Author's Note: Much shorter chapter. Plus, it's a little less useful in terms of character and sketch. I don't know; something doesn't work in this chapter but I can't think what.
"Come in, Gibil."
The goblin crept in and hovered nervously in the doorway.
"Get in here!"
He scurried in and bobbed down at the Goblin King's feet. Whatever it was that Jareth wanted, Gibil wasn't sure that he could provide it. Common sense told him to stay away from someone that could cause a lot of physical harm. If not throw him into the Bog.
Jareth glared at him for no other reason than that he did not like goblins in general and then turned away to fidget with something on his desk.
Gibil gibbered internally and cast a fascinated eye over his employer. The Goblin King seemed to be at his most magnificent at the moment, wearing a white shirt with intricate black beadwork at the neck and cuffs. Grey breeches and the usual black boots. Nothing too different, but from experience Gibil read those clothes to mean that Jareth was not only in a foul mood, but had deceived himself into believing he was perfectly in control of his temper. This was not- where goblins were concerned- always the case.
"I hear you suffered a tragic loss recently," Jareth snapped out unexpectedly.
Gibil squeaked and quivered. "Yes, Sire."
Blue-hazel eyes raked up and down over him. "My sympathies." He didn't sound very sympathetic. "When is the funeral?"
"Tomorrow."
Jareth ruminated over it in his mind and then came to a quick decision. "Take the day off," he decided, "Leave the death notices to me. I will get them seen to."
"Th- thank you, Sire."
Jareth ignored him for a moment, and then, when it looked as if Gibil wasn't moving, glared at him again. "Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation to dinner?"
Gibil scampered away, bowing and moving at the same time so that he tumbled backwards out the door.
Jareth sighed and shook his head. He didn't like goblins. But Gibil was good at his job, and no matter how annoying, the Castle would fall apart without people like Gibil. The Goblin King rifled through his desk to find paper. He spent the next ten minutes writing out the details of the death. He was well versed in it. He had done this before, since most of his servants were not the kind to use correct grammar in their speech let alone write legibly. Deaths, births, marriage contracts and the like were old hat by this time.
He was expecting a knock, so he yelled to the person to enter without even lifting his head. "Yava?"
"Yes, Sire. You wanted me?"
"Have the gardeners send flowers to Jinni's funeral tomorrow. She was a good worker. Is Gonzo in the Castle?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Get him here."
Yava nodded, used to such orders. They were a fairly regular occurrence when running a household as big as the Castle at the centre of the Labyrinth. Jareth was callous, but not unthinking. And the family would appreciate a small cash donation, seeing as it was so large. "Yes, Sire."
The Goblin King leaned back and took a deep breath, flexing his shoulders to ease the kinks. He took a quick feel around the Castle and noticed nothing amiss. Except for a sense of confusion in his bedroom. "On second thoughts, have Gonzo do it himself. He knows what to do."
He got up and swaggered off past her, tired of working when his mind was so clearly on other things- like Sarah; like how much her brother irritated him; like how he should have expected something to go wrong after it had begun to grow so right.
Up the stairs and down the corridor, past the crack in the wall shaped like a cloud and then down a side passage. Up another short flight of stairs and down his private wing. The door to the library was open, but no large blond frame was stooped in the chair at the desk. The two books were done, the former ones burnt to ash and thrown out to the winds.
No, Toby was in the suite next door.
Jareth stormed through, stopped to slam the door shut behind him and then made his silently wrathful way to the bedroom.
Toby was asleep.
The fae looked at him. The fae fumed in silence. And then the fae sat down in the chair by the window and brooded by himself.
It was only around noon that Tobywoke up. And when he did, he only wished he were still asleep. Jareth watched him warily from his seat, not saying a word until the mortal sat up with a grimace and raked a hand through his hair.
"I have to get my hair cut," Toby muttered, attempting to find a neutral topic.
"I'll have a goblin sent to you this evening," Jareth murmured, voice as blank as his face.
Only the wind moved in the room, ruffling the sheets and hair, sending long blond strands whipping unevenly across a sharp-featured face. Dark, sculpted wood and thick woven rugs on the floor. An elaborately carved lamp on either side of the bed. A delicate mural along one wall and a polished ivory box standing innocuously on the little table in one corner.
Toby was not in the mood to pay attention to such a scene. It was too peaceful, to easy to fall into. Nothing was this easy. Nothing could be this easy.
Jareth lifted a hand and unbuttoned his shirt. Talking would be the best way to resolve this, but talking was not Jareth's strong suits. Neither, he suspected, would Toby let him finish. So he silently slipped off the shirt and hung it over the back of his chair. Never looking away from that deepening blue gaze.
Toby stayed very still and just hoped the dream would go away.
It didn't. The boots came off next. And that medallion was glittering on a pale, bare chest.
"What are you doing?"
"If you want me to stop, you ask," Jareth said quietly, "If you want me to continue, just shut up and hold still."
He crawled onto the bed, still making eye contact.
Toby leaned away.
So Jareth shrugged philosophically and kissed his neck instead of his mouth. Tiny, biting kisses on salty skin. Down, down, over a shoulder and around a nipple. Using only his tongue for the tensed muscles on Toby's stomach and abdomen.
Toby still couldn't find his breathe. The world hadn't changed in any particular way that he knew of. But Jareth's mouth burned. All the fae got like that when they were aroused. It was a body thing. Luka had burned, too. Tiny puffs of warm breath on his hip made him shiver involuntarily.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Yes."
Jareth sat back on his heels with no look or word to show any emotion out of the ordinary.
"You stopped?"
"Yes."
Toby noticed there was a particularglint to the Goblin King's hair when the sun shone through it. It distracted him.
"Did you expect me to rape you? Force you?" Jareth snorted mockingly. "Thank you, but I have no need to chase anyone unwilling to bed with me."
Toby flushed and glared at him.
"But… I ask for your permission to let me continue with what I had begun."
Guilt. Sarah's lover and Sarah's Goblin King. Hands that offered to touch him- had touched him- had been hands that had made love to her. Or so rumour said. Toby wasn't comfortable with that. It made him feel somewhat lacking in some way, or not quite wanted.
"I am hardly offering you my hand in my marriage," Jareth snapped, "Come, come! This is not a difficult decision!"
"It is to me."
"No. It is either 'yes' or 'no'. Not possibly. Not maybe. Just a straight answer. Do you want to continue what we have started. Or do you want to stop."
Toby sat back and stared defiantly at the Goblin King. "What if I say no?"
"You may have another room. But you will be the poorer for it."
"You have a high opinion of yourself."
A flashing smirk. "There are things I can only teach you by touch. Trust is one of them. You can either trust me to know your limits, or you can see me tomorrow morning when I will insist that you practise your meditation."
"What? Again?"
"Yes, again. And again. And again. Until you get it right."
"And I'm supposed to trust you to show me this- whatever it may be?"
Jareth slowly slid his breeches off. "Yes."
What else exactly was Toby supposed to do? Say no? He didn't think so.
