I did actually intend to finish this story a while back, so my apologies for that much as it's been a while.

A huge thanks to Akumarayne, SmileRen and NekoNyapii for the reviews and anyone else reading etc. I get there eventually :


Vision of Red

It was almost a decade before Sinbad again encountered those strange men and their Organisation. And, with it, had a second bitter taste of what they called a curse. It happened once he had fully established Sindria, and had long since made his name known. At that time, Al-Thamen had encroached upon their shores, announced a war and had sought to spread their darkness and depravity that far. And, for the second time, he had driven them away. For the second time, someone had helped him drive that curse from his body. Yet, such things would always have a price.

By then, he was well aware of what it meant to truly worry for the country he had built, along with those close to him. The makeshift and ever-growing family encompassing that island so secluded and far away from the rest of the ever watching world. Still, he would remember Faisal, the silver bracelet he had given him holding a suggestion of what it was like to lose someone. That chilling and heavy hopelessness and sinking feeling of such a thing.

However, he knew it could happen. As well as he knew, sooner or later, Al-Thamen was both powerful and insane enough to declare a much larger war upon this world. That there was a chance he would lose every person here, and his island paradise would fall. It's semblance of peace was neither absolute nor eternal, and could be shattered and torn asunder by steel and magic.

Sinbad just had to tell himself he would not let that happen. But yet, he was telling himself that very thing more and more.

On that night, the night he had killed Ithnan and absolved the mark that foul man had left on his body and soul, Sinbad had excused himself. Fingers running over the ever cooling silvery cuff on his wrist, he retired to his rooms alone. He frowned, knowing too well that bracelet serving as Focalor's metallic vessel seemed so much drained of its power and light. The djinn had been adamant for his king to use him, to help him. Even so, he currently feared for the worst.

Cautiously, and perhaps even fearfully, he caught sight of his reflection as he locked his heavy doors behind him. Looking back at that full length mirror, he paused before reaching up. Sinbad allowed the bandages concealing so much of his face and chest to unfurl and fall away, striking soundlessly against the marble floor in their discarded ribbons.

He was very much himself again. Perhaps that was why, after all this time, he barely recognised himself. once those strips and cloth had left his face and he had re-laced his robes, he noticed his skin was no longer stained of that dark blood of Ithnan's which had stained him. That the dark fire and sheen of black in one of his ambers eyes was no longer there. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he was back to normal. Even if he didn't really feel like it.

Somewhat reproachfully, he looked down from his handsome reflection to the bracelet and its failing warmth. Shadows seemed to dance over its surface, and for a moment he panicked before running a thumb over it. "...Can you really handle all this?"

As if in response to his enquiry and his touch, Sinbad felt the stifling night air within his bedroom chill suddenly. Much like the frozen squalls within Focalor's dungeon all those years ago, the sensation of winter washed over him. Even if right now, it was almost pleasant. He closed his eyes, his nose catching the appeal of a familiar and musky scent and felt relieved. Focalor was alright, and had responded. Perhaps more so than expected, as he knew that person was currently standing behind him, watching him. "...How can you be here?"

"I actually have no idea..." Focalor's voice reached him, and so much like his own. "I heard you, wanted to be here and just was. Perhaps it's the power of all that black magoi I drew away from you. With enough magic, a djinn can be brought to this world after all. Hm..." he trailed off, as if not fully convinced of what he said. Yet, he was willing and reckless enough to appear anyway.

"Trust you not to be worried about such a thing."

"I'm in your bedroom. Why would I be worried?" Focalor asked with a slight laugh. Sinbad felt that chill from his words cling to the back of his neck, and felt wonderful with the warmth of that night. His fingers, as if chilled and charged by a perpetual storm gushing within him, were running curiously up Sinbad's arms as if to memorise him. He leaned back, feeling Focalor's body press against his and draw his arms round him. "Really though...you've gotten so paranoid, little Sin. Didn't I tell you to equip me and go after that creepy old bastard? What's to worry about?"

"You know why I'm worried. Sure we killed him, but it's always something with those people. I wonder what absorbing all this will do to you."

"Ah...right. I have no idea; it just seemed a good plan."

"...Trust you to be so casual over this."

"Exactly. Trust me," he replied. His fingertips were smoothing smooth and cold circles over the thin white robes covering Sinbad's body, and curious at how his king's body responded in spite of himself at the contact. At how the man in his arms was too proud to lean back in his arms, despite his body prickling and growing heated at the soft chill granted to his skin. "Doing that took a lot out of me sure, but who cares? If I get to be here and see you, I'd do it again."

"Not the best attitude..." Sinbad murmured. Nails ran lightly up to his throat, causing his body to finally betray himself. He leaned back, feeling the djinn's arms hungrily envelop him as if drawing him into the eye of a storm. He kept his eyes closed, and now within that man's grasp he felt his fingertips run down from his throat. They danced softly like autumn rain over his collar bone, smoothing over his shoulders as he leaned forward. "...What are you doing, Focalor?"

"You're...actually pretty aroused right now. How cute..." Sinbad opened his eyes, his eyes set on Focalor's expression who in turn was watching them. Leaning into his shoulder, Focalor indicated the two small, erect buds poking through the thin white material covering Sinbad's chest. Before he could respond, the djinn brought his hands over them, enjoying the sharp gasp escaping from the man in his arms as his thumbs pressed at them slightly.

"...Stop that," Sinbad commanded a little weakly, and fell back against him. A suggestion of coldness flooded in, as Focalor's thumbs slowly circling his nipples through his robes. He moaned softly, feeling his body tingle from the touch and leaned back to plant a soft kiss on the djinn's lips. The two gazed at each other a long moment, Sinbad reaching to smooth over the fingers beginning to play and pinch over his sensitive skin to harden it further. Sinbad felt the heat rise in his face as Focalor took to rolling the silken nubs tenderly between his sharpened, claw like nails. "Focalor..."

"You're blushing..."

Sinbad glared, pushing his hands away and clearing his throat and tried to ignore the somewhat stiff and growingly uncomfortable sensation in the lower part of his body. He cleared his throat, ignoring the hands returning to stroke over his body despite his actions to stop them. "So...now I faced them, will you tell me? You are from Alma-Toran, aren't you?" Admittedly, Focalor seemed more interested in the attempts of Sinbad to deny his body's excitement than some rumour. "Are you listening?"

"...No. I'm a little preoccupied right now, I'm sorry."

"...This is important," Sinbad narrowed his eyes, turning to watch the djinn smile at him. Those eyes, including the third one which seemed to stare though him, seemed to captivate him. It was then he heard that all too familiar ripping of soft cloth and the light pressure of an expert nail trailing slowly down his torso.

"If I answer that, it means confirming things one way or another," the djinn told him. He allowed the ripped robes to fall from him, and returned to touch over his now naked body as if entranced by it. a hand gripped Sinbad's throat, pulling him back into a rough kiss. He made a slight sound of surprise, aware of the fact he should be resisting this more. "Even if I was from there, is it so interesting?"

"Yes," Sinbad admitted. He was, at this point, seeing where this was going. The moment he thought of fighting that controlling hold, he watched the various magical chains adorning the djinn's body come free. Darkened and almost tarnished, they softly coiled down Sinbad's body to wrap themselves around his chest and arms. "You...might have some advice on how to deal with them."

"I told you to equip me, which was good advice I thought," Focalor pondered. As if to make way for the chains now crossing tightly over Sinbad's chest and winding tightly around his wrists to draw them together, the djinn reached up. he set to unfastening the various chains and amulets Sinbad wore, and sent them clattering to the ground in a muted song of metal and marble. "Sin, you're doing just fine. If I were from Alma-Toran, and they defeated me, how would that help you? Telling someone you were beaten is...pretty much the opposite of saying something useful."

"Exactly. It would tell me what not to do."

That vision of red, somewhat mingled in an appearance much like his own and that mysterious, vermillion bird of prey pauses. His hand moved, as if to fasten the chains binding Sinbad into place and smoothed over them thoughtfully. "I see. That's actually a little insulting, to be honest."

Sinbad nodded. He watched the chains brighten a little from where they lay upon him, as if stimulated by the magoi in his body. As if whatever of that darkness still residing within him was being drawn out of him, and into Focalor. He hasn't even been aware there was any left. Far from struggling, he allowed himself to relax as he was bound tightly. "I didn't mean it that way. But I want to stop them. Ideally without you getting involved too much."

Focalor laughed at that. "Not get involved? Then why did you go and disturb the nests in my dungeon to start with. Still...trust you to be greedy enough to want to destroy them all."

"People like that shouldn't exist. That's all there is to it."

"Hm..." the djinn looked over at the dark look in the king's eyes, as if loving and despising it in equal measure. "If you really want to make it up to me though..." Sinbad shuddered as the chains slowly moved to coil around his legs. Ever brightening, and with the melody of magoi now humming within them, he felt them wrap round him to press back against Focalor's body. Focalor's somewhat equally aroused body now rubbing against him as if to show what he meant.

"...This again," he sighed, and felt Focalor's hands bring up a chain to coil around his neck. it fixed effortlessly into a golden, seamless metallic collar. Grinning triumphantly, the djinn tugged experimentally over what seemed to be a leash as if to prove he had won. He then tugged Sinbad forward, so he pressed against the mirror in front of them.

"Well, I did help you save your country, you know. That deserves a thank you. And drove that darkness from you. So...you owe me, Sin."

"...As I recall, it was you begging me to let you help."

"...Whatever. Like that means anything," as if to prove that, Focalor leaned in to press Sinbad against the mirror. He felt the glass creak and groan over their collective weight and rubbed up heavily against him. "I know you, Sin. You dislike how the world grows ever smaller, and the people in it less honest. You hate how they clamour over themselves to catch your eye, and yourself more that you need to deal with them. How about I give you something a little more familiar, personal?"

Sinbad felt a hand pass over his cheek before, silently, he nodded. Fingers traced down his arms softly as Focalor kissed him again. He felt his chained wrists drawn together, held by one of the djinn's and brought above his head. Focalor held his wrists against the wall above the mirror, and he didn't resist. Then, teasingly, his leash was tugged sharply in other to bend and arch his body forward. Laughing at his expression, Focalor leaned in to bite at the back of his neck possessively as Sinbad looked over his own expression of foreboding.

"its ages since I've taken you," Focalor reminded him unnecessarily. He remembered how it was, being pressed into the seat of that throne whilst his new djinn pounded mercilessly into his body. He shuddered, disliking how part of him felt excited of such a thing. He definitely wasn't the sort of man who enjoyed being dominated, after all. "Equipping me isn't the same as being inside you..."

Sinbad sighed. "One day, I will get you back for this."

"I wonder..." his fingers travelled over his body, allegedly testing the chains were to his liking one last time. " But then I bet you want to replenish all the magoi I spent helping you."

He resigned himself to nod, and relax in a somewhat uncomfortable and compromised position; bent over against a mirror, body in chains with Focalor readying himself at the king's back. Those coils of metal slipped and massaged over his slicked, heated body as if alive. He had almost relaxed, but then gave a short, loud cry as what felt to be a finger circling roughly another puckered, tight entrance into his body. His legs quaked, and he tried to shift away. Focalor followed him. "Stop it..."

"Like hell I will. This is a dream come true," Focalor told him, grinning as he did. Resignedly and bound too tightly to escape, Sinbad leaned his forehead on the glass. One finger became two, and he felt the chains restrict and pulse with his rapid heartbeat. He felt his body pulled back to them, easing onto the fingers pressing into his body. He shifted against that hand with sickening obedience, as if welcoming that pressure to enter his body. And liked himself somewhat less for that. "Sin...do you think I'd do anything bad to you?"

He shook his head, stifling a slight cry as the fingers penetrated his body, circling within him as if preparing for something. He felt his body instinctively move to engulf them fully, slipping back and forth until the action became somewhat wetter and easier. He moaned out softly, in enjoyment and felt the hand holding his wrists squeeze them in reassurance.

After several teasing moments of circling and slipping within him those fingers drew back and removed themselves, leaving his pliant body empty and ready for more. Then, following a heavy and somewhat lusty breath, Focalor positioned himself behind the bound man. And without warning, re-entered his body with something hard to pulsate thickly within him.

He bit his tongue to stop himself crying out. After all, Sinbad didn't want to explain this to, well, anyone. As if to help him, he felt Focalor's hand slip over his mouth. Again he was pushed forward as the djinn slowly but somewhat forcefully pressed the whole length of himself inside him. Once again, that vision of red had claimed and conquered his powerful yet pitifully defenceless body.

"See...you're just being stubborn. Look how much you love this..." Focalor purred. Sinbad felt a jewelled thumb press over his lips, before prying them apart and forcing its way in. He moaned out thickly, unable to cry out loudly anymore. Instead he pressed back against him, his wrists struggling against the hand holding them. All the while, he refused to meet his reflection. "I could have you begging for me."

He made a slight sound of defiance, but had little more to do than suck adamantly against the thumb as Focalor thrust within him, pushing him ever more against that damned mirror. He was pressed heavily to him, slicking and soaking his body from within as if he had waited years to take him again. But, then, he had. Sinbad felt his knees give away and slumped forward. Far from relinquishing his control over him, the djinn seemed to enjoy him being somewhat stooped over. However, he released his hands, and Sinbad was forced to press his palms to the cool glass of the mirror to support his weight against the feverish assault behind him.

"...Do you have to be so rough?" he heard how muffled his voice was against the thumb probing within his mouth. Focalor's other hand had returned to tugging on his leash, bending his body further forward. Finally the djinn's hands settled to smooth over his hips, taking control of pulling his king's body back and forth as he wished.

"Of course. You're at your most beautiful this way."

"You say that, yet you're behind me."

"Hence the mirror is nice," Focalor pointed out. "I'm not missing anything. The djinn leaned in to kiss at the back of his neck again. Those trickles of soft, scarlet feathers trickled over Sinbad's shoulders and trailed far down his back, enveloping himself in that musky scent and the sweeter smell of sex. He would have wanted to run his fingers through it, but instead was gripping desperately at the wall as he was being so energetically pounded against that damned mirror. "I just love how submissive you can be with me."

"...Just with you," he admitted, even if part of him resented admitting that much. That thumb continued to probe into his mouth, and he took to enveloping it with his tongue. Focalor gave him a slight murmur of approval, allowing one final suck before drawing it from his mouth.

"I'd be angry if someone else got this with you," somehow, Sinbad didn't see that happening. After all, he knew what he liked. He enjoyed the control of controlling a body to do as he wished. Right now, the djinn he was supposedly mater over had his body helpless and engulfing another man in such away. He moaned as his hot chest was pressed cruelly to the cold glass.

"Stop it..." Sinbad insisted again. He felt that hand leaving his mouth trace down his body. Then that wandering hand seized between his legs, and Focalor's thumb smudged a wet, rapidly cooling line against something sensitive and stiffened between his thighs. He moaned, shaking as the hand cupped round him to stroke back and forth. "Right now...I mean it."

Focalor grinned, thrusting in deeper as Sinbad gasped with enjoyment against that mirror. His other hand now held the king's hip for support. That hand continued to work deftly at him, bringing him further to rapture. He grasped himself at that stiff, swollen part of himself, gasping as he felt that tension well up within him as if about to spill over or explode.

That skin kissed gently, tenderly over his shoulder. Gradually Sinbad gave up on supporting his weight, instead leaning back on Focalor and impaling himself further.

"...You just had to ask," Focalor said. In turn he leaned back, holding out an arm to allow his body to collide with the freezing floor and take Sinbad with him. He was pulled into the djinn's lap. Screaming out again and closing his eyes. "Right...pressing all your weight on me...there...I'm in as deep as I can be..."

"...You," Sinbad glared in warning before crying out again. The kisses pressed to his shoulder were so soft and gentle, as if to lull him. He closed his eyes, rocking against that body penetrating his and pushed aside the hand working at his erection. If anything else. He was taking control of that. even so pressure circling inside him feverishly was too distracting. He gave in to Focalor pushing his hand away, watching the hand kneading over him as the other of Focalor's hands groped over his chest.

"Open your eyes. I want you to watch us," Focalor commanded, and with a glare Sinbad wondered who exactly he was talking to. Whether it was the sustained pressure of the body pressed within him. the heat of the night driven back by that cool touch, or the fact that familiar trembling was beginning to coarse though his body he nodded. He gave a defeated sound, and once again gazed upon a reflection he didn't quite recognise at first.

His eyes met with a bound man who was revelling in his chains, a person of rule held captive and bound by another. Those golden chains shone and decorated his body as if he himself was a trophy, a mere plaything at the whim of another. He narrowed his eyes, for a moment remembering those chains drained his strength to take into Focalor's body. Then he remembered that strength would be returned, his needy body sated and pleasured, and no one would ever know of this. Focalor was doing this for him, even if he knew a lot was just the djinn enjoying this so much.

"That just doesn't look like me..." Sinbad murmured, looking lazily at that look of satisfaction flooding in his eyes. He felt embarrassed, yet Focalor leaned in on his shoulder as if showing him something. As if, even in loving this, reminding his king what a single moment of weakness could cause. But that he was safe with him, and no one else would do this.

"That's the point," the simple reply came. Still rocking with him, Sinbad kept watching himself. He allowed his hands to grip at the ones passing over his body, following them as they teased over the smooth contoured of his soaked and bronzed chest. He prompted those fingers to tease at him, moaning out in enjoyment. He grasped at the smooth outline of Sinbad's hips, pulling him back and forth on him rapidly and Sinbad shakily returned his fingers to playing between his legs. "See...you don't need to fight me."

He nodded, albeit not all that content to surrender himself in such a way in a body repeatedly thrusting and conquering his own. He felt powerless, fully aware of that pressure building within him and the motions within him growing faster and faster. It was controlling, it was rough. It was wonderful. "...I'm not doing this again."

"Sure you are..." Focalor purred, bringing his nails over his bound conquest's hips before pressing Sinbad's body down to meet his again. "And see how beautiful my chains are when they've drawn the last of that darkness from you."

"Yes..." he admitted, looking over them with a slight sigh and admiring them. "I'd just prefer this done another way."

"I don't think you do," Focalor told him. Before Sinbad could reply or object, he shuddered and cried out. It was then that the building tension within him violently erupted. That sweet aroma from Focalor's body orgasmed and filled his own, gushing forth and filling him so much it trickled down his tanned thighs in trickles of pearly white. He shuddered, collapsing back into the feathered arms enveloping him. "You just won't admit it."

Sinbad nodded in spite of himself. Still not completely drawn out of him, Focalor gripped his exhausted body to keep him close. He watched lazily as a clawed hand worked agonisingly slowly between his legs, another hand returning to pinching at his chest. He leaned up, giving his captor a tentative kiss before watching the hands stimulating his spent body. He watched the chains shin, moving with his breathing and nestled into his shoulder. "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

Focalor laughed, shaking his head and nipping gently at his damp shoulder. "No; I've waited years for that."

Sinbad nodded, shifting in his lap as if too drawn into this to really fight it. He knew this was so unlike him, that he shouldn't be comforted by this. That never, usually, would he allow someone to do this to him. Yet his tired body was already craving that contact again and being so helpless and relying on someone so much was comforting.

After all, who else but that blur of lusty vermillion would know Sinbad as well as he knew himself?