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The Stolen Kiss	By : lordoberon Category: S through Z > The Song of the Lioness (tetralogy) > The Song of the Lioness (tetralogy) Views: 4366 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Song of the Lioness Series. It belongs wholly to Tamora Pierce. I do not earn any money in the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author's Note: This is my first Tortall fanfic. There aren't very many on here! I love these two characters and thought they'd be hot together. Since Jon is 17 in this fic, this is set around book 2(?), and obviously neither George or Jon are in love with Alanna (unless I decide to make this a threesome). Please review! _
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THE STOLEN KISS
A Tortall fanfic
by lordoberon -
-- Part One ---
THE STOLEN KISS
Solom gazed into his mug of ale, admiring its muggy brown depths. The ale was good still, good as it had ever been at the Dancing Dove. But when the King of Thieves was brooding, the whole place seemed to get quieter, as if in respect so their Majesty could think in peace. "I been wonderin', what's he up there thinkin' so hard about? Must be some personal decision, 'cause I got no whiff o' trouble lurkin.'"
The old man stroked callused fingers through his beard thoughtfully. He turned around to look at the old, tough wooden door behind which his Majesty's quarters lay. "Somethin' churnin' in that head o' his..."
* * *
Something was churning in George Cooper's head indeed. Or rather, someone. The young Rogue drew his hands through his brown hair in frustration. Why oh why had it let it get him this far? He couldn't even believe the ideas running through his head. He paused to finger a lock of hair at the back of his head. It was about time to get his hair cut. And he needed a shave, too, he mused, brushing fingertips over the light stubble over his jaw.
George slid his booted feet off the table, and grabbed his shirt from the bed with a sigh where he had torn it off in a moment of sheer exasperation. With quick thieve's fingers he buttoned the tunic back up, and tucked the hem into the waistline of a worn pair of breeches. He walked across the room to his sink, and put his hands on either side of it, staring at himself in the mirror.
The face that looked back at him was worried. A furrowed brow creased his forehead, although the hazel eyes were still bright with mischief. It was the mischief he had cooked up that was bothering his conscience. He shouldn't have sent that letter, nor bought those items, and he shouldn't care about presenting himself to...to this special someone that shouldn't be special at all in his mind. The twenty year old forced himself to smile. Ah, there it was. Confidence! He needed it. Here was the charm that he would use to get what he wanted. The charm he needed to catch...
"Damn you, George Cooper," he told himself, "You are going crazy."
He laughed, shaking his hand at his own tenacity. It was a battle in his head, sometimes, between mischief and conscience. Which would he favor? Which meant more to him? Both were a part of him that he couldn't let go of, and when they intermixed it sometimes brought waves. More often then not though, his conscience helped to be fair, even in mischief. It saved from letting the mischief run away with him.
George clamped his hands down harder on the old sink, shaking it. The rickety door of the cupboard above the mirror whined in protest. When George looked back in the mirror, that same worried look was on his face. He pouted his mouth, and then stopped to muse, I wonder what he'd think of that expression? ...Mithros, there I go again.
He groaned softly at his own folly, murmuring, "George, you never been this crazy over any girl or boy before. Why now? Mithros, why him?" He lathered the soap over his jaw and took up the small, sharp knife to begin his shave. "You've already given in," he told himself with a sigh. "Don't turn back now. Just go out and do it."
* * *
Jonathan, Prince of Tortall, never knew what his friend George was up to. Most people wouldn't dare keep much from the Prince, but George did. All the time! It made Jon's curious side rage and laugh all at once. He liked the way George teased him, sometimes, but more often than not he hated to be in ignorance, and find out later on what George had meant. It felt thrilling to be Jon, just Jon, on his seventeenth birthday.
Usually a birthday for Jon meant a fancy ball hosted by his parents in the evening, and later, a secret party with a small group of friends. But George was a friend, too, and Jon had secretly wished George could be with them last year. So it was with delight that he had received a letter this morning, inviting him to come down to visit for the afternoon. For once, Jon knew exactly why he was stepping into the familiar dusky warmth of the Dancing Dove. George was giving him his present on-time, this year.
He wondered what made George so particularly impatient this year, as he sat down and ordered a cup of ale. The drink flowed down his throat smoothly and felt warm and pleasing in his belly. Mmm. It had felt so freeing to slip out of his court-wear earlier and into a dusty old pair of brown breeches, and a faded blue tunic.
A familiar low voice, lilting with boyish charm still, brought Jon out of his thoughts. "Ah, there you are, lad."
Jon turned around to reprimand this friend, but was caught off guard by his friend's unusual attire. The thief’s usual simple outfit had been traded for a more regal get-up. A light green tunic with silver trimmings brought out the beautiful color of George's hazel eyes, and he had paired it with a dark pair of breeches that fit his lean form better, and even the buckles on his boots looked shinier. The man's short brown hair was a tad neater. He cracked a smile when he sat across from Jon.
"Don't you dare call me 'lad' anymore, George. I'm seventeen now."
"And drinking ale now too, I see."
They both laughed at that remark, knowing how George had secretly treated Jon last year with a gift of ale and other drinks. The Prince was no stranger to drinking, although it wasn't something he delighted in as much as some of his friends.
"So what's the special occasion?" Jon asked, gesturing towards George's clothes. He hid his smile in his drink, knowing the answer already.
"Today is a special day, in celebration of someone who means a lot to me," George said. "I marked it on my calendar."
There was something different in George today. It was...tenderness, or the like. Jon could see it, sense it, in the soft way George had answered, and the way his eyes looked suddenly a little more smiling. But then his gaze became wary, and he took his own mug of ale from Solom with a nod of thanks.
"Since when do thieves keep calendars?" Jon tilted his head in question, smiling. George's hand slid over the table and suddenly, strangely, that hand - it was surprisingly soft - brushed up Jon's cheek. Blue eyes widening in surprise, Jon opened his mouth to protest, when he realized George was only tucking a stray strand of black hair back behind his ear. Oh.
"We keep calendars since we started knowing what the Lord Provost's plans are and when," George replied. Those hazel eyes suddenly seemed to sparkle more. Jon wondered why. Was it just because George delighted in frustrating the Lord Provost? He winced as George's fingers flicked at the silver earring in his left ear.
"It's a fake," he lied.
For a moment George was stern, but then his booming laugh echoed all around the tavern, making Jon jump in surprise and then blush. There was no lying around George.
"Jonny, Jon, Jon...you lie around me, the master of lying? I can tell a lie when I see one. I suppose you take it out for court things, and only put it in for city bouts? Come on, now. Your gifts."
Jon allowed his friend to wrap that larger, browner hand over his and drag him up from his seat. "Gifts, George? You got me more than one?"
He had to admit to himself, he liked that. It made his cheeks burn with another flush, and he wondered what the thief had gotten him.
* * *
George bit his lip as he walked up the stairs with his friend trailing behind him. He hadn't even meant this to be anything different than usual, when he had first thought of giving Jon his presents on time. But then as thoughts of the young man whirled through his brain more and more, the idea of making this more than just a regular birthday for Jon had popped into his mind.
Ever since George had met Jon a few years ago, he had been impressed by the Prince. Even at fourteen the boy had carried himself with confidence and poise. He was like a young large cat, with a fierce glint to his eyes, but also a soft calm. He could get anything he liked, not because of his title, but because everyone loved Jon. The more George had observed and heard of Jon and how people treated him with affection, the more George began to understand why everyone loved him.
The Prince was good with people. He did not try to please everyone, but he was good at judging how to please people. Not only that, he genuinely cared for those that he gave to, that he associated with. He did not treat his friends like subjects, servants, nor did he expect them to gloat in having his association. Instead, Jon treated his friends simply and from his heart, with honesty and care. Of course, like every Prince, Jonathan had his arrogant streak. George had seen him get angry before, over bad reasons, and he had seen the Prince assume that he would get a certain treatment from somebody because he was a Prince. For the most part, though, Jon seemed pretty good at keeping a cool head.
The most alarming thing was seeing the Prince in person. You could only hear about somebody and know them from that so much. When George had first met Jon in person, then he had truly started to gain respect for the heir to the Tortall throne. And not only that, but the young man was handsome. He had a slight hook to his nose, but George found it endearing. The Prince had fine, wavy hair that was blacker than midnight, and his blue eyes were so bright and startling they continued to steal George's breath away. George felt no scruples about age, he didn't care that the Prince was three years younger than him and had the cloud of royalty hanging over his head as a gate corralling his sexuality and virginity. The only problem in the whole equation was that Jon was a Prince, and that George had never seen any hint of attraction in Jon for the male sex (and how closely he had watched for any sign!).
The bedroom of the King of Thieves was large. In the middle of the room, pressed up against a wall, was a large bed. Beside it was a table with three chairs, and across from the table, the sink and the mirror. Two windows lay across from each other. Ladders sat propped up against the wall and outside. George had a small shelf with a few books, and in various jars sat his ear collection atop his bedside table, as a warning. The room was rather plain.
The best part of it, George thought, was the colorful tapestry on one wall, and the soft rug underfoot towards the middle of the room. The closet was in the corner by the tapestry, and there George kept his weapons. Well, really he had weapons everywhere - his boots, behind the mirror, under the rug, under the bed, under the mattress, and one or two in secret drawers in the table and bedside table.
He set out a couple bottles - wine, whiskey - on the table and the Prince sat down. George watched as Jon took in the room again. It was so simple compared to rooms at the palace, but George could tell Jon liked it. There was a special, crooked sort of smile Jon gave whenever he was especially pleased, and George saw it on his face now. He bent down to get the gifts from under the bed and presented them to Jon one by one.
There were three items. With a laughing, boyish look on his face, Jon's slender fingers began to unwrap the presents. George stood with his hand on a chair. That smile was so...it made George's heart beat a little faster. The blue eyes were glowing and happy. George decided, he had to sit down. Just looking at Jon like this made his knees feel a little bit jelly-like. He licked his lips, holding back a groan, as he stared at the boy's lips. They were full and pink. The boy's cheeks were rosy in excitement. He liked how Jon's hair had become a little messy and dusty while traveling through the city. It gave him a more rustic, ruffled look.
But there was no denying Jon was a Prince. A couple costly looking rings decorated his fingers. The nails were clean all around and beneath, and glowed in the light with the smoothness of care. The boy's skin was clean, and he moved with a grace that George suspected was not taught, but something the boy had been born with.
"So what do you think?"
Jon stood up and walked to stand in front of a window. He held the sword sheath in the light, admiring its fine work. It was hard, firm leather, dyed a deep red color. All along its length were carved runes of power, engraved in the smooth material.
"Who did this, George? What does it mean?" Jon's voice was quiet in awe as he ran his fingers lightly over the leather. He tested the weight by bouncing it in his hands a little, and flipped it around to inspect the width of the hole through which the sword would slide into the sheath.
"A priestess at a temple did it for me. They are runes of protection, so that in any battle you will keep control over your sword, and be able to use it with balance and precision. It keeps you fully aware of your mental faculties, complimenting your natural abilities and cleverness. Very useful."
George found himself feeling a little out of breath. He could just see Jon with a sword in his hand, sliding gracefully along a tournament strip. The Prince was known for being good with the sword. George wondered though, if the Prince moved with such balance and precision, with such fluidity, in bed? It was hard to get information on the Prince's intimate affairs, even for the King of Thieves. George could name names, but not what Jon had done with those women.
Jon turned to look at George. He had a big smile on his face, and George smiled back. That smile made him want to stand up and wrap his arms around the boy's form, and trail his thumb tenderly over those soft lips... “George…this is…amazing. I…wow. Thank you.”
George cleared his throat. "Don't thank me before you've opened them all, Jon."
With eager hands, Jon unwrapped the remaining two gifts. One was a book - a favorite of Jon’s, which George had heard the Prince complain he had lost a copy of. The third gift was what appeared to be a small mirror framed in gold, hung on a golden chain.
"A mirror, George?"
"No. A token. You've always said, you wished you could know the things that I know around the court. Well, it looks like a mirror, but what it really is, is a spying glass. There's magic in it, and it allows you to see whomever you would like to see, whenever. All you have to do is use your Gift, and you can be connected to whomever, and see that person. Except, of course, people who have the Gift," he smiled.
Jon looked up and smiled at George. "So, I couldn't see you, could I, George?"
What did that mean? George shook his head. Did the Prince want to spy on him? Perhaps the Prince was curious what George did in his spare time. Well, not a whole lot. Too much of it was spent thinking of Jon, lately.
"Only those without the Gift. Those with it are shielded."
Jon gathered up his gifts in his arms, and frowned as the sheath began to slip from his arms.
"Here," George said. He put one hand over Jon's, steadying it. Then, bending down, he grabbed something with his other hand. It was a golden clip. He slid the sheath from Jonathon's arm and clicked it into the clip with a quiet snap. Kneeling down before the Prince, George slid the golden clip over the leather of Jon's belt. Mithros. He couldn't help but look at Jon, letting his gaze wander over the long, lean legs, admiring the way the boots hugged those calves. He wondered what it would be like to push his mouth over the young man's crotch...
With a shaky intake of breath, George adjusted the sheath clip on Jon's right side, making sure it snapped all the way closed. He felt a tightness in his throat, as his fingers grazed over the boy's side. He could feel the warmth of the boy's skin from underneath the light tunic. The leather of the boy's belt was nearly as fine a make as that of the sheath. Then, not even taking a moment to get his bearings, George stood up. He knew Jon was watching him, wondering at the flush on his cheeks. Gently, he slid the boy's fingers from the golden chain, and put his own around it. His voice soft and husky, he said, "Duck your head a bit, Jon."
The Prince did as told, and George slid the golden chain over his head. When Jon lifted his head back up George could see the mirror's shape beneath Jon's tunic, resting a little below his collarbone. He wondered, what would it be like to touch Jon? Was the Prince's skin as soft as it looked? He smelled a little like a fine perfume, with a mix of city dust and tobacco. The book got tucked into Prince Jonathan's bag.
George could see the questioning look burning in the boy's eyes, but he ignored it, stepping back. He needed to stand away, so that his urges, his attraction to the boy, wouldn't show. "There."
The boy smiled. His voice was warm and rich and soft, as he said, "Thank you, George. Your gifts are always amazing." He turned away to leave.
George felt his heart sink a little, and then mentally kicked himself. Don't act like such a hurt puppy! You got some time with him today, you gave him his gifts. Now he's got to leave.
Just as Jon's hand fell down on the knob, Jon turned back to stare George straight in the eye. Those blue eyes demanded that George look at them, and demanded his full attention and cooperation. George was the King of Thieves, but it still made him tremble how quickly Jon could get someone to do his orders with just a glance. Only the King of Thieves could resist the control in that gaze. He was just that stubborn.
"George, was there anything else you wanted?"
The boy sincerely wanted to know. George could tell by the way pearly white teeth bit down on the boy's full lower lip. Oh, that one would be driving him mad for days, he was sure. Why did one boy have to have so much beauty in him?
Before George could even think, he found himself walking across the room to stand in front of Jon. The boy turned, and pressed his back against the door as George took a step forward, neatly sliding very close into Jon's personal space.
"There's just one more thing," George said. He felt a mischievous grin curling his mouth and forced it to be a little less obvious, to turn down a little. "While I get it, could you hold this for a moment?"
He turned around and grabbed the heavy box that sat underneath the sink. In it he carried some of his most precious possessions, and it was only because it was Jon that he even let someone else touch it. Jon had strong arms. The boy grunted under the strain, but kept the box upright and steady in his arms.
George made sure the boy's fingers were wrapped tight around the edge, and then looked straight at him. Those blue eyes were confused.
"Um...Yes?" It was funny to see the Prince of Tortall stuttering. There was impatience in his gaze, but mostly confusion, and he had his back pressed even more tightly against the door because of the heavy load in his arms.
"I hate to take advantage of you, with your arms full, Jon...But I just can't help it."
Jon's mouth opened a little, in surprise or dismay, and George saw that as his chance. Leaning in, he put his hands on Jon's shoulders, and then slid them down the boy's arms to rest beneath those soft hands. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to Jon's. The Prince had a lovely mouth, with full lips that just begged to be bitten. George pressed his mouth harder against Jon's, and used the boy's open mouth to slide his tongue inside. With a moan he explored that hot wetness, and was surprised when the boy's tongue glided against his own for a second. Was that a response, or was Jon just trying to escape?
A loud banging on the door made Jon jump in surprise, and George slowly pulled away. Old Solom's voice loudly split the sudden, cruel silence that permeated the room.
"Not ta be interruptin', yer Majesty, but there's an important notice fer ya waitin'!"
George stepped back from Jon, his eyes searching the boy's face as he called out, "I'll get right to it, Solom. Thank you."
He waited for the old man's steps to fade away before saying, "I hope you don't begrudge me too much my little fancies, my Prince."
The boy's face was flushed. He replied hotly, "Don't call me your Prince. I am not anybody's, nor do I like being called somebody's 'little fancy,' especially coming from the King of Thieves! A real king would not make his 'fancying' put someone else in - in - in a very awkward position!"
That said, Jon placed the heavy box back onto the floor, and then stormed out of the room. The door slammed, hard, and George could hear Jon's boots crashing down the stairs and out of the Dancing Dove in a hurry.
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More coming soon! :)
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The Stolen Kiss