There's a reason why Ja'far doesn't share Sinbad's bed very often, and this, he thinks irritably, is why.

Not only does the man somehow manage to take up 98% of his very, very large bed, but somehow, in the middle of his sleepy thrashing, Sinbad always manages to undress. It's annoying, not to mention unseemly to wake up to, and Ja'far feels himself pressing a pair of fingers to the bridge of his nose before the sun has even risen.

"Ah," Sinbad throatily greets upon waking, and Ja'far doesn't think about how pleasant his voice sounds when sleep-riddled and husky from disuse. "You actually stayed!"

"I wish I hadn't."

"Cruel. It's not like I snore—"

"No, you only undress entirely while nearly kicking me off of the bed."

"Oh, well, there's that, I suppose." Sinbad, as per usual, looks entirely unfazed. "You'll get used to it. At least I didn't undress you as well—or, ah, rather, it's a pity. I have a habit of that—"

"I'll decline getting used to it, thank you very much." Then, there's a pause, and Ja'far realizes, belatedly, as his face heats, that the sheets tangled about his legs aren't exactly the same as nightclothes, and—

God, how didn't he notice?

Sinbad looks far too pleased with himself. "You're already used to it."

Ja'far contemplates stringing him up from the ceiling, and in the end, just barely refrains—Sinbad dangling naked there for his other attendants to walk in on is far more unseemly than him being just naked in bed, after all.