A Victory Earned
What I DO know is that I'd KILL for some consensual!Rasoul/Aladdin, post-"Destiny of Fire".
It starts with a remembrance of the friendship they managed to cultivate out of Aziz's defeat, with the realization they could get along. Then it moves to drinking, because what else are two barely-friends supposed to do together? It then moves to fighting, with the admission that they can't get along. Then the fighting turns into something else entirely when the question is raised ...
Did they have to get along?
The slam of of his back against the wall steals Aladdin's breath and he takes in a desperate hiss of air. Rasoul laughs at having the advantage and how willingly the boy's legs wrap around his torso for support. He takes pleasure in tugging and pulling at the boy's white, princely outfit until it his half up his chest and half down his legs. He pauses for a moment in his greedy groping to admire his handiwork. Aladdin's eyes are half closed in expectation and his chest heaves, his skin flushed and slightly bruised in places with the press of fingers. He is seemingly too proud to use his hands on Rasoul's shoulders to give himself more support in his precarious slump against the wall, so he instead presses his palms back against the stone in a manner which arches himself willingly up to Rasoul.
"Once a streetrat, always a streetrat." Rasoul's voice is a rasp of conviction.
It is Aladdin's turn, however, to laugh when Rasoul can manage no more words, and dives down into the body in front of him with mouth and hands. It feels absurdly intimate the way the Captain's mouth worries his neck, and he mocks the adoration of his body.
"Careful, Rasoul, it almost seems like you love me." He laughs again at the growl Rasoul gives in response. For his impudence, his nipple is roughly pinched, but it is no use, because Aladdin likes it anyway. He likes the sharp tang of pain atop an uneasy storm of pleasure.
Rasoul would probably like to respond with something cutting but he is not Aladdin; he is lost inside the animal sickness of desire and conquering, and cannot form coherent words just now, not when Aladdin's skin gives in to his fingers' pressure, not when the younger man's thighs are hot against his questing hands, not when the boy's cheeks spread for him as he paws at where he would like to be and there is hot breath bathing his neck.
But Aladdin can and does talk.
"Heh, a little desperate, aren't we Rasoul?" He shifts as he speaks, up higher on the wall away from Rasoul's probing fingers. He doesn't want him inside, not yet. He hasn't deserved it. "You know," he continues in a voice unbroken by lust except for the little gasps and moans he gives when Rasoul's fingers instead completely envelop his aching cock (Rasoul counts this is as a victory). "You know, I am starting to think this is why you chased me all those years."
Rasoul gives a hard jerk to the member in his hand and abandons it entirely, instead quickly slicking up his own fingers in his mouth and pressing against Aladdin's opening. He is smug when he breaches the twitching circle of muscle and the flesh inside is hot and angry, but Aladdin turns this into his own victory.
"That's it, that's why you wanted to catch me - to do this. You wanted me. " he says with satisfaction, his face screwed up tight as Rasoul works inside of him, preparing him.
That damn streetrat could talk through a mouthful of cock, Rasoul thinks bitterly.
He struggles to gain the upper hand, and forces out a savage utterance into Aladdin's ear.
"I am going to fuck you, streetrat."
He is rewarded with a flash of fear on Aladdin's face.
"No, that isn't a part of the deal."
Rasoul grins, though he is panting in the pain of being so unbearably hard.
"Stop me, then."
Aladdin's mouth is saying no, but his body is mindlessly rutting against Rasoul whenever the man's chest comes close enough, the Rasoul's crisp Captain's shirt sorry relief for his neglected cock. His mouth falls open, wet and slack, as Rasoul stretches him as far as he can go with the force of his fingers.
He is going to be able to do it this time, he is going to be able to sink as far as he can in that stubborn, wiry body.
But Aladdin is not defeated yet, and with a smirk of his own, he licks lasciviously at his own palm, sliding a little at the lack of grip on the wall, and wraps his hand, wet and sure around Rasoul's cock. Rasoul cries out, his fist coming down near Aladdin's head. It's almost a loving touch, the streetrat's hand.
He can only pant stupidly as Aladdin works with confidant expertise, touching with more variety and skill than a harem girl on his cock. He is not gentle, and he knows that works, his thumb indolently rolling over the head of Rasoul's cock like he owns it. And he's talking, he's fucking talking, his words stripped of any pretense of princely class.
"Did you want to fuck me, Rasoul? When you had me in chains in the dungeon, did you think about fucking me? I bet you did. I bet you touch yourself thinking about fucking me, having me down and writhing on the end of your cock." Mockingly, he arches forward and licks the tip of Rasoul's nose. The man sputters in rage, but moans like a wounded animal when his balls are cupped and rolled.
Aladdin's eyes lust close, his mouth endlessly loosing out a stream of filthy, wonderful words.
"What did you think I'd do if you finally caught me, hmm, Rasoul? Did you think I'd give in to you, that I'd sink down on my knees and suck you? Maybe beg you for mercy and offer my ass for freedom?" Rasoul's vision drowns in a red haze as Aladdin's other hand drops down to join the other, using only his spine and legs wrapped around Rasoul to keep himself from falling. "You old pervert." He says half insultingly, half in approval.
Rasoul explodes. His cry is wounded and relieved and, without care, he spurts cum over his own front and over Aladdin's hands. And Aladdin cums as well, after watching Rasoul. That stupid, impossible, perfect boy cums without being touched.
Rasoul sets Aladdin down with a gentleness outside of himself and collapses against the wall next to him, entirely spent.
Aladdin, however, needs no recovery, and with the ingratitude of youth, pulls his cum-stained pants up and walks confidantly away, but not before giving Rasoul a wink.
"I win."