SPN Fic: Handsome (3/5)

[deirdre_c]

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*****

Jensen steals a quick look around the courtyard from the edge of the maze before emerging but Jared isn’t there anymore.

He hurries the mare back to the stable and quickly gathers up all the gear he can. He finds a saddlebag and stuffs in a canteen of water, a spare saddle blanket, an old cloak hanging on a peg. As he lifts the cloak up, he discovers his pistols in their holsters hanging there too and seizes them gratefully. Although the powder is probably wet and useless and he has no other cartridges or shot, he buckles them on nonetheless.

Getting the horse saddled is painful enough that it should be an unmistakable warning sign to Jensen that he’s in no shape for a journey. Thank god the animal is docile, because Jensen’s trembling by the time he has blanket, saddle, bags, bit, and bridle situated. Just for a minute, he lets his forehead rest against her neck, trying to ignore the blunt ache every time he takes a breath. And if he leads the mare over to a nearby stepstool like a child to make it easier to hook a foot into the stirrup and heave himself up into place, well. There’s no one here to witness it.

He kicks her into a canter and out of the stables, fleeing south toward the forest beyond.

What will Jared do when he discovers Jensen’s gone? Will he be angry?

Jensen actually had trouble picturing it. After years of hearing about the evil, vengeful nature of dragons, the one real dragon he knows seems much more like a overgrown puppy than an ogre. Even when Jensen had accidentally dropped a cup from the beloved tea set and left a chip in its slender lip, Jared had barely blinked. If he hadn’t raged about that, Jensen can’t imagine him getting angry over anything.

Or instead will he be hurt? Jensen allows himself a quick glance over his shoulder as the horse passes under the iron gates, taking in the stillness of the great castle. How quiet it will be when Jared stops considerately giving him space-for Jensen knows in his heart that’s what the dragon is doing-and calls out for him. How his voice will echo with no answer.

Jensen turns to face the south. He’s forced to travel much more slowly than he normally would. It takes the rest of the afternoon and into the evening to get down the mountain, even without stopping for more than to fill his water flask and rest the horse.

Eventually he stops on a low crest as the gathering gloom hides the individual trunks of the trees and covers the gullies with shadow. A gust of wind catches the edge of his borrowed-stolen, he corrects himself-cloak and whips it out behind him. He’d hoped to make it all the way down to the outskirts of the farming villages by now, but he is still in the depths of forest.

He has a brief sense of déjà vu. The pain in his side, the dusk, the horse’s weariness, his own. He may have been just yards from this same path when he’d labored up the opposite direction just a few days before.

He knows he shouldn’t press on, that one wrong step could lame his mount or send him tumbling. And he has no desire to take another fall. But the fear of what may be unfolding below and the turmoil over what he left above makes him determined to chance it.

He swings a leg over the horse’s withers and slides to standing. He won’t make as good time afoot, but leading the mare is a considerably safer course of action. His muscles scream in protest as he dismounts, the hours spent in the saddle having frozen them in place. He starts off again, hoping the walk will work out the soreness.

But the combination of exhaustion and the need to focus on where each foot is placed is his undoing. Distracted, he doesn’t notice the change in the forest sounds until the moment he stumbles, pushing past a tangled coppice of branches into a small open clearing. It conceals a campsite of soldiers, only a half a dozen of them together, but more than enough to subdue him. There’s a small fire-even in his reverie Jensen should have noticed the smell-and the remains of what appear to be a meal are spread out around the periphery. This close, Jensen can smell the sharp tang of the ale in the open cask that sits on the ground.

Before he can react, the soldiers surround him. They rip the lead rein from his hands and strip him of his pistols and knife.

They’re wearing the livery of LeGeai’s army and he recognizes a couple of goons-Olsson, and that craven scut, Wade-from a squad of armsmen relegated to the city night patrol. Several other faces are vaguely familiar. Another man rises from where he’d been sitting on a log, standing up slowly, languidly. Jensen knows this one too well.

Jensen remembers when he first joined the service, that his father warned him away from Pellegrino. In fact, he’d pulled strings to make sure Jensen’s postings were far away from the man. Pellegrino had been a sergeant way before Jensen joined the guard, but Jensen had long since surpassed him in rank. Few talked about why Pellegrino languished in the common patrol duty, but Jensen suspected something to do with the petty criminals and prostitutes that mysteriously disappeared on his watch. For a long time, commanders had trouble finding men to serve with him, but slowly he’d gathered some of the dregs of the service into his orbit, and it’s among them Jensen finds himself held captive.

“What have we here? If it isn’t Handsome Jen,” Pellegrino purrs, voice dripping with ill-intent. “The comeliest man in Her Majesty’s service.”

Jensen despises that ridiculous nickname. He was given it by his own sergeant on the day he enlisted, downy-cheeked and lamentably pretty. It had stuck for many years, until he’d gained a level of respect and reputation throughout the corps. Now if anyone still used it, they usually did so behind his back.

“That’s Captain Ackles to you,” Jensen retorts.

Pellegrino ignores the challenge. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead? We were sent to search for you, you little prick, but I’d given up on finding anything but your rotting corpse.” He grabs Jensen’s chin, yanking it up, and Jensen cannot stop the spasm of disgust at the man’s touch. He jerks away as best he can in the vicious hold Pellegrino’s men have on his arms, wrenched behind his back. But two of them are covering him with his own pistols, so it’s not as if he has any chance of escape.

“I guess that’s one more thing Alaina couldn’t get right,” Jensen spits out anyway. “And how did you end up as that traitor’s dogsbody? Skulking around in the wilderness in the middle of the night?”

All it takes is one punch to the ribs to make Jensen fold in on himself like a struck tent. If Pellegrino’s men weren’t holding him up, he’d have dropped straight to the ground.

Pellegrino leans in, and the foul wash of his ale-tainted breath over Jensen’s face makes bile rise in the back of his throat. “We’ve been in these god-forsaken woods for days.” He mercifully steps back, starts to pace around the clearing. He kicks at a stray tin cup lying on its side in the grass and sends it hurtling off into the bushes. “That bitch Alaina has the royal palace sealed as tight as a virgin’s asshole, and Amanda’s oldest whelp and his armies have her surrounded. The only thing stopping him from tearing the place to the ground is hostages.” He turns his attention back to Jensen. “Hostages like his brother. Like your father,” he draws the word out slowly, and then grins. “And now you.”

Jensen holds himself carefully still and blank. He soaks up every word. It’s almost as if he’d forgotten that the world outside of Jared’s castle existed. This past week has been a folly; the world of the Court and the Queen’s sons are all that matters now.

He stares at his captor, willing the man to keep talking. Say more about my father and the Prince, you pox-riddled cur. Tell me where they are.

But Pellegrino merely steps close and hits Jensen again, a fist to the face with nothing held back. Jensen’s head snaps on his neck and the blast of pain that echoes through his core reminds him that a few days of recovery from his wound was not enough. If they mean to torture him, he won’t last long enough to give them a good show.

Heaving for breath through the pain, Jensen hears one of the other men say, “Don’t damage him too bad, Mark. ‘e’s got to be in good enough shape to trade him to ‘Er Highness for something.”

“I think alive is all that’s necessary.” Pellegrino smirks, cupping the back of Jensen’s head in a sick imitation of a lover’s caress. With the tip of one finger, he traces Jensen’s abused cheekbone and then slides down his jaw. “When I’m done with our ‘Handsome Jen,’ he’s not going to be so handsome anymore.”

He shoves Jensen back and strides over to the campfire, grabbing up a piece of kindling that smolders ruby-red at the tip. Jensen starts to struggle desperately against the hold of the men, bucking and kicking out his legs. He knows with Pellegrino this is not a bluff. This ends with Jensen branded and disfigured.

Jensen’s eyes are transfixed on the end on that burning branch as Pellegrino saunters back, waving it slowly back and forth in front of him.

But just before he gets within reach, a roar like the mountain falling down around them resounds from overhead. Then there’s a deafening, drumming sound of wings, and the dragon attacks with a hiss and a gout of yellow-white flame that illuminates the glade like a lightning strike. A surge of heat rolls over all of them, but the flames only strike the man farthest from Jensen. They set his clothes and hair on fire, his skin melting grotesquely in the incandescent heat.

His screams combine with the shouts of Pellegrino and his remaining men as they drop to their knees or try to scramble away. Jared lands, lashing at two of the men with his tail, sending them crashing to the ground. He picks up Pellegrino with one claw and flings him like a ragdoll into the trunk of a nearby tree. His wings spread wide, he blocks out the sky, he blocks out the earth.

A guardsman holding one of Jensen’s pistols fires on Jared, but the shot goes wide. Yet another has crawled to his gear and found a musket. The blast catches Jared in one wing, ripping a hole five inches wide through the tender skin.

“No!” The cry rips from Jensen’s throat, drowned out by Jared’s own agonized shriek. The sound cuts into Jensen like a blade, but the wound doesn’t stop the dragon from fighting on.

Jared’s teeth flash white in the light of a burning scrub at the far end of the glade that was set alight in the initial blast of dragon flame. His neck whips around and he darts in, slashing at the musketeer’s arm. Everything is chaos as another man screams, another shot rings out. Jensen feels a burst of wind as the ball passes just inches from his ear.

Jared rears up, his full height almost to the top of trees, and launches himself toward the night sky, spouting fire once more to cover his retreat. Jensen cries out as Jared’s great rear talons strike him, clutching him around the middle and lifting him into the air with him, like an eagle with a hare. The claws don’t puncture Jensen’s skin, but the grip is painful, unbreakable and he thrashes against it instinctively.

“Stop… Jensen…. stop!” Jared shouts, his voice coming in harsh gasps over the rush of wind. They bob up and down erratically through the air like a storm-tossed ship, Jared’s shredded wing keeping him from either gliding or gaining altitude. They falter, stagger, clinging to the side of the mountain. Jensen’s feet scrape the tops of trees he can barely see in the feeble light from the quarter-moon, his head whirling like a leaf in a gale, afraid he might black out. They fly upward, over outcroppings of rock a short, fatal drop away.

Jensen can still see the fire from the battle burning in the forest behind them when Jared’s flight finally falters. He’s only gotten them barely a league away when he drops from the air through an open break in the treetops. It’s a small cup of land, a dimple in the mountain’s face, but Jared manages to set Jensen down gently in it. Then the dragon himself tumbles onto the ground with a rough crash, spent.

Jensen finds himself clinging to the grass, his fingers digging deep into the soft soil. He drags in what feels like his first breath in an hour, shivering in delayed reaction.

They’re safe. Jared saved them both.

“Damn,” he hears the dragon mutter. “They know I’m here now.”

Jensen rolls to his side and then onto his knees, his own pain and fear dismissed, his anger at Jared’s secret magic forgotten. All he knows is that Jared’s been shot. Jared is hurt. “Your wing! What were you doing? You could’ve died!”

He doesn’t bother getting up, just crawls to Jared’s side. The dragon is curled up as he is wont to do, but he has his injured wing extended out to the side. Jared turns his head and his long tongue snakes out to lick delicately at the wound. Blood oozes sluggishly down one boney ridge and onto the ground.

Jensen doesn’t know what to do. He rests a hand on Jared’s shoulder as a gesture of comfort. He can feel Jared’s body trembling. “Can you not fly home?”

“No,” Jared replies, his voice thready. “And I wouldn’t leave you here alone even if I could.” He goes back to licking.

“What if I went back to seek out one of the loose horses?” Jensen suggests. “Could you shift to your human form, and mount and ride?”

“No,” Jared says, more firmly this time, urgent. “It’s too much of a risk. You’re as likely to stumble back into your captors’ hands as find a horse. Besides, I heal much more quickly in my true form than in the other. By morning I should be-if not completely mended-essentially fine.”

Jensen doesn’t bother arguing about his own safety, even though he’s certain Pellegrino and his men were either dead or long gone. And good riddance.

“I’m so sorry,” Jared says.

Jensen almost misses the words, they’re said so quietly, and Jared still has his head turned away. “What?”

“The way I acted. Back there. I told you that dragons are not violent or bloodthirsty. And then I-I attacked those men. Probably-“ he pauses, draws in a deep breath, then continues, “-probably killed many of them. But they took you, were going to burn you, or worse. The thought of it made me, I don’t know, berserk. I just reacted without thinking. Please, I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Or hate me again. I just couldn’t let-couldn’t…” Jared trails off. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jensen says. “Look at me.” Jared keeps his head low, but Jensen can see the glint of the moon off his eyes as he flicks his gaze sideways. “Don’t apologize. They were scum and they deserved it. I’m in your debt.”

“No,” Jared whispers.

“Well, then, I am at least very, very grateful.”

Jared doesn’t respond, and Jensen fears that he’s hurt worse than he’s letting on. He looks around, can’t see more than a few feet into the wood. He shivers, the cold seeping into his own barely-healed wound as well as his new bruises. But for all he still aches, the gunshot to Jared’s wing is fresh. “You sleep,” Jensen says. “I will keep watch.”

“There is no need. They will not find us.”

Jensen realizes that, if Jared tucks in his wing, curled as he is, he resembles nothing so much as a stray hillock, his coloring concealing him in the darkness. Pellegrino’s men would have to step on him before they discovered he was there.

Jensen’s not so lucky. His cream-colored jacket with its piping stands out against the background, as does the white linen undershirt. He shivers, just now realizing that he lost his cloak somewhere during the ordeal. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve resigned himself to sleeping on the bare ground. But right now he can feel himself on the verge of fevered relapse, woozy and weak. His capture and then that insane flight-he hasn’t even had the chance to process the fact that he flew-has taken what little reserves he’d stored up earlier in the day. Was it really just that morning he’d been feeling so strong?

But Jared needs him now, and it’s his turn to be the bulwark.

Jensen sits back on his haunches, swaying at little, unable to settle on a course of action.

Jared snakes his head toward Jensen, murmurs lowly. “If you-if it would not offend you, you can rest here next to me. Under my wing it will be warmer. We can stay until the sun rises, and then make our way back home.”

Home. It has been a long time since Jensen had a particular place he thought of as ‘home.’ The armsmen’s barracks, maybe. The Palace, not really. Even as a young boy, he’d always thought of the little cottage where he’d been raised as ‘his father’s house.’

Jared lifts up his good wing and waits. There’s a cozy hollow there against Jared’s side, framed by his left forearm and leg.

Jensen tells himself that this is unwise. He’s still so conflicted over what he knows and what thought he knew. His life as a soldier up ‘til now has always been so straightforward, but the dragon confuses him, jumbles up everything inside his head. Yet Jensen’s heart yearns inexplicably for the closeness and his brain cannot override it.

He crouches down and slides in to cuddle up against Jared. Jared tucks his wing down over them both. In close quarters, the dragon smells warm and sweet, like honeyed bread from the oven. But underneath there’s also the disturbing tang of copper from Jared’s wound. Jensen dares to lean his head against the dragon’s extraordinary, satiny skin, closing his eyes and listening to the steady thump of Jared’s heartbeat. Slower than his own, but regular, soothing, alive.

“By the way,” Jensen whispers, not even sure Jared can hear him. “Thank you for saving my life.”

The gentle reply thrums in his ear. “You're welcome.”

Jensen falls asleep to the rhythm of Jared’s heart.




Jensen doesn’t wake until a wave of cold air and morning light hits him, his cozy shelter disappearing as Jared pulls back and away in a long stretch.

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a half-conscious grumble of protest, rolling to the side and curling himself up into the snug spot left in the grasses by Jared’s body heat. Mornings have never been his strong suit.

Jared leans down, bringing his head level with Jensen’s, close enough that his breath wafts over Jensen’s face.

“What’s wrong? Were you injured further in the fracas last night? Why didn’t you tell me? Can you speak?” Jared asks anxiously.

Jensen uncurls with a sigh, sitting up and glancing blearily in Jared’s direction. “No, I’m fine. Truly, just-“ One side of his mouth twitches up in remembrance of his father’s more rigorous approach to waking him as a youth, which often involved washwater dumped over his head. “-just lazy.”

“Well,” Jared replies uncertainly, “You do have a reason for exhaustion. Can you make it back to the castle? We’re closer than I realized when we landed. If you can call that a landing. Which I don’t, because I consider myself an excellent flyer and a wing with so slight an injury is really no excuse for dumping you here so inelegantly.”

“Jared,” Jensen moans. Of course, the dragon is a morning person… all day long. “Just give me a moment’s peace to shake off sleep and we’ll be on our way.” He yawns, stands, winces at how his abused muscles have tightened during the night. He looks toward the downward slope, the direction of Grandcoup. “The only question is, which way,” he mutters under his breath.

Jared plans for them to go back to his castle, but according to Pellegrino, the fight for the throne between Brock and Alaina is coming to a head, and his father and Colin are prisoners, likely in grave danger. If Jensen hadn’t been such an idiot last night, he could’ve easily avoided his captors and been in the City by now.

“I’m such a fool,” Jared says brightly. “Home is only a short walk to the east. I got turned around in the dark and the stress and my silly wing. We can get there and have breakfast in your belly before you know it.”

Jensen considers his options and concludes that he won’t make it far toward the City on foot with no provisions. Probably most prudent to go back to Jared’s and rest, restock, perhaps borrow the mule he saw Jared leading in yesterday. It wouldn’t be a comfortable or dignified mount, but it would get him back down the mountain faster than walking.

Speaking of walking, there’s no reason the dragon should have to slog his way through the underbrush.

“You could fly ahead,” Jensen suggests, “and I’ll meet you there.”

Jared shrugs his wings, fanning them out, and Jensen can see that his injury indeed did heal remarkably fast during the night. But the dragon replies, “I think I’d rather stick here with you. Just in case. For protection.” He glances around. “Even discounting the thugs you ran into last night, you never know what kind of dangerous things live in the forest.”

Jensen looks him up and down and raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I know.”

Jared does that thing where he ducks his head, disconcerted, and Jensen admits maybe it’s too soon to tease about the attack. As the dragon turns to lead the way out of their little clearing, Jensen rolls his shoulders to work the last cricks out. He follows up the slope, hoping Jared knows a shortcut.

***

It turns out Jared is right, and they are not far from the castle at all. It’s only the matter of a half-hour’s hike and they are back at the gates.

Jared leads them around to the side of the main hall, where a smaller set of doors-still large enough to accommodate Jared’s bulk-opens into the kitchen area. Inside, the long counters are clear of debris and the shelves that aren’t empty are stacked with plates. Dozens of copper-bottomed pots and pans hang from hooks along the walls like so many pictures. A pile of wood is stacked neatly by the arched fireplace that’s the larger cousin of the one in Jensen’s room. But underneath the surface tidiness, Jensen can see the kitchens are just as ramshackle as the rest of the castle. Tiles on the walls have broken off, many of the cabinets’ doors hang loose or are missing. The whitewashed walls long ago turned a dingy gray.

But Jensen doesn’t care. He’s just relieved the short trip is over. He takes a seat at one of the stools that line the long island that bisects the room, groaning. Every single one of his joints is reproaching him. He barely notices the familiar pang from the wound in his side over the cacophony.

Jared cocks his head, looking him over, which makes Jensen straighten up as if he’s just fine. The dragon turns away and rummages in the cabinets. Jensen watches with amusement as Jared casually shoots a puff of breath toward the wood stacked under a pot inside the hearth, a thin stream of flame just enough to light it. The amusement turns to respect as he remembers the damage Jared inflicted with his fire the night before.

Jared putters, uncharacteristically silent. Jensen just watches him. The tiny-paned windows above throw a hazy checkerboard of light onto the table in front of him. It’s peaceful.

When a kettle finally whistles, breaking the quiet, Jensen asks, “Does your special tea work on dragons?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t need it.” Jared stretches his wing wide and shows Jensen the unmarred, healthy stretch of skin. “I told you, I heal more rapidly than humans. Hmmm, I should really do some research on that, find out if it’s due to metabolism or some other biological processes. I’ve never really had much cause to study it, since I’ve always enjoyed very good health.”

“At least, until you met me,” Jensen says. His stomach flips at the thought of Jared only being hurt because of him.

Jared simply rolls his eyes and plops an armful of dishes down in front of Jensen. “Here’s your tea, and some porridge, and sundry,” he says. “Eat. Food is also important medicine for healing.”

“What about you?” Jensen asks through a huge mouthful. The porridge oats are thick and creamy, covered in cinnamon and dried fruits and nuggets of crystallized sugar. Jensen’s never tasted anything so delicious in his life. “What are you going to eat?”

Jared is truly an open book, and Jensen can read immediately from his body language that he’s stumbled again on an embarrassing topic.

“Um-“ Jared temporizes. “Dragons only need to eat rarely. Once a week or so. I-um-“ He spins quickly around to poke at the fire, the tip of his tail nearly knocking over everything in front of Jensen. “There’s a flock of goats,” he mumbles, “that I keep at the bottom of the valley beyond.”

“I see.” Not much Jensen can reply to that. The image in his mind is not one of Jared savagely tearing apart a gory meal, but instead one of him soaring high above the cliffs, the sun glinting off the emerald sheen of his wings before he pulls them in tightly and dives-swift and precise and powerful-the beauty of him out in nature, hunting, thriving, beyond these man-made walls.

“I just thought of something else,” Jared says abruptly, “that might be helpful. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He hurries out of the kitchen before Jensen can say another word.

Jensen sighs, wishing he could avoid making missteps with his host so often. He knows he’s done nothing to deserve all that Jared’s done for him. He turns back to his bowl, devouring every bite, and the apple and plate of crumbly croissants Jared had provided as well. When he’s finished and Jared still hasn’t returned, Jensen crosses his arms and lays his head down, just for a few minutes’ rest.

He ought to fall asleep right here, what with the soft sunshine and his full belly. But he can’t, his mind itching with the question of where Jared’s gone. Finally, Jensen decides he might as well follow and hoists himself up off the stool.

The kitchens aren’t far from the Great Hall, but Jared’s not there, nor is he in Jensen’s room. Jensen is debating whether it’s worth climbing the stairs to look in the library when he hears, faintly, the flow of running water.

He follows the sound past his room to the half-open door of a chamber farther down the hall. He pushes it wide and steps into what appears to be some combination of fancy dressing room and bath. His gaze darts past a dainty vanity, several oval, full-length mirrors, most of which are tarnished and slivered with cracks, and the castle’s typical dusty chandelier, missing most of its pendants.

But what seizes his attention is the massive tub situated against one wall.

Jensen has never seen anything like it. It’s bigger than a horse trough, though not as deep. The sides curve gracefully upwards like the petals of an open flower and from the wisps of steam rising from within, it appears to be filled with hot water.

But it’s Jared-in human form-leaning over the side to turn a crank and stop the rush of water from a spout, that has Jensen most astonished of all.

“Jared? What is this?”

“Oh!” Jared jumps a mile high and spins around. “Oh, Jensen, I know you don’t-I’m sorry for taking this shape, but it’s easier for certain tasks. Like the pump and the faucet, they’re very tricky.” Jared waves his hand toward the tarnished fixtures and a thin conduit of piping that leads from a small cistern to the spout. He starts to edge away, trying to get past Jensen and out of the room. “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

“No, please,” Jensen blurts out. “I don’t mind.”

It hasn’t even been a day since he’d seen Jared like this, and yet Jensen had almost forgotten what he looks like as a man. His long hair is loose, tucked back behind his ears. The nearly-sheer fabric of a lightweight cambric shirt stretches over his shoulders and tight across the muscles of his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, strong forearms and delicate wrists a strange and compelling contrast. The rough trousers hang down to mid-calf, and his feet are bare.

Jensen quickly drags his gaze away. “I mean, this form you take. It doesn’t offend me. Yesterday I was… surprised. And now, well, I can’t quite wrap my head around how it works, exactly, but there’s no need to apologize.”

They stand there awkwardly for long seconds, until Jared turns, almost tripping over himself, to show Jensen the tub, the clever system for heating and moving water, the way Jared had figured out how to repair it.

“And I guess I’m supposed to get in and bathe?” Jensen asks dubiously. While he knows the Queen and many of the aristocracy regularly use such tubs, Jensen’s more accustomed to a thorough wash in a basin each morning and evening. Or perhaps a swim in a creek or lake when he’s particularly dirty. On a lark, when he was younger, he and a group of his cronies from the garrison had gone to explore the allure of a notorious bathhouse in the Harlot’s District, but they’d found it disappointingly dank and squalid. It might be nice to replace that with a more pleasant experience.

“Yes.” Jared nods. “It should be very therapeutic. Just be sure not to submerge entirely. You want to keep the wound on your side as dry as you can. That’s why I only filled the tub halfway.”

He looks over at Jensen encouragingly, his expression open and bright. Jensen’s certain he’s never met someone so sincere in all his life. Why would he say no to this?

“Alright,” Jensen says, peeling off his coat. “Thank you. I’ll give it a try.” He looks down at it and frowns at the grass and dirt stains, showing the wear from their adventures last night.

“If you let me have your clothes,” Jared says. “I can see if I can tidy them up while you wash. I think there might be some dressing gowns in that armoire over there.”

“That’s not necessary-“ Jensen starts.

“Give it here,” Jared says with a small smile, snatching the coat out of Jensen’s hands before he can protest further.

Jensen’s not exactly going to fight him for it, so he walks over toward the closet Jared indicated and opens one of the doors cautiously, in case of more moths. Nothing flies out, though, and inside Jensen finds a row of robes on hangers and folded stacks of linens for drying after the bath. One shelf holds an assortment of tiny phials and glass containers and a slab of lye soap. Curious, he scoops up the lot, randomly chooses a gown, and takes everything over to a small hassock placed next to the tub. He spies the basket with the fresh bandages sitting on the floor beside it.

Jared’s just standing in the middle of the room, closely examining the hole in the side of Jensen’s jacket. It’s funny how small he seems when not in dragon form, when in fact he’s a good three or four inches taller than Jensen himself.

Jensen pulls his shirt off over his head and looks down at his bandages. The knot holding them tight has somehow slid around to the back. He glances at Jared, at his capable, human hands.

“Um. Would you mind helping me with this?”

Jared’s head jerks up. “Certainly,” he says, setting down the coat.

Jared comes up behind, and Jensen holds his arms outstretched so Jared can peel off the dressings. Jensen’s suddenly, intensely aware of his naked torso, of how low his breeches ride on his hips with no suspenders or belt. His heartbeat quickens. Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen catches their reflection in the mirror. Jared’s cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s standing slightly too close, his eyes locked on the bare skin of Jensen’s lower back, at the curve of his ass.

Jensen feels a frisson of anticipation shiver down his spine and, unconsciously, he arches, just a bit. He lowers his chin to expose the nape of his neck.

In the mirror, he sees Jared close his eyes and bite his lip. Jensen does not mistake the look.

Then he feels Jared’s fingers, plucking out the bandage’s knot, letting the two edges fall away, careful not to touch Jensen’s skin.

“There.” Jared hastens away and scoops Jensen’s coat back up, holding it strategically in front of him. He starts backing toward the door in earnest.

“Thank you,” Jensen mutters, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. And then Jared’s gone and he’s alone.

What the fucking hell just happened?

He removes the rest of his clothes automatically, his brain awhirl and his blood running hot. Stepping into the tub and easing into the water doesn’t help much, the sensual lap of liquid warmth making his cock thicken and ache. He lets his head fall back against the lip of the tub and presses the heel of his hand to his groin, just to give himself some relief.

He recognizes that it’s been awhile since he’s had a release of that kind of tension. It’s not like jerking off is a high priority while recovering from a gunshot.

But that’s not the issue. The true issue is that Jared desires him. And, god help him, Jensen desires Jared as well.

Now that he’s acknowledged it, Jensen’s mind circles the idea cautiously, like probing a sore tooth with his tongue. He wants to have sex with Jared. It’s certainly unnatural. But is it wrong? Is it abhorrent? He thinks of Jared’s gentle hands, his tender concern, his selfless courage. None of that feels wrong.

Then into his head pops the image of Jared in his human form, in his bed, the two of them fucking. Jensen feels his face heat. His cock twitches under his hand, stiffening even further. Clearly, his body doesn’t care if the thought of screwing Jared is perverted.

Jensen lies still for a long moment, turning that over in his mind. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t care, either. Not really. What a difference a few days makes. In their short acquaintance, the dragon has proven himself to Jensen be as admirable and true as any man Jensen has known. If they would lie together, he has no reason to feel shame.

And yet, it’s not fair to tell Jared that he-that he-well, there’s no other way to put it-that Jensen lusts for him, and then turn around and ride away, back down the mountain. Jensen doesn’t want to simply fuck and leave as if it’s easy, as if there is nothing between them.

He huffs out a pained laugh. What possibly could be between them? A human and a dragon, it’s deranged. But even as the thought makes him laugh, another image of Jared flitters behind his closed eyelids. Jared in his library, spinning around like a child’s toy, looking at Jensen with delighted eyes, inviting him to share his joy.

Jensen wants to ask. He wants to offer. Maybe this is something he can give back to Jared, in return for all he’s given already. A moment of shared pleasure between them. Even if it’s the last moment.

Because Jensen shouldn’t even be here. He should be long gone already. For every stolen minute here, time is ticking away in Grandcoup. And there’s a strong possibility that when Jensen leaves, he’s going into to battle, going to join his Queen and his fellow guardsmen in death.

Jensen sits up, determined. His eye catches on the toiletries he’d brought over from the closet. He grabs up the cake of soap and quickly scrubs himself clean. Most of the other jars’ contents are dried up or soured somehow, but he finds one is half-full of a rose-scented oil. He pours a little out and rubs it between his fingers, thick and slippery.

Yes, that will work.

As long as he hasn’t read Jared disastrously wrong.

***

Jensen finds Jared in the guest room-his room-changing out the sheets and coverlet on the massive bed for clean ones. How convenient. Jared’s back in his dragon shape, however, which is quite inconvenient, given what Jensen wants from him.

The sun is stronger now, beams streaming straight in through the windows to limn Jared with light. His bright skin nearly glows, an impossible woodland green, and the long, swooping lines of him, neck to wing to tail, make Jensen halt in the doorway, his heart clenching at Jared’s beauty.

When Jared catches sight of Jensen standing there wearing nothing but the thin dressing gown, he ducks his head in that way he has-whether in human or dragon form-that Jensen recognizes as him being flustered.

Jensen decides to take that as an encouraging sign.

“Can I help?” he asks, walking to the bed and grabbing one edge of the sheet to tuck it under the featherbed.

“There’s no need,” Jared replies mildly. “I’m almost finished. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to swap these out since you were ill. It’s good to have it done. And I hope your bath was relaxing.” He chatters on as usual, but Jensen spots him smoothing an already perfectly unwrinkled spot three times in a row, a hint that Jared’s not completely unruffled.

“Jared,” Jensen interrupts.

“Yes?”

“Could we talk?”

“Um,” Jared seems a little surprised at the formal request, but he comes to the end of the bed to face him. “Of course. What would you like to talk about? If it is about what happened last night, I assure you again that kind of violence was quite out of character for me. I wouldn’t want you to think-“

“Jared-“ Jensen interrupts. He wets his lips. This isn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be. Jensen’s been with dozens of lovers in the past. The armsmen’s barracks alone was a hothouse of casual sex. Yet with each man, the rules of engagement had been unspoken but clear: some quick mutual orgasms and a nonchalant farewell. How does one go about explicitly inviting a dragon to bed?

“I was wondering,” Jensen continues, “would you mind changing into your human form?”

“Why?”

“There’s something I want to do that I can’t when you’re a dragon.”

“Oh, well then. Give me a minute, let me see if I can find my appropriate set of clothing.”

“Never mind that,” Jensen says, daring to move closer.

“Jensen?” Jared’s voice is tentative, but there’s a note of hope in it that Jensen prays he’s not imagining. Otherwise this is going to be very awkward.

When Jensen doesn’t reply, Jared shifts, shimmers and shrinks, and resolves into the shape of a man. A very attractive and very naked man. One who shuffles his feet nervously.

“What do you want of me?”

“I want to do this.” Jensen steps in and lays his hand on Jared’s bare hip. That touch alone sets his pulse leaping like a racehorse out of the gates. Or it could also be the surprised, needy sound that catches in the back of Jared’s throat, or the way his warm skin shifts under Jensen’s hand. But Jensen doesn’t pause to savor it, just quickly curls the other hand around the back of Jared’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss.

Jensen’s never been one to bother much with kissing. He planned for this one to be short, a provisional test with an uncertain outcome. And although Jared lets out a surprised muffled squeak into Jensen’s mouth, he doesn’t resist. Not in the least. His lips are soft at first, yielding, but then they begin to move against Jensen’s, asking for more.

Jensen’s belly swoops when he feels Jared’s tongue, the tip of it caressing along the curve of Jensen’s lips. It dips inside, tentatively, but so sweetly. It might as well be running along the head of Jensen’s cock, the feel of it makes him so hard, so lightheaded just from this. His pulse points start to thrum, the hand on Jared’s hip instinctively grips tighter, pulling Jared closer.

This feels nothing like any kiss he's had before. In the past, a kiss has been a routine prelude, something merely to get through in order to proceed on to the main event. But this? This could be all Jensen ever needs. Jared’s innocent noises, the hesitant flutter of his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, stroking down his arm, Jared’s lips eager and responsive against his. Jensen could do this forever.

And so it goes on, long minutes learning the taste of Jared. Jensen finds himself suddenly starving for the wet inside of his mouth, intimate and new. He closes his teeth lightly over the swell of Jared's bottom lip and sucks it in.

Jared gasps and pulls away, but only for a moment before he’s leaning in, his forehead resting against Jensen’s, drawing in desperate breaths of air. Jensen can see Jared’s eyes are closed and shuts his own. He waits, barely less affected, for all his past experience.

It’s a kiss. Just a kiss. Why is the pit of Jensen’s belly already heavy and liquid, his balls pulled up tight and aching like all it would take is a few good tugs of his cock and he’d be spilling all over his hand? Jensen figures he must be harder up for sex than he’d realized.

“That was extraordinary,” Jared murmurs, so close that his lips brush Jensen’s as they move and it takes all Jensen’s willpower not to stretch up to taste them again.

“That was your first kiss?”

Just saying it aloud sends an unexpected bolt of triumph through him. It comes spiked with protectiveness, and desire, and impatience, and so many other unnamed emotions, Jensen’s almost drunk with it all.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jared asks fretfully. “I’m sorry, I can do better, tell me where I made a mistake and-“

“Shhh.” Jensen puts his finger over Jared’s lips, a little more plush, a little more rosy than they were before. “You were almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“Well,” Jensen shrugs and lifts one side of his mouth in a grin. “I only say ‘almost’ because I’m hoping that will encourage you to want to practice more.”

Jared grins back at him, but then his expression turns somber, doubtful. “Why?” Jared whispers. “Why would you want that? Why do this?”

It’s a question Jensen doesn’t know how to answer. It makes no sense that they’re here like this. And if there is some strange depth of feeling inside him that Jensen doesn’t recognize-something that was never there before-he shuts it away. It doesn’t matter. He can’t let it.

So he simply replies, “Because I wanted to. I’ve wanted to for awhile now.”

“I’ve longed to hear you say that,” Jared says earnestly. “Oh, how I’ve longed for it. But how can you want me? I’m not human.” He starts to pull away.

Jensen lifts both his hands and slides them into Jared’s hair, like he longed to do the first time-even addled by sickness-that he saw Jared. He ignores the twinge that the movement elicits from his side, because nothing is going to stop him from reeling Jared back in.

His hair is thick and warm and soft wrapped around Jensen’s fingers. “I don’t care. As long as you don’t mind that I am human, it doesn’t matter.”

Jared searches Jensen’s face carefully, his soul in his eyes. “You know, when I’d go down the mountain, looking like this,” he continues, nodding down at his body, “and I’d walk through the villages at night, leaving some pub or inn, people-men and women-would offer themselves to me. Sometimes in exchange for payment, sometimes not. I realize now why I was never interested.”

“Why is that?” Jensen asks.

“Because they weren’t you,” Jared replies, and the simple declaration grips Jensen’s heart like a fist.

There’s danger here. Jensen senses it, scrambles to retreat. Back toward the carnal, to the simple needs of the body.

“I think we should fuck,” he says bluntly, tugging Jared toward the bed.

The bed where he’d lain and Jared had ministered to him. The bed where he’d dreamed, nights of wanting and not knowing what or how. Well, there’s one thing Jensen knows now, for certain. He knows that he wants to run his hands over Jared’s body, this body, defining his shape, his living contours. He wants to share in the pleasure this body can provide. “Do you even know what-?“

“Yes,” Jared says. “I’ve read about intercourse. Do you have any idea how many books there are in the library that deal with the subject? Shelves full! Many of them are quite explicit.”

Jensen snorts. “I imagine they are.”

“But I’ve never-that is, I realize there’s a difference between knowledge and experience. And I-“ Jared’s voice drops and his cheeks pink up, but he doesn’t duck his head or look away. “I would like you to show me. More than anything, I’d like that.”

Jensen’s whole body lights up again at the words, all his hunger roaring back. He’ll show Jared all right.

From the pocket of his robe, he pulls out the bottle of rose oil. “We’ll need this.”

Then he slips the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Jared’s jaw practically drops, his cock stiffening visibly, gratifyingly. So Jensen stands there for a second, just to let him get an eyeful. Then he turns and climbs onto the bed, settling onto wide-spread knees, pouring out a measure of the oil into one palm.

“It will only take me a minute to stretch myself out,” he explains, reaching around between his legs and smearing the oil across and around his hole. He shoves two fingers in, impatient, coating himself as fast as he can.

“Wait,” Jared says, walking up to the mattress edge. “Wait. Can I-can I just look at you for a minute? Touch you? Would that be allowed?”

“What?” Jensen’s ready. He’s ready now. But if it takes Jared a little longer, he’ll force himself to be patient. “Okay. Sure. Come here.”

Jensen goes to turn around, but Jared just crawls onto the bed behind him, getting his knees between Jensen’s and pulling him back to rest against his chest. His stiff cock nestles in the crack of Jensen’s ass, the shaft pressing snug up against his hole, so close to where Jensen needs it, but not enough, not enough.

Jared’s looking down over Jensen’s shoulder, watching himself as he sweeps hands lightly up Jensen’s thighs, slow feathering moves up and down, unabashedly gentle. His palms are so wide, each stroke of them rouses heat and prickles of sweat along Jensen’s spine. Jared’s hands skim up over Jensen’s side, carefully avoiding touching his fresh bandages, and he lets his fingertips dip into the gutter of Jensen’s collarbone, then drops them down to drift along his chest.

Jensen’s always been bothered by his nipples, the way they jut out instead of laying flat, how annoyingly sensitive they are at the most inconvenient times. Like a woman’s. It’s embarrassing. He never let anyone touch him there during sex, always guided their hands to less vulnerable spots. And yet, when Jared’s fingers brush over his chest, catching on the crown of one rigid nub, it sends a line of fire straight to Jensen’s cock. He can’t help it, he presses into Jared’s touch, his back arching in a bow, needy and helpless to stop himself.

“Is this okay?” Jared murmurs in Jensen’s ear, sounding both anxious and enthralled. “Can I touch you like this?” He’s not stopping, still slowly tracing around and round it and rubbing over the tip. He takes the other one, rolls it between his fingers. He tugs gently. Then both at once. It’s torture, each cautious movement making Jensen jolt and writhe. It’s maddening, irresistible.

“Yes. More.” The words tear out of him. He can’t understand what’s happening. With just a few simple touches, Jared’s made him lose his head, surrender the control he’s always prided himself on.

Curled around him, Jared’s heat is seeping into his bones, melting him like snow in summer. When Jared shifts away slightly, Jensen tries to follow, his whole body automatically chasing Jared’s, seeking his new magnetic north. Jared smells of that same musk and sweetness that he does in dragon form, just lighter, and Jensen breathes it in deep.

It’s no surprise that Jared can’t stop talking. “I like when you move. When you-when you squirm against me. It makes me shaky, it’s so incredible. You’re incredible.”

His breath fans over Jensen’s skin. Every word is like a gold coin dropped into a wishing well deep inside Jensen, treasure to be kept forever. Jared presses his mouth to the juncture of Jensen’s neck and shoulder. “Your skin is so soft here.” His lips graze so lightly that it raises goosebumps on Jensen’s neck and down his arms. “Here too.” Jared’s hands are everywhere, sliding over his hips and the curve of his ass and the tender insides of his thighs and knees where they splay open. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. I can’t get enough.”

Jensen’s bucking erratically, hypersensitive, unused to such gentle caresses, unused to such simple, unhurried indulgence. His cock doesn’t seem to mind, slapping sloppy and wet against his belly as he twists and twitches.

“Get inside me,” he begs. He never begs. But this, this is not what he signed up for. Too much, too intense.

“Yes,” Jared moans, his own hips grinding up into Jensen’s ass. “I mean, no, not yet. I want-Can I just-?“

His hand slips down to cup Jensen’s balls. He hefts them gently, fondling, tracing the thick seam down the middle, and Jensen thinks he might come, just from that touch.

He lays his head back against Jared’s shoulder and gives himself over to it, powerless against the exquisite sensations Jared’s generating. He turns his head to lick at the sweat-salty skin of Jared’s neck and then sucks, hard, at the thick tendon that runs along the side.

It draws a desperate gasp out of Jared. “I-Jensen-please-I need-what do I do?”

Jensen can’t answer, all he can think is finally and yes and now. He fumbles in the bedsheets for the vial of oil, pours it into his trembling hand, and reaches back between them to slather it over Jared’s cock. It feels enormous, longer than anything he’s taken before, but it only spurs him higher, hotter, his ass clenching eagerly.

Jared keens at his touch, gripping Jensen’s hips hard, hindering Jensen from trying to rise up into the right position. Once Jared figures out where he’s going, that he’s not trying to escape, he helps, lifting Jensen easily, lining them up so the blunt head of his cock is flush against Jensen’s entrance. Jared presses up, a jerky, shallow thrust that shoves through the tight muscle and wedges him barely inside.

“Jensen. Jensen,” Jared chants, his hips flexing up and back instinctively, working his cock in bit by bit.

Jensen burns with the stretch, a harsh red heat that threatens to char him to a cinder. He sucks in a deep breath and feels it rattle in his lungs, then lets his head hang down between his shoulders and spreads his leg wider, willing himself to relax, to open, to unlock. He shifts, drops, impaling himself further on the width of cock surging up to meet him.

Jared curls a trembling hand around Jensen’s neck, forcing his chin back, baring his throat and worrying fiercely at the skin. Jensen lets him; he's too far gone to protest anything now. All he craves is completion. He rides Jared’s cock, pumping up and down slowly, like there's nothing more important than doing this perfectly, each stroke coming easier, smoother, deeper. Jared fills up every inch of space inside him now, and more. Jensen can barely even keep a hold of what he's feeling now, so much sensation, like flying without falling, like breathing underwater, blindingly bright and brilliant, like magic.

And the best part is that Jared feels it too. “Please,” he cries, “please, Jensen-it’s too much. It’s so tight. You’re-everything-I can’t-“

Jared suddenly rears up, flipping Jensen forward onto hands and knees. He pulls all the way out and then drives straight back into Jensen, his fingers gripping Jensen’s ass, spreading the cheeks wide. His cock is a huge, thick weight that slams into that sweet, hidden spot at Jensen’s core, over and over, sending shards of bliss crackling across his skin like summer lightning.

“You have to touch me,” Jensen croaks, grabbing one of Jared’s hands and hauling it around to encircle his desperate cock.

He twines his fingers around Jared’s and together they jack him in a hard, measured rhythm, the slippery combination of precome and oil easing the way, Jensen torqueing his hips up to chase the wildfire blazing over his nerves. Never, never has he felt so open and exposed. Never did he know he could need something so much.

Jared drapes himself over Jensen’s back, sets his palm on the mattress above Jensen’s head for leverage, and thrusts. He fucks in as deep as he possibly can go, simultaneously swiveling his palm over the throbbing head of Jensen’s cock.

Jensen’s mouth falls open and he falls over the edge. He comes with a scorching heat that flows from him in helpless spurts, his vision whiting out at the edges, his whole body jerking with the strength of it.

Jared’s hand tightens on him, milking him, and Jensen can feel his internal muscles quiver and clench around Jared’s length. Jared’s not even talking now, or if he is, the words are simply coming out as helpless, incoherent little noises. He ruts down into Jensen’s yielding body, wild and unrestrained, until Jensen feels his muscles lock up. Jared cries out, the sound of it echoing in the room’s rafters. A wet warmth fills Jensen up, and Jared’s hand splays across his belly as if he could feel it inside. Their chests heave in time as they both gulp furiously for air. Jensen is exhausted, sated… and completely undone.

Jared collapses beside him, carefully turning them so that Jensen doesn’t land on his wounded side. His legs tangle between Jensen’s and he links their fingers together.

Just like they’d been linked while working my cock, Jensen notes, half-dazed, tiny aftershocks of pleasure eddying through him.

“You can pull out now,” Jensen says at last, grimacing in advance of the sting of withdrawal, now that the fun part was over. Dear god, ‘fun’ hardly scratches the surface of whatever that was.

Jared eases his cock slowly out of Jensen’s body, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t roll out of bed and hurry to don clothes to make his escape. In fact, he moves closer. Jensen feels his lips brush the nape of his neck.

“Jensen-“ Jared’s voice rasps like sand and he chokes, starts again. “Is it always like that?”

“No.” He doesn’t know how to explain any further. Doesn’t have words to tell Jared how different that felt than any other sex he’d ever known. Doesn’t think it’s a good idea, anyway, since this will never happen again. “No, Jared, it’s not.”

*****

| Part 4 |