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The moon is high in the sky when Jafar finally, finally makes his way back to his rooms, exhaustion weaving throughout his body.
His meeting with the Sultan had dragged on long into the night, covering small and irksome issues that could not, for some reason, be delegated to anyone else. Jafar supposes he should be grateful that the Sultan trusts him with so much, but he can only feel petulant annoyance and a headache building behind his eyes.
Iago shuffles on his perch in the entryway, bending his head towards Jafar in request as Jafar closes the door behind him. Jafar obliges with a small smile, scritching the bird’s neck for a moment as he lets some of his tension from the day flow out of him.
Jafar moves away after a moment, his exhaustion making itself known as he casts his eyes to his bed. He starts to strip out of his robes, the trappings of a vizier suddenly feeling almost too heavy on his skin. He pauses, however, as something catches his eye.
A silver tray rests on a side table, filled with an assortment of dried fruits and bread. Beside it, a small selection of teas.
His lips quirk into the barest of smiles. He knows exactly who delivered this to his rooms--you had made no attempt to hide your concern over the schedule that he and the Sultan had kept, and how it had kept them from meals that day. It was a concern that you had shown both of them, of course, but he had noted the way your brows furrowed when he had turned down your offer of refreshments.
He cannot deny the hunger that is pushing back his exhaustion now. So, he indulges, sharing a small amount of the dried fruit with Iago. From the teas, he selects the hibiscus tea he knows you most often serve, noting that it is still hot.
Noting that you had been in his rooms just before he had returned.
His thoughts move to you as he hands Iago the last of the apricots, petting the bird absentmindedly before he moves to the bed. Your concern is...endearing, something he is normally loathe to admit. He did not take kindly to pity or nagging, but what you showed seemed...genuine, to everyone in the palace. Even as you moved through it, unnoticed by most despite everything you did for them.
His thoughts begin to jumble with sleep, and a traitorous part of his mind whispers that it is especially unfair how ignored you are, given how very lovely you are...
No, no. He will not entertain those thoughts; they come too close to being more than his normal passing fancy, and he cannot afford to be distracted. He rolls over, clearing his mind as he does so.
Jafar drifts off, the taste of hibiscus tea lingering in his mouth.
“What is it, my sultan?”
Jafar’s hands tighten in your hair, a breathy moan escaping him at your words. He feels hot all over, owed mostly to how you’re draped over him, dress slipping down your shoulders. Your cheek rests on his bare thigh, smirking up at him when he steadies himself enough to meet your eye. You hand has not stopped in its movements, gliding over him with sinful expertise that leaves him breathless.
“You are a temptress--”
You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before he can finish his response.
His eyes go half lidded at the sensation, and he has to keep himself from letting his head fall back into the pillows--he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this, not as you lick a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, or as you press a teasing kiss to the tip.
His resolve breaks, however, as you bob down suddenly, taking half of him into your mouth while your hand covers the rest. Your mouth feels heavenly as you move further down his length, pulling off every so often to wrap your lips around the tip as your hand works over the rest of his cock. He can sense you watching him, can feel your pleased noises every time you’re able to draw out a reaction, sending a thrill of heat up his spine each time.
He can feel the tension coiling in his belly, threatening to bubble over, so he pulls on your hair in warning. You moan around him in response before pulling off, and his hips twitch as he groans at the lack of contact. He wants to draw this out, to savor you, but he also wants to finish, to lay you down and return the favor.
You shift against him and he removes his hands from your hair, and you move upwards. You kiss a hot trail up his stomach to his throat, pausing to press a bite there that will surely leave a mark for tomorrow. No matter, let the world see--he doesn’t want to hide you.
He can’t help the small gasp that escapes him as you slide your hand over his length suddenly, thumbing over the head of his cock again. A hot kiss is pressed to his lips, and he gives in, rolling his hips up slowly into your strokes. He feels, knows he could cum like this, whispering your name into the night air.
But he wants more.
You seem to read his mind somehow, and he has to swallow a curse as you move to straddle him, hitching your dress up higher. You roll your hips as you finally settle, your slick folds slipping over his length making him gasp. He desperately wants to be inside of you. As you roll your hips again, he reclassifies it; he needs to be buried in you, holding onto your hips and spilling inside of you, making you his.
“Soon, my sultan…”
Jafar awakens with a soft moan, blinking in the half light that fills his room. He feels flushed, hotter than he should be with the covers kicked so low. But he knows the source of it, his cock hard and aching against his thigh, begging for his touch.
Jafar half wants to lie back, to will this...problem away. But the sun is crawling ever higher in the sky, and he knows the Sultan will be expecting him soon...
His hand wraps around his length almost of its own volition while he debates. He settles, finally, slowly beginning to stroke himself. He will allow himself this, but he will not, cannot think of you.
Instead, he calls to mind memories of past trysts, letting them blur together into something formless. He can take his pleasure like this, imagining someone rocking against him slowly, calling his name breathlessly, or perhaps crying out in pleasure as he pins them to the bed, fucking up into them roughly.
But still, none of them bring him the release he needs, pushing him instead to the edge as he struggles to find something, anything, to get him there.
Suddenly, an image forms in his mind: you, cheek pressed against his bare thigh and staring up at him with such heat in your thighs. He groans aloud, eyes drifting closed; he shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s so, so close, heat coiling low in his belly, and he can’t stop himself from imagining you.
You, your hands and mouth on him and bringing him to the brink with a wicked gleam in your eye.
You, pulling him closer and riding his fingers in a dark alcove of the palace, where the two of you could be caught at any moment.
You, tangled in the sheets of his bed, his head between your splayed thighs as you call his name as if it is your only prayer--
He cums suddenly, has to press a hand to his mouth to suppress the obscene moan of your name that threatens to escape. His hips continue to roll into his hand until he can barely stand it, finally stuttering to a halt as the overstimulation grows to be too much, and he idly wishes it was your lips over his instead of his own hand.
His afterglow wears off quickly, and he scowls at the mess on his stomach. Did he truly have so little self control? He has little time to think about it, however, as the sunlight begins to cast over his bed--his meeting will be soon, and he needs to make himself presentable.
As he cleans himself and dresses, he notices a small note, tucked away under the silver tray you had left in his room the night before. He picks it up as he moves to grab his staff, glancing over it idly, a small smirk forming on his face as he reads it.
‘Should you require anything else, Grand Vizier, I am always at your service.’
An innocent note...but perhaps, perhaps, he will explore that offer.