"So, we meet again, Magnus Bane?"

The dim, dank room was only lit by a single candle placed in between the two of them. Every single flicker of the candle, every small dance of its flame caught intense shimmer of Magnus's heavy makeup.

"This was our deal, Jareth," his coy smirk was the most illuminated feature of his face. "Every four years we meet up. And it seems you didn't much protest returning to me."

Jareth shook his head, pushing a straight, thin lock of hair behind his ear. His bi-colored eyes met Magnus's, which spoke a tale that spanned hundreds of years Jareth had exceeded. He swallowed hard, and snapped his fingers smoothly.

"I didn't plan on returning in only two years, Magnus. Your immortality potions are becoming weaker and weaker. I demand a stronger potion, for what I am paying you." His voice was calm, but the slightest demanding tone was oozing it's way through his mellowed facade.

Magnus sat back in his seat, smirking, a golden glimmer shining in his eyes. "I didn't expect these rapid-aging effects would take their toll so soon." He was mocking Jareth, and as the king of the goblins, he would not stand for that.

"Only once again will I ask you kindly. I demand a stronger potion, or I shall sic my goblins on you," his voice turned cruel in only a second.

A shrug across Magnus's lanky shoulders caused a slight twitch in his left arm, but he shook it off, awaiting the powerful warlock's response.

"Those weak-minded fellows? That wouldn't even intimidate me if I were a whiny teenage girl." Magnus cackled gently.

Jareth growled gently. "You will not mock my defeat, Magnus. I know ways of initiating your downfall."

"You don't have the guts."

He cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

"I wouldn't be so assured, if I were you." Jareth stood up, taking the potion Magnus had passed to him earlier. "And, for the time being, I may as well up the dosage."

Magnus watched as Jareth took a larger sip of the rosy potion than was originally given, and he watched in mild fascination as every wrinkle, bag, frown line, and crease of his forehead faded, giving back his youthful appearance in almost moments.

Jareth stood in front of one of Magnus's many blackened windows, gazing proudly at his reflection.

"Hm, maybe I should be the High Warlock of Brooklyn, aye?" He turned, crossing his arms over his chest, a corner of his mouth turned up in satisfaction.

Magnus shook his head, standing up and impatiently tapping the table.

"You might as well be going, I have a party to set up."

Jareth grinned, a gentle cackle resonating through the air as he slammed the door shut behind him, disappearing the moment the blazing sun touched his skin.

Magnus fell down back into his seat, shaking his head and rubbing his temples.

"That bastard needs to learn what it's like to be me. . ."

"Parties every night, hangovers every morning, and on rare occasions working because your services are needed?" A small, slightly-coy sounding voice chimed in from the kitchen only inches away.

Magnus jolted a little, and turned, grinning.

"You blend in so smoothly, Alec," he stood up, and wrapped his arms around Alec's waist, kissing his cheek.

"I didn't want to interrupt your business, Maggie-Waggie." He giggled gently, sipping his black coffee slowly.

"Not as ridiculous a name as Jareth."

"No, Ziggy is a ridiculous name," Alec retorted.

Magnus nodded, grinning and gently nibbling Alec's ear. "That's pretty true. Now, is my pretty boyfriend going to help me with my party or sit here and act like he's so clever?"

Alec grinned. "I'll judge every guest, no matter if you like them or not."

"Well thank you for being snarky, it helps," Magnus kissed his cheek again, before smirking and whispering into his ear.

"You remind me of the baaaaabe~"