The evening was more refined than the rest of the day had been. Jareth had found Toby sitting in the armoury, sharing a not-quite-respectable joke with the other goblins, his hands blackened with the dust and dirt and his shirt grimy. He'd even had a black streak of grease running down his left cheek.

And so suddenly, that spark had been there again, that interest in just what made the mortal tick. Like a clock, Jareth had mused, waiting impatiently in the dining room on the ground floor for the mortal to get cleaned and come down. Regular as clockwork and Jareth had no doubt that Toby probably was as ordered and plain as a clock-face. But those wogs and wheels sometimes showed through, making him wonder…

Toby had interrupted that wondering, looking as well-mannered a guest as one could hope so. The conversation had picked up, however, with the mortal clearly in a good mood.

Jareth had questioned him about his work in the armoury, been pleasantly surprised to learn that Toby was somewhat interested in armour and swords and made a mental note to see how good he was. He readily offered him an invitation to practise in the training pen behind the Castle any time he wanted, and made another mental note to see whether it would be worth it to join him. It would be a way to lower his constant distance.

Not that Toby was distant over dinner. He had laughed quietly and told calm tales in his deep voice and made intelligent observations to Jareth's replies and seemed a pleasant enough companion even if not quite to his host's tastes.

Then Jareth introduced the ale. That seemed to put a damper on a lot of things because at first Toby refused. And then he drank just a little, and then a little more, and then the second jug came to hand and Jareth was beginning to think that his plans for the night would not be thrown awry.

Toby knew, though. He watched Jareth's expressive hands and face from across the table and picked up on the slight boredom and the strategic introduction of the alcohol. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Jareth was trying to do. The night before he had been promised that he would not be hurt. It seemed that Jareth was also determined not to keep him conscious.

Eventually he said yes to the third offer of 'are you sure' if only because his nerve was slipping. Jareth had been a gentleman the day before, completing that first time in the most painless way possible. But the fact of the matter was that he gave every indication of making sex a part of the educating. In which case, a quick handjob was not going to be offered every night for the next twelve months. No, Jareth would eventually want the actual sex and Toby was certain he did not want anything of that nature.

Even if Jareth was being nice enough to push his own boredom aside, the mortal noted, finishing off his fourth mug of ale and allowing the fifth to be poured simply because he ignored the fact that Jareth poured it without so much as a word to him. If he were drunk, however, things would go infinitely smoother. And the Goblin King could not hold it against him.

By the time the clocks in the room chimed the twelfth hour, Jareth raised an eyebrow as the mortal's head swung just a little too much to the left. Toby was, he was very pleased to see, well on his way to being drunk. If he could force just one more on him, it would be a done deal for the night. That, and Toby's weakened resolves were leaving him hopelessly open and honest. Something the Goblin King had no scruples about exploiting.

"Tell me, Toby, do you never question why you hate me so?"

Blue eyes crinkled at the corners in a formidable frown of concentration. It almost made the fae snigger, but he held his tongue when it smoothed out to a look that surprised him with its continued intelligence. "I don't hate you," Toby managed, "Just… really do not like you."

"That explains it. Was it something I did?" Jareth questioned, allowing the smallest hint of hurt to creep into his voice. After all, it really was unfair that the man held him in such disdain. He had saved him from death; it would be nice to have his efforts appreciated. Even if he couldn't give two silver pence for the man.

Toby snorted and drained the last drops in his mug. "Is more what you didn't," he slurred.

Jareth waited attentively.

Toby pushed his mug again and stretched. "Everyone always says you saved me- I should be grateful; I should thank my Gods- the Goblin King protects me. I always think one thing- he didn't care. He sent me away the same day he got me."

Ah. The Goblin King winced just a little on his ward's behalf. It did sound unpleasant when put like that. But he had been grieving. He was in shock. There were so many reasons for why he could not have looked Toby in the face that day. Besides, he was not a paternal person. Why expect what he could not provide? All the same, sending a shell-shocked nine-year-old away as if he were a parcel of unwanted clothing was not the most tactful thing he had ever done. It didn't take Toby's words to remind him of what he had already reasoned out that day.

"An oversight on my part," Jareth said peaceably, "Have another drink."

Toby put a surprisingly steady hand over the mouth of the mug as he shook his head. This talk of hatred- it made his courage come back. That, and he was drunk enough to be defiant. He was determined not to play the victim any more, particularly to a male that looked at him like he was nine-years-old all over again. "You don't have to drug me to make the nights go faster. I am not an unreasonable man."

Now that was startling. Toby had seemed to be ready to fall over snoring at any point, his eyes glazing more and more with the amount he was consuming. And Jareth had used the strongest ale on him. He tried to understand where he had read his signals wrong, but gave up.

"As you wish," Jareth sighed, setting the jug down, "Can you walk?"

"No," Toby replied promptly. "You should have considered that before you got me drunk."

"You just denied you were drunk!"

"I am pleasantly sozzled," Toby declared, leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out beneath the scrubbed wooden table, "How are you going to get me to the room?"

"I suppose I could carry you…" The night was full of surprises, because a very interesting hate-filled glitter lit Toby's face at those casual words. That, and the entire body stiffened and straightened up. Apparently Jareth had struck a nerve in his attempt at humour.

"Don't."

"Don't?"

Nothing more was forthcoming. Instead the man composed himself, looked blank and preened his nails in bored patience.

Jareth had no choice. No scruples, either, but that didn't occur to him. In the absence of any other attractive option, he placed a hand on Toby broad left shoulder, grasped hard and let his magic carry them straight to their room. He could hear the squealing protest of his powerstone in his own mind at the abrupt action, but ignored it. No harm was done.

Toby, on the other hand, was less easy to ignore. The combination of alcohol and the sudden displacement through substantial matter made his head spin and he gasped as he collapsed on the bed. Hard fingers wrenched against his shoulder but he hardly noticed.

"Stay still," Jareth ordered, already intent on readying them.

Toby obeyed. He stayed still, his arm thrown over his eyes as he panted and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Mismatched eyes watched dispassionately.

Seconds ticked by on the three perfectly timed clocks in the room.

Toby breathed deeply, lulled back to tired rest as the nasty taste on the back of his tongue receded. He was very aware of the blankets beneath and of the way his rib cage moved with his breathing. He couldn't hear anything of the other person in the room. He mused on that, that someone so unflinchingly present could melt so easily into the shadows.

The sudden feel of soft hands on the most unexpected part of him made his arm slip off his eyes in surprise. Jareth leaned over him, supporting his own weight on an elbow, as he combed his ungloved fingers through Toby's short blond hair.

"What're you…"

The fingers were gone as suddenly as they had come. Then they were dexterously slipping into his trousers, manipulating him to hardness and sending him into orgasm with all the refined finesse of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Toby could only stare at the ceiling in bewilderment until he shut his eyes with the first soft flow of pleasure. His bitter thought was that the ale hadn't been strong enough. After it was over, he didn't have the courage or will to open his eyes. He let Jareth guide him properly into bed; he let Jareth take his clothes off of him and then he fell headlong into sleep.

The Goblin King sat back on his heels for a moment, conscious of a job well done. There were different means of release and Toby was about to find them all out. So far, he had learned about the sensuality in things not overtly sexual- something Jareth was determined to really teach him- and then about the simple commonplace feeling of sex. It didn't have to be a big spectacle. It didn't have to be a theatrical extravaganza.

Jareth looked across to the window. It was the work of a moment to be out in the night air, the moon's light plating the feathers of his wings as he flew out over his land.

Sarah would never have learned that. Jareth would never have let her learn that. He couldn't conceive of such a woman taking anything so complaisantly. No, he would have given her fireworks and theatrical extravaganza. Every touch, every whisper, every word would have been something to make her feel! To awaken the passion in her in such a way that she would never have seen it as routine.

Toby on the other hand… well, Jareth thought viciously, complaisance was what the mortal was all about. He could damned well learn about it.