SPN Fic: What's a fire and why does it burn? (2/3)
Title: What's a fire and why does it burn? (2/3)
Paring: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 21,700
Summary: Written for the j2_everafter challenge, for The Little Mermaid. A little bit Hans Christian Andersen, a little bit Disney, a whole lot of melodrama.
A/N: My dearest thanks to my beloved rivers_bend for the lightning-fast and thorough beta of an early draft of this story. All remaining errors in content or style are entirely mine.
Also, when I originally signed up to write this for last year's challenge, the incredible mkitty3 made some spectacular art. Please go HERE and leave her gushing feedback.
Part 1 here
Part 2:
Jensen fiddled nervously with his cufflinks waiting for Jared to arrive for dinner.
He stood in the middle of the private dining room where he sometimes hosted small gatherings, when necessity forced him to entertain. Unlike some of the other, more formal halls in the palace, this one benefitted from comfortable proportions: low ceiling, candle-lit wall sconces rather than massive chandeliers, a table meant for eight not fifty. The warm wood of the chairs was smooth and solid instead of gilt-edged and ornately carved, with soft cushions made for lingering.
Jensen was glad to not be caught pacing when the footman at the door announced Jared, who entered on his heels. But thoughts of his own appearance immediately fled and Jensen couldn’t help but stare, for Jared looked truly gorgeous. He was wearing dark trousers and a midnight blue coat cut perfectly across the shoulders. His high, starched white shirt-collar and cravat highlighted the golden-brown of his throat and face. He ducked head at Jensen’s inspection-clearly used to hiding behind the hair that was swept back off his forehead in an elegant wave and back into a queue-and indicated his outfit with an awkward, embarrassed gesture.
Jensen cleared his throat. “Um, yes. It suits you. Gabe is certainly a master.”
The concern on Jared’s countenance cleared and, much to Jensen’s amusement, he immediately turned away and began wandering around the room. Jensen watched him pick up small items off the mantle to inspect them closely, peer at the art, jump when he sounded notes from the keys on the pianoforte in the corner. Jensen was more accustomed to being scrutinized and pandered to than being roundly ignored, and it was unexpectedly pleasant to be able to stand back and observe Jared’s perambulations without being the center of attention himself.
As Jared slowly worked his way back around to where he started, Jensen cast about for a conversation topic. He said, “I trust you’re feeling better?”
Jared looked at him inquiringly.
“Your feet? Are they still giving you pain?”
Jared glanced down at them, his mouth pulling down at the corners in a quick, exaggerated frown. Then he smiled slightly and shrugged, tilting his hand back and forth, so-so. The smile turned into a smirk and he executed a clever pirouette, spinning full-circle and surprising a laugh out of Jensen.
The little scene was interrupted by Steven, who entered to announce that dinner was ready to be served. Jensen walked over to the place set at the head of the table, another set at his right hand, and waited for Jared to join him.
Jensen knew Chef and his staff were busily preparing for the horde of guests arriving tomorrow, but he also was confident that he and Jared would eat well tonight. The salad that Steven placed before each of them mixed greens with fruits and candied nuts and prompted Jensen to realize he was starving.
Jared picked up his fork, looked at it closely. He touched the tines with a hesitant finger, looking up at Jensen inquiringly, almost as if he’d never seen one before.
Jensen said, “That silver has been in my family for at least seven generations.”
Jared raised a hand to touch the queue where his hair was pulled back, but when Jensen picked up his fork and speared a piece of pear with it, Jared set his utensil down as if it was hot and whipped both hands into his lap.
Jensen hesitated. “Are you not hungry?”
Jared blushed rosily in that way that set Jensen’s heart pounding. He shook his head and began to eat, watching Jensen intently, almost copying him move for move. It was the strangest first course Jensen had experienced in… well, as far back as he could remember.
Fortunately, Steven poured Jensen and then Jared a glass of Jensen’s favorite merlot from a decanter on sideboard. Alcohol sounded like the perfect solution to this problem. Jensen raised his glass to toast his guest and took a hearty drink, nearly choking at the way Jared’s whole face twisted when he took his own sip.
“So I take it you don’t approve of the vintage,” Jensen said, mock-sternly. But Jared took him seriously, shaking his head hastily and quaffing the entire rest of his glass in a show of enthusiasm.
Jared looked at him, bug-eyed, as the wine hit his tongue and then his stomach, and Jensen couldn’t help it, he broke out laughing. Jared, too, laughed and coughed and then laughed some more, all in that silent way of his, and after that the tension dissipated.
Steven brought in course after delicious course, but Jensen could not enjoy them fully as he became increasingly distracted watching Jared’s move: his fine, long hands as he salted his food-and he salted everything-or buttered bread, the bunch and release of muscles under his jacket and the graceful line of his throat as he raised his glass to drink. Once or twice, Jensen thought he saw Jared’s gaze linger on him in the same way-a sort of hesitant hunger-but Jared quickly glanced down at his plate each time, hooding his eyes so that Jensen could not tell whether it was his imagination or not.
Jensen had always been uncomfortable with the expectations of light conversation, particularly with strangers, but the fact that Jared could not speak put Jensen, contrarily, more at ease.
“Are you-that is-do you have a family? Brothers or sisters?”
Jared pointed to one side and shook his head then pointed to the other side and nodded.
“Sisters?” Jensen interpreted. This wasn’t so hard. Jared nodded again and, grinning, held up the fingers of one hand.
“Five? Five sisters? Impressive. I’ve only got the one and I’m worn out by her.”
Jared mimed looking around and then turned a palm upward.
Jensen sobered a bit. He missed MacKenzie fiercely. “She’s been fostered to the Comtesse de Farris this past year. She’s all that’s left of my family, but I’ve only seen her twice in that time.” He felt foolish telling Jared this, but it seemed to want to pour out of him, and Jared’s easy silence encouraged rather than deterred confidences. “Last year there was a month and more of terrible storms, which caused a series of flash floods throughout the region. My parents and brother, they were traveling back from visiting me at the University, traveling despite the rains that had already delayed their return home by weeks. They were caught by one of the floods when a bridge washed out only miles from here. My mother and older brother perished, my father was incapacitated and lies in a coma. Thus I am still only a prince and sovereign ruler at once.” Jensen couldn’t recall ever having to tell someone that story before; everyone he ever encountered had previously heard all the details of the calamity.
Jared covered his mouth in surprise, sympathy written across his face. Then he reached out and squeezed Jensen’s hand. Jensen looked down at where the brief warmth of Jared’s grip lingered. He couldn’t recall anyone having done that before, either.
“Thank you,” he told Jared quietly. “Having lost my own, I have to wonder whether your family is searching for you. Your parents? Or perhaps you are married? Betrothed?”
Jared’s color rose a bit, but he didn’t look away, just shook his head no, and Jensen released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. What did it matter if Jared was unattached? Jensen would not be in a few dozen hours. He lifted his wine glass to his lips. “Ah, well. As it turns out, I myself am to be married at week’s end.”
As Jensen again drank deep, he heard Jared’s fork drop with a muted thud onto the carpet.
*****
Jensen proceeded to tell Jared the whole story. Of the loss of his parents and brother taking place hard on the heels of a terrible loss among the country’s farmers of their crops and among the royal navy’s fleet of ships sinking in those same storms. Of how his country’s sovereignty had, for as long as Jensen could remember and decade upon decade before, been threatened by rapacious surrounding nations, two on their borders and one across the narrow sea, all of whom coveted the Ackles’ rocky shoreline for its strategic possibilities.
Jensen’s father’s most recent solution had been to betroth Jensen to the Earl of Krupa’s only daughter, her vast dowry used to fill their country’s coffers, aid the farmers, build more ships, fortify their small army. Jensen had known Krupa’s daughter-Joanna-since they were children. She had always been ambitious, her lust for power and rank causing her to take little notice of him in the past as a second son; however, after his tragedy and ascension, she’d made sure Jensen knew of her rejection of several royal suitors’ offers in the past year as she pointedly waited for him to succumb to the necessity of marriage. Jensen told Jared that he felt bound to uphold his father’s pledge and, honestly, did not see a better solution to the dangers that afflicted them from all sides. Although Jensen and his advisors had been able to keep it secret, the country was teetering dangerously on the edge of insolvency, famine, and possibly foreign invasion. But, once allied with Krupa, he explained, Joanna would be queen, Jensen would save the kingdom, or at least keep it solvent and secure awhile longer; everyone won.
Jared had listened with rapt attention throughout Jensen’s tale, his eyes scanning Jensen’s face as if he were reading the story there instead of hearing it with his ears. When Jensen finished, they sat for several long minutes in silence: Jensen with his head down, worn out by the telling of how he’d ended up sold to the highest bidder, Jared out of constraint or disgust or pity, who knew. The candles flickered and the strong smells of the final uneaten cheese course turned Jensen’s stomach slightly.
Then Jared hopped up and walked around the table to Jensen’s side, motioning him up out of the chair. Steven made as if to intervene, alarmed, but Jensen waved him away and stood. He was not prepared for Jared to wrap his arms around him, pulling him tight against his chest so that Jensen had to turn his head to avoid getting his nose squashed into Jared’s lapels.
Jensen wasn’t accustomed to embraces that weren’t of an…amorous nature, and he didn’t know quite what to do. Hugging-hugging!-Jared in return seemed more awkward than simply standing there and receiving the offering. Jensen assumed Jared meant it as a kind of support or condolence or some such. He normally wouldn’t allow this much over-familiarity, but Jared smelled so good, spicy and a little musky from the warmth of the room, and he was so very big that Jensen could lean in a little and Jared wouldn’t even notice the weight.
Jared gave a little extra squeeze, then quickly stepped back, putting a few feet between them. His breath seemed to be coming faster and there was something vital about look in his eyes, but Jensen couldn’t read it, overwhelmed by how small he suddenly felt outside of Jared’s arms.
They stood staring like that for a minute, then Jared looked away, down, brushed at his jacket with a wry, enigmatic smile playing around his mouth.
“Thank you, Steven,” Jensen said without looking over. “We’re done for the evening. Please let Chef know that everything was delightful.”
Jared stepped forward, extending a hand to the footman. Steven’s face was a study in surprise, but he stepped forward, clasping hands with Jared. He returned Jared’s small smile, then turned to bow to Jensen, and escorted Jared out.
Jared half-turned when he reached the door to give Jensen a tiny wave goodbye, which should have looked ridiculous on a grown man like him, but instead was sweet and charming and timid where Jared had always seemed so bold, and it made the heat rise at the back of Jensen’s neck.
Jensen barely restrained himself from waving back. “Sleep well, Jared.”
Just as Jared followed Steven out, Kripke rapped at the door and bustled in without waiting for permission. “Sire, I’ve been informed by the staff that they unfortunately need, ah… need The Gentleman’s current rooms in order to house additional guests on the morrow. They told me they will move his, um, things in the morning, but we are short of rooms and-“
“Yes, yes. I see.” Jensen was used to cutting Kripke off before he said the same thing three times. “Convey my instructions that Jared be given one of the rooms in the suite next to mine. I believe it has been unused for quite some time, but perhaps Jared will find a little dust preferable to sleeping above the stables or wherever else you were planning to consign him.”
Kripke’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Are you-The adjoining suite?”
“It’s not as if Joanna will be using it, you know,” Jensen replied, dryly.
*****
Jensen and Kripke-along with his assistants Sera and Benjamin-worked several more hours after dinner preparing for the arrival of Joanna and her entourage, as well as all the other wedding guests, so it was late by the time Jensen made it back to his rooms.
Jensen peeled off his coat, loosening his cravat and letting Misha help him out of the rest of his clothes and into a robe. After accepting a glass of brandy with preoccupied thanks, he dismissed the valet for the night, determined to read in a chair by the banked fire for a few minutes and then retire.
However, he soon found he could not settle. The liquor flowed over his tongue, warming his throat and chest, but did not soothe his agitation, thoughts of the days ahead churning through him.
Jensen set the book aside and got to his feet. He decided to check in on Jared one last time.
Just having Jared this close by was a novelty. He’d never shared rooms with anyone before, not even his brother, certainly not a friend or lover. Not that Jared was or would be his lover, he firmly reminded himself.
They’d already said their goodnights-and of course the staff could and would attend to any needs Jared had-but nevertheless Jensen stepped through the connecting hall and swung open the heavy-paneled door.
The light in Jared’s room had been reduced to one taper on the bedside table, and Jared sat motionless in profile. He was turned slightly away from the door and from Jensen, but it was plain what was going on.
Jensen found himself frozen in place by the sight of Jared sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet planted on the ground, trousers pushed down below his hips, cock held lightly in his hand. He watched as Jared used the other hand to unbutton the soft material of his shirt, letting it fall from his shoulders to pool at his elbows. Jared shivered slightly-from the cool of the room, from his hand passing slowly over his nipples- and Jensen shivered too, in answer.
Jared was looking down, appearing mildly perplexed, a vertical frown between his eyebrows, but as he began fondling and then stroking, his head fell back and the smooth look of pleasure on his face sent all the blood in Jensen’s body racing between his legs.
Jensen gripped the door handle like a lifeline and could not look away from the shallow flex of Jared’s hips as they began to thrust upward in time with his strokes, could not look away from how his legs shifted wider, how the candlelight glistened off of the sheen on his neck. The sound of skin on skin whispered in counterpoint with Jared’s sharp panting breaths, and Jensen had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a noise of his own, holding in the groan that welled deep in his chest as he pressed the heel of his palm into his own erection for some relief.
Jared was visibly trembling now, shaking his head back and forth as if denying the possibility of the pleasure he was giving himself. Then, still silent, Jared arched his back, powerful and careless, as ecstasy overtook him and he came, bursting over fingers and palm.
The blaze of heat that rushed over Jensen nearly sent him to his knees. He wanted to be close enough to smell it, taste it, feel the heat of Jared’s bare belly and thighs under his hands, but instead he spun heedlessly around and fled back through the doorway, only barely mindful enough to turn the latch softly as it closed so as to make no sound.
Jensen threw himself into bed and willed himself to sleep, but later, long past midnight, he woke in the stillness. In the darkness of his room, he waited for his body to calm, sweeping aside the remnants of a dream of strong arms lifting him, deep voice rumbling in his ear, dimples and shaggy hair and hands rubbing, teasing him to a fevered pitch. That kind of satisfaction, joy, it wasn’t meant for him. There was a time when he might have aspired to it, pursued it, but that time was past. He could not give himself over to a dream and see everything he’d built vanish in his hands.
He lay awake all the rest of the night, determined to keep his wits about him.
*****
For all Jensen swore he would not feed this obsession, that morning it didn’t take him five minutes in his office before he stole away to the kitchen to ask the staff where Jared was. There was a typical group of off-duty maids and footmen and attendants gathered, heads together, jesting and flirting. The composition of the assemblage changed, but Jensen was always sure to find whoever was free of chores at the moment gathered in one corner around a large butcher-block island, sipping tea and snacking on the heels of bread loaves and cast-off pastries provided in a steady stream by Chef and his staff.
As usual when Jensen arrived, the low hum of conversation cut off and everyone straightened to attention, Ian surreptitiously tucking a flask into his pocket and Katherine smoothing down her skirts and edging an arms length away from where she’d been leaning up against Paul. Danneel gave him a small nod and an over-large smile and informed him that Jared was down at the cliffs.
Intentionally neglecting to summon his regular complement of household guards, Jensen walked out from the palace and beyond the castle walls. Several sets of huge iron gates were set into various walls of the castle, one opened up toward the town, another to the harbor, another to the roads leading out into the world. This small postern on the south side, however, opened directly onto the rocky terrain leading to the sea cliffs. There he found Jared standing on a verge overlooking the crashing waves, his attention focused intently outward, like someone trying to catch the words of a distant song. He was coatless, and the deep sleeves of the fine-woven linen shirt he wore fluttered in the stiff breeze, the long vertical lines of his back outlined beneath the fabric.
Jensen shifted restlessly as he stopped a few yards away, wondering why Jared was here, reluctant to disturb him. Breathing deep, Jensen let the salt scent engulf him; he leaned against a rough boulder nearby, closed his eyes. He’d spent these last weeks and months preoccupied with grief, uncertainty, decisions, questions, new plans to be made when old ones wouldn’t do. His soul cried for rest.
When he opened his eyes, Jared was turned to look at him, surprise at finding Jensen there lingering in his glance. The hazel of his eyes reflected the shifting greens and blues of the sea.
Jensen, unsure what to say, wished he had brought food or drink with him to have something to do with his hands, an offering. Jared seemed somehow more closed-off, tentative this morning. Last night, Jensen had seen him wide-open.
“I often walk on the beach in the mornings,” he finally offered. “There’s a path just over that way.” He pointed east toward where the ragged stairs led down. “That’s why I came down. To walk.”
Jared glanced over his shoulder in the direction Jensen had indicated, then turned back to Jensen, nodding, smiling in that small, secret way again.
“Would you-“ He’d never invited anyone to go with him before. “Would like to join me?”
Jensen led them, picking his way carefully, hoping Jared didn’t trip and fall and carry both of them tumbling down to the bottom in a heap of snapped bones.
They reached the beach safely, and for a few dozen yards they walked side by side up the strand. But soon Jared began to stray, stopping to pick up interesting shells and bits, darting aside to investigate the purple grass growing from a dune. Jensen thought it was somewhat like walking with a pup. He barely resisted calling Jared to heel.
Jensen stopped, shading his eyes, looking out to the east, although no ships were expected until late in the day. Jared came up to stand at his shoulder, tall and solid as a bulwark. Jensen was too keyed up to linger long, and soon turned back toward the castle, moving down closer to the surf to stride along the hard-packed sand. He thought of Kripke, probably having a fit over how Jensen’s disappearance had already thrown the agenda for the day into chaos.
He glanced sidelong at Jared. “Today is my last day of freedom. We should do something-“ Jensen considered a word, one he couldn’t remember using in a long time. “-something fun.”
Jared tilted his head, encouraging. The breeze from the sea played in his hair.
“What would you like to do?”
Jared pretended to contemplate, clowning, opening his mouth as if to reply, then shutting again, scratching his head, as if rethinking what he might choose. Jensen, frowned, not used to being teased.
“There’s a horse fair at the town market every quarter day, which would be today,” Jensen said stiffly. “Someone from the palace always goes to as a show support for the local tradesmen. Perhaps you would ride down with me?”
Jared’s eyes, still twinkling with mirth, gave his assent.
*****
At the top of the stairs they met up with Jensen’s forsaken guards, and the prince was subjected to the indignity of a lecture on his safety, with Jared as witness all the way to the stables.
As they entered the hard-packed dirt courtyard framed by the low rows of wooden barns and storage shacks and kennels, a huge hound dashed up, tail waving like a banner, yipping faintly and trying to lick Jensen’s hand. Jensen crouched, pushing the animal down and over onto his side-where the dog proceeded to wriggle in abject humility-and scratched his belly.
“This is Harley,” he said, looking up at Jared mid-scratch. Jared’s expression was foolish-fond for the dog and he immediately got down on his knees next to Jensen to give Harley a sniff of his hand and run his hands behind his ears.
“I’d heard you’d found a new stray, Sire,” came a voice from behind them. “Only you would find a way to have the most handsome castaway in the seven seas fall into your lap.”
At the words, Jensen saw Jared blush and frown, his chin dropping, staring hard at Harley. Jensen’s heart dropped a little.
“And this, Jared, is Christian, one of my horse masters. More dog than Harley, if you ask me.” Of anyone on the grounds, Christian was the man Jensen would most likely call a friend and, in private at least, one of the most vocal opponents of his plans to ally with Krupa. Leave it to him to begin by practically throwing Jensen at Jared.
He stood and gave Christian a look that ordered him to be civil, then changed it to a silent plea when he saw the wicked gleam in his eye. Christian smirked, but held out a hand for Jared to take once he’d risen up from beside Harley. “Welcome, Jared. When your voice returns, I’ll be eager to hear the tales of what brought you here.”
Jared paused a moment to lock eyes with Christian, then nodded and shook his hand firmly, Jensen looking on and wishing everything could be this easy.
“We’re going down to the market,” Jensen interjected. He thought for a moment, but then, unsure of Jared’s riding ability and not wanting to embarrass him, asked, “Would you have a phaeton brought around for me… us?”
“Today?” Christian knew as well as anyone what lay ahead.
“They’re expecting an Ackles to show. I cannot break tradition,” Jensen retorted. After a moment he looked aside and said more softly, “And there’s no one else left to go in my place.”
Christian looked ready to say more, then glanced at Jared and instead gave terse nod, moving off into the stable to call for attendance.
Jensen felt Jared’s gaze on him like a touch, and turned to him, shaking off the melancholy and determined to embrace their adventure. He began to tell Jared all about the history of the market, the horses he and his siblings had bought there in the past, the many times as a boy when he’d been kicked after straying too close to a rowdy stallion, the five ways to tell if a horse is a good purchase or not.
His monologue ground to a halt when the phaeton was brought around, matched black mares in harness, and Jensen thought to himself that this was probably the most he’d spoken-casually, willingly, not on state business-in weeks. All to a man who couldn't even answer.
He shot a small smile Jared’s way and the two of them climbed into the light, two-seated carriage that suddenly seemed spindly next to Jared’s bulk. Jensen’s mounted escorts followed behind as they pulled out of the stables toward the fortified gates leading out of the castle. They passed through them, then wound down the hill, a sharp-turned road that led to the adjacent town. Jensen was determined to show off his skill at handling the ribbons and then scoffed at himself when he realized Jared likely had no discernment of good driving over bad. However, his companion was watching Jensen’s hands avidly, so Jensen thought he’d provide a treat. “Would you like a try?”
Jared nodded so eagerly that strands of soft hair, loose from his queue, flopped into his eyes. He shoved them away, tucked back behind his ears like a little boy, and reached out to take hold of the leather reins.
“Just take it easy and you’ll do fine. This pair is as steady as a rock.”
He gave Jensen a sideways glance. Jensen was about to offer more encouragement when Jared sharply snapped the reins twice, three times, and sent the horses flying. All Jensen could do was hang on.
The horse faire was in full swing, the square crowded with animals standing in uneven lines for inspection or being trotted out by hand to show their soundness. Jensen had retrieved the reins-with no small amount of relief-from Jared once they’d reached the more populated outskirts of the town. Now in the market proper, he pulled the team over to one side. A couple of young boys broke from a group playing dice behind one of the stalls and rushed to take their bridles.
“My thanks, Colin. Ridge.” He nodded to them in turn. “Just don’t let your masters catch you gaming when there’s market day work to be done.” He smiled to show he was teasing and flipped each of them a penny for their trouble. They bowed low to him and also to Jared, who had just climbed out of the carriage and stood soaking in the sights.
Simply being here, the sense-memory of happier days, lifted Jensen’s spirits, and he circled around to tug on Jared’s arm. “Come now. Let me show you around.”
Several shirt-sleeved men had been eyeing Jensen from across the square; once he and Jared moved forward into the fray one of them led out a pretty little bay mare, her snowy white stockings flashed as she trotted quietly up and down amid the confusion, away from them and back again.
Jared immediately approached her, both hands stroking nose and neck. Jensen merely gave the man the faintest shake of his head and walked on, drawing Jared with him.
“We’re not here to buy anything today, you know,” Jensen said. “Christian would slay me if I purchased any more mounts without his consultation.” He glanced back to where the horse coper was leading the graceful bay back into position. “Besides, I think you might squash her if you tried to ride her.”
Jared snorted and shrugged and pressed on through the crowd, which opened readily to let the prince and his companion through. Jared seemed to fall in love with every horse he saw, and the copers began to go to lengths to attract their attention and jockey potential purchases into view. The circus atmosphere of the fair heightened in their vicinity, with horses wheeling in circles, showing off their best paces.
At least one animal registered violent objections to all the activity. A few yards ahead of them, a handler was swearing at a big gray with a pale coat. The horse lashed out with its forefeet and bared its teeth. Jensen lightly clasped Jared’s arm to halt him.
They watched at a safe distance from the battle that suddenly erupted. The gray tossed its head savagely, hauling the handler right off his feet. The horse fought, alternately trying to bite and rear, while the handler hung on, yanking at the halter with what Jensen thought was rather strange enthusiasm, until he realized with disgust that there was a chain looped over the horse’s nose and through its mouth. Traces of blood speckled the animal’s head and chest.
The handler danced out of the way of a well-aimed snap, and just at that moment another man brought a bat down across the horse’s nose. It squealed and jerked around, eyes wild. He felt Jared jerk in sympathy where Jensen still had a grip on his forearm.
Jared pulled away from under Jensen’s hand and moved forward, walking slowly around the horse in the open circle that had formed around it. The gray swiveled its ears back, following his movement and blowing warily. Jensen called, “Jared! Come away from there.”
Jared ignored his command, edging closer to the gray. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head, frustrated, and made a little snapping noise with his fingers instead. The horse flinched at the sound, glared at him, and continued to shift and paw the ground.
Jensen could see the deep concentration on Jared’s face, the way he never took his eyes off the animal, no extra motion, every step smooth and deliberate. The horse, on the other hand, seemed to become more agitated, tossing its head with rolling eyes, flanks shuddering.
“Jared,” Jensen said again, worried that he was about to see Jared savaged under those sharp hooves. But Jared didn’t turn or look away, simply gave a small wave of his hand. Jared came to a standstill just a few paces in front of the animal, and waited.
With Jared unmoving, the horse began to calm, its dark eyes riveted to him. All of the previous frenetic fair activity quieted as people stopped to observe the tableau. They stood like that for what seemed like forever: the horse, Jared, the crowd, Jensen. Then, although Jensen could detect no change in Jared, nothing he’d done, the horse’s taut neck muscles relaxed and it took a few steps forward. Jared reached up, the horse dropped its nose, and abruptly it was all over.
A ragged round of applause made the horse lift its head for an instant, but it dropped its neck again and pushed gently at Jared’s arm. Jared scratched its ears, blowing softly against its wounded nose. Then he turned back to Jensen, proud smile and bright eyes all for him.
Jensen felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sight. What an extraordinary man this was.
*****
They stopped at the edge of a pear orchard to eat lunch, someone in the stables thoughtfully having tucked away a hamper under the seat. At Jared’s silent urging, Jensen even invited the two young guards, Joseph and Nicholas, to join them, but they insisted they preferred to look after the horses, and proceeded to herd all five animals over to a nearby hillock to graze. Jensen and Jared sat in the grass next to the phaeton, forgoing the array of carefully packed glasses and plates to plunder treats directly from the basket with their bare hands and share sips of water from the same flask, chewing in companionable silence.
Back at the stables, Jensen watched Jared show off the gray to Christian, the two of them stroking it, examining it, leading it through its paces. He could tell that Christian admired the animal, but enjoyed watching him tease Jared with feigned skepticism, Jared growing more and more frustrated with not being able to defend his rescued friend’s honor in anything beyond pantomime.
Finally, Christian owned up to the game and called over a couple of the stable hands to take their new resident to a stall. The horse was lead away and he and Jared walked back toward where Jensen stood leaning against a post, Christian grinning and reaching up to clap Jared on the shoulder. Jensen saw a change come over Christian’s face as he spied something over Jensen’s shoulder, and he turned around to see Kripke striding toward them.
Jensen had no doubt that he came with the announcement of arrival of the ship from Krupa.
Jensen stood up straight, sobering, pulling back onto his shoulders the mantle of responsibility, feeling the world shrink and flatten. It was almost as if the Jensen of the last twenty-four hours was an imposter, a counterfeit who had arrived in Jared’s wake, and now the real Jensen was stepping in to taking his true place once more.
He thought that, eventually, he would regret allowing himself this day.
Kripke pulled up short in front of him. “They’ve been sighted, Your Highness, about an hour ago. You should have just enough time to change before you need to be down at the docks.”
Jensen didn’t have time to wonder whether Kripke had deliberately waited to inform him until the last minute, but he was grateful to be faced with the business of rushing back to the palace and hurrying through his ablutions and outfitting rather than being put to wait.
He looked over at Jared. “I-“ He hesitated then stopped, neither knowing what he meant to say nor wanting to say whatever it might be in front of his staff.
Jared merely looked at him for a long moment as if trying to memorize his face, then jerked his chin toward the palace as if to tell Jensen to get going.
Jensen went.
*****
Joanna knew how to make an entrance, no question. She stood poised up at the rail of the ship as it dropped anchor and was secured, having thrown her travelling cloak back so that her hair burnished bright in the sun like summer wine. Her throat and shoulders shown pale against the low neckline of her deep blue gown, embroidered with gold thread and jewels down to the hem so that the folds sparked with every tilt of the deck. A dagger hung from her girdle, smooth ivory crusted with malachite and emeralds, and Jensen recalled his younger self commenting when she’d first affected its wearing that she shouldn’t carry one unless she knew how to handle it.
He’d soon found she wielded more dangerous weapons.
The memory came back to him of the weeks one summer when a great horde of nobility had been guests at the Duke of Morgan’s estates for his daughter’s christening. Joanna at seventeen had chosen to confide in Jensen each of her elaborate plans for spiting, humiliating, or disgracing her many suitors, and Jensen spent the week an unwilling confidante in her systematic campaign of ruin. Most of those men had never recovered their good names.
Time had not dimmed Joanna’s looks one iota, and when she held out a hand for an attendant as an escort down the gangway, several young men from her retinue stepped forward to jostle for the privilege.
As Joanna descended from the ship, Jensen felt suddenly bleak and afraid. Not for himself, but for making a mistake, a fatal overestimation in his ability to control the consequences of his father’s chosen course. He cared nothing for what happened to him personally-today, tomorrow, in some distant, incomprehensible future-it was his failure to protect his family’s kingdom he could not bear to contemplate.
All along this road, he’d known it was a gamble. Krupa played his own game, Joanna herself likely had a half dozen plots afoot before even stepping foot on his shore, witch that she was. But throwing the dice with them was almost certainly the least hazardous of all the bad choices that faced him.
It was that “almost” which left the metallic tang in his mouth as he pasted on a welcoming countenance for his bride.
“Jensen.”
“My lady.” He bowed over her hand, not quite brushing her knuckles with his lips.
As he straightened, she stepped slightly closer, placing her other hand atop their clasped ones. “Oh my, so formal, Jen. And here I’d have imagined our years of friendship would have us past that.”
“Indeed, I have learned much about you over those years.” He paused for two beats. “My lady.”
She smiled, closemouthed, the edges of her mouth tucking under. Jensen rebuked himself for even engaging with her to that small degree. His antagonism would merely amuse her, egg her on.
Jensen turned with her hand on his arm and faced the crowd at her side. Together they waved, but amid the applause and cheers he felt as if he stood in a bubble of silence, remote and removed, enchanted to be stiff and still.
“Don’t look so melancholy, my dear,” Joanna said, continuing to wave. “Think of all the good we will do. You will feed your poor, I will feed my rich. Together we will transform Ackles into a force to be reckoned with.” She looked at him sidelong with a tiny shrug. “Or you can simply sit back and relax, if you prefer, and let me do all the work.”
He made no outward response to her needling, but he could feel a phantom itch at the center of his back as if from an imaginary target painted upon it. And so it begins, he thought, staring grimly out over the wharf and the castle and the lands beyond.
The rest of the day was filled with a flurry of formal social activities: presentations and greetings, reception of gifts from guests and tidings from far away. Everywhere Jensen went he searched for a glimpse of Jared among the gatherers, but he never appeared. When Jensen finally retired- nay, fled -to his rooms after dinner, he found that the adjoining suite was dark and empty.
Misha didn’t comment or ask about the prince’s day as he typically would, simply silently helped him disrobe and prepare for bed. His familiar presence eased some of Jensen’s tension, but didn’t reach the deeper ache in his chest. Jensen knew he could ask him about Jared’s whereabouts- Misha always seemed to know every detail of palace affairs- but he couldn’t bring himself to risk it, in the event Jared had… left. He didn’t know if he could endure the news of that at this moment; better to live in ignorance and hope.
When he was finally alone, Jensen shambled toward the bed. Halfway there, he happened to glance through one of the far windows into the night, his eye caught by a glint of fire. Striding over, he peered out into the darkness, where he saw Jared out upon the cliffs at the same spot Jensen had found him that morning. Now Jensen observed him as he crouched, coaxing a tiny bonfire with sticks from a pile next to him. Once the flames were established, Jared rose and, like a sentinel, looked out over the sea.
Jensen stared for a minute, two, five, until the aching in his throat could no longer be ignored, then pulled the curtains and turned away.
*****
The next morning, the day before the wedding, a hunt had been scheduled, and Jensen woke determined to ignore the swarm of doubts that threatened to overwhelm him. He pictured his own mind like a chalkboard, every thought that began to write itself urgently across, he wiped away clean. He focused on the smallest physical tasks, the tiniest details of his morning ritual, calmly, determinedly. He allowed himself to be dressed, fed, and accompanied outside to the stables where a throng of lords and ladies assembled.
Much of the wild land surrounding the castle for acres and acres to the west remained unsettled, and belonged to the royal family. Across the tiny kingdom, the royal family held properties under vassalage or leased tracts to smallholders, but the forests here along the coast were reserved to the King’s use and left wild for hunting.
Many of the wedding guests had arrived the previous afternoon, so there was quite a crowd, all dressed in fashionable hunting attire, men in gleaming boots and women in snug jackets and jaunty hats carrying decorative little crops. Jensen knew many of them, but cared for few, so he used his reputation for shyness-or, now that he was older, and a prince, he guessed it was labeled ‘reserve’-to stand aloof.
He did not search the crowd for her. He did not search the crowd for him.
Amid the clamber and chaos, Jensen felt a brush against his leg and looked down to see Harley circling him, ears perked with excitement. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the pack?” Jensen murmured reprovingly, holding out a hand to be sniffed.
Harley butted against him and then again, the hound big enough to shove Jensen off-balance and backwards a few steps.
“Whoa,” Jensen said. “Leave off.” He tried to shoo Harley away, but the dog kept shepherding Jensen backward until he was at the edge of the company, hard by the kennel doors. Jensen figured this might be a good moment to find some privacy before he was compelled to mount up and join the throng, so he followed Harley as the dog slipped inside the building.
The kennel’s roof was higher on one side, and the high side held a tall line of windows that flooded the area with light. The long hall was lined with half-doors, the tops mostly open and the bottoms mostly shut. One wall by the doorway Jensen had entered was covered with hooks where dog-harness and gear was typically hung, but which had been mostly emptied for use by the hunt.
Jensen had spent a good deal of time here as a youth, but not as much since his return to the palace, and he was glad to see very little had changed.
Harley had disappeared somewhere, but Jensen heard a noise coming from one of the stalls, and moved forward to investigate, looked through the open top of one of the half-doors. The small niche was ankle-deep in straw and in the corner was a rounded, lumpy pile of newborn puppies, their tiny yips of play shrill in the quiet, their white-and-brindle coats shining in the dimmer confines of the stall. Next to the pile sat Jared, cross-legged in the hay, two pups crawling in his lap and one more cupped in his hands.
Jensen softly pulled the bolt on the lower half-door and stepped inside.
Jared looked up sharply at his entrance, but Jensen didn’t say anything. He knelt down beside Jared next to the pile and touched a small back, ran a finger down the fragile spine. The puppy made a faint noise, half bark, half squeak, and continued to roll and wriggle and nip at her siblings, nine in all, by Jensen’s count, including the three with Jared.
This close, he thought he could distinguish Jared’s scent, warm and masculine, underneath the stronger odors of hay and leather and hound.
Jared was preoccupied with the pups in his lap, but Jensen couldn’t stop himself from staring, taking note of the exact color of the small mole to the left of Jared’s nose, another on his chin, the way dark lashes shadowed his cheek as he kept his eyes downcast, things that Jensen had noticed before but hadn’t taken time to examine so closely. He rarely paid much attention to appearance-his own or other people’s- but with Jared he found himself wanting hours to drink it all in.
He saw Jared flinch at a particularly hard nip from a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. Jared simply stroked the pup and gently set it back down on the edge of the pile, from whence it propelled itself forward into the fray with dim, swimming motions of its tiny legs.
Jensen took the hand the puppy had bitten in his own, rubbing whisper-soft with his thumb over the small, pink dents on the meat of Jared’s palm. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, his voice rasping, and gave a slight cough to clear the tightness in the back of his throat.
Jared glanced down at their linked hands, where Jensen’s thumb continued to move absently. He closed his fingers gently around Jensen’s wrist.
Jensen felt weightless, tethered to the ground by Jared’s grip alone. It would be easy to let go, and he wanted so badly to fly.
He closed his eyes and lifted their joined hands to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss at the point of the pup’s bite, tasting Jared at last, his breath growing quick, his gut swooping.
They sat frozen in that moment, the warmth of Jared’s palm in his cupped hands, under his lips. Then Jared slowly, slowly pulled his hand back, slow enough to not break contact, Jensen following, mouth to hand, gradually closing the space between them, until at last there was none left and hands dropped away, Jared’s mouth pressed soft to Jensen's. The sweetness ran down through him.
Yes, Jared had kissed him first, but Jensen was the one that led the way. He proceeded to lick at Jared’s closed lips, coaxing him open. He put a hand to Jared’s jaw to tilt his head just right, pressing up in earnest, making it good.
It was just a kiss, yet Jensen found he could barely withstand the rush. He wanted to shove Jared down into the hay, strip him and touch him until he was trembling and eager, helpless but to reveal his secrets to Jensen. He wanted to make Jared cry out and to hear his voice at last.
Instead what he heard was the muted sound of someone outside the stall calling for him, then several people. Jensen realized that he’d been gone long enough that some of his servants or his courtiers were coming in search.
Jared pulled back first, eyes wide, lips swollen. He looked dazed and terribly young and Jensen felt a nearly irresistible urge to pull him back, to enfold him in his arms, to conceal him, to protect him. Fine as the edge of a blade, the moment held him in balance, but as the sounds of the seekers came closer, Jensen climbed to his feet and turned away without words. In truth, he knew that there was nowhere to hide.
*****
Part 3 here
Paring: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 21,700
Summary: Written for the j2_everafter challenge, for The Little Mermaid. A little bit Hans Christian Andersen, a little bit Disney, a whole lot of melodrama.
A/N: My dearest thanks to my beloved rivers_bend for the lightning-fast and thorough beta of an early draft of this story. All remaining errors in content or style are entirely mine.
Also, when I originally signed up to write this for last year's challenge, the incredible mkitty3 made some spectacular art. Please go HERE and leave her gushing feedback.
Part 1 here
Part 2:
Jensen fiddled nervously with his cufflinks waiting for Jared to arrive for dinner.
He stood in the middle of the private dining room where he sometimes hosted small gatherings, when necessity forced him to entertain. Unlike some of the other, more formal halls in the palace, this one benefitted from comfortable proportions: low ceiling, candle-lit wall sconces rather than massive chandeliers, a table meant for eight not fifty. The warm wood of the chairs was smooth and solid instead of gilt-edged and ornately carved, with soft cushions made for lingering.
Jensen was glad to not be caught pacing when the footman at the door announced Jared, who entered on his heels. But thoughts of his own appearance immediately fled and Jensen couldn’t help but stare, for Jared looked truly gorgeous. He was wearing dark trousers and a midnight blue coat cut perfectly across the shoulders. His high, starched white shirt-collar and cravat highlighted the golden-brown of his throat and face. He ducked head at Jensen’s inspection-clearly used to hiding behind the hair that was swept back off his forehead in an elegant wave and back into a queue-and indicated his outfit with an awkward, embarrassed gesture.
Jensen cleared his throat. “Um, yes. It suits you. Gabe is certainly a master.”
The concern on Jared’s countenance cleared and, much to Jensen’s amusement, he immediately turned away and began wandering around the room. Jensen watched him pick up small items off the mantle to inspect them closely, peer at the art, jump when he sounded notes from the keys on the pianoforte in the corner. Jensen was more accustomed to being scrutinized and pandered to than being roundly ignored, and it was unexpectedly pleasant to be able to stand back and observe Jared’s perambulations without being the center of attention himself.
As Jared slowly worked his way back around to where he started, Jensen cast about for a conversation topic. He said, “I trust you’re feeling better?”
Jared looked at him inquiringly.
“Your feet? Are they still giving you pain?”
Jared glanced down at them, his mouth pulling down at the corners in a quick, exaggerated frown. Then he smiled slightly and shrugged, tilting his hand back and forth, so-so. The smile turned into a smirk and he executed a clever pirouette, spinning full-circle and surprising a laugh out of Jensen.
The little scene was interrupted by Steven, who entered to announce that dinner was ready to be served. Jensen walked over to the place set at the head of the table, another set at his right hand, and waited for Jared to join him.
Jensen knew Chef and his staff were busily preparing for the horde of guests arriving tomorrow, but he also was confident that he and Jared would eat well tonight. The salad that Steven placed before each of them mixed greens with fruits and candied nuts and prompted Jensen to realize he was starving.
Jared picked up his fork, looked at it closely. He touched the tines with a hesitant finger, looking up at Jensen inquiringly, almost as if he’d never seen one before.
Jensen said, “That silver has been in my family for at least seven generations.”
Jared raised a hand to touch the queue where his hair was pulled back, but when Jensen picked up his fork and speared a piece of pear with it, Jared set his utensil down as if it was hot and whipped both hands into his lap.
Jensen hesitated. “Are you not hungry?”
Jared blushed rosily in that way that set Jensen’s heart pounding. He shook his head and began to eat, watching Jensen intently, almost copying him move for move. It was the strangest first course Jensen had experienced in… well, as far back as he could remember.
Fortunately, Steven poured Jensen and then Jared a glass of Jensen’s favorite merlot from a decanter on sideboard. Alcohol sounded like the perfect solution to this problem. Jensen raised his glass to toast his guest and took a hearty drink, nearly choking at the way Jared’s whole face twisted when he took his own sip.
“So I take it you don’t approve of the vintage,” Jensen said, mock-sternly. But Jared took him seriously, shaking his head hastily and quaffing the entire rest of his glass in a show of enthusiasm.
Jared looked at him, bug-eyed, as the wine hit his tongue and then his stomach, and Jensen couldn’t help it, he broke out laughing. Jared, too, laughed and coughed and then laughed some more, all in that silent way of his, and after that the tension dissipated.
Steven brought in course after delicious course, but Jensen could not enjoy them fully as he became increasingly distracted watching Jared’s move: his fine, long hands as he salted his food-and he salted everything-or buttered bread, the bunch and release of muscles under his jacket and the graceful line of his throat as he raised his glass to drink. Once or twice, Jensen thought he saw Jared’s gaze linger on him in the same way-a sort of hesitant hunger-but Jared quickly glanced down at his plate each time, hooding his eyes so that Jensen could not tell whether it was his imagination or not.
Jensen had always been uncomfortable with the expectations of light conversation, particularly with strangers, but the fact that Jared could not speak put Jensen, contrarily, more at ease.
“Are you-that is-do you have a family? Brothers or sisters?”
Jared pointed to one side and shook his head then pointed to the other side and nodded.
“Sisters?” Jensen interpreted. This wasn’t so hard. Jared nodded again and, grinning, held up the fingers of one hand.
“Five? Five sisters? Impressive. I’ve only got the one and I’m worn out by her.”
Jared mimed looking around and then turned a palm upward.
Jensen sobered a bit. He missed MacKenzie fiercely. “She’s been fostered to the Comtesse de Farris this past year. She’s all that’s left of my family, but I’ve only seen her twice in that time.” He felt foolish telling Jared this, but it seemed to want to pour out of him, and Jared’s easy silence encouraged rather than deterred confidences. “Last year there was a month and more of terrible storms, which caused a series of flash floods throughout the region. My parents and brother, they were traveling back from visiting me at the University, traveling despite the rains that had already delayed their return home by weeks. They were caught by one of the floods when a bridge washed out only miles from here. My mother and older brother perished, my father was incapacitated and lies in a coma. Thus I am still only a prince and sovereign ruler at once.” Jensen couldn’t recall ever having to tell someone that story before; everyone he ever encountered had previously heard all the details of the calamity.
Jared covered his mouth in surprise, sympathy written across his face. Then he reached out and squeezed Jensen’s hand. Jensen looked down at where the brief warmth of Jared’s grip lingered. He couldn’t recall anyone having done that before, either.
“Thank you,” he told Jared quietly. “Having lost my own, I have to wonder whether your family is searching for you. Your parents? Or perhaps you are married? Betrothed?”
Jared’s color rose a bit, but he didn’t look away, just shook his head no, and Jensen released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. What did it matter if Jared was unattached? Jensen would not be in a few dozen hours. He lifted his wine glass to his lips. “Ah, well. As it turns out, I myself am to be married at week’s end.”
As Jensen again drank deep, he heard Jared’s fork drop with a muted thud onto the carpet.
*****
Jensen proceeded to tell Jared the whole story. Of the loss of his parents and brother taking place hard on the heels of a terrible loss among the country’s farmers of their crops and among the royal navy’s fleet of ships sinking in those same storms. Of how his country’s sovereignty had, for as long as Jensen could remember and decade upon decade before, been threatened by rapacious surrounding nations, two on their borders and one across the narrow sea, all of whom coveted the Ackles’ rocky shoreline for its strategic possibilities.
Jensen’s father’s most recent solution had been to betroth Jensen to the Earl of Krupa’s only daughter, her vast dowry used to fill their country’s coffers, aid the farmers, build more ships, fortify their small army. Jensen had known Krupa’s daughter-Joanna-since they were children. She had always been ambitious, her lust for power and rank causing her to take little notice of him in the past as a second son; however, after his tragedy and ascension, she’d made sure Jensen knew of her rejection of several royal suitors’ offers in the past year as she pointedly waited for him to succumb to the necessity of marriage. Jensen told Jared that he felt bound to uphold his father’s pledge and, honestly, did not see a better solution to the dangers that afflicted them from all sides. Although Jensen and his advisors had been able to keep it secret, the country was teetering dangerously on the edge of insolvency, famine, and possibly foreign invasion. But, once allied with Krupa, he explained, Joanna would be queen, Jensen would save the kingdom, or at least keep it solvent and secure awhile longer; everyone won.
Jared had listened with rapt attention throughout Jensen’s tale, his eyes scanning Jensen’s face as if he were reading the story there instead of hearing it with his ears. When Jensen finished, they sat for several long minutes in silence: Jensen with his head down, worn out by the telling of how he’d ended up sold to the highest bidder, Jared out of constraint or disgust or pity, who knew. The candles flickered and the strong smells of the final uneaten cheese course turned Jensen’s stomach slightly.
Then Jared hopped up and walked around the table to Jensen’s side, motioning him up out of the chair. Steven made as if to intervene, alarmed, but Jensen waved him away and stood. He was not prepared for Jared to wrap his arms around him, pulling him tight against his chest so that Jensen had to turn his head to avoid getting his nose squashed into Jared’s lapels.
Jensen wasn’t accustomed to embraces that weren’t of an…amorous nature, and he didn’t know quite what to do. Hugging-hugging!-Jared in return seemed more awkward than simply standing there and receiving the offering. Jensen assumed Jared meant it as a kind of support or condolence or some such. He normally wouldn’t allow this much over-familiarity, but Jared smelled so good, spicy and a little musky from the warmth of the room, and he was so very big that Jensen could lean in a little and Jared wouldn’t even notice the weight.
Jared gave a little extra squeeze, then quickly stepped back, putting a few feet between them. His breath seemed to be coming faster and there was something vital about look in his eyes, but Jensen couldn’t read it, overwhelmed by how small he suddenly felt outside of Jared’s arms.
They stood staring like that for a minute, then Jared looked away, down, brushed at his jacket with a wry, enigmatic smile playing around his mouth.
“Thank you, Steven,” Jensen said without looking over. “We’re done for the evening. Please let Chef know that everything was delightful.”
Jared stepped forward, extending a hand to the footman. Steven’s face was a study in surprise, but he stepped forward, clasping hands with Jared. He returned Jared’s small smile, then turned to bow to Jensen, and escorted Jared out.
Jared half-turned when he reached the door to give Jensen a tiny wave goodbye, which should have looked ridiculous on a grown man like him, but instead was sweet and charming and timid where Jared had always seemed so bold, and it made the heat rise at the back of Jensen’s neck.
Jensen barely restrained himself from waving back. “Sleep well, Jared.”
Just as Jared followed Steven out, Kripke rapped at the door and bustled in without waiting for permission. “Sire, I’ve been informed by the staff that they unfortunately need, ah… need The Gentleman’s current rooms in order to house additional guests on the morrow. They told me they will move his, um, things in the morning, but we are short of rooms and-“
“Yes, yes. I see.” Jensen was used to cutting Kripke off before he said the same thing three times. “Convey my instructions that Jared be given one of the rooms in the suite next to mine. I believe it has been unused for quite some time, but perhaps Jared will find a little dust preferable to sleeping above the stables or wherever else you were planning to consign him.”
Kripke’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Are you-The adjoining suite?”
“It’s not as if Joanna will be using it, you know,” Jensen replied, dryly.
*****
Jensen and Kripke-along with his assistants Sera and Benjamin-worked several more hours after dinner preparing for the arrival of Joanna and her entourage, as well as all the other wedding guests, so it was late by the time Jensen made it back to his rooms.
Jensen peeled off his coat, loosening his cravat and letting Misha help him out of the rest of his clothes and into a robe. After accepting a glass of brandy with preoccupied thanks, he dismissed the valet for the night, determined to read in a chair by the banked fire for a few minutes and then retire.
However, he soon found he could not settle. The liquor flowed over his tongue, warming his throat and chest, but did not soothe his agitation, thoughts of the days ahead churning through him.
Jensen set the book aside and got to his feet. He decided to check in on Jared one last time.
Just having Jared this close by was a novelty. He’d never shared rooms with anyone before, not even his brother, certainly not a friend or lover. Not that Jared was or would be his lover, he firmly reminded himself.
They’d already said their goodnights-and of course the staff could and would attend to any needs Jared had-but nevertheless Jensen stepped through the connecting hall and swung open the heavy-paneled door.
The light in Jared’s room had been reduced to one taper on the bedside table, and Jared sat motionless in profile. He was turned slightly away from the door and from Jensen, but it was plain what was going on.
Jensen found himself frozen in place by the sight of Jared sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet planted on the ground, trousers pushed down below his hips, cock held lightly in his hand. He watched as Jared used the other hand to unbutton the soft material of his shirt, letting it fall from his shoulders to pool at his elbows. Jared shivered slightly-from the cool of the room, from his hand passing slowly over his nipples- and Jensen shivered too, in answer.
Jared was looking down, appearing mildly perplexed, a vertical frown between his eyebrows, but as he began fondling and then stroking, his head fell back and the smooth look of pleasure on his face sent all the blood in Jensen’s body racing between his legs.
Jensen gripped the door handle like a lifeline and could not look away from the shallow flex of Jared’s hips as they began to thrust upward in time with his strokes, could not look away from how his legs shifted wider, how the candlelight glistened off of the sheen on his neck. The sound of skin on skin whispered in counterpoint with Jared’s sharp panting breaths, and Jensen had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a noise of his own, holding in the groan that welled deep in his chest as he pressed the heel of his palm into his own erection for some relief.
Jared was visibly trembling now, shaking his head back and forth as if denying the possibility of the pleasure he was giving himself. Then, still silent, Jared arched his back, powerful and careless, as ecstasy overtook him and he came, bursting over fingers and palm.
The blaze of heat that rushed over Jensen nearly sent him to his knees. He wanted to be close enough to smell it, taste it, feel the heat of Jared’s bare belly and thighs under his hands, but instead he spun heedlessly around and fled back through the doorway, only barely mindful enough to turn the latch softly as it closed so as to make no sound.
Jensen threw himself into bed and willed himself to sleep, but later, long past midnight, he woke in the stillness. In the darkness of his room, he waited for his body to calm, sweeping aside the remnants of a dream of strong arms lifting him, deep voice rumbling in his ear, dimples and shaggy hair and hands rubbing, teasing him to a fevered pitch. That kind of satisfaction, joy, it wasn’t meant for him. There was a time when he might have aspired to it, pursued it, but that time was past. He could not give himself over to a dream and see everything he’d built vanish in his hands.
He lay awake all the rest of the night, determined to keep his wits about him.
*****
For all Jensen swore he would not feed this obsession, that morning it didn’t take him five minutes in his office before he stole away to the kitchen to ask the staff where Jared was. There was a typical group of off-duty maids and footmen and attendants gathered, heads together, jesting and flirting. The composition of the assemblage changed, but Jensen was always sure to find whoever was free of chores at the moment gathered in one corner around a large butcher-block island, sipping tea and snacking on the heels of bread loaves and cast-off pastries provided in a steady stream by Chef and his staff.
As usual when Jensen arrived, the low hum of conversation cut off and everyone straightened to attention, Ian surreptitiously tucking a flask into his pocket and Katherine smoothing down her skirts and edging an arms length away from where she’d been leaning up against Paul. Danneel gave him a small nod and an over-large smile and informed him that Jared was down at the cliffs.
Intentionally neglecting to summon his regular complement of household guards, Jensen walked out from the palace and beyond the castle walls. Several sets of huge iron gates were set into various walls of the castle, one opened up toward the town, another to the harbor, another to the roads leading out into the world. This small postern on the south side, however, opened directly onto the rocky terrain leading to the sea cliffs. There he found Jared standing on a verge overlooking the crashing waves, his attention focused intently outward, like someone trying to catch the words of a distant song. He was coatless, and the deep sleeves of the fine-woven linen shirt he wore fluttered in the stiff breeze, the long vertical lines of his back outlined beneath the fabric.
Jensen shifted restlessly as he stopped a few yards away, wondering why Jared was here, reluctant to disturb him. Breathing deep, Jensen let the salt scent engulf him; he leaned against a rough boulder nearby, closed his eyes. He’d spent these last weeks and months preoccupied with grief, uncertainty, decisions, questions, new plans to be made when old ones wouldn’t do. His soul cried for rest.
When he opened his eyes, Jared was turned to look at him, surprise at finding Jensen there lingering in his glance. The hazel of his eyes reflected the shifting greens and blues of the sea.
Jensen, unsure what to say, wished he had brought food or drink with him to have something to do with his hands, an offering. Jared seemed somehow more closed-off, tentative this morning. Last night, Jensen had seen him wide-open.
“I often walk on the beach in the mornings,” he finally offered. “There’s a path just over that way.” He pointed east toward where the ragged stairs led down. “That’s why I came down. To walk.”
Jared glanced over his shoulder in the direction Jensen had indicated, then turned back to Jensen, nodding, smiling in that small, secret way again.
“Would you-“ He’d never invited anyone to go with him before. “Would like to join me?”
Jensen led them, picking his way carefully, hoping Jared didn’t trip and fall and carry both of them tumbling down to the bottom in a heap of snapped bones.
They reached the beach safely, and for a few dozen yards they walked side by side up the strand. But soon Jared began to stray, stopping to pick up interesting shells and bits, darting aside to investigate the purple grass growing from a dune. Jensen thought it was somewhat like walking with a pup. He barely resisted calling Jared to heel.
Jensen stopped, shading his eyes, looking out to the east, although no ships were expected until late in the day. Jared came up to stand at his shoulder, tall and solid as a bulwark. Jensen was too keyed up to linger long, and soon turned back toward the castle, moving down closer to the surf to stride along the hard-packed sand. He thought of Kripke, probably having a fit over how Jensen’s disappearance had already thrown the agenda for the day into chaos.
He glanced sidelong at Jared. “Today is my last day of freedom. We should do something-“ Jensen considered a word, one he couldn’t remember using in a long time. “-something fun.”
Jared tilted his head, encouraging. The breeze from the sea played in his hair.
“What would you like to do?”
Jared pretended to contemplate, clowning, opening his mouth as if to reply, then shutting again, scratching his head, as if rethinking what he might choose. Jensen, frowned, not used to being teased.
“There’s a horse fair at the town market every quarter day, which would be today,” Jensen said stiffly. “Someone from the palace always goes to as a show support for the local tradesmen. Perhaps you would ride down with me?”
Jared’s eyes, still twinkling with mirth, gave his assent.
*****
At the top of the stairs they met up with Jensen’s forsaken guards, and the prince was subjected to the indignity of a lecture on his safety, with Jared as witness all the way to the stables.
As they entered the hard-packed dirt courtyard framed by the low rows of wooden barns and storage shacks and kennels, a huge hound dashed up, tail waving like a banner, yipping faintly and trying to lick Jensen’s hand. Jensen crouched, pushing the animal down and over onto his side-where the dog proceeded to wriggle in abject humility-and scratched his belly.
“This is Harley,” he said, looking up at Jared mid-scratch. Jared’s expression was foolish-fond for the dog and he immediately got down on his knees next to Jensen to give Harley a sniff of his hand and run his hands behind his ears.
“I’d heard you’d found a new stray, Sire,” came a voice from behind them. “Only you would find a way to have the most handsome castaway in the seven seas fall into your lap.”
At the words, Jensen saw Jared blush and frown, his chin dropping, staring hard at Harley. Jensen’s heart dropped a little.
“And this, Jared, is Christian, one of my horse masters. More dog than Harley, if you ask me.” Of anyone on the grounds, Christian was the man Jensen would most likely call a friend and, in private at least, one of the most vocal opponents of his plans to ally with Krupa. Leave it to him to begin by practically throwing Jensen at Jared.
He stood and gave Christian a look that ordered him to be civil, then changed it to a silent plea when he saw the wicked gleam in his eye. Christian smirked, but held out a hand for Jared to take once he’d risen up from beside Harley. “Welcome, Jared. When your voice returns, I’ll be eager to hear the tales of what brought you here.”
Jared paused a moment to lock eyes with Christian, then nodded and shook his hand firmly, Jensen looking on and wishing everything could be this easy.
“We’re going down to the market,” Jensen interjected. He thought for a moment, but then, unsure of Jared’s riding ability and not wanting to embarrass him, asked, “Would you have a phaeton brought around for me… us?”
“Today?” Christian knew as well as anyone what lay ahead.
“They’re expecting an Ackles to show. I cannot break tradition,” Jensen retorted. After a moment he looked aside and said more softly, “And there’s no one else left to go in my place.”
Christian looked ready to say more, then glanced at Jared and instead gave terse nod, moving off into the stable to call for attendance.
Jensen felt Jared’s gaze on him like a touch, and turned to him, shaking off the melancholy and determined to embrace their adventure. He began to tell Jared all about the history of the market, the horses he and his siblings had bought there in the past, the many times as a boy when he’d been kicked after straying too close to a rowdy stallion, the five ways to tell if a horse is a good purchase or not.
His monologue ground to a halt when the phaeton was brought around, matched black mares in harness, and Jensen thought to himself that this was probably the most he’d spoken-casually, willingly, not on state business-in weeks. All to a man who couldn't even answer.
He shot a small smile Jared’s way and the two of them climbed into the light, two-seated carriage that suddenly seemed spindly next to Jared’s bulk. Jensen’s mounted escorts followed behind as they pulled out of the stables toward the fortified gates leading out of the castle. They passed through them, then wound down the hill, a sharp-turned road that led to the adjacent town. Jensen was determined to show off his skill at handling the ribbons and then scoffed at himself when he realized Jared likely had no discernment of good driving over bad. However, his companion was watching Jensen’s hands avidly, so Jensen thought he’d provide a treat. “Would you like a try?”
Jared nodded so eagerly that strands of soft hair, loose from his queue, flopped into his eyes. He shoved them away, tucked back behind his ears like a little boy, and reached out to take hold of the leather reins.
“Just take it easy and you’ll do fine. This pair is as steady as a rock.”
He gave Jensen a sideways glance. Jensen was about to offer more encouragement when Jared sharply snapped the reins twice, three times, and sent the horses flying. All Jensen could do was hang on.
The horse faire was in full swing, the square crowded with animals standing in uneven lines for inspection or being trotted out by hand to show their soundness. Jensen had retrieved the reins-with no small amount of relief-from Jared once they’d reached the more populated outskirts of the town. Now in the market proper, he pulled the team over to one side. A couple of young boys broke from a group playing dice behind one of the stalls and rushed to take their bridles.
“My thanks, Colin. Ridge.” He nodded to them in turn. “Just don’t let your masters catch you gaming when there’s market day work to be done.” He smiled to show he was teasing and flipped each of them a penny for their trouble. They bowed low to him and also to Jared, who had just climbed out of the carriage and stood soaking in the sights.
Simply being here, the sense-memory of happier days, lifted Jensen’s spirits, and he circled around to tug on Jared’s arm. “Come now. Let me show you around.”
Several shirt-sleeved men had been eyeing Jensen from across the square; once he and Jared moved forward into the fray one of them led out a pretty little bay mare, her snowy white stockings flashed as she trotted quietly up and down amid the confusion, away from them and back again.
Jared immediately approached her, both hands stroking nose and neck. Jensen merely gave the man the faintest shake of his head and walked on, drawing Jared with him.
“We’re not here to buy anything today, you know,” Jensen said. “Christian would slay me if I purchased any more mounts without his consultation.” He glanced back to where the horse coper was leading the graceful bay back into position. “Besides, I think you might squash her if you tried to ride her.”
Jared snorted and shrugged and pressed on through the crowd, which opened readily to let the prince and his companion through. Jared seemed to fall in love with every horse he saw, and the copers began to go to lengths to attract their attention and jockey potential purchases into view. The circus atmosphere of the fair heightened in their vicinity, with horses wheeling in circles, showing off their best paces.
At least one animal registered violent objections to all the activity. A few yards ahead of them, a handler was swearing at a big gray with a pale coat. The horse lashed out with its forefeet and bared its teeth. Jensen lightly clasped Jared’s arm to halt him.
They watched at a safe distance from the battle that suddenly erupted. The gray tossed its head savagely, hauling the handler right off his feet. The horse fought, alternately trying to bite and rear, while the handler hung on, yanking at the halter with what Jensen thought was rather strange enthusiasm, until he realized with disgust that there was a chain looped over the horse’s nose and through its mouth. Traces of blood speckled the animal’s head and chest.
The handler danced out of the way of a well-aimed snap, and just at that moment another man brought a bat down across the horse’s nose. It squealed and jerked around, eyes wild. He felt Jared jerk in sympathy where Jensen still had a grip on his forearm.
Jared pulled away from under Jensen’s hand and moved forward, walking slowly around the horse in the open circle that had formed around it. The gray swiveled its ears back, following his movement and blowing warily. Jensen called, “Jared! Come away from there.”
Jared ignored his command, edging closer to the gray. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head, frustrated, and made a little snapping noise with his fingers instead. The horse flinched at the sound, glared at him, and continued to shift and paw the ground.
Jensen could see the deep concentration on Jared’s face, the way he never took his eyes off the animal, no extra motion, every step smooth and deliberate. The horse, on the other hand, seemed to become more agitated, tossing its head with rolling eyes, flanks shuddering.
“Jared,” Jensen said again, worried that he was about to see Jared savaged under those sharp hooves. But Jared didn’t turn or look away, simply gave a small wave of his hand. Jared came to a standstill just a few paces in front of the animal, and waited.
With Jared unmoving, the horse began to calm, its dark eyes riveted to him. All of the previous frenetic fair activity quieted as people stopped to observe the tableau. They stood like that for what seemed like forever: the horse, Jared, the crowd, Jensen. Then, although Jensen could detect no change in Jared, nothing he’d done, the horse’s taut neck muscles relaxed and it took a few steps forward. Jared reached up, the horse dropped its nose, and abruptly it was all over.
A ragged round of applause made the horse lift its head for an instant, but it dropped its neck again and pushed gently at Jared’s arm. Jared scratched its ears, blowing softly against its wounded nose. Then he turned back to Jensen, proud smile and bright eyes all for him.
Jensen felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sight. What an extraordinary man this was.
*****
They stopped at the edge of a pear orchard to eat lunch, someone in the stables thoughtfully having tucked away a hamper under the seat. At Jared’s silent urging, Jensen even invited the two young guards, Joseph and Nicholas, to join them, but they insisted they preferred to look after the horses, and proceeded to herd all five animals over to a nearby hillock to graze. Jensen and Jared sat in the grass next to the phaeton, forgoing the array of carefully packed glasses and plates to plunder treats directly from the basket with their bare hands and share sips of water from the same flask, chewing in companionable silence.
Back at the stables, Jensen watched Jared show off the gray to Christian, the two of them stroking it, examining it, leading it through its paces. He could tell that Christian admired the animal, but enjoyed watching him tease Jared with feigned skepticism, Jared growing more and more frustrated with not being able to defend his rescued friend’s honor in anything beyond pantomime.
Finally, Christian owned up to the game and called over a couple of the stable hands to take their new resident to a stall. The horse was lead away and he and Jared walked back toward where Jensen stood leaning against a post, Christian grinning and reaching up to clap Jared on the shoulder. Jensen saw a change come over Christian’s face as he spied something over Jensen’s shoulder, and he turned around to see Kripke striding toward them.
Jensen had no doubt that he came with the announcement of arrival of the ship from Krupa.
Jensen stood up straight, sobering, pulling back onto his shoulders the mantle of responsibility, feeling the world shrink and flatten. It was almost as if the Jensen of the last twenty-four hours was an imposter, a counterfeit who had arrived in Jared’s wake, and now the real Jensen was stepping in to taking his true place once more.
He thought that, eventually, he would regret allowing himself this day.
Kripke pulled up short in front of him. “They’ve been sighted, Your Highness, about an hour ago. You should have just enough time to change before you need to be down at the docks.”
Jensen didn’t have time to wonder whether Kripke had deliberately waited to inform him until the last minute, but he was grateful to be faced with the business of rushing back to the palace and hurrying through his ablutions and outfitting rather than being put to wait.
He looked over at Jared. “I-“ He hesitated then stopped, neither knowing what he meant to say nor wanting to say whatever it might be in front of his staff.
Jared merely looked at him for a long moment as if trying to memorize his face, then jerked his chin toward the palace as if to tell Jensen to get going.
Jensen went.
*****
Joanna knew how to make an entrance, no question. She stood poised up at the rail of the ship as it dropped anchor and was secured, having thrown her travelling cloak back so that her hair burnished bright in the sun like summer wine. Her throat and shoulders shown pale against the low neckline of her deep blue gown, embroidered with gold thread and jewels down to the hem so that the folds sparked with every tilt of the deck. A dagger hung from her girdle, smooth ivory crusted with malachite and emeralds, and Jensen recalled his younger self commenting when she’d first affected its wearing that she shouldn’t carry one unless she knew how to handle it.
He’d soon found she wielded more dangerous weapons.
The memory came back to him of the weeks one summer when a great horde of nobility had been guests at the Duke of Morgan’s estates for his daughter’s christening. Joanna at seventeen had chosen to confide in Jensen each of her elaborate plans for spiting, humiliating, or disgracing her many suitors, and Jensen spent the week an unwilling confidante in her systematic campaign of ruin. Most of those men had never recovered their good names.
Time had not dimmed Joanna’s looks one iota, and when she held out a hand for an attendant as an escort down the gangway, several young men from her retinue stepped forward to jostle for the privilege.
As Joanna descended from the ship, Jensen felt suddenly bleak and afraid. Not for himself, but for making a mistake, a fatal overestimation in his ability to control the consequences of his father’s chosen course. He cared nothing for what happened to him personally-today, tomorrow, in some distant, incomprehensible future-it was his failure to protect his family’s kingdom he could not bear to contemplate.
All along this road, he’d known it was a gamble. Krupa played his own game, Joanna herself likely had a half dozen plots afoot before even stepping foot on his shore, witch that she was. But throwing the dice with them was almost certainly the least hazardous of all the bad choices that faced him.
It was that “almost” which left the metallic tang in his mouth as he pasted on a welcoming countenance for his bride.
“Jensen.”
“My lady.” He bowed over her hand, not quite brushing her knuckles with his lips.
As he straightened, she stepped slightly closer, placing her other hand atop their clasped ones. “Oh my, so formal, Jen. And here I’d have imagined our years of friendship would have us past that.”
“Indeed, I have learned much about you over those years.” He paused for two beats. “My lady.”
She smiled, closemouthed, the edges of her mouth tucking under. Jensen rebuked himself for even engaging with her to that small degree. His antagonism would merely amuse her, egg her on.
Jensen turned with her hand on his arm and faced the crowd at her side. Together they waved, but amid the applause and cheers he felt as if he stood in a bubble of silence, remote and removed, enchanted to be stiff and still.
“Don’t look so melancholy, my dear,” Joanna said, continuing to wave. “Think of all the good we will do. You will feed your poor, I will feed my rich. Together we will transform Ackles into a force to be reckoned with.” She looked at him sidelong with a tiny shrug. “Or you can simply sit back and relax, if you prefer, and let me do all the work.”
He made no outward response to her needling, but he could feel a phantom itch at the center of his back as if from an imaginary target painted upon it. And so it begins, he thought, staring grimly out over the wharf and the castle and the lands beyond.
The rest of the day was filled with a flurry of formal social activities: presentations and greetings, reception of gifts from guests and tidings from far away. Everywhere Jensen went he searched for a glimpse of Jared among the gatherers, but he never appeared. When Jensen finally retired- nay, fled -to his rooms after dinner, he found that the adjoining suite was dark and empty.
Misha didn’t comment or ask about the prince’s day as he typically would, simply silently helped him disrobe and prepare for bed. His familiar presence eased some of Jensen’s tension, but didn’t reach the deeper ache in his chest. Jensen knew he could ask him about Jared’s whereabouts- Misha always seemed to know every detail of palace affairs- but he couldn’t bring himself to risk it, in the event Jared had… left. He didn’t know if he could endure the news of that at this moment; better to live in ignorance and hope.
When he was finally alone, Jensen shambled toward the bed. Halfway there, he happened to glance through one of the far windows into the night, his eye caught by a glint of fire. Striding over, he peered out into the darkness, where he saw Jared out upon the cliffs at the same spot Jensen had found him that morning. Now Jensen observed him as he crouched, coaxing a tiny bonfire with sticks from a pile next to him. Once the flames were established, Jared rose and, like a sentinel, looked out over the sea.
Jensen stared for a minute, two, five, until the aching in his throat could no longer be ignored, then pulled the curtains and turned away.
*****
The next morning, the day before the wedding, a hunt had been scheduled, and Jensen woke determined to ignore the swarm of doubts that threatened to overwhelm him. He pictured his own mind like a chalkboard, every thought that began to write itself urgently across, he wiped away clean. He focused on the smallest physical tasks, the tiniest details of his morning ritual, calmly, determinedly. He allowed himself to be dressed, fed, and accompanied outside to the stables where a throng of lords and ladies assembled.
Much of the wild land surrounding the castle for acres and acres to the west remained unsettled, and belonged to the royal family. Across the tiny kingdom, the royal family held properties under vassalage or leased tracts to smallholders, but the forests here along the coast were reserved to the King’s use and left wild for hunting.
Many of the wedding guests had arrived the previous afternoon, so there was quite a crowd, all dressed in fashionable hunting attire, men in gleaming boots and women in snug jackets and jaunty hats carrying decorative little crops. Jensen knew many of them, but cared for few, so he used his reputation for shyness-or, now that he was older, and a prince, he guessed it was labeled ‘reserve’-to stand aloof.
He did not search the crowd for her. He did not search the crowd for him.
Amid the clamber and chaos, Jensen felt a brush against his leg and looked down to see Harley circling him, ears perked with excitement. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the pack?” Jensen murmured reprovingly, holding out a hand to be sniffed.
Harley butted against him and then again, the hound big enough to shove Jensen off-balance and backwards a few steps.
“Whoa,” Jensen said. “Leave off.” He tried to shoo Harley away, but the dog kept shepherding Jensen backward until he was at the edge of the company, hard by the kennel doors. Jensen figured this might be a good moment to find some privacy before he was compelled to mount up and join the throng, so he followed Harley as the dog slipped inside the building.
The kennel’s roof was higher on one side, and the high side held a tall line of windows that flooded the area with light. The long hall was lined with half-doors, the tops mostly open and the bottoms mostly shut. One wall by the doorway Jensen had entered was covered with hooks where dog-harness and gear was typically hung, but which had been mostly emptied for use by the hunt.
Jensen had spent a good deal of time here as a youth, but not as much since his return to the palace, and he was glad to see very little had changed.
Harley had disappeared somewhere, but Jensen heard a noise coming from one of the stalls, and moved forward to investigate, looked through the open top of one of the half-doors. The small niche was ankle-deep in straw and in the corner was a rounded, lumpy pile of newborn puppies, their tiny yips of play shrill in the quiet, their white-and-brindle coats shining in the dimmer confines of the stall. Next to the pile sat Jared, cross-legged in the hay, two pups crawling in his lap and one more cupped in his hands.
Jensen softly pulled the bolt on the lower half-door and stepped inside.
Jared looked up sharply at his entrance, but Jensen didn’t say anything. He knelt down beside Jared next to the pile and touched a small back, ran a finger down the fragile spine. The puppy made a faint noise, half bark, half squeak, and continued to roll and wriggle and nip at her siblings, nine in all, by Jensen’s count, including the three with Jared.
This close, he thought he could distinguish Jared’s scent, warm and masculine, underneath the stronger odors of hay and leather and hound.
Jared was preoccupied with the pups in his lap, but Jensen couldn’t stop himself from staring, taking note of the exact color of the small mole to the left of Jared’s nose, another on his chin, the way dark lashes shadowed his cheek as he kept his eyes downcast, things that Jensen had noticed before but hadn’t taken time to examine so closely. He rarely paid much attention to appearance-his own or other people’s- but with Jared he found himself wanting hours to drink it all in.
He saw Jared flinch at a particularly hard nip from a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. Jared simply stroked the pup and gently set it back down on the edge of the pile, from whence it propelled itself forward into the fray with dim, swimming motions of its tiny legs.
Jensen took the hand the puppy had bitten in his own, rubbing whisper-soft with his thumb over the small, pink dents on the meat of Jared’s palm. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, his voice rasping, and gave a slight cough to clear the tightness in the back of his throat.
Jared glanced down at their linked hands, where Jensen’s thumb continued to move absently. He closed his fingers gently around Jensen’s wrist.
Jensen felt weightless, tethered to the ground by Jared’s grip alone. It would be easy to let go, and he wanted so badly to fly.
He closed his eyes and lifted their joined hands to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss at the point of the pup’s bite, tasting Jared at last, his breath growing quick, his gut swooping.
They sat frozen in that moment, the warmth of Jared’s palm in his cupped hands, under his lips. Then Jared slowly, slowly pulled his hand back, slow enough to not break contact, Jensen following, mouth to hand, gradually closing the space between them, until at last there was none left and hands dropped away, Jared’s mouth pressed soft to Jensen's. The sweetness ran down through him.
Yes, Jared had kissed him first, but Jensen was the one that led the way. He proceeded to lick at Jared’s closed lips, coaxing him open. He put a hand to Jared’s jaw to tilt his head just right, pressing up in earnest, making it good.
It was just a kiss, yet Jensen found he could barely withstand the rush. He wanted to shove Jared down into the hay, strip him and touch him until he was trembling and eager, helpless but to reveal his secrets to Jensen. He wanted to make Jared cry out and to hear his voice at last.
Instead what he heard was the muted sound of someone outside the stall calling for him, then several people. Jensen realized that he’d been gone long enough that some of his servants or his courtiers were coming in search.
Jared pulled back first, eyes wide, lips swollen. He looked dazed and terribly young and Jensen felt a nearly irresistible urge to pull him back, to enfold him in his arms, to conceal him, to protect him. Fine as the edge of a blade, the moment held him in balance, but as the sounds of the seekers came closer, Jensen climbed to his feet and turned away without words. In truth, he knew that there was nowhere to hide.
*****
Part 3 here