A/N: Full chapter title: Of decorations, and a royal pain in the arse
He emerges into the human realm and onto the Williams' property in a flourish of white wings, but carefully – always cautious these days. There have been too many sudden entrances; one such incident where he startled his beloved fresh from her shower, leaving her wet towel pooled on the floor between them, and his smile curving upward into the heavens. A particularly vicious threat upon his family jewels was made that day, and so caution has been a necessity ever since. His hearing is made sharper in his current form, and so he lurks without, listening for running water and hearing none. He does, however, hear the faint sound of singing, and so ducks to peer through the wide kitchen window.
At a distance, he sees her for the first time in months, and his heart is warm and glad. She's on the opposite side of the house, busying herself in the living room, her lips parted in song. She does not see him, but she's smiling, as well as singing to herself. It's as good an invitation as any. With a nod, the kitchen window is open to him; with another, he is indoors, and once again resplendent as his more natural, more appealing self. Pausing before the window, he gives his reflection a quick once-over, pale fingers fluffing at his hair. He picks non-existent lint off his person as he strides further into the house, easy confidence carrying his steps. He pauses once more in the doorway to fully take her in.
His beloved is now bent over quite enticingly, rummaging through a large cardboard box of trinkets. The room around her is decorated in the manner humans think traditional, dominated by a large tree, which is decked out in brightly-coloured baubles. Only the tiniest sprig of mistletoe he sees is familiar to him, snatched up between his fingers with a sly grin. Every other available surface is covered with fake snowflakes, glitter, and numerous depictions of the same red and grinning face – 'Saint' Nicholas, yet again. He gives the closest miniature figure – a gaudy and quite charmless statuette whose eyes seem to follow him – a little sneer, and tries to put the man from his mind. It's rather difficult, though. He's rather intrigued by the words that leave his Sarah's mouth – some terribly suggestive little ditty about a certain Santa Claus becoming stuck in a chimney, fat and round, not quite up and not quite down.
As she practically giggles this last, her delightful little bottom swaying back and forth to some beat only she can hear, Jareth starts to worry for the directional state of his own breeches. He's so pleased to see her – all of her – after so long, and it won't do to stand here gawping at her like some young whelp at his first dance. Particularly as he knows she's off-limits. Though he finds it distasteful, he reminds himself she was 'seeing someone' the last time they spoke – hardly an appropriate time to go declaring his affections. Still, that doesn't mean he can't look … and want. He tells himself the little flings she has never last long, and this one should be no different. There's at least a little consolation to be found in knowing that while he's here, he can remind her just who and what awaits her after she's put an end to this particular one.
He positions himself to perfection before he speaks, leaning back against the door-frame with one knee bent, one heeled boot pressed back against the wood. His hips thrust subtly forwards, one arm holding back his cloak so she will have a better view of his breeches, and all they contain. He gives his most charming smile.
"A lovely little song, Sarah," he begins. "Am I to understand-?"
His intended quip goes horribly awry when its recipient lets out an ear-piercing scream, and goes tumbling arse over tea-kettle over – and half into – her cardboard box.
"Jareth? Jareth! Goddamn it, Jareth!" his precious thing growls, whilst trying to right herself. "We've talked about this – you can't just go sneaking up on me. You have-"
"No power over me," he finishes, with a sneer of distaste. "Yes, yes – I'm quite aware. Though we both know the reverse isn't true – particularly when I come here to find you waving that lovely arse at me. Would you like some help getting up again, love?"
"I'm fine," she snaps back, still struggling her way out of her predicament. "Just peachy, until you showed up. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have anything better to do Underground, rather than harassing me?" There's a particularly appealing blush to her cheeks; the barest hint of a smile that she's doing her best to hide. Oh, he can read her like a book after all this time, and there's nothing so warm as to be welcomed, her eyes dancing as she takes him in for the first time in so many months. He bites back his own grin as those eyes dip down to his crotch – only for a second, but it's there.
"As it happens, I'm not here for you, pet – an awful shame," he purrs. "Once again, I'm here at young Toby's request. I'm to provide 'a good Christmas – one that's actually fun this year', if I recall. Given your bawdy choice of song, am I to understand that the boy is not here?" He makes a show of polishing his nails against his shirt to spare himself the worst of her glares.
"Dammit, Tobes," he hears her mutter. Righted, though a little red-faced, his beloved shakes her head. "No, it's his last day at school before they close for the holidays. He must've wished for it there."
He can't help a little smirk. "Then I assume it's a good thing I didn't appear to him in person again."
Sarah nods, looking somewhat distracted. "The teacher you surprised last time hasn't been the same since."
There's the urge to say something about his natural effect on women – it's sure to make her blush an even more enchanting shade of red – but he sets it aside for now. She looks upset, and though it pains the ruthless and merciless king of the goblins to admit it, he would move the stars just to take all trace of worry from her eyes. "What is it, love?" he asks.
"The wishes," she says, low and flat. "I keep telling him not to bug you like this …"
He risks a smile and takes a few steps closer. "Surely, you aren't that upset about imposing on me, precious?"
She shakes her head again. "It isn't that. It's just … I told him we'd have a good time, even without Irene and Dad. He must be really down right now."
With a sigh, she tells him her own unhappy little Yuletide tale. As it turns out, there's been a death in the family – some distant, almost never seen relative of her stepmother's, freeing the Williams clan of the emotional burdens, but not the familial ones. Father and stepmother both have been obligated to fly halfway across the country to attend a burial, and apparently to cut through a lot of red tape – a custom Jareth is unaware of. Though he doesn't quite understand the ceremony of cutting the material, he gathers it's to be an intricate process, with a lot of financial and legal repercussions if not done correctly. Coming from a realm where anthropomorphic doors have been known to decide life or death, he can only sympathise with such strange customs.
To make matters worse, the weather Aboveground has been a harsh mistress, in that unpredictable way she has. The snow has come thick and fast over the past few days, leaving Sarah's father and stepmother with no way to get home, and Sarah and her brother all alone for Christmas. At eight years old, Toby is already a little sceptical that Father Christmas will be paying him a visit, and the lack of his parents over the holiday has apparently been the last straw. He's a sensitive lad, bothered deeply by such things, and there have been tears and fights aplenty over the past few days. Jareth needs only look upon Sarah's tightly-drawn face to see it.
"I told him I was going to make it the best I could this year. Dad always lets him put the star on top of the tree, but he said it didn't even feel like Christmas this year. I was going to surprise him with all this," she sighs, gesturing to her box of decorations. It's all he can do not to wrap his arms around her, soothing her with his presence, but then she smiles. "I guess it's a good thing you're here after all. Maybe at least seeing you will get a smile out of him." She nods, and Jareth thinks it's more for her benefit than his, her smile growing surer. "Help me decorate?"
He does, for a time. The two of them work in comfortable silence, stringing shining beads and more glittering baubles around the room. Nikolaos is everywhere, and once more it puts Jareth in mind of other men – one in particular, who stands between he and his intended.
"How's the latest gentleman caller?" he asks, and in a manner that almost pretends he's interested.
"You can say 'boyfriend', Jareth – normal people do." She shrugs. "Well, I guess you'd say 'ex-boyfriend' now, though. We broke up a couple of months ago. No big deal."
Now that is interesting. "Oh? That's a pity." That doesn't sound too much like gloating – he's sure of it.
"Is it?" Sarah laughs. "He was a loser. I don't know why we were together so long in the first place."
He fixes her with a warm smile, his eyes heavy-lidded, his bold stare oozing seduction. "So you're not heartbroken, then?"
His Sarah laughs again. "Nope. Hand me that little reindeer, please?"
He does so, his mind racing all the while with such new and enticing possibilities opened up. This has the potential to be a very merry Christmas indeed. "A pity – if you were, indeed, broken-hearted, I'd have liked to have done lots of terrible things to you, to make you forget all about him."
She snorts. "Like you really need an excuse."
He gives a slight bow of his head. "I merely require an invitation, love. If you're offering …"
Sarah tosses her head – almost a shake, but it's not quite a no. "You're supposed to be here for Toby, remember?" she says.
"I assure you I'm quite capable of multitasking. I'm a man of many talents, precious – talents I'd love for you to be reacquainted with." Like a certain one with his tongue that never fails to leave her dripping. He allows himself a little smirk, and is rather pleased with the way she blushes and rolls her eyes.
"Shut up. I've got other things to do."
He takes another few steps forward, bringing the two of them quite close indeed. "Can I be one of those things? I'd love for you to unleash your talented hands onto me." He notices and revels in the way her gaze drops briefly to his lips, before snapping back to his eyes.
"Sure. Stand still long enough, and I'll hang some holly in a real special place."
He can't help a chuckle. "Now, pet, there's no need for such animosities. We're both good friends – very good friends." He leans in just a little closer, pouting slightly, hoping that for once she'll be quick to give in to the temptation.
She rids him of such wishful thinking by poking a hard finger into his chest. "There's every need for them, when I have you hanging around, doing just about anything you can to get into my pants."
The jab forces him to take a small step backwards, tutting and shaking his head. "Sarah, love, if you don't start behaving in a manner suited to my royal presence, we might have to revisit the sort of punishment we discussed the last time we were together. Given that you're blushing already, I think you know exactly what I'm referring to."
She's positively crimson. "And is putting me over your lap to … to …"
Oh, how deliciously innocent she is – she can't even say it. He grins. "Spank you, pet? Yes …?"
"Yes, that." She gives concession with a roll of her eyes, plainly embarrassed. "What, is that meant to be some sort of perverted Christmas present for me?"
He allows himself a little chuckle. "Of course not, love. It would be selfish of me to presume." Just when she starts to look a little too relieved, he goes on. "Why, it would be a gift entirely to myself, to have your lovely little arse entirely at my disposal. Just think of it – I know I will." Oh, and now she's really blushing. He grins. "Having said that, pet, I'm not adverse to sharing my fun. 'Tis the season' and so on and so forth. I'd be most willing to fill you with a bit of Christmas cheer. Not to mention my-"
She's quick – he has to admit it – but centuries of practice in dealing with aggrieved womenfolk sends the tiny stuffed polar bear she hurls at him sailing safely over his shoulder. Standing tall again, the Goblin King makes an exaggerated show of dusting himself off.
"A valiant attempt, Sarah, but let's not forget – you're no match for me. Now, if you need me – and we both know you do – I'll be in your kitchen, pouring myself a generous measure of Christmas spirit."
She really is adorable when she pouts. "It's barely midday."
"All the more reason to sneak one in now, before young Toby comes home. I'd ask you to join me, loosen up a little, but we both know how wonderfully tight you are as well. I'd hate for that to change."
As he turns away, his smirk widens, satisfied he's found the perfect little tease to leave her with. He's playing a little dirty already, he knows, but by now his Champion expects no less. It's the game and long-familiar roles they've both learned to play so well: he the sly and seductive villain, tempting her with all her wild and wicked dreams on a gilded platter; she the virtuous – if not virginal – heroine, who refuses to be conquered. That meeting they never fail to come to, somewhere in the middle, is most satisfying to them both. With no mortal boyfriend to hinder his progress this time, the game is most definitely afoot, and he's racking up points already. He would expect no less.
He lets out a silent chuckle, ducking his head and hearing her hiss of frustration as the next stuffed toy – a penguin, this time – goes sailing over its target. So predictable at times, his pouting little precious thing – so very easy to-
The next thing she throws hits him squarely on the arse, and weighs a damn sight more than a stuffed penguin. It lands with a solid thump, and when he glances down, he sees a carved wooden elf staring up at him from the floor– one that reminds him an awful lot of that disgusting little gnome (Hogwoggle?) she used to chum around with. The sting he's left with reminds him of the ever-present pain in the arse of some of his citizens. He glances back at Sarah and raises an eyebrow.
Her responding – and, quite surprisingly, deliciously evil – laughter goes straight to his cock.
He ponders on that laughter after he makes his retreat, defeated for now, yet still quite determined. He ponders, too, on the fact that it's been far too long since he last heard her moan. A stiff drink is needed to distract himself from other rapidly stiffening prospects – thinking far too wistfully of luscious dark hair, smooth white skin, and eyes that glitter with longing. All for him. In all his long years, she's proven to be his favourite distraction – one he can't help but crave more of.
As he adjusts his breeches – taking perhaps a little longer than necessary, or, indeed, can be deemed kingly – he knows the truth of it. She's proven herself a match for him in every single way, and if he wants her again – for keeps, one day – he'd do best to remember it.
He drains his glass in one, and rethinks the sprig of mistletoe he has tucked into his belt, tossing it aside. It won't do. Despite all the wonderful imagery his mind conjures to the contrary, he knows he should be the one on his knees. He just hopes that Toby's wish lasts long enough for him to get the chance.
