FIC: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapter 9, NC-17)
Title: The Gifts of Heaven (Chapter 9/9, completed fic)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
(There is a knock on the door.
Jaffar pulls up his nightcap; he blanches visibly, as does Yassamin. Everyone in this household knows that they are not to be disturbed in the love-chamber; no one would dare knock upon that door unless it was something extremely serious, a genuine emergency. So far, Salsabil has broken a bone and Zahra has had a kitchen fire without anyone having told Jaffar and Yassamin about these things until after they'd emerged from their chamber; yet--
Yassamin goes to answer the door.
It's Sonbol, his face grave.
Jaffar cannot hear the words they exchange; not over the din of rushing blood in his ears. As he kneels there, he can feel cold, invisible arms closing around him, a cold body pressing against his back, as if there were a man of ice behind him, holding him in place. About him, there is the strong, pungent scent of a rich perfume composed of oudh and musk; as he closes his eyes, his vision swims with green and he hears the sound of swords clashing, of horses neighing, of high boot-heels and spurs clicking upon tiled floors. He clutches his breastbone; his heart lurches in his chest, a chest suddenly hollow and empty. He is cold, so cold; his teeth chatter.
He opens his eyes and tries to take his hand from his chest, but cannot: the clutch is still there, another hand clasping his, squeezing it painfully. He stares and he stares, and now both Yassamin and Sonbol look at him in shock.
"Can you see him?" Jaffar croaks.
He wants to move but cannot; so tight is he being squeezed, embraced from behind. The half-violent, half-affectionate hug of boyish horseplay; the grip of a boy stronger than him, holding him in place so that he might show his love to him, in a way not permissible to brothers--
Sonbol nods; his face is dark with fear.
Yassamin reaches out her hand, wanting to--but too afraid--to step closer.
"Fadl," she whispers.)
Author: Snowgrouse
Fandom: The Thief of Bagdad (1940), but readable as original fiction
Pairing: Jaffar/Princess, Jaffar/Zainab, Princess/Sarosh the Sexbot, and the ships without sex scenes are Fadl/Zainab and background Zainab/Lina and Jaffar/Fadl.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance, Het with background slash and femslash, Fantasy.
Warnings: Light BDSM, Anal Sex, robot sex, and a big non-sexual one but it's a major spoiler. See Ao3 for full list of tags.
Length: ~29 000 words
Summary: The heavens themselves resolve to bless Yassamin and Jaffar and strengthen their love. Yet the same cannot be said for Fadl and Zainab, the rift between whom but deepens due to a different kind of heavenly intervention. As Yassamin deserves a rest, Jaffar sets out for New Lesbos alone, hoping to help Zainab settle her score with Fadl once and for all.
(There is a knock on the door.
Jaffar pulls up his nightcap; he blanches visibly, as does Yassamin. Everyone in this household knows that they are not to be disturbed in the love-chamber; no one would dare knock upon that door unless it was something extremely serious, a genuine emergency. So far, Salsabil has broken a bone and Zahra has had a kitchen fire without anyone having told Jaffar and Yassamin about these things until after they'd emerged from their chamber; yet--
Yassamin goes to answer the door.
It's Sonbol, his face grave.
Jaffar cannot hear the words they exchange; not over the din of rushing blood in his ears. As he kneels there, he can feel cold, invisible arms closing around him, a cold body pressing against his back, as if there were a man of ice behind him, holding him in place. About him, there is the strong, pungent scent of a rich perfume composed of oudh and musk; as he closes his eyes, his vision swims with green and he hears the sound of swords clashing, of horses neighing, of high boot-heels and spurs clicking upon tiled floors. He clutches his breastbone; his heart lurches in his chest, a chest suddenly hollow and empty. He is cold, so cold; his teeth chatter.
He opens his eyes and tries to take his hand from his chest, but cannot: the clutch is still there, another hand clasping his, squeezing it painfully. He stares and he stares, and now both Yassamin and Sonbol look at him in shock.
"Can you see him?" Jaffar croaks.
He wants to move but cannot; so tight is he being squeezed, embraced from behind. The half-violent, half-affectionate hug of boyish horseplay; the grip of a boy stronger than him, holding him in place so that he might show his love to him, in a way not permissible to brothers--
Sonbol nods; his face is dark with fear.
Yassamin reaches out her hand, wanting to--but too afraid--to step closer.
"Fadl," she whispers.)