Page 57 of First Snow

“If you want to lock me up, you should let me tend to your wounds first. Then you need to get warm.” Jareth gestures toward the tub. The water starts running, as if by magic.

Wincing, Arttu whirls around. He stares at the steaming water that starts to fill the tub. Is he still drugged? He has to be, otherwise what he saw happening to Phyllis wouldn’t make sense. Does that mean that he’s still hallucinating, or is this some kind of elaborate trick? Arttu’s vision starts to blur.Oh shit, he can’t pass out right now.

“Fine. Whatever,” he mumbles.

The pain and exhaustion are starting to overwhelm him. He needs a plan. Maybe playing along with Jareth’s madness will keep him alive long enough to give him a chance to escape.

With that in mind, Arttu does as he’s told. He slips out of his parka and drops it to the floor. His ruined shirt is next.

Jareth steps closer to run gentle hands over Arttu’s chest. He starts to carefully inspect the scratches on his shoulder. Arttu sways helplessly towards his warmth. Jareth is a monster, he tries to remind himself. The real human kind of monster, not the fanged kind with antlers. So why does he still feel like the safest place in the world?

Arttu hisses in pain as Jareth’s fingers brush over the deep gashes that are still sluggishly oozing blood.

“Shh, you’ll feel better in a second,” Jareth promises. He puts a hand over the injury, making pain bloom all over Arttu’s arm and shoulder. But then Jareth growls something in a language Arttu doesn’t understand and the burn fades away. The room is spinning as if Arttu is drunk. It’s surreal. His skin was torn as if from a bear attack, and Arttu was bleeding and in pain. Now he’s looking down at fading white scars.

He can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes him. His vision blurs and the world around him goes dark for a few seconds. When Arttu sees clearly again, Jareth has placed him on the edge of the tub.

“It’s okay,” Jareth soothes. His anger seems to have evaporated and made way for the soft concern Arttu has come to love.

Arttu wants to scream, he isn’t prepared to deal with Jareth when he’s like this.

Skimming featherlight over Arttu’s sides, Jareth’s hands settle on the waistband of his jeans.

“You need to get in the bath. You need to warm up. Shall I help you take these off?”

Arttu shugs out of his boots and socks and tries to undo the buttons of his pants with stiff, uncooperative fingers. Jareth bats his hands away as Arttu’s fingers slip for the third time. Having Jareth undressing him, sliding down his jeansoh so carefully,sends a sharp jolt of arousal through Arttu’s gut. He bites down on his bottom lip. He just saw Jareth kill without a second of hesitation. What the hell is wrong with him that this murderer still turns him on?

But he has no choice. Arttu allows Jareth to guide him into the tub, his large hands a comforting presence on Arttu’s elbow and waist. The water makes his hands and feet tingle as he submerges himself. Despite the small discomfort, Arttu sighs as he’s enveloped by cozy warmth. He doesn’t want to let himself relax, but he can’t help it. With half-lidded eyes, he watches as Jareth stands up and retrieves a glass vial from the bathroom cabinet.

“This will help with the healing. The last thing we need is for you to get blood poisoning or catch a fairy curse.”

Arttu only hums in response. He can feel his system shutting down, his thoughts moving sluggishly, and his focus shrinking to the lapping of the water in the tub. Jareth pours the deep green contents of the flacon into the water and the smell of lavender and cedarwood hits Arttu’s nose. Tension bleeds from his body almost against his will. Leaning back, Arttu rests his head on the rim of the tub. He closes his eyes. It won’t hurt to rest for just a second.

“No passing out in the tub.”

Jareth gently nudges him and offers him a cup of steaming tea. Arttu has no idea when Jareth had time to fix him a drink.

“Here. Drink this.”

Arttu eyes the beverage suspiciously. It looks innocent enough, but Jareth has spiked his drink before, hasn’t he? However, in his current situation, he has little choice. If he refuses, Jareth could simply force him to drink. Arttu accepts the cup reluctantly.

“Good boy,” Jareth rumbles as Arttu takes a sip.

Heat creeps over Arttu’s cheeks. He pretends it’s from the warm drink. Whatever Jareth has brought him, it tastes good. It reminds him of the honeyed herb tea his mother started to make after one of her shamanic retreats. Arttu’s eyelids grow even heavier.

“Is it true what Phyllis said?” Jareth’s voice sounds sad. Arttu hates it. He hates that he hates it.

“What do you mean?”

“About you. Are you a detective?”

He should probably lie, but Arttu can’t bring himself to do it.

“You already know the answer to that question,” he mumbles.

Sighing deeply, Jareth runs a hand through Arttu’s damp hair.

Arttu leans into the touch. It’s pure instinct, he can’t help it.