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“Then I shall help you.”
Unable to find another argument, Salas hesitated before opening the book and started reading aloud.
He felt the King’s eyes on him as he read, as he sometimes did, when he believed he was putting on a great act for the benefit of the King. His times at the library, pretending to read the bulging textbooks filled with superfluous detail on what to Salas seemed like nonsense, he’d been met with the same look by Jareth. It was a teasing, knowing look that now had Salas believing that perhaps the King knew all along that Salas hadn’t truly been reading the text before him.
He wondered this, and his face grew warm by the idea, but he didn’t dare ask for the humiliation that the answer might bring.
Instead, he read carefully aloud, sounding out the words, Jareth murmuring corrections along the way. It didn’t bother him, but halfway through a sentence, Salas paused, crestfallen. “You must think me so childish.”
Jareth was still laid out beside him on his back, eyes closed and arms folded lazily over his stomach, as though he were a man enjoying the background pleasure of a symphony on a relaxing day, encompassing all the king that he was. His eyes peeled open now and he moved a hand to twiddle the end of a lock of Salas’ hair. “You’ve expressed this concern on more than one occasion, Salas. I assure you, I do not.”
But the King was full of contradictions, and Salas didn’t trust this answer. “How could you not?” he challenged, gesturing to the book on his lap.
“What? Your ability to pick up an entirely new language, with an entirely different structure from your own language, I might add, over the span of just over a month? Or your diligence in studying when half my council can’t be trusted to read a report on time?” He paused smiling up at him, for once. “You do not see yourself, Salas.”
Jareth, at some point, had loosened the ties of his tunic at his neck, and Salas couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over the dips in the golden brown skin that gave way to strength.
Salas swallowed. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed Jareth.
Jareth’s jaw was still for a moment, but then his lips were parting openly, his mouth a pleasant wonder that Salas wanted to simply enjoy.
A few seconds passed before Salas realized what was wrong. Jareth was not taking the lead in the kiss, simply allowing Salas to do as he will, as though allowing a duckling to explore a lake for the first time. Salas did as was wordlessly instructed, taking the King’s rough jaw in his hand and carefully exploring the King’s mouth.
It was sweet, sensual. And not enough.
After a few more moments, Salas let out a frustrated growl and bit the King’s lower lip, taunting him, forcing him to respond in the way Salas wanted him to.
The King gave a low chuckle, and then suddenly Salas was flipped onto his back. The lips disappeared for a moment and then reappeared in a devouring crush. The King’s tongue slipped inside with no pretense of coaxing or waiting for acceptance, the King simply took what he wanted, andthiswas what Salas had been waiting for.
He arched up into the kiss, all heat and blood flush, wantingas he’d never wanted before. That odd, guilty need came back in full force. Warmth sweeping into all corners. His cock now sensitive to every movement, every brush of fabric.
Salas felt the beginning of arousal with a gasp. Never had he ever been able to harden from a simple kiss.
The King must have noticed Salas’ state as well, for when he pulled away, leaving a trail of kisses at Salas’ neck, there was a smile to his kiss.
“Don’t tease me,” Salas snapped breathily, yet there was no conviction to the reprimand.
The King didn’t respond, only pulled further away to sit up, using the tips of his fingers to gently correct Salas’ hair. “That’s it for now, little one. After all, I shall be changing soon.”
Salas nodded, not knowing if this was what he wanted or not, and thankful he didn’t have to decide. He was too confused by his own response to argue and welcomed the practicality issue with awkward open arms.
The night was ripening, and the King began pacing, seeming agitated with the halo of the moon brimming with new silver light, signaling the approach of a shift. He kept glancing over at Salas as though he was going to demand Salas leave the room, yet he never did.
The King undressed, his eyes hooded and watchful upon Salas as he carefully disrobed in the center of the room, as though he were carefully giving a performance that hadn’t been asked for, but was vividly desired. It was strange, as Salas was always the one doing the performing. To have the King do the same for him sent a flutter through him.
The outer garments and tunic were removed, revealing the strongly sculpted torso Salas had now memorized, and then came the trousers.
Salas was going to look, but didn’t in that last moment, his eyes carefully fixated on the King’s casual face before dropping below the waist.
The King was bigger than he remembered, and he’d remembered him being uncomfortably large.There is no way it will fit!He nearly blurted, yet bit his tongue before he could embarrass himself.
When Jareth threw him a puzzled look at his obvious distress, Salas finally looked away and blushed.
With his head turned away, Salas nearly missed the change, which came in a ripple. One moment, the King was standing, his stance mountainous. The next, his muscles were shifting and contorting, making way for inhuman shapes and beastly features, eventually dropping to all fours to complete the change.
Salas gasped with the distinct realization that the figure of the King was no more, and in his place was the same dark beast he had met all those nights ago.
The beast’s eyes zeroed in on him immediately, and he prowled forward, hopping up onto the bed while Salas held himself, tense and vulnerable like dumbstruck prey. The wolf sniffed him languidly, taking its time to refamiliarize himself to Salas, absent of regard to how Salas might receive him. He simply roamed over Salas, like a bone he owned, licking occasionally, uncaring if Salas cared for the treatment or not.
