Long time, no see everyone! I wrote this on the fly the other day after working on Lethe's Fool, which should have a new chapter out very, very soon. Trust me, I haven't forgotten.
I'm contemplating on expanding this, doing a new chapter every time we come to a holiday, as an experiment to see what I can come up with, but if not it can stay wrapped up neatly in its own little chapter. Tell me what you think.
Happy New Year's! Cheers!
E. Jane
It had been a bad idea. A horrible, conscience-twisting, vendetta gone wrong. The original concept had been a brilliant thing, really, but Sarah should have known better than to play with a fire that was equally matched to her own. And, to top it all off, she had had a little…alcoholic persuasion on her end of things.
New Year's Eve had started normally enough, or as well as it could where her family was involved. Toby, the little goblin, had already planted salt in the sugar bowl, much to Karen's horror, hid the place-setting name cards for the dinner, and decided that, rather than be found with his hand in the cookie jar, he should simply hide said jar away all together.
Sarah, though she loved the boy dearly, sought some semi-selfish refuge in her room. Selfish because Karen was already in a tizzy and could use Sarah to distract the unruly eight-year old, but only semi because this had been the first chance escape had been offered all week, and she really, really needed to handle some issues.
"Hoggle, I need you."
Her scabby friend appeared in the mirror, arms akimbo over his chest, scowling a dark, frustrated look.
"I don' have time fer ya, little missy. Not today, of all days, when-"
"Hoggle," she pleaded, "please, please don't be a sour grape about this. You know as well as I do that just waltzing back Underground is not a good idea right now. I only have a few more days with my family."
Carefully she watched his expression register hurt from her blatant refusal, just as he had tried refusing her, then switch to a mollified softness. "Sarah, I's sorry," was his resigned sigh. "'s just, with the rat all up to no good, throwing these wild parties of 'is, and me not seeing ya as often…"
Sarah's heart quivered guiltily though she could no more reach out and hug Hoggle than he could step into her world. Not today, at least.
The dwarf shook his head and continued, "Somethin' wrong? I thought ya'd be busy with yer own party," he nodded toward her bedroom door."
She winced as a crash came from downstairs, followed by the unmistakable pitter-patter of a child's feet fleeing up the stairs to safety. Moments later Karen's strangled wail permeated the air.
"I'm taking a break," she smiled, trying to put on a happy face, "but I couldn't let today go by without making up with you. You know how sorry I am that I can't come." The sincerity in her voice seemed to make the dwarf understand, at least a little better, where she was coming from.
Hoggle opened his mouth to say something before swiveling his head sharply to the left. It was a trait of the communication device that Sarah hated, being able to see her friend but know nothing of his surroundings. There were countless mirrors in the Goblin Kingdom he could be contacting her from. His eyes had widened in momentary fear before he turned back to the mirror.
"Look, missy, I's got to go, company," he mumbled. Her blood iced over, contemplating the dark way he had labeled his visitor. "But," he continued a bit more cheerily, "remember the time fluctuations 'tween the worlds. If you's not completely worn out, drop by. Didymus's not the same without you…damned feathered hat 'o his droopin' all the time…"
Sarah stifled a laugh and nodded. "Thanks."
He waved before the mist in the mirror took him, and she waved back until there were no traces of her friend's reflection. Once she was certain to be alone, Sarah slumped back in her vanity chair, letting a puff of air escape. "Wait," she mouthed, glancing again at the mirror. "Wild parties…"
"Well."
Hoggle started to groan, and then swallowed the better part of it down.
"Hedgewart, Hedgewart." The disappointed sneer was coming from somewhere behind him. "What, my traitorous friend, are you up to?"
He didn't want to turn around and see the lazy grin, or the angry gaze that would send him to the bog in a single blink.
"Yer majesty," he growled, keeping his eyes to the carpet as he looked over one gnarled shoulder.
The boots were unmistakable, one crossed luxuriantly over the other on the replica of Sarah's bed. True, the room had stayed exactly the same as when she was fifteen, though she had changed it years ago. The vanity was still in its appointed position, which found Hoggle here in the first place, but he couldn't imagine what in the Underground Jareth was gaining by lazing on the other side of the room.
"Higgle," the voice warned. "What, pray tell, are you doing in this particularly forbidden room?"
It had taken a few moments, but Hoggle finally worked up the nerve to face his sovereign.
"I should be askin' ya the same question."
Jareth's toothy grin turned cold. He was reclined fully on the bed, toying with the odd canopy erected above him, running the trim through his gloved fingers. At Hoggle's accusation he froze, his leather-clad chest of maroon barely rising.
"What I do in my rooms is none of your concern, cretin. But," he closed his eyes, dropping the material and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, "what you do in them is something I am rather entitled to know." When he opened his eyes again Hoggle felt himself cower, both inwardly and outwardly. He hated, hated, how hard it was to lie to the rat.
Nothing came to his mind that was not quite a lie and not quite a truth.
"You've been talking with her again, haven't you."
It wasn't a question. The surprisingly soft statement made Hoggle look up again from the worn carpet. He realized, in a fleeting moment of understanding, that the carpet was worn in two distinct places right in front of the vanity, as if someone had stood there repeatedly over a long period of time. Hell, it hadn't been him…chancing the risk of talking with Sarah was something he did very sporadically. Besides, his feet were not shaped like boots.
And Jareth… He was frowning at his hands, which dangled uselessly over his knees, his proud, narrow shoulders slumped forward as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Answer me, dwarf."
Hoggle didn't know which was more frightening: the loud, roaring, mercurial creature that was his king, or the hurt, rejected shell of a Fae sitting on the bed.
"Ya knew?" he strangled, hating the way it came out.
"Of course I knew," Jareth spat with surprising venom before his gaze fell weak again. He lifted his head and looked past the dwarf, through him almost, to the mirror beyond. "I have stood before that mirror every single blasted time that girl is on the other side," he raged anew, striking a hand on the mattress. "Never, not once, has she acknowledged my presence."
It was almost heartbreaking, in its own twisted way, that his king was so damnably besotted with the only thing he couldn't have. But Hoggle knew when to take his chance at opening wounds—the opportunity didn't arise often, if ever, especially when it came to Jareth.
"That," the little man snorted, "is because she ain't called ya, yer majesty."
The thought seemed to have never occurred to Jareth before and, thank the gods above, instead of enacting some terrible retribution for his subject's insolence, Jareth slumped farther onto the bed with a vacant expression.
"She…" he mumbled to the ceiling, "has to call me." His brow furrowed, and Hoggle instantly became aware of the path his thoughts had taken. "I am subjected to the wiles and whims of that…that…" Suddenly he sat up, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger at the dwarf. "You."
"What?" Hoggle looked around wildly, sensing the powerful anger collecting on the other side of the room. "I ain't done nothin'!" He backed away, bumping squarely into the vanity, and all the trinkets on the top clinked noisily.
"She won't call me," the king spat, his finger still pointed like a deathly blade at Hoggle, "but she will call you, a traitor not only to the throne, but to herself as well?"
More than anything, Hoggle was shocked at the way he sprang from the bed, tearing at the canopy and sheets like a caged animal, smashing the clock on the bedside table. It still read the hour that Sarah had wished away the boy, frozen forever in the moment of her decision. Really, he was surprised that Jareth's hands weren't around his scaly neck right now.
A deadly calm settled over the room, only the labored breath of the king, and a startled choke or two of Hoggle's, remaining. With a sudden renewal of anger Jareth turned to smack one gloved palm on the wall, letting it slide down in defeat.
"I've tried to forget her…in so many ways." His forehead was against the wall now, stubbornly turned away from his subject. "But every way I turn, every inch of my own Labyrinth, reeks of her, of her victory, of…what I offered."
Hoggle had never felt pity for Jareth. Not ever. But here he was, un-kicked as of yet, while his haughty king was mourning in weakness before him.
"And she's been back. Several times. Don't lie to me," he growled suddenly, turning from the wall to stare at Hoggle, "I know. I've felt her here. And every time I come within an inch of touching her you take her away."
So he had known. The three of Sarah's loyal companions had been sneaking her Underground for years. They had been pleasantly surprised by Jareth's ignorance, or perhaps indifference. She was supposed to have come down again tonight, but those plans had been cancelled… Hoggle saw that the decision had been made with good reason. Who knew what Jareth would do if they came within one hundred feet of each other?
"So," the dwarf ventured, seeing this temporary fragility as a window of opportunity, "that's what these parties is all about?"
Jareth grimaced and turned away. "At first. I've tried putting her out of my mind, replacing her with…more available company. But every time," he snarled, "those damn innocent eyes of hers torment me, and all I can see is her, all I can hear and taste and feel is…Sarah…"
This was getting a little too intense for him, but Hoggle pressed on. Turning coward now would only anger Jareth, and he would have wasted a rare opportunity to shed light on some things.
"Didya think it any wonder she won' come back? What, with that kind 'o behavior?" Bravely he swallowed the apology forming in his mouth. "Why still keep it up, then?"
"Because I can't live within her," he lamented quietly. With an acute hardness he looked up, the angles of his face sharpened in anger. "No more."
Confused, Hoggle, gripped the edge of the vanity as Jareth rose to stalk closer. "Eh?"
"No more," he repeated, standing alarmingly close, well within striking range. "You are never to come here again, you are forbidden to interact with the mortal girl Sarah Williams, and I will not tolerate any defiance." Hoggle could swear the temperature had dropped twenty degrees between them, and felt the ice practically forming in Jareth's gaze. "Am. I. Understood?"
Hoggle knew the defeat was absolute this time. Jareth had been lenient in the punishment of his subjects' betrayals, but he was too wounded to see that his angry, selfish actions did no good, and of late they had escalated. He would play the submissive servant for now, or else Sarah would be in more imminent danger.
Jareth took his silence as affirmation. "Get out."
The dwarf scuttled to the door, opened it, and dashed out into the winding paths of the junkyard.
For a moment Jareth surveyed the outside world, so different from this room, and then closed the door with a wave of his hand. It locked automatically, a barrier spell erecting itself over the door and windows, and he took a dejected seat on the bed again. He ignored the torn canopy, the smashed clock, his broken heart… Quietly he lay out the full length of the bed, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.
"Sarah…"
One of Sarah's acquirements from the Labyrinth, besides the many moral lessons, was a well concealed secret and, quite often, a curse. There was many a time when she felt the world slow down, almost as if it had stopped spinning completely. It occurred most frequently when she was alone and puzzling over something. Something important. She would feel vaguely as if time itself had chosen to stand still and she was free to wade in her own thoughts. After a while she learned to control the oddity to her advantage, preferring to think of it as such rather than the more troubling option of…say, certain powers. Very rarely was she late, normally she was well rested after an extended sleep, and sometimes she would even indulge herself in those sparse little moments of pure happiness. It was easier to capture fleeting feelings when she had time enough to analyze them properly, and equally as easy to form a reaction. The drawback, though, was the increasing feeling of detachment from her own world. She sensed little pieces of it sliding away from her every day.
It was very clearly one of those times. She had been sitting in her vanity chair for well over an hour, staring at the mirror before her, and no one had felt it necessary to question her absence downstairs. Granted, they were busy, but there was also no noise in the house, or outside her sunny window, and the shadows refused to elongate or shrink with the waning day. In fact, the day looked remarkably unchanged for the greater portion of her time in the room…
"Hmm…"
There was a tickling in her skull. She wasn't absolutely sure why it was there, yet it presented itself more fully with each growing second.
"Wild…parties…"
She wasn't sure what to label the emotion that was riding in her stomach. Hoggle had told her all of the Labyrinth's strange happenings when he could, seeing as how her visits Underground had become fewer with the last several months. His tales included some of the elaborate, fiendishly decadent parties the king had been throwing as of late, and Sarah bit her lip recalling the way her friend had blushed and stammered in the mirror.
For the life of her, Sarah could not put a finger on why the concept of a party in the castle riled her so. Perhaps she felt a little…put out.
It didn't seem to matter to her that not only had she refused all of the Goblin King's offers, but she had refused him as well. It also didn't seem of any consequence that she hadn't laid eyes on him in years, and her friends had made sure she was protected from him at all cost. Did she just expect him to swallow his wounded pride and rebuild the bridges they had burnt, all in some effort to satisfy her selfish needs?
Ah, she moaned inwardly. Here we go.
Yes, this is what the emotion was. Self-pity. Maybe a touch of self-loathing, too. Although it hurt, Sarah understood his need for companionship… God only knew how fiercely she had hunted for some of her own here Above. But, she admonished herself, how well did all of those relationships go?
No, she wouldn't think about it. She was being selfish and spoiled to ask someone who was very clearly her enemy, who was also perfectly happy, no doubt, to be miserable just because she was.
"I am not miserable," she argued with herself. "I'm just in a slump."
A seven year slump? her conscience probed. A seven year slump with the first five holding out for some impossible dream, then jumping into the world as a whore when you didn't get your way?
Ouch. That hurt.
Truth hurts, the voice intoned.
And absolutely none of it had been worth the wait. Prince charming was quite obviously dead, and he had also taken every possible opportunity for love with him. He had ruined all other men for Sarah, and she hated him for that.
"I hate you," she hissed at the mirror. "I really do." With each new word she wondered if she was trying to talk to someone beyond the mirror or her own reflection. It didn't matter any more. "Well," she sighed, and then she turned from her vanity and huffed down on the bed.
Jareth was sensing an upset, fairly disturbing aura emanating from the vanity. He didn't remove himself from the bed, instead simply magicking it to face him and cocking his head in order to see it better. What wavered to the surface of the glass was the image he had come searching for, but at the moment there was nothing but pain to be received for something so maddeningly near, yet so far.
"I hate you."
He flinched at her cold eyes, feeling them bore straight into his own. Surely not…she hadn't called…
"I really do."
The image faded inexplicably and Jareth stared blankly at the wall, some fire stirring in agitation between his spine and ribcage.
The bed, she noted, felt strange. Lower, almost, as if her weight was causing it to sink. "Odd," she mumbled, shifting a little.
There was also a growing sense around her, something strangely familiar, and very compelling… Quietly she laid herself onto the old mattress. She could imagine a velvet voice in her ear purring, "It hurts, doesn't it, princess? It hurts to be alone."
She waved the imaginary voice away and clenched her eyes. Yes, dammit, it hurt. She almost wished…
"No," she said aloud forcefully, opening her eyes. "No. I won't fall for that trap." A sigh escaped her lips and she glanced at the vanity, mildly wondering how long she could suspend time for. A quick nap? A quicker romp to the Underground?
Not wise, not wise…
Sarah squinted at the vanity mirror at the same time that a heavy, warm pressure settled over her stomach. Something was not right in the reflection…
The way Sarah had rearranged her room was a bit peculiar, but it was a small space and things had gotten squished in at odd angles just to make them fit. This afforded her a nice view from where she lay into her mirror, displaying a good portion of the room and, in Karen's advice, making the room appear larger. But something in the reflection didn't belong, and it had one arm draped lazily over her waist.
She froze. Her mouth moved in protest when she looked behind her and saw only the coverlet. When her eyes sought the mirror again he was still there, and when his hand began to make soothing circles over her hip she could feel them.
"Sarah, Sarah," she heard him croon in her ear, "what a nice surprise. How generous of you to invite me into your bed."
In some dislocated part of her brain Sarah felt herself blanch, while another, more acutely aware section began to take notice of other various warm body parts pressed against her back.
"But," she whispered, "I didn't."
In the mirror Jareth propped himself up on one elbow, choosing to view her from a higher vantage point. His fingers skittered along her side, eliciting a shudder. "It seems you did."
Without thinking Sarah thrust a hand back and was met with the solid contact of skin. Fascinated, she watched as Jareth leaned his cheek into her hand, turning slightly to kiss the delicate skin of her palm. "You're real. Sort of," she amended, and then a sickly feeling crept into her abdomen. "Get out of my bed!" She rolled onto her side, briefly saw the bare wall, and then tumbled out of the bed and onto the floor.
"Sarah, I was not finished," Jareth admonished from the mirror. "Darling, you can't honestly believe that I would be able to touch you if you did not…" He hesitated for a moment and licked his lips. "Want it."
Her eyes went foggy. How in the… No, that didn't matter right now. "You," she glared at the mirror, crossing her arms over her chest, "stay the hell out of my bed." She felt vaguely self-traitorous, especially with every inch of her skin protesting wildly, perhaps staging a coup.
His countenance, so lively moments before, turned dark. "As you command, Sarah. Though I must warn you…" At this his thin lips turned up into a smirk. "If I am not allowed in your bed, you will not be allowed in mine. Of course," he pressed forward, clearly enjoying the rage etching lines in her face, "that opens a whole new world of possibilities, and places…"
"Sick bastard! Get out of my room!" she swore.
"Love, I'm not technically in your room," he grinned, reclining once more on the bed. Jareth crossed one booted foot over the other and bounced it jovially. "You are going to regret, very much, my girl, refusing your own offer."
Oh, she felt sick…every time she blinked the image in the mirror would waver, jumping back and forth between her room and the one from her fifteenth year. Jareth's figure and her own stood stationary, but with each passing second the rooms were blurring into one another.
"Why don't you," she struggled with the words, feeling her stomach roil, "go invite one of your own guests to your bed, hmm, Jareth?" He stilled, unnaturally so. "Pfft, like I didn't know. Please. Now get," she made a pushing motion with her hands, "and I never want to see you in any of my rooms, ever again."
Jareth disappeared, only to reappear in front of her in the mirror. His reflection was poised at her back in the reflection, and he gently swept her hair to the side. She could hear the flex of his leather gloves, smell the bestial aura he emanated…
"And I never want to see you in mine. Stay out of my kingdom," he hissed, "out of my castle, and yes, sweetling. Out of my bed."
He watched the mirror for several more seconds after he had broken the magical connection from his end. Sarah looked dazed, and confused, and…amazingly, beautifully angry.
"For now," Jareth winked as he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the wooden door behind him.
The party was going swimmingly, that was for sure. All of guests were chattering away, Karen was flitting between and around, eagerly offering her prepared snacks, Robert was chortling at a joke a client of the law firm's had made, and Toby was running wild, blissful, enjoying the wonderful abandon of childhood with several of his peers.
Sarah was miserable.
She downed the better part of a glass of champagne and went back to reclining in a wide chair, listening to several guests argue over politics.
There was no reason for this brooding. Hadn't she told him off? Hadn't he presented her with another tempting offer, with no baby in sight, and hadn't she chosen right again?
What's this "right" business? her mind argued. Are right and wrong set in stone, or are they objective to the situation?
"Not," Sarah mumbled, "helping."
"What was that, dear?" An elderly lady was looking at her owlishly from behind too-large spectacles.
"Ah, nothing, Mrs. Lynch," she said, recovering. "I'm just going to sneak out to the…powder room…"
The lady smiled but said nothing, and Sarah felt slightly awkward under the strained eye contact. She hastily fled the room, finishing off her glass of champagne and reaching for her second on the way. Or was it her third?
Instead of heading toward the bathroom, which she was painfully aware boasted a mirror, she turned into the kitchen. It was vacant for the moment, Karen still playing flattered hostess, and she stole a look at the clock on the wall.
"Heaven sakes," she muttered. "It's nearly time."
"Yes," a voice agreed from the doorway, "only a few more minutes before the new year."
Inwardly Sarah cringed. She didn't have to turn to know who the voice belonged to, but out of politeness looked over her shoulder. "Hello, Tom. I didn't know you'd be here."
He nodded modestly. Tom Stanley worked at the firm, was young, and roguishly handsome. For some time now he had pursued Sarah delicately, playing along with the game her father had set up. It was obvious that he wanted a hand in selecting a husband for his little girl, and who would be better than someone already under his thumb?
"Are you alright?" He sounded genuinely concerned, that she was certain of, but he was so…mellow. There was no fire in Tom, and little passion. Not quite the stuff Sarah had tampered with before, which was, well, disappointing.
She nodded hurriedly. "Oh, yeah, sure. Just getting some air." Gracefully she leaned against the counter, letting the hip of her black cocktail dress dig into a drawer handle. The pain helped a little against the alcohol, but she realized, too late, that this glass was nearly empty, too.
Loud cheering started in the other room, and Sarah heard, as if from far away, the guests counting down from ten. She faltered a bit in her spiked heels, remember another time something had been counted down. As if on cue the clock in the hall began to chime, and Tom was steadying her waist, and the thirteenth bong never came…
An explosion seemed to come from the other room. Whistles, laughs, singing…
"Happy New Year, Sarah…"
Her palms were on the lapels of Tom's coat, and she was more in his arms than against the counter now. He did smell sweet, still like a boy who had yet to be rejected, offended, jaded…
She let him kiss her. Sarah let Tom Stanley give her a sweet lingering kiss for New Year's, a delicate, breakable thing. It was soft. It was warm.
It had absolutely nothing behind it.
In a moment of panic Sarah drew back, disentangling her waist from his hands. She wasn't sure if she called an apology behind her, but she did take off running, slightly cross-eyed, up the stairs.
"He did this to me," she moaned. "He…took these…feelings from me…" Her brain was adamant about who precisely He was. She could have gone into her room in an attempt to sleep off whatever mess she had gotten into, but Sarah was angry now. Angry, and a little more than tipsy. She swept past the landing and right up the second set of stairs, creaking old things that went straight to the attic. "Two can play at that game."
Jareth was enjoying the party immensely. He enjoyed his guests, he enjoyed his food, and he enjoyed the speculations as to why he had yet to dance with any of the ladies.
"Found himself a girl, he has."
"But I was so determined…tonight was going to be my night with the king…"
"Grown up a bit, perhaps?"
"He's bluffing…he'll call one of us out for sure."
He had resigned himself to the throne, content with watching his minions mingle with the rest of the court. The large clock on the wall was steadily approaching the thirteenth hour, and it wouldn't be long before the party was over. When he was alone he would have all evening to plot, and a whole new set of resolutions to carry out…
Sarah had thrilled him. Even past her claim to hate him she had called on him subconsciously. Perhaps that was why he had not formed completely in her realm, but he had been there partially, which meant Sarah had made a partial wish. A wish for him. Oh, how delicious her curves had turned, how wicked her eyes… She was irresistible. She had acted rude, and petulant, but he hadn't expected so good a reaction from her on their first reunion, anyway. Where was the fun in that?
Hoggle noticed the abrupt change in his king's demeanor, but wisely chose to keep silent. It wouldn't do him, nor Sarah, any good to get involved. "Had a bit too much goblin ale," he grumbled. Besides, this blasted party was taking his full energy. There was enough to do without getting in trouble. If he could last for a while longer he could sneak off to his own party where, despite her answer earlier, Sarah would hopefully be.
The clock began its ominous, steady chiming. Jareth observed several Fae girls drawing near in hopes of a little love peck for the New Year. But there was only one set of lips he was inclined to taste, and he could wait. There was time.
That was the beauty of the whole thing, he thought as he bowed before his guests, quietly dismissing himself for the night. Sarah had banished him from her rooms, which he would observe out of an odd sort of decency that had crept up on him, but he would most certainly contact her elsewhere. She could not stay holed up in that house forever, which, he smiled, wasn't even really hers, but her father's. Still. The pure and simple fact that she had called made a world of difference, and Jareth was determined to see what other fascinating things might ensue from their interactions.
He let himself into his bedchambers, momentarily relishing the quiet and the dark. Inside his closet he disrobed out of the stiff, cumbersome outfit he had worn to the party and into a more comfortable robe. When he turned back to his room he frowned, quite unaware of ever having lit a candle.
Sarah plowed through trunk after trunk of Linda's, carelessly throwing aside items that would prove useless to her…objective. She had felt time slow to a standstill as soon as she set foot in the attic and silently thanked her lucky stars. There wasn't much time as things stood.
After several minutes of careful, if inebriated, calculations, Sarah swaggered back down to her room. Hastily she opened her bedroom door, locked it behind her again, and sent the contents of her vanity spilling to the floor when she climbed through the fuzzy mirror.
The soft glow was emanating from his bed chambers, just inside the drapes that were drawn snuggly around the wooden posts. Oh, he did not need this tonight, some little tramp trying to weasel her way into bed with the Goblin King…
Before his hands ever reached the chord to draw them back, the curtains flew open from the inside. Jareth choked, frozen in a state of shock and…
Well.
The candlelight was flowing over a shapely figure lying unperturbed in the middle of his bed. Her chocolate tresses, previously wound up into a neat French twist, hung in curls over her shoulders. Her dress…her dress…was something not even the Goblin King could have imagined, a concoction of grey leather and suede, provocatively short, strappy, and barely tied together with a series of ribbons. On her legs were boots of the same grey, a lethal-looking heel appointed to each, and she had crossed one over the other, letting a length of thigh peek out at him.
And, for very well the first time in his life, the Goblin King did not know what to say.
"I thought I told you," he managed huskily, "to stay out of my bed, little girl!"
Finally she turned to acknowledge him, taking her eyes from inspecting her claw-like nails. "Which is exactly," she slurred, "why I'm here."
It was hard to miss the glazed look in her eye. "Sarah," he raged, completely mortified at having his own game turned against him, "you are intoxicated!"
"Yes," she sighed, letting her eyes linger on all the right places of his body. "Yes, I am."
Quickly he spun a crystal out of thin air, crushing it in a hand that was still sheathed in black leather. "Not anymore."
As soon as Jareth had blown the shards over her, Sarah knew she was in trouble. She felt awareness creeping over every inch of her skin, like tiny crawling cockroaches, and her vision was clearing and adjusting to the candle she had lit.
Jareth gave a smug laugh as her eyes widened in fear. "Where has your confidence gone, precious, without your liquid courage? What were you intending to happen once I came traipsing back to bed, hmm?" He crossed his arms and leaned on one of the wooden posts, recovering enough to enjoy the sight before him. "Still playing dress up, I see."
Sarah was still angry at him, and at herself, for an odd number of reasons, and her clearing mind was both berating and congratulating her.
"You can't just order me out of your life!" she snapped finally, sitting up on the bed.
"You mean like you ordered me out of yours?" he barked in return, leaning over the side of the bed and gripping a thigh in each hand.
"No," she growled, "not like that. I waited for seven years…seven miserable years, and I am going to get what's coming to me now."
He was more than surprised at her ire, her misinterpreted view of the situation, and the way that both of her hands were knotted in the front of his robe.
"And if you aren't going to come to me," she finished, wriggling out of his grasp to stand, "then I'm sure as hell coming to you."
She looked like she wanted to hit him. Jareth couldn't say the same about his own expressions…they were changing a mile a minute.
Eventually his gaze turned predatory, feral, and he snaked a hand into her hair. "Again," he breathed, "what, my dear, was the occasion for this delightful getup you're in? And why," he growled, tugging a little so that her face looked up into his, "couldn't we have settled this several hours ago?"
"Because," she panted. "Because I was going to kick whatever hussy you had invited out of your bed, and then make you peel off every inch of this costume with your teeth. And," she said softer, "because there's still a spoiled brat inside of me who can't face the truth."
He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. But he sure could move, and in a flash they had toppled onto the bed and both of Sarah's hands were pinned high above her head.
"I am going to make you face every truth you've ever ignored," he growled, sliding his lips over the skin of her neck. "Every nightmare, every waking fantasy…"
One of her wrists dislodged from his hands and she tugged urgently on the neck of his robe, forcing his face to hover over hers. She kissed him, long and full and with a passion, a real passion, that he returned so fast it made her toes curl. "And then," she panted, rolling and pushing so that she was hovering over him, "I'm going to return the favor."
"In that case," he smirked, easily undoing the knot of leather at her bosom, "we better get started. That's a long way to go."
"I wouldn't worry about that." She was pleased, more than pleased, at the reaction raking her nails up his rib cage was causing. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, Goblin King. We can slow time way, way down." More and more of the costume was falling away, leaving flesh to brush flesh. She loved how the skin of his chest tasted, and his neck, and his lips…
After a particularly breathy gasp he rolled over again, pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his body. "I promise you, little vixen, that you are going to get exactly what's coming to you. Right," he lowered his mouth to hers. "Now."
It had been a good idea. A stupid, impulsive, mistake-turned-lucky. The original concept might have been a little foolhardy, but Sarah was more than willing to test just how well they were equally matched.