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He says let’s talk a little longer—Alibaba’s a little tipsy when he says this, but the night is young, and though most everyone else has gone off for the night, Morgiana still doesn’t feel tired. Maybe because she’s a little tipsy, too? She can’t find any proper reason to say no—tomorrow is another holiday, a day of rest, and he’s already tugging at her arm, urging her to get up. She follows. Why not? The courtyard is mostly empty—a few servants cleaning up the mess from the dinner, but maybe he wants somewhere different?
He guides her through the halls, and it takes a moment for it to click, but she does realize that he’s leading her down the hall to his room. She can smell it; her room and Aladdin’s are closer to the sea, so the scent of the salt water is stronger there, but Alibaba’s is closer to a garden, so it has a slightly more earthy smell. And a more Alibaba smell. Morgiana doesn’t question or hesitate—just lets him lead.
He flops on his bed rather unceremoniously, laughing as he pulls Morgiana down with him. She settles down with somewhat more grace than he does, taking her usual corner of the bed. It feels slightly empty, just the two of them. Normally, when they have late night chats, Aladdin is there with them. But Aladdin is in his own bed, having turned in early. She moves closer to Alibaba, feeling slightly more secure there. Her knee bumps his—maybe she moved a little bit closer than she thought, or maybe he felt the emptiness, too? She doesn’t know, and doesn’t care.
They talk. Alibaba tells stories from when he was little, when he and Cassim were little, from when his mother was still alive. Morgiana listens aptly; she doesn’t have as many stories to tell. At least, none that she particularly wants to. She does mention an incident that happened on the way to Katargo, one that she had forgotten about until now. Together, they remember they had last week with Aladdin, one about a very frustrated tourist and an impatient vendor. Alibaba stands on his knees, puffing out his chest in imitation of the tourist, who had been a rather short and stout man. It was a spectacle—both the original scene and Alibaba’s play act. Morgiana laughs at both Alibaba and the memory.
And then it happens. Alibaba, still tipsy, stumbles, tumbling straight on to Morgiana, whose own reaction time has been dulled by the fine wines served earlier in the night. For a moment, it’s quiet, but Alibaba quickly mumbles an apology. He doesn’t get up. Morgiana is still—she barely hears the apology, but she does feel it against her neck. His jaw is rough against her throat, and she realizes that Alibaba has stubble. It’s something that she’s never noticed before. She turns her head towards him, burying her nose in his hair and inhaling a noseful of that Alibaba smell that was so particular to him. His mouth moves—she can feel the moist puff of air, but can’t tell if he meant to say anything. She can’t focus; there are goosebumps crawling up her spine. They might be from the hand on her hip, which seems to be spasming, unable to decide between relaxing and grasping the fabric of her dress. Finally, she hears her name, first a mumble against her skin, then more clearly as he pulls away, just far enough to look at her face. “Morgiana,” he repeats, his eyes searching her face. Morgiana swallows, feeling slightly embarrassed that all she can think about is just how close he is, and just how easy it would be to just lean forward and just—kiss him. Like she just did. Alibaba stills, his hand fisting in her dress. Suddenly shy and ashamed, Morgiana pulls away, turning away from him.
“You—you really want—“ Alibaba’s voice is quiet, and there is something weak about it. Morgiana looks back, and there is something very confused in his face. But there is something else. Morgiana doesn’t know what to say, but she nods. She doesn’t see the wave of emotions that cross Alibaba’s face, amazement, then confusion again, then happiness tempered with something else. But Morgiana, turned away and trying to think of the best way to slip out of the room, doesn’t notice this, and doesn’t notice Alibaba’s shift in position until he’s already begun to pull her down with him to the bed. It’s not a far distance, and she lands rather ungracefully on top of him, but he’s smiling all the way.
He calls out her name again, and the hand that was clenched at her hip is now on her back, making slow motions against her back. She hears her name again. It’s her name, she’s heard it thousands upon thousands of times, but this time is different. He says it lowly, almost beckoning. She looks to his face, meeting his eyes. It’s difficult to see, but the moonlight seeping through the windows is just enough to make out his expression; a sort of pleased look, tinged with something she can’t quite name, but it makes her shiver. His hand moves up her back, across her shoulder, and his fingers trail up her neck and jaw, and there is something akin to wonderment in his face. His hand stops before he can touch her lips. “Can I—“ He trails off, unsure of what to ask. Morgiana just nods. There really isn’t anything that she wouldn’t say yes to right now, if she were honest.
This kiss is soft and sweet, lingering, but not long. Some part of Morgiana regretfully wishes that this had been her first kiss, but she doesn’t want to think about that day in Aktia right now. Alibaba is the one to pull away, wiggling beneath her. “Up, up,” he mumbles, pulling himself up to sit upright. He won’t admit it, but if he stays down like that and keeps craning his neck, he was going to wake up with a crick in his neck. Morgiana follows, shyly settling in front of him, their knees touching. She misses the body contact almost immediately, but she doesn’t know how to as, and he doesn’t know how to invite her to come closer. Alibaba tries to think of anything Cassim told him to do, but everything comes up blank—planning an imaginary encounter is completely different from actually having a woman in front of him. He clears his throat, looking away for a moment, trying to think of how Sinbad would deal with this.
He guides her through the halls, and it takes a moment for it to click, but she does realize that he’s leading her down the hall to his room. She can smell it; her room and Aladdin’s are closer to the sea, so the scent of the salt water is stronger there, but Alibaba’s is closer to a garden, so it has a slightly more earthy smell. And a more Alibaba smell. Morgiana doesn’t question or hesitate—just lets him lead.
He flops on his bed rather unceremoniously, laughing as he pulls Morgiana down with him. She settles down with somewhat more grace than he does, taking her usual corner of the bed. It feels slightly empty, just the two of them. Normally, when they have late night chats, Aladdin is there with them. But Aladdin is in his own bed, having turned in early. She moves closer to Alibaba, feeling slightly more secure there. Her knee bumps his—maybe she moved a little bit closer than she thought, or maybe he felt the emptiness, too? She doesn’t know, and doesn’t care.
They talk. Alibaba tells stories from when he was little, when he and Cassim were little, from when his mother was still alive. Morgiana listens aptly; she doesn’t have as many stories to tell. At least, none that she particularly wants to. She does mention an incident that happened on the way to Katargo, one that she had forgotten about until now. Together, they remember they had last week with Aladdin, one about a very frustrated tourist and an impatient vendor. Alibaba stands on his knees, puffing out his chest in imitation of the tourist, who had been a rather short and stout man. It was a spectacle—both the original scene and Alibaba’s play act. Morgiana laughs at both Alibaba and the memory.
And then it happens. Alibaba, still tipsy, stumbles, tumbling straight on to Morgiana, whose own reaction time has been dulled by the fine wines served earlier in the night. For a moment, it’s quiet, but Alibaba quickly mumbles an apology. He doesn’t get up. Morgiana is still—she barely hears the apology, but she does feel it against her neck. His jaw is rough against her throat, and she realizes that Alibaba has stubble. It’s something that she’s never noticed before. She turns her head towards him, burying her nose in his hair and inhaling a noseful of that Alibaba smell that was so particular to him. His mouth moves—she can feel the moist puff of air, but can’t tell if he meant to say anything. She can’t focus; there are goosebumps crawling up her spine. They might be from the hand on her hip, which seems to be spasming, unable to decide between relaxing and grasping the fabric of her dress. Finally, she hears her name, first a mumble against her skin, then more clearly as he pulls away, just far enough to look at her face. “Morgiana,” he repeats, his eyes searching her face. Morgiana swallows, feeling slightly embarrassed that all she can think about is just how close he is, and just how easy it would be to just lean forward and just—kiss him. Like she just did. Alibaba stills, his hand fisting in her dress. Suddenly shy and ashamed, Morgiana pulls away, turning away from him.
“You—you really want—“ Alibaba’s voice is quiet, and there is something weak about it. Morgiana looks back, and there is something very confused in his face. But there is something else. Morgiana doesn’t know what to say, but she nods. She doesn’t see the wave of emotions that cross Alibaba’s face, amazement, then confusion again, then happiness tempered with something else. But Morgiana, turned away and trying to think of the best way to slip out of the room, doesn’t notice this, and doesn’t notice Alibaba’s shift in position until he’s already begun to pull her down with him to the bed. It’s not a far distance, and she lands rather ungracefully on top of him, but he’s smiling all the way.
He calls out her name again, and the hand that was clenched at her hip is now on her back, making slow motions against her back. She hears her name again. It’s her name, she’s heard it thousands upon thousands of times, but this time is different. He says it lowly, almost beckoning. She looks to his face, meeting his eyes. It’s difficult to see, but the moonlight seeping through the windows is just enough to make out his expression; a sort of pleased look, tinged with something she can’t quite name, but it makes her shiver. His hand moves up her back, across her shoulder, and his fingers trail up her neck and jaw, and there is something akin to wonderment in his face. His hand stops before he can touch her lips. “Can I—“ He trails off, unsure of what to ask. Morgiana just nods. There really isn’t anything that she wouldn’t say yes to right now, if she were honest.
This kiss is soft and sweet, lingering, but not long. Some part of Morgiana regretfully wishes that this had been her first kiss, but she doesn’t want to think about that day in Aktia right now. Alibaba is the one to pull away, wiggling beneath her. “Up, up,” he mumbles, pulling himself up to sit upright. He won’t admit it, but if he stays down like that and keeps craning his neck, he was going to wake up with a crick in his neck. Morgiana follows, shyly settling in front of him, their knees touching. She misses the body contact almost immediately, but she doesn’t know how to as, and he doesn’t know how to invite her to come closer. Alibaba tries to think of anything Cassim told him to do, but everything comes up blank—planning an imaginary encounter is completely different from actually having a woman in front of him. He clears his throat, looking away for a moment, trying to think of how Sinbad would deal with this.