way under white linen and onto pale skin. Traced a pattern of strong muscles that shook as rough fingers roamed over them.
Eric hummed low in his throat as he tore off the Sultan’s wide belt, throwing it aside carelessly and pulled his tunic open and off. The air hit him like a solid force.
Gasping, Aladdin pushed forward more, back arched. Eric ran his lips across the darker man’s neck in small licks and bites, tasting distant spices and dry, fresh winds. One of his hands settled on Aladdin’s lower back, urging him closer until…
“Friction…good…” Aladdin moaned, deciding he was in a sharing mood, and felt Eric nod against his collarbone as they rocked into each other, giving and taking as their breaths became shorter.
Spinning them around, Aladdin shoved Eric back and watched in amusement as the Englishman hit the bed and flopped over ungracefully. Impatiently pushing his own trousers off, he watched Eric do the same with his own dark breeches, hips lifting off the bed and arousal…well, bouncing…
Eric snorted at Aladdin’s amused look and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking his head, the Sultan fell to his knees, long bangs falling into his face as he looked up at the prince. A small grin, a few prowling movements forward, and Eric was twisting the duvet around his pale fingers.
Aladdin ran a hand up knees, thighs, edged around hips as he took the other man’s length into his mouth, tongue exploding with the taste of everything so foreign. He moaned along with Eric, tongue curling around hot flesh, the actions resulting in the foreshadowing protest of cross-stitched threads.
“God…”
Inching forward, then back, setting a rhythm of suction and swirls, feeling the pressure grow in well-earned muscles, keeping hips down. He almost let go, let Eric buck and bruise, anything to make those cries grow higher.
A bit more, he could feel. A bit more, then…
Something ripped.
Aladdin swallowed every drop down and inhaled, savoring bitter salt and musk.
Eventually he fell back onto his haunches and looked up. Eric stared back, already shaking off a dazed look and replacing it with hunger.
The street kid turned ruler gulped and found himself propelled onto the bed, a body hard on top of his and refusing to budge.
“Ready for the next course?” Eric asked.
Aladdin grinned. “I just ate, but feel free.”
Eric took advantage of his offer, licking a line down his chest, unhurried and indulgent. Wanting. Tasting. Worshipping.
And suddenly it wasn’t quite so cold.