Judal makes a convincing girl, or so he's been told.
Hike his hair up into a ponytail, drape himself in the right amount of silk, and he's sure it's convincing, especially if Sinbad's just a little drunk. And Sinbad is never just a little drunk, Judal knows; he knows well the scent of wine, the roughness of his hands when he can't quite control himself, the way Sinbad's kisses are sloppier and stickier and how it feels to be sore and unintentionally bruised after the fact.
On occasion, however, he miscalculates.
It's usually because of Ja'far, withholding alcohol for a few days or a week or close to a month, and apparently, this is one of those months, because Sinbad is on edge, eyes sharp, singling Judal out in a crowd and knowing as he reaches for him, yanks him close and makes Judal swallow with the bruising intent of his fingers. Being pulled aside from the party is a whirlwind of movement, and the flimsy, silky skirts and dangling jewelry shoved aside just as dizzying, and Judal can't breathe when Sinbad is suddenly on his knees, his mouth hot around his cock, and it's all Judal can do to sink his teeth into his own knuckles, stifling his voice.
Each suck is a slick, messy thing, the sounds sloppy and obscene to his ears and Sinbad's mouth sinfully,obscenely hot. If not for the large hands on his hips, roughly holding him still, threatening to leave finger-shaped bruises, Judal knows he'd be grabbing for Sinbad's hair, yanking his head down, panting as his hips lurch up into that slick heat and god, squirming beneath that mouth is torture enough without being able to fuck it.
It's embarrassing how fast he comes, shuddering hard as his knees nearly buckle, but Sinbad holds him steady, licks him clean, and he feels as weak as any woman, as some delicate little dancer that Sinbad would take to his bed and pamper—except he isn't pampered, but bruised and left to shake and shiver instead, silk clinging to his sweaty skin in the dark of night.
"If I wasn't looking for you," Sinbad says eventually, amused, "I would have been convinced. Except—"
Judal isn't sure why he expected Sinbad to grab at nonexistent tits less when he's dressed as a girl; instead, it just makes him more forward… but then again, does it matter, if it gets Sinbad between his legs all the same?