Author's Note: First time writing in the Labyrinth fandom, though goodness knows I've inhaled hundreds of fics already. Seeing as I'm primarily a SSHG writer, any tips/tricks/suggestions to keep my characterization of Sarah and Jareth as true to form as possible are very much appreciated.

Very Important Disclaimer: This fic relies on entrenched beliefs of masculinity and femininity that I myself don't necessarily subscribe to. In no way do I mean to insult/trivialize the issue of gender identity. Here's the thing: Sarah's a sheltered girl, eighteen at the time of this story, and she lives in suburbia. She's probably never seen a dude in makeup, outside of rock stars/Jareth. Was anyone else thinking, "Gee, it might be difficult for a teenage girl to accept an intimate relationship with a man who wears more makeup than she does"?

"He is supposed to be a young girl's dream of a pop star. We got in a lot of trouble, you know, about how tight his pants were. But that was deliberate." - Brian Froud

"You look nice this morning."

"This morning? Not all the others, too?" The tone was challenging, but a playful gleam in the green eyes belied the sentiment.

Karen's look was part relieved, part reproachful. "Don't go fishing for compliments. Not until you've finished your breakfast, at least."

Sarah sighed theatrically before plopping down into the seat. "What I wouldn't do for a little appreciation in this family."

Karen, who was now busy fussing over Toby and his already-spilt milk, didn't hear her. Sarah, with a roll of her eyes, let it go. Her time was better spent staring into the depths of her cereal bowl and pondering the mysteries contained therein; she was too tired to start an argument over nothing. It was a lesson hard-won, but she had learned it nonetheless—it had only taken a trip through the Underground and a lot of self-introspection—and from the warm, knowing look in her father's eyes as he glanced at her over his coffee cup, she knew she was doing the right thing. Being tempestuous made no one happy, up to and including herself.

"But honestly Sarah," Karen said, with her back still turned, "You do look very nice. Is something special going on at school? You never wear makeup."

She sucked in a breath and stiffened. Karen didn't usually engage much in the morning, and Sarah, in her sleep-addled state, had a hard time telling if this was a backhanded compliment or just an honest observation. She looked up from her cereal bowl; the woman's expression was guileless. Sarah fought to ease the tension out of her shoulders. "What, I can't wake up and decide to put on some eyeliner for the heck of it? I just felt like it, is all."

"Is it a boy—"

"Dear, is there still coffee left?"

Sarah acknowledged her father's attempt at diplomacy with a tight smile.

"Oh, yes, of course," Karen said, ever oblivious.

Sarah plunged her spoon into the soggy mess of wheat and dairy. "I'm not hungry today. Sorry Dad." She scooted out of her chair.

"Sarah…"

"It's alright." Her eyes were slightly downcast. "Really."

He wasn't a confrontational man, so all he could do was nod and let her go.

Having gained his tacit acceptance, Sarah made her way slowly up the stairs, directly towards the bathroom. A flick of the light switch bathed her in a harsh, white-yellow glow. She leaned over the sink, bringing her face close to the mirror; she turned her head to one side, then the other, a quizzical expression on her face. "Is it really that weird? Girls wear it all the time."

"Ya look different, Sarah," a scratchy voice said.

"Hoggle!" She whined. "I told you not to talk to me in this mirror. The bathroom's private!"

"How's am I supposed to know which mirror you're in?" He snarked. "They's all sound the same to us."

"Well then, it's not like I called you. Why'd you answer?"

"The rat put me on pest control. I got bored." His tone was sullen.

"You're wasting His Royal Majesty's time," Sarah said, painting the sarcasm on thick. "Don't go blaming it on me when he puts you in an oubliette."

"Missy, your memory needs fixin'. Who got who outta that cave?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Go on, get. I've got things to do."

"Like looking at yourself? Whatcha got that stuff on your face for, anyway? Ya never used to wear it."

"What's wrong with everyone today? It's not that weird!"

Hoggle knew better than to stay when Sarah was working herself into a mood. "Whatever ya say, Sarah. The fairies are callin'." His face and voice faded away.

Sarah gave herself one last rebellious look in the mirror. "It's not odd. Girls do it all the time." Her reflection nodded at her decisively. She hit the switch in a huff and took herself off to school.

"Oh, Sarah, you look so nice today!" She mimicked, scrunching up her nose. "What's the big occasion?" Her backpack collided with the wall of her room as she tossed it aside to collapse on the bed. "Who's the lucky guy?"

She growled her frustration into her pillow. What was it about her and wearing makeup that made people feel it was necessary to comment? She did it all the time!

No you don't. A voice niggled at her. You've only worn it ten times in your life, and one of them was during that dream-ball in the Underground, so it doesn't count.

"Shut up," she mumbled.

It is a little uncharacteristic. Admit that, at least.

"It is not!"

Liar.

"I'm talking to myself," she said with a sigh. She flipped herself over so she was staring up at the ceiling. "Fine, so it's not normal for me. Who cares? I can wear what I want." An image of a pale set of lips, stretched into a thin smirk, flashed through her mind. They were matched with the vision of two blue, otherworldly eyes.

Sarah sat straight up. The lips. The eyes. The… makeup.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Jareth wears more makeup than I do."

She tore herself away from the ill-abused pillow and nearly careened into her vanity's mirror in an attempt to look at herself. "They're right. I don't wear eyeliner. I never do." An image of the king in full regal regalia danced on the cusp of her consciousness. The sequins, the hair—with blue glitter in it!—the shiny pink lip-gloss, the eye shadow, the leggings…

An idea began to form in the corner of her mind, but as of yet it was only an inkling. I bet no one makes a fuss when he wears eyeliner.

After giving herself one last look in the mirror, Sarah huffed out a sigh and took herself off to the bathroom to fetch a wet rag and some makeup remover.

On the following Saturday, Sarah took to ripping apart her closet. Heaped high on her bed as a result of her adventure was a pile of jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and blouses. On top of them draped two skirts and one pair of black dress pants—all of this was topped with three dresses, one of which was badly dirtied and falling apart at the seams.

From her chair in front of the vanity mirror, she looked at her stash in wonder. "That's it? Three dresses… Wait, no, the pale green one doesn't count… Two dresses and two skirts? Some blouses?" She fixed a critical eye on the less fancy pieces of clothing—the majority of your wardrobe, really—and frowned. Then she put her head in her hands and groaned.

"Fair damsel, what prompts thee to sigh so sadly?" Sir Didymus's kindly face appeared in the mirror.

"I didn't call you," Sarah mumbled, though she lifted her head with such a look of entreaty that the small knight felt absolved of any invasion of her privacy.

"Forgive me, dear lady, if I have roused thee from a fine sulk. Your distress called me thus." He put a paw up to the surface of the mirror, unwilling to step through and startle her. "Dost thou feel up to sharing?"

Sarah considered Sir Didymus through moist, bright eyes. He would either understand, or he wouldn't; if he didn't, Sarah realized, the worst that could happen was that he passed it onto Hoggle, and Hoggle definitely wouldn't understand. There wasn't much to lose.

"Sir Didymus, have you ever seen me in a dress?"

"My lady? I don't follow."

"It's a silly question, I know. But could you answer me? Please?"

"I cannot recall," he said haltingly.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Can't recall, as in 'no'? Or can't recall, as in 'I'm not telling'?"

"I have not cast mine eyes on thee in a dress, no," he admitted.

Sarah's smile was fleeting, and cheerless. "What about makeup?"

Didymus's brows furrowed in confusion.

Even in her sadness, Sarah couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly. "You know, like… unnatural colors? On my face, or around my eyes, or on my lips…"

"Ah, like what His Majesty wears?"

Sarah's expression crumpled. "Yes, exactly," she whispered.

"I beg your forgiveness, fair damsel, but I have not had that pleasure." He tilted his head slightly to the side in quizzicality. "Why dost thou ask of such things?"

Sarah's expression was closed and remote. "Just wondering." Her smile was forced. "Nothing special."

"If thou art sure." His head turned slightly to the side, as if listening to something far away. "Mine brother is calling. The Bog awaits my protection. By your leave…"

Sarah nodded. "Bye, Didymus."

"Chin up, maiden," he replied warmly, before fading away.

She turned to face her clothes.

"Maiden," she murmured in self-deprecating jest. "You say that so often, Didymus. I wonder what your basis of comparison is."

Sarah wasn't a scientifically inclined student, but she knew a proven hypothesis when she saw one. Over the last week, she had taken stock of the girls in her school, and what she saw distressed her.

There were a gaggle of maybe ten girls out of her entire class—there were only 150 in total—that wore jeans and t-shirts as consistently as she did, but even then, those girls were known for sporting some kind of cosmetic, be it eyeliner, blush, or eye-shadow, at least two days out of the school week. Sarah knew herself to be the only one who consistently wore no skirts or dresses, and the only one to go a full week without any kind of makeup on her face.

She had tried on her dresses at home, in the hope that maybe she could wear one to school, but she felt so out of place in them that she nearly tore them off in disgust. The pale green one she used to playact in especially made her cringe. I only ever wore this with jeans underneath, anyway.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Part of her—the part she considered the heroine of the Labyrinth and the equal of the Goblin King—was proud of her unwillingness to fall in with the rest of her sex. She was an adventurous, successful conqueror of magical mazes; dresses weren't practical when you were fighting the Goblin Army. Another part of her—the teenage girl part that wanted to be asked on dates and maybe kissed once or twice before her 30th birthday—despaired at her inability to fit in. And to add insult to injury, it was evident the Goblin King was more versed in the girly arts than she was. That understanding stung a lot more than she cared to think about.

She stood up to look into her mirror; it felt like she was doing that more, as of late, and she didn't like the insecurity it brought to her. The actress in her wanted to take some black paint and toss it, can and all, at the taunting, reflective surface.

Her face was pale, and slightly freckled. Her brows were thick and dark, untamed but still somewhat manageable. As far as teenage blemishes went, she only had a few, and they were unconcealed—almost proud in their slight redness upon her forehead. She was in, as per usual, a pair of slightly tapered jeans, and a flowing white shirt. On her feet was a pair of sturdy, sensible boots.

The idea that had begun to form in her mind after talking with Hoggle and Didymus finally blossomed, its poison flushing through her mind: I'm not very good at being a girl, am I?

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, but the image blurred when she her eyes started to water. At least I don't have to worry about any makeup running. And with that thought, she started to cry.

Jareth stared at Sarah through the crystal ball with a scowl marring his pretty pink lips. He'd watched her for the last two weeks, his concern growing each time he saw her shrink in on herself, her face always etched with a frown because of what she saw in the mirror.

At the sight of her tears, his control gave way. "Enough of this," he snapped, dashing the crystal against the floor. He strode down from his dais and over to the window. "She'll cease her crying immediately, or I'll threaten to have Hogbrain's visiting rights revoked." He grimaced at the thought. "Surely she'll stop then." With a determined tilt to his chin, he stood on the window's ledge and stepped off. An owl's feather was the only indication he'd ever been there in the first place.

Sarah's crying had entered the halting-sobs stage. Her cheeks were wet with tears, though she had already swiped at them numerous times with her trembling hands. She knew she wasn't a pretty crier; her face was probably red and blotchy. The thought only made her heart sink faster.

There came a furious scrabbling from the window. Jolted out of her misery, Sarah froze at the familiar sound. No. Not here. Not now.

Sure enough, there was a white barn owl scratching at the glass, beating his wings in a flurry of feathers. Please, no. I'm imagining this. It's a nightmare. She looked around for a chair to throw.

The owl started to screech, and it was then that Sarah knew she had to make a move, and make it fast. Karen wasn't good with wild animals; if she saw the owl, she'd probably call her husband to get rid of it, and Sarah didn't even want to think about the lengths her father would go to appease the blonde woman.

Her decision made, she rubbed her running nose with her hand before shakily getting to her feet. She was more of a drama queen than she remembered; she must have fallen to the floor in a heap when the tears had started. "Alright, I'm coming," she said, her voice scratchy from crying. With a whoosh, her window was open, and she had a feathery Jareth standing, with hands on hips, next to her bed.

"What could possibly be the matter?" He said.

Sarah's expression was sullen. "Nothing that concerns you, Goblin King." Her voice had yet to return to its full strength; she was left with a whispering sort of husk that she made her feel very small. "What kind of manners are people taught in your realm? This is the third time I've had some Underground citizen stop by unannounced."

"We're all perfect ladies and gentlemen," he deadpanned. "Now what is it that troubles you so?"

If Sarah hadn't had the spirit sucked out of her by her crying jag, she might have laughed at the surreality of the situation. "Three years since I've seen you, and this is the first conversation we have?" She said wryly. "This must be another peach dream." Her brows furrowed. "That would explain why I'm talking to you this calmly, and not hitting you with the nearest heavy object."

"Rest assured, I haven't drugged you, precious."

She let the name slide, unwilling to start a fight. Instead, she decided to change tack. "Why're you here, anyway? I didn't wish anyone away."

Because Sarah wasn't looking very closely, she didn't see his expression turn cagey. "Your distress is very… obvious, at least to certain denizens of the Underground."

"Tell me you can sense my mood," Sarah said darkly. "That'd just make my day."

"Perhaps I'd be more willing to do as you say if you'd cease trying to murder me with your eyes, but as it is, I'm rather busy being afeared for my various body parts. I find myself unmoved."

She snorted. "As you can see," she said, indicating the mess she'd made of her face, "I'm not quite up to a verbal duel today. Glares are the best you're going to get. You should just go." She turned her back on him, awaiting the swish of his wings.

A yank on her hair stopped her in her tracks.

"What was that for?" She cried, spinning to face him.

"I'm trying to get your attention." A self-satisfied smirk was beginning to form on his thin, glittery mouth. "It seems I'm very good at it."

"Yeah, if your basis of comparison is a bully on the playground."

"You wound me," he said dryly.

"Yes, you look so heartbroken."

His lips shifted into a pout, and then a blond eyebrow arched as if to say, try me.

"So you're a good actor. What a surprise."

The hurt expression dropped from his face, replaced with a bored one. "Come, come, Sarah. I'm tired of your dissembling." He perched himself on the edge of her bed, a mere two feet from where she stood in front of him. "Explain your tears or I'll have to take drastic measures."

"What, the Bog? Not scary. The cleaners, perhaps? Done that. The oubliettes have their charm, I guess…"

"Sarah."

"Or maybe you could leave me with the Helping Hands for an indefinite amount of time. Who knows what could happen, then?"

"Sarah—"

"Or maybe a rabid bunch of Fireys? They got pretty frisky last time—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jareth's eyes were glinting with something unknown. "I demand an explanation, and you will give me one. Now."

"I don't owe you anything." Her tone had shifted from forced jollity to dark strength. "Go away."

"You don't mean that," he said, tilting his body forward, shoving his way into her personal space. Even with her standing and him sitting, they were almost eye-to-eye. "I know you don't."

"Who are you trying to convince?" She said with a smirk. "The window's that way." She gave a curt jerk of her thumb to reinforce the point.

"Why do you look so sad when you look in the mirror, Sarah?" His voice had dropped to a low croon.

Her expression closed down. "It's none of your business."

"Then I hereby make it my business, by royal decree."

"You're impossible."

"Why, Sarah? Why won't you tell me?"

"If I didn't tell Hoggle, and I didn't tell Didymus, I'm definitely not telling you."

He was hard-pressed to hide his flinch: to know that his place in the pecking order had not improved one iota certainly rankled. It was difficult for him to remember that three years had passed since they'd last seen each other; he was so used to watching her in the crystals that the meeting didn't seem all that novel—to her, however, him stopping by and acting concerned must have confused her desperately.

"You might find I'm better suited to serious discussions than your other friends," he said neutrally, his fists balled tight inside his gloves.

"I also might find that you're prone to drugging me and sending spinning death machines after me in scary tunnels."

His mouth was set in a firm, thin line. "You were unharmed, weren't you?"

"Physically," she muttered, and then moved to tap the side of her head with an index finger. "But not completely intact."

Jareth's expression was exasperated. "Sarah, you do me an injustice by holding my past against me. I explained this all already, did I not?" His eyes were a fathomless, inky blue. "You cowered before me; I was frightening. Everything I did—"

"You did for me, yes, I know." Sarah looked unimpressed. "Somehow I can't find it in my heart to completely forgive and forget; must be some leftover resentment from you taking my brother."

The insufferable man only smirked.

"But what's said is said," Sarah mocked in a punctuated, faux-British accent.

He might have grit his teeth, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"Just go away, Goblin King." Her arms crossed over her chest in defiance.

"Enough." His expression was fierce and alien; his hair, which had seemed nonthreatening and soft, now retained an edge of spike, as if it had become as brittle as its master's voice. "It is not often I make the trip Above, but when I do, I don't expect it to be in vain. If you want me to depart, then I will go, but not before you tell me what has left you so distraught."

Sarah's eyes were a murky green, her lips taut with anxiety.

"Well?"

"I can't just—"

"She can tell me that I, the most revered figure in the Underground, have no power over her. But gods help us if she's told to talk about her feelings."

"You couldn't possibly understand!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd left those childish temper tantrums behind."

"You must inspire them." There, the quick flash of a smile. Jareth refused to admit that his heart had come ablaze.

"How lucky I am," he drawled, his lips quirking upwards. "Clever, Sarah, to change the subject."

"I wasn't," she protested halfheartedly.

His eyes reflected mocking disbelief.

Sarah turned away from him, to face the mirror. Her perusal of herself was slow and mournful, starting at her feet all the way to the crown of her hair. Then she met his eyes in the mirror, her mouth taut with disapproval.

"What is it, precious?" It was a whisper so delicate, that it felt like feathers on her skin.

"Look at me," she husked, her words soggy with tears.

"I am," he replied, lower and softer than before.

"I'm boyish," she said, with a crack in her voice.

Jareth's eyebrows furrowed.

"You're… you're prettier than me." Sarah's head was bowed. "I'm not feminine. Not at all, not like you."

Jareth inhaled a sharp breath. His knuckles were white inside his gloves. "Are you saying I'm womanly?" This was a harsh growl. "Is this how you treat—"

"No, please," she said, her words sounding wet. "I don't mean to insult you." A sharp laugh. "Though you'd expect it, right?" She hugged herself, curling her back into an imaginary shell. "I don't know your customs; maybe makeup is common down there, I don't know. But up here…" She lifted her head, her expression grim. "Up here, mostly girls wear makeup. But I don't wear it at all." She closed her eyes briefly. "And you wear more than me."

"I fail to see the problem," he gritted out. "Other than the injury to my pride, this conversation is ridiculous."

"I know it seems silly," she said. "But I'm still a teenager, you know? This stuff gets under my skin." She gave her reflection a tight grin. "You know how us foolish mortals are."

His look was piercing and shifty; his eyes flicked over her reflection's face rapidly, as if weighing her words and her expressions. His shoulders, once raised with tension, settled back under his cloud of perfectly-coiffed hair. "Then I shall trust your words." His expression was enigmatic. "Can you afford me the same?"

She turned to face him, then stepped towards him—once, twice, three steps was all it took. She stood a mere half a foot away, their eyes level. She could see the purple and blue eye shadow that tinged his eyelids. "I'll try," she professed.

He offered her a hand, and drew her down to sit next to him, so that they were both facing her mirror. "Look," he said, jerking his chin towards their reflection. "Tell me what you see."

But their reflections were gone. What played instead was a vision of her, in the ballroom, twirling in her white dress. That was replaced with an image of her running through the outer walls of the Labyrinth, her long brown hair flying behind her. Then the sight of her bending down to kiss Hoggle; the fierce look on her face as she questioned the Goblin King and his idea of generosity; her lost expression as she sat in the oubliette. Countless more glimpses of her passed by in the breadth of a second, each one a snapshot of her and her face, or her body, or her kindness.

"Can you still not see?" He asked in muted wonder. "Can you still not realize how transcendent you are?"

A vision of her triumphant expression at solving the dog-guard's puzzle; the uncertainty on her face as she traveled down with the Helping Hands. "Look at you, you said." His voice was far-off and thick. "I have. I do. I am. I see a girl-woman; I see a warrior; I see a kind friend." His eyes shifted back into focus, boring into hers through the mirror. "Precious, I see a queen."

There was a silence for a while, Jareth's words oppressively heavy in the muted room. Every time Sarah tried to open her mouth, her jaw felt wired shut.

Finally, she mumbled, "Do you mean—"

"Read into it what you'd like," he said blithely. "I have time to spare for you to puzzle it out."

"I…" Her mouth shut with a snap. "I don't…"

Jareth's gaze flicked away from her reflection's eyes.

Sarah's hand felt weak but steady as she moved to place it over the knuckles ridged tight in his gloves. It was an odd sensation, watching this all in the mirror. "No, please look. I'm just stunned, is all." There was a small quirk to her lips. "It seems there are times that I can stop talking."

Jareth's mouth couldn't help but reflect hers. "Being devastatingly handsome has its perks."

She rolled her eyes in fake-exasperation. "Humble, too."

"It does bother you," he said abruptly. He raised the hand not trapped under hers, as if to rub the offending glitter off his eyelids.

"No, don't!" Her hand had inadvertently tightened around his. She lowered her voice, "Please don't. It's very…" She blushed.

Jareth's eyes were keen with interest. "Oh, do go on," he nearly purred, a coy smile pulling on his mouth.

Sarah gave him a dark look. "You're the last person on Earth who needs an ego boost." She loosened her hand from his and tucked it into her lap. Her palm felt tingly from the heat of his gloves.

"I deserve it most of all," he stated imperiously. "My pride's been gravely wounded. Calling me womanly, of all things. Lesser men would have stormed out."

One of Sarah's eyebrows quirked upwards. "You're telling me you weren't tempted?"

"Of course not." His expression was haughty. "I knew you'd recognize your mistake, given the time to reconsider." He gave a slight toss of his wispy hair. "Besides, rulers are made or broken on their sense of justice. It wouldn't be fair to leave without an explanation."

"Right, of course," Sarah said, but her tone was dripping with disbelief. Then her expression sobered. "About what you said before…"

It took all of Jareth's much-strained self-control to not glance away from Sarah's inquiring gaze in the mirror. They sat side by side, but he suddenly felt cold, as if the heat source of her body had been cut off from him entirely. He hummed a sharp sound noncommittally, as if waiting for her to elaborate.

"It was…" She paused. "Generous of you."

"The truth is not generous," he replied stiltedly.

"I've seen the women of your kingdom, Goblin King." It was Sarah's eyes that strayed first from the mirror, settling on her lap. "I've seen what they wear, how they act." She took a deep breath. "I don't own corsets. I don't wear lipstick. I don't know how to dance, or curtsy, or anything else that's probably required of all those Underground women. The dress I wore to that ball was the fanciest piece of clothing I'd ever put on in my life." Her voice had become slightly choked. "I can pretend to be a princess," she said, "but it's not who I am. I'm an adventurer."

With each of Sarah's confessions, Jareth felt his heart grow both warmer, and tighter. He, too, took his eyes from the mirror, choosing instead to look down at her beside him, her dark hair covering her face. "Did I show them favor, Sarah? Did I look happier in their arms than I did with you in mine?" Softly, gently, as if afraid she'd jerk away, he reached out to tuck a hank of her hair behind her ear. "You outshone them all, precious thing. And you didn't need a white dress or lipstick to do it."

Sarah lifted her head to look at him, her expression wary.

"Perhaps it was a bit much to see me in full ballroom dress," he said amusedly. "But surely the champion of my Labyrinth is not scared by the new and unknown?"

"I'm not scared," she said hotly.

"No?" He gave an infuriating twitch of his eyebrow.

"No," she stated firmly. "Just…"

"Just scared," he insisted, his voice teasing. "Ah, perhaps the Labyrinth chose wrong. Such a pity."

Sarah's jaw was determinedly set. "You're just trying to get me angry."

"Am I?"

Sarah's expression wavered. "Yes," she said, but it sounded questioning.

He glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone could overhear what he was about to say next. Then he bent close to her ear, and whispered, "Is it working?"

"Yes!" She said in a huff, her arms moving to cross themselves in a snit.

"Good." His look turned innocent. "Then you'll stop with this mirror nonsense." His tone brooked no argument.

"Maybe," she muttered rebelliously.

"You always were the compromising sort," he replied dryly. Contrary to his fighting words, he moved his hand quickly, stroking a light path over her cheek.

Sarah's eyes dropped closed involuntarily.

"Why do you compare yourself to me, Sarah?" He asked gently, continuing to trace delicately, almost hoveringly, over her jaw.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Do my colorings disgust you that much?" He kept his breathing even.

"No," she breathed. "They're…" She opened her eyes, narrowing them in suspicion. "What are you asking, Goblin King?"

He made a pointed act of looking at their bodies, which were mere inches apart. His eyes then drifted to where his fingers rested, by her right temple. "Under the circumstances, perhaps it's time to progress from 'Goblin King' to 'Jareth.'"

"Now who's changing the subject?"

His look was one of exasperation. "Why do you always insist on not playing along?"

"I don't like falling into your traps," she replied blithely.

He removed his hand with a muted sigh. "I think we've said enough tonight." He moved back from her, pulling himself into a standing position.

Sarah looked delicate and fragile as she sat on the bed alone. Her expression was unsure. Instantly, Jareth realized that her teenager-on-the-cusp-of-womanhood sensibility was more delicate than he had expected. "I would stay if I did not think that we both required time to…" He paused to consider his words. "Adjust."

He held out a gloved hand to her, and when she placed hers in his, he felt a shock travel up his arm and down his spine. Definitely the right decision, then. "Will you let me return, Sarah?"

She nodded, the insecurity fading into the braver, more open expression he was used to. The image made his lips quirk upwards in a small glimmer of a smile. "Then goodnight, precious."

Sarah's expression turned coy, which made Jareth's heart stutter in his chest. If she could only see the way she looked right now, he thought, she'd never complain about being unfeminine again. I know that look: the look of woman who knows what she wants. Gods above and below, she'll be the death of me.

"That's it?" She said, her voice sounding disappointed. "No romantic gesture? What happened to 'fear me, love me, do as I say'?"

Jareth's chest got tighter. "It won me no spoils the last time," he replied neutrally, though his thoughts were whirling at the speed of owl wing beats.

"But it's been three years," she said, moving ever so quietly closer to him, until they were toe to toe. Her green eyes glanced up into his with gentle fire. "And you've been so uncharacteristically kind. How can I know this isn't just another peach dream?"

He made an exaggerated show of looking beyond her. "I see no chairs, no dancers, no glitter. Proof enough for you, or shall I go on?"

For all of Sarah's tolerance—admiration, admit it—for his dedication to games and mischief, she was tired of his dissembling. The eighteen year old was angling for proof of his passion beyond a gentle stroking of her cheek. "I'm convinced," she said sweetly, tilting her neck back farther to look at him fully.

Jareth's expression turned knowing. "Are you really?"

"That this isn't a dream, yes. Of the others things you've said, I'm not so sure…"

"One mustn't doubt the king," he said imperiously. His head bent until it filled her entire vision.

At the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, it took a conscious effort not to slam her eyes shut. Every ounce of her bravery had evaporated in the face of this newly intimate situation. Even the lights of her room seemed dark and muted, as if they were both suspended in a room of dusk when there should have been sunlight. One of the perks of being magical, she figured. Instant mood lighting.

While she was thinking these thoughts, her control had slipped, and her eyes had fallen shut. Closer still, she felt Jareth exhale softly, almost shakily, and then there was a brush of warm, thin, soft lips against the leftmost corner of her mouth, and all thoughts were lost.

When she opened her eyes, her room was empty, her window open; the curtains framing it danced gently in the wind. There was no sign of the blond king, and no glitter on the ground to mark his entrance or exit.

The only sign of his visit was the two indentations at the end of her bed, and a new, ornate blanket that draped over her mirror, blocking the view of her reflection.

Slowly, her mind shifted from its treacle-slow thought processes into more rapid cognition. She reached out with the tip of her tongue, brushing it against the left dip of her mouth. It tasted of strawberries.

She threw a look of disgusted incredulity at the open window, before moving to shut it. "Really, Jareth?" Her eyes were torn between dancing with merriment and darkening in disbelief. "Flavored lip-gloss?"

x x x