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Description
This has been buzzing in my mind for a looooong time. Vladimir Nabokov meets Aladdin. Allow to simmer. Stir every once in a while.

There are more than thirty-two words in Arabic for heat. There is, for instance, a specific word for the dry heat of the desert, the breath-snatching kind that robs you of your wind, drying the moisture in your mouth as you struggle to get more hot air into your protesting lungs. Or the muggy heat that comes when the desert winds change their tactics and turn, bringing in their wake hot moisture from the sea that lies beyond the golden rolling hills. It is the latter that presently holds Agrabah in an unrelenting grip.

In their empire of sand, both Jafar and Jasmine are used to many kinds of heat. They are both desert-born, though his native sands lie far to the East, in another dry and barren land.

The wet heat they have to endure these days however gnaws at their sanity, slowly eroding away good will and sharpening tempers.

As she has done from early childhood, Jasmine takes refuge in Jafar's chambers, using her well-worn excuse that his chambers are the breeziest. Jafar lets her impose on his person with a crooked smile, knowing better than to refuse her anything. Allah knows he has tried in the past ( and he has tried to hide behind propriety and decorum, claiming a man and a girl should never be alone, lest they be married under the watchful eyes of Muhammed) ,but she just waves aside his feeble protests with a wide smile. Oh, those innocent brown eyes.

So now he rests on his pillows, pretending to enjoy the slightly cooler wind wafting in from his open window. He has long since discarded his formal wear and now just reclines half naked and somewhat miserable, sinking into fluffy pillows. Pretending that the young princess plopping down next to him doesn't affect him.

The bane of his existence plops on the pillows next to him, and he feels his center of gravity shifting towards her. Jasmine gives the brooding astronomer a calculating look ( the kind where she unconsciously searches the corners of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. That is Jafar's tell that something bad is usually about to happen), and after a moment of hesitation, flops her left leg into his lap. The muscles of her calf tense against his upper leg and she shifts slowly upwards, closer to his crotch.

To Jasmine, Jafar reminds her of a venomous snake, seemingly relaxed. His eyes are screwed shut, and a muscle in his jaw works. She knows he is mulling something over in his vast mind. It's Jasmine's tell that he is about to do something unexpected. She shifts her leg a little closer to her goal.

One yellow eye cracks open and regards the princess. He may look relaxed, she thinks, but she knows better. His lower lip quivers and then turns into something akin to a leer. The snake looks poised to strike. Jasmine knows exactly how sharp his fangs really are.

"Careful where you place that leg...kitten," comes his low oily voice, " You don't want to endanger the crown jewels."

She feigns innocence. "But Jafar! "( she even inserts a half-whine in her retort, it's almost convincing) "The jewels are safely locked in my father's chambers!" Her calf now presses fully against his crotch. Tease.

She knows he knows she is just pretending to be naive. It even amuses him sometimes. He just snorts and shifts, rubbing his naked foot along hers. His hand creeps behind her shoulders, where it rests, like a brown spider. Patiently waiting until something pretty flies into its carefully strung web.

But this particular butterfly has a surprising violent sting. Jafar know this. After all, it was he that taught her to sting in the first place.

Jasmine reaches for what remains of his messy turban and tugs.The cloth uncoils and falls apart, revealing his sweat-slicked, somewhat oily hair. She giggles at him, a sound that holds an ambiguous promise. Jafar's arm slides down, touching her small fingers. She shifts into his touch. Turning slightly, she reaches for his arm, pulling him closer. Coiling around him.

Jafar allows himself to be pulled to the side, falling into her clutches.

Really, with Jasmine, Jafar allows himself to do anything.

Description
This has been buzzing in my mind for a looooong time. Vladimir Nabokov meets Aladdin. Allow to simmer. Stir every once in a while.

There are more than thirty-two words in Arabic for heat. There is, for instance, a specific word for the dry heat of the desert, the breath-snatching kind that robs you of your wind, drying the moisture in your mouth as you struggle to get more hot air into your protesting lungs. Or the muggy heat that comes when the desert winds change their tactics and turn, bringing in their wake hot moisture from the sea that lies beyond the golden rolling hills. It is the latter that presently holds Agrabah in an unrelenting grip.

In their empire of sand, both Jafar and Jasmine are used to many kinds of heat. They are both desert-born, though his native sands lie far to the East, in another dry and barren land.

The wet heat they have to endure these days however gnaws at their sanity, slowly eroding away good will and sharpening tempers.

As she has done from early childhood, Jasmine takes refuge in Jafar's chambers, using her well-worn excuse that his chambers are the breeziest. Jafar lets her impose on his person with a crooked smile, knowing better than to refuse her anything. Allah knows he has tried in the past ( and he has tried to hide behind propriety and decorum, claiming a man and a girl should never be alone, lest they be married under the watchful eyes of Muhammed) ,but she just waves aside his feeble protests with a wide smile. Oh, those innocent brown eyes.

So now he rests on his pillows, pretending to enjoy the slightly cooler wind wafting in from his open window. He has long since discarded his formal wear and now just reclines half naked and somewhat miserable, sinking into fluffy pillows. Pretending that the young princess plopping down next to him doesn't affect him.

The bane of his existence plops on the pillows next to him, and he feels his center of gravity shifting towards her. Jasmine gives the brooding astronomer a calculating look ( the kind where she unconsciously searches the corners of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. That is Jafar's tell that something bad is usually about to happen), and after a moment of hesitation, flops her left leg into his lap. The muscles of her calf tense against his upper leg and she shifts slowly upwards, closer to his crotch.

To Jasmine, Jafar reminds her of a venomous snake, seemingly relaxed. His eyes are screwed shut, and a muscle in his jaw works. She knows he is mulling something over in his vast mind. It's Jasmine's tell that he is about to do something unexpected. She shifts her leg a little closer to her goal.

One yellow eye cracks open and regards the princess. He may look relaxed, she thinks, but she knows better. His lower lip quivers and then turns into something akin to a leer. The snake looks poised to strike. Jasmine knows exactly how sharp his fangs really are.

"Careful where you place that leg...kitten," comes his low oily voice, " You don't want to endanger the crown jewels."

She feigns innocence. "But Jafar! "( she even inserts a half-whine in her retort, it's almost convincing) "The jewels are safely locked in my father's chambers!" Her calf now presses fully against his crotch. Tease.

She knows he knows she is just pretending to be naive. It even amuses him sometimes. He just snorts and shifts, rubbing his naked foot along hers. His hand creeps behind her shoulders, where it rests, like a brown spider. Patiently waiting until something pretty flies into its carefully strung web.

But this particular butterfly has a surprising violent sting. Jafar know this. After all, it was he that taught her to sting in the first place.

Jasmine reaches for what remains of his messy turban and tugs.The cloth uncoils and falls apart, revealing his sweat-slicked, somewhat oily hair. She giggles at him, a sound that holds an ambiguous promise. Jafar's arm slides down, touching her small fingers. She shifts into his touch. Turning slightly, she reaches for his arm, pulling him closer. Coiling around him.

Jafar allows himself to be pulled to the side, falling into her clutches.

Really, with Jasmine, Jafar allows himself to do anything.