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But he also wanted the King to show him the soft, sweet promise of who he could be, in a life where he could stay and live in Diagor, hand in hand with this man.
Salas took the King into his mouth.
It was just as difficult as it had been before, yet Salas’ eagerness this time allowed him to drive further down, swallowing down the length as it tried to make its home in the channel of his throat, where he gagged and attempted to hold it in.
His hair was in his face. He didn’t realize until the King moved to brush the strands off to the side, only to then move his great palms to either side of Salas’ head, his fingers tangling in hair. He didn’t apply pressure for Salas to move or not move; his only goal, it appeared, was making sure he had a full view as he transfixed on Salas’ mouth and where it was latched.
There had been no teasing nor preamble to Salas’ technique in his eagerness, yet he could tell by the stone-like girth he handled that at least the King didn’t seem to mind.
He worked it for a long while, moving up and down as positioning and comfort would allow, until, finally, his jaw gave out and he had to pull away.
Immediately, the King’s grip was beneath his arms as he was pulled up into a devouring kiss, the King claiming a prize, all the while gently stroking Salas’ sore jaw, as though in comfort. “Good boy,” the King murmured, when Salas had to once again pull away for air.
Not a moment passed before Salas was grabbed again and flipped onto his back, his pants torn away by a lazy grab by the King. Then the man’s muscled form went off to a dresser, where he lit a candle and began to search around in a drawer, the warm glow hitting the power in his arms and legs.
He returned, curiously, with a slim bottle in one hand, and something small and glittering in the other. Golden and bulbous, the object was shaped like a toy top, with a bright, red jewel inlaid at the hilt.
It could have been mistaken for a paperweight or an ornament, though Salas recognized the thing immediately.
Round-eyed with the discovery of the past relic that had caused so much grief, his eyes immediately snapped to the King’s face, wondering if this was some kind of joke, or the King’s mood had shifted, and he wanted to remind Salas, for some reason, of the old mistake.
But the King was smiling gently at him, the darkness of his gaze no less hungrier.
Still, Salas believed an explanation was necessary. “I thought you would have turned that back into a crown by now.”
“I thought about it,” the King admitted, loosening the cap of the bottle, which turned out to be some type of nut-scented oil, and pouring a heavy portion over the golden phallus.
When Salas moved to sit up, Jareth pressed a palm to his chest, the length wide enough to span across his entire upper chest, a wordless order to stay.
“And?” Salas pressed, heart thundering in his chest with excitement as he watched the instrument begin to glisten with oiled shine.
Jareth grinned. “I thought of a better use for it,” he said with a shrug. “Is that not romantic of me?” The last was a wry joke.
“No,” Salas said blandly, though unable to keep the curiosity from his expression. Not romantic, but…something. The same odd, type ofsomethingthat had his cock full from a kiss or his senses dizzy from breathing in Jareth’s heady smell.
“Turn over,” the King murmured gently.
Salas swallowed. He wanted this, and badly. If he himself could have a wish, this would be it, and yet…
“There’s something you should know,” Salas said softly, eyes flickering up to meet the King’s, then away. He made no move to meet the King’s demand. “About…I suppose it’s about Emperor Eldron.”
When Jareth let out a pained, breathy laugh, Salas looked up, though the King did not seem angry. “Is that man still haunting us, even now?”
Salas bit his lip, shifting his gaze about before settling somewhere on the King’s chest. “You know, I told you he wished for me, yes?”
“...You did,” the King said levelly, the apprehension seeping to his voice.
Salas swallowed, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I only want to please you. That’s all I’ve been trying to do… What I will tell you…won’t.”
Jareth was sitting down fully, patiently waiting for him to continue.
“I suppose it was all to a purpose, though, wasn’t it? Or that’s probably what you’ve concluded. That I’ve worked to gain a spot by your side. Status amongst your people. None of it done in benevolence, but by scheme.” Salas’ own unkind words of himself were neither boastful nor bitter, and he tried very hard to keep his voice even, to keep from revealing anything.
But when he glanced up to see the King’s face, there was nothing but softness in the warm light. “No, Salas. I think we both know why you haven’t left my side. Say it.”
Salas’ swallowed, his throat going thick. For an unfair second the words were too difficult, but he knew he had to say it tonight, or he would forever regret it. “I love you,” he whispered.
The smile the King gave him was just as gentle as his eyes. “I love you too, little one.”
