Page 20 of First Snow
Chapter 7
Jareth
Steamriseslanguidlyfromthe bathtub, fogging up the mirror and hanging in sluggish clouds in the air of the bathroom. Arttu seems relaxed now, leaning against Jareth’s chest, his eyes half-closed as if he’s ready to fall asleep again. It’s nice to wind down together like this, Jareth idly caressing Arttu’s skin. But he won’t be fooled again. Something isn’t adding up here, and Jareth is pretty sure it isn’t just Arttu’s inexperience as a sub. He obviously enjoyed their play, so eager to please him, so responsive. But Jareth sensed that Arttu was ready to bolt after their session, and that just won’t do.
“What will you do with the rest of your holiday?” Jareth asks, unwilling to let Arttu go just yet. Maybe he can convince him to stay a while.
“What makes you think I’m on holiday?” Arttu retorts, always ready to contradict him.
“You’re exhausted and in need of rest. And you’ve never been toThe Worshipbefore.”
“Quite a presumptuous claim to make.”
Jareth chuckles. “Oh, come on. Am I wrong?”
Arttu grumbles something, burying his face against Jareth’s neck. Following an impulse, Jareth pulls him into a protective embrace, rubbing soothing circles over his upper arms. Arttu sighs, the terse line of his shoulders relaxing. Jareth wishes he knew what has him so on edge, thrumming with tension one second, and practically melting under the softest of touches the next.
“Did you know that part of my family originates from Finland? I’ve spent most of my holidays in our summerhouse near Helsinki.” His adoptive grandmother on his father’s side was a Finn. Jareth has fond memories ofÄitiHelmi, her stories so different from his mother’s.
Arttu blinks up at him with obvious interest.
“A summerhouse, not amökki?”
Jareth has to hide a smile in Arttu’s hair. His guest has a way of fishing for information while refusing to share anything about himself. But Jareth won’t have it.
“It’s too large for that. But I’m considering buying a realmökkiat some point,” he answers, content to share some information about himself to elicit some from Arttu as well.
Arttu groans. “You’re a rich fucker, aren’t you?” His eyes widen as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he blushes as he looks up at Jareth again, probably trying to gauge if he’s in trouble.
“You need this spanking badly, huh?”
Arttu blushes harder, biting his lip. Jareth wonders if he’s being a tease on purpose, only that Jareth doesn’t get the impression that Arttu is playing a role.
“Do you speak Finnish then?” Arttu changes the subject.
Eager to get to know him a little better, Jareth decides to humor him.
“Very badly,” Jareth admits.
Attu seems to mull the information over, a shadow falling over his face.
“I’m from Helsinki,” he finally says.
Jareth latches onto the information like a predator that has tasted blood. He should be weary about his growing obsession with a man he’s only just met, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Which district?” Jareth asks, feigning nonchalance.
“Meilahti.”
“Fancy.”
Arttu laughs at that. He sounds genuinely amused. “If you consider a two-room apartment a luxury property, then yes.”
“A nice neighborhood nonetheless.”
Arttu hums a vague affirmative. Unbelievable. He acts like it costs him something to agree with Jareth on the simplest of things. And yet he’s here, allowing Jareth to touch him, to wrap his hands around his throat and even tie him up. Jareth can’t figure him out.
“Are you going to tell me where you’re staying in London or is that information still classified?” Jareth knows he’s overstepping. He knows what’s socially acceptable and what isn’t, although he doesn’t necessarily feel the invisible boundaries like others do. But he isn’t willing to let Arttu go without asking him for another meeting, a session or a date. Jareth isn’t picky.