The Stolen Kiss

THE STOLEN KISS



A Tortall fanfic



by lordoberon





How could he do this to me? How could he do this?



Those were the first thoughts that slid into Jon's brain after George kissed him. That is, after the angry thoughts that had burned in his mind the whole way back to the Palace, and made him refuse company for half of the afternoon. Now, he was getting ready for the ball to be held in his honor, and his friends had just left the room, after making sure he was okay.



He stared at himself in the mirror, still asking that question. With a frown, he took the chain from around his neck, placing it in a box on his bedside table. What had made George do that? Or, how long had he had feelings for Jon? How could he just do it like that, sneakily, without any thought for Jon? It...It had been so...Jon whirled away from the mirror and sat down on his bed with a sigh.



It had made him feel weak. Jon hated feeling weak. He was a Prince, he was supposed to be strong, not only for himself, but for everybody else. For his people. For his parents. For his friends. He would always be the leader. George had dragged that leadership away from Jon in a second, like whipping a rug out from under Jon's feet. Control. Jon had lost his control.



Part of Jon was asking himself, Don't you like losing the reins for a second? Didn't you say to yourself, you wished you didn't have to lead all the time, to have power all the time? George is a King, even if of only thieves. He knows how to rule and control, too. You can't expect him to just let you control him. Besides, if he had left it up to you, you wouldn't have done anything, because you didn't know how he felt. It was a secret he was keeping.



Jon didn't like it when George kept secrets from him. Now he was torn between wishing George had kept the secret and being glad that he now knew. He decided what he had hated about the kiss was how George had not given Jon a choice. He had taken the control, and the way he had strategized it all was like some sort of attack. It made Jon feel used.



As the night went on and Jon danced with a number of pretty ladies, he started to form new questions in his mind, questions that frightened him: Did you like George's kiss? He's a friend, he's a man, but did you like the way he kissed you, the way it felt, and the way his mouth fit against yours?



Jon tried to make it better in his head. First, he tried to pretend it had never happened. But the memory of it snuck up on him at the oddest moments. He remembered George's soft mouth while readying his horse for a ride. He remembered George's tongue sidling against his while bathing. He remembered George's hands on his, tenderly touching his shoulders and caressing his arms, while watching a drama performance.



There was no way to get George out of his head. The Rogue snuck inside his mind, giving him that cheeky smile.



Damn. Damn. Finally a month or so later, Jon decided: I have to do something about this. I don't want to lose George's friendship, but this is driving me crazy. I have to know how long he's thought of me like that. I have to do something so that this aching feeling will go away. My heart is torn between anger, and sadness. The sadness is because, I feel like I have to end the friendship in order to stay...sane! In order to make sense of things, I have to just get him out of my head! But, if I end it, I'll miss his company.



Jon realized it was true. He would miss George. He would miss that laugh, and the jokes, and the silent camaraderie. He would miss knowing someone who really knew his people, who lived in the thick of the city. He would miss George's hazel eyes, and that mischievous grin. George was unlike anyone Jon had ever known, and he doubted he could find a replacement.



That made him wonder, if maybe George felt the same way. Maybe George couldn't find a replacement for Jon. That made George's perspective make a little more sense in Jon's head. But he still wanted to confront his friend about the stolen kiss.



Before he could make sense of the jumble in his brain, Jon found himself standing in front of the Dancing Dove again, weeks after the kiss. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door.



* * *



George, you old fool, look what you've done! You went and kissed the Prince of Tortall, and now you're in a right spot for it! You deserve it, you idiot. Idiot! He's only seventeen, and you a crazy fellow that he's somehow liked enough to be friends with. What were you thinking?!



He wasn't thinking. He hadn't been, and didn't, and just...his brain had flown out the window. For all the times his mother had tried to knock a grain of sense and respectability into his own head, it hadn't worked. George went with his instinct. He went with what felt right. He saw something he wanted, and tried his hardest to get it, even if it was difficult, or meant leaving someone on the wayside that wasn't a friend.



But Jon WAS a friend, and look what he had gone and done! Wrecked it all. He had scared off a valuable and sweet relationship, and all for one kiss!



Oh, but it was a kiss, a little part of George told him. You got in one kiss. You got to stand so close to him...to touch him...to feel his lips against yours...



George groaned and sat down on the first step of the stairs up to his room. If only his blasted mind would decide to be angry or approving. Usually he would give Jon time to cool off, and then send another letter, and then pretend nothing had ever happened. That was how George had planned to deal with it. It was calm, collected, and practical.



But love was a strange thing. It never let you follow your own rational plans. It destroyed your plans. George shook his head, laughing at himself, and then stood up. He loped over to the fireplace and lay down on the couch in front of it.



"Your Majesty, looksa who's come back. It's Jon. He says he'd like a private word with you."



George sat up and looked up at old Solom. His eyes widened. "Are you pulling my leg here, Solom? 'Cause if you are, I'll be taking one of those wrinkled old ears of yours in just a moment."



"I'm not jokin', sir. Looksa for yerself."



They both turned to look and see Jonathan striding towards them, his every step and mood that of a confident, angry wild young stallion. George let his gaze rake up and down that familiar form and let a soft sigh escape. Jon was even lovelier to look at when he was angry. His dark brow furrowed, and those eyes blazed like a blue fire, hard enough to strike George down if eyes could shoot arrows.



George stood up, and waved a hand toward his bedroom. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Jon. You asked for a private setting, this is the best I can offer you."



A smoldering heat was emitting from those eyes, it seemed. George could feel a different sort of heat building within his body as he stared at the young Prince. He resisted the urge to lick his lips, and made sure to keep his hands to himself. This was no friendly meeting that allowed hand-holding.



"I've got a better place in mind," Jonathan said. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and then he slowly uncurled them. George felt his muscles tense. Was the boy looking for a fight? He was relieved Jon hadn't brought any friends. Well, he'd let him get in a couple punches before calling somebody out to break it up.



"Sure, Jon. Lead the way."



George smiled behind Jon as the boy led them out through a side door down an empty alleyway. They stopped right after one of the ladders that led up George's bedroom window. Jon stood across the alley from George and crossed his arms.



For a few moments, the two just stared at each other. Then George said, "Well, if you're plannin' on hitting me, might as well do it now."



The boy frowned, and then let his arms fall to his sides. He sighed, and then laughed, saying, "You drive me crazy, you know that? Crazy, sometimes."



George laughed, too. So the boy wasn't looking for a fight. He felt his heart flutter a little at the thought, and then tried to squash that feeling. He needed to stop thinking of Jon like that...wanting Jon. Jon clearly did not want to be wanted.



"I could say the same thing about you, Jon."



The young Prince moved forward suddenly. He placed his hands on George's shoulders, and looked straight into George's eyes. "George, I want you to tell me...how long I've been driving you crazy."



George swallowed, and his gaze dropped down to make a mental study of the Prince's boots. "Too long," he whispered. His head drooped.



A soft, gentle touch came to his chin. Jonathon's long fingers stroked down his neck, and then up, and cupped his jaw to bring his head up. George's eyes widened as he realized how close Jon was standing to him. The Prince had a hand still on George's shoulder. There was a mere fraction of space between them. He could feel Jon's quickening breath on his face, chest brushing his.



"I'm not going to let you make me feel the fool again, George Cooper," Jonathan murmured. Then he was leaning in, and George closed his eyes, feeling his long eyelashes stutter against Jon's as that soft mouth went over his.



Jon's mouth was soft, but his kiss was passionate. His lips pressed hard against George's, and his tongue slippery and wet dove into George's mouth. His heat was warm against George, his tongue a slithering, nimble thing, twisting in George's mouth, rubbing over his tongue. George groaned at the sweet sensation. His hands of their own accord slid up Jon's neck and around to grab at tufts of black hair. Jon's arms dropped down and pushed him back, back right up against the wall, pushed until there was no space between them.



George could feel Jonathan's body against his. Those long legs pressed up against his, trembling. The belt buckle grinded into George, the chest as they gasped for breath shook against his. He could feel the strength in those muscled arms, the barely-coiled tension and fury and passion within that body. It made him press back into Jon's kiss, hard and long; it made him slide his tongue over Jon's and hold the boy hard against him until he produced a low, whimpering moan. That sound made the hairs at the back of George's neck stand on end, and all the feelings he had had for Jon roared to life again, fully rejuvenated.



They pulled away from each other at the same time, gasping. Jon rested his head on George's shoulder, his panting breath making the V neckline of George's tunic flutter. George tilted his head back to stare up at the sky, gasping to catch his breath back. An excitement was building within him, and a hunger. Oh, he wanted more. More.



"I think I've decided," Jon gasped, "that I like the way you kiss me."



A flush colored those pale cheeks prettily, and George smiled. "Well, now that's decided, does the bedroom sound like a good place?"



Jon took George's hand and dragged him away from the wall, saying, "Only if I can have a drink up there."



George laughed. "Any drink you'd like."



He watched from his position standing by his bed while Jon plunked down onto a seat and greedily drank from the cup of ale that George had poured him. He watched the smooth movement of that pale throat as Jon swallowed the strong drink. He watched everything - the way Jon tapped his fingers on the table. The way the boy shoved his boots from his feet in a messy, tangled hurry. The way Jon drew those ring-bedecked fingers through his hair, and how he sat with his legs apart. That brought even more reason for George to look, to admire the musculature of thighs, the sloping curve of the boy's buttocks, the slim calves.



George couldn't resist. He wanted to go sit in the boy's lap, but that would be going too fast, wouldn't it? So instead, he went to stand behind Jon and began to slowly, firmly massage the kinks from the Prince's tense shoulders.



"Mmm...that's good." Jon let his head loll forward and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out deeply, sighing, as George pressed a little harder.



"Oh, harder, please. I need it badly."



Once again, just the mere suggestion in words was making George's body heat up. After a few more moments he asked hoarsely, "Is that better?"



Jon stood up and took George's hands in his. "Much better, thank you. Do you mind if I...do something a little odd?"



"I'm used to odd by now. Do your worst."



George allowed Jon to take his hands. One was placed on Jon's shoulder, and the other Jon held. Then the young man's arms slid around George's waist, and they began to dance. George tried to follow the Prince's steps, but wasn't very good at it. He never stumbled, but succeeded on stepping on the boy's toes a couple times. "Whoops."



Jon frowned at him, and then laughed. "Oh, it's fine. I guess I'm just being silly. I've gotten used to dancing with people before...doing anything with them."



The red flush on the boy's cheeks was adorable. George reached a finger out and touched the flush, stroking over the boy's cheeks and over that wonderful little hooked nose to the other cheek. That’s right, Jon is always dancing with princesses…some whom he might take to bed.



"Have you ever tried anything with men, Jon?" He had noticed the way Jon said 'people,' not 'women' or 'ladies.' It was clearly an attempt to hide the truth.



"I haven't." Ah, but there was pride in that answer. Jonathan was daring George to laugh, daring George to treat him like a baby.



"Let me show you," George said. He gently pushed Jon back to fall onto the bed and clambered after him. The Prince didn't look mighty pleased to be lying beneath George.



"Don't treat me like a woman, George," Jon hissed through his teeth.



The fire in that gaze wouldn't take any explanations or attempts to rationalize. There was no point rationalizing something so simple and carnal and natural, anyway. George lay down beside the Prince. He could feel his need gnawing at him, growing within his body. It was a fire in his lips, a heaviness to his tongue and a tremble to his thighs. He wanted this boy; he didn't really care how it went.



Just like George had thought he would, Jonathan slid over next to George, and then wordlessly straddled him. George sat up to grab the kiss as Jonathan leaned down into it, and their tongues met again to the sound of low moans. Jon's mouth was devouring, hungry and explorative. George felt his breath shorten and his need thrum as the boy's mouth sunk over his again and again. Then Jon's tongue was sliding up and down George's neck, showering a light trail of kisses. When he slid that hot wet over George's ear, the thief couldn't hold back a groan of want.



He could hear the boy's panting breath in response. George looked up as trembling fingers edged down his tunic, working at the buttons. He bit back a laugh as the boy grumbled when the tunic proved hard to pull from George's breeches.



With a gentle smile, George slid his hands over Jon's. Slowly, he curled his fingers to lie over Jon's, and directed them down, under the waistline of his breeches, to grab hold of the cloth and bring it up and over George's head. It was flung across the room, and George grinned to see Jon's eagerness.



"Now be careful with that," he murmured, as Jon wrapped his fingers around a dagger sheath that was tucked into George's breeches. He felt his cock twitch in response as the smooth metal was pulled out of his trousers. Jon's fingers, so close...George reached behind him and extracted the dagger's twin from its rest at the small of his back. It had started to hurt, pressing against him.



The boy's mouth descended to slither down George's neck again. But then he sat back up, looking at George, and his fingers played over the other man's torso.



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More coming soon! Reviews very much appreciated. Suggestions, too. I'm not sure where this fic is going yet.