AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many many thanks for the reviews! I wish I had read them before I had decided on what whimsical and unexpected thing that Sarah was doing. Your ideas were much better than mine, particularly those that involved flagrant Goblin King impersonations, sock puppets, salmon-serenading, and piggybacking. In fact, what Sarah is really doing is going to seem so mild in comparison. Damn…
WintherRose: I would make a lousy husband. I am such a rake…
Hellica: I'd be a terribly mother. Really. The kind that keeps forgetting that she has kids ("Is that mine? Wow, I guess I shouldn't have left it on the roof of the car…"). It's why I'm never breeding.
Jack Hawksmoor: Dammit! Why didn't I think of wrapping Sarah? That's it, I'm going to get the reviewers to write my stories from now on.
thetankgirl:Your grammar is way better than mine. Really.
yshtabi: Thank you for letting me be your first. I promise I will still respect you in the morning.
This chapter comes to you courtesy of the exemplary beta skills of Phuriedae and Mercuralis. They particularly shine when it comes to those pesky adult-type touching scenes. Oh how I love those girls! (in a non adult-type touching manner)
DISCLAIMER: The Labyrinth is oh so not mine. Please be warned that this chapter contains many gratuitous references to Jareth's chest. It is also rich in crotch references and Post-it notes. Something for everyone, really…
Chapter 3: Nothing Says 'Old Friends' Like Baked Goods On A Window Ledge And The Odd Carnal Act
Sarah could not believe that she was about to do something so…unexpected…so utterly whimsical. Not that she was averse to performing the odd unexpected and whimsical act; it was just that ever since she had started writing, most of her more fanciful notions tended to be channeled into her stories. So while her heroines danced in the rain and wished upon stars, Sarah used an umbrella and spent her nights with her head down, typing, rather than looking up at the sky.
But, for whatever reason, her unexpected and whimsical aspect was back in full force tonight…and it was baking.
Sarah looked down at the chocolate cupcake in her hand, took a deep breath, and walked over to the open window as quickly as possible. Carefully, she placed the cupcake in the very centre of the ledge, straightening the blue birthday candle. She wondered briefly if she should have added more silver sprinkles to the white icing; this was Jareth, after all—the man positively reeked of glitter. She snorted. Like the sprinkles even matter—he probably won't even know it's there, she told herself. He probably won't even come. Still, the thought did not stop her from arranging the cake, just so, on the ledge. It's just in case, she said to herself.
Though, she had to admit that the thought of waking up tomorrow and seeing the little cake still sitting on the window ledge made something inside her twist in a most uncomfortable manner. It was the same vicious little twist that she felt in the past whenever she imagined what it would be like to call upon the Goblin King and to have him not respond. She wasn't entirely sure what was twisting; she had vague hopes that it was actually her spleen or pancreas or one of her lesser organs, though she had a rather disturbing feeling that it was actually her heart performing a rather complex form of cardiovascular origami at the thought of the Goblin King not coming to pick up his little birthday cake.
She sighed and stepped back from the window. "Good luck, little cupcake," she said, saluting the cake in a rather jaunty fashion before padding back to her computer.
She had only been typing for a few moments when she heard a strange little scratching sound coming from behind her. When she turned, she saw a snowy white barn owl perched on the ledge, tilting its head quizzically at the regal little cupcake. She watched, feeling exceedingly pleased, as the owl strutted around the cake in a rather kingly manner.
"Go ahead and give it a try—it's not drugged," she said impishly to the bird. "Which is more than I can say for some people's presents."
The owl gave her a rather disdainful look which made Sarah laugh. With an odd sense of déjà vu, Sarah watched as the curtains around the window began to flutter and then billow as the night breeze suddenly surged though the open window, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, and scattering goosebumps along her bare arms.
And then, just as quickly as it started, the breeze dropped. She heard his voice—that mocking melodious voice that she remembered so well—before she saw him.
"Now, now Sarah—you go and spoil a perfectly wonderful gesture by saying something hurtful and true."
Sarah moved her windswept hair from her eyes and looked toward the window.
You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King.
For a moment, she was almost disappointed. He wasn't standing imposingly before her, hands on hips, looking down at her with a regal sneer; he was lounging on the window ledge, looking at her with elegant indifference. He was not clothed in black and armor, or white and feathers, nor was his cloak swirling menacingly around him in the breeze; rather, he was casually dressed in what appeared to be leather and was completely cloak-free. Maybe his more impressive outfits are at the cleaners, she thought slyly.
Even so, when the Goblin King began to scrutinize her with his intense mismatched gaze, Sarah realized with a start that he was still just as commanding and imposing and arrogant and terrifying as she remembered. Though, she admitted, the longer that she held his gaze, the more she found herself supplying new adjectives to describe him— adjectives like 'sultry', and 'sensual', and 'delicious' and 'lickable', which technically wasn't even a word but was disturbingly applicable when looking at the Goblin King through much older eyes.
Sarah clenched her jaw—it was a fine time to loose her immunity to his physical charms. For a second, she contemplated running but quickly lifted her chin. You are older, smarter, and curvier than you were the last time you bested him. Let him run from you.
She lifted her brow, unconsciously mimicking one of his gestures. "Perhaps in honor of your birthday we should call a truce?"
He arched his brow in return. "How very generous of you. By all means, let's let bygones be bygones. I'll just bill you for the damage you did to the Goblin City during your last jaunt through my Kingdom some other night," he said blandly, brushing glitter from his leather pants.
Sarah's jaw clenched. "Now it is you who are being generous, your Majesty. By all means, let's forget the past. After all, what's a drugged peach or two amongst old adversaries?"
Jareth sighed in mock distress. "Oh Sarah, you cut me to my very heart," he said, putting his hand on his chest. He then feigned a puzzled expression and moved his hand over his torso, as if searching for something.
"Hmm, where did I put that heart of mine?" he asked, his hand now patting down his jacket. "Oh, that's right…I don't have one," he said indifferently, though there was a bitter little undercurrent in his tone.
Sarah was about to say something appropriately cutting when her attention was suddenly caught by the cupcake. It lay in the palm of his hand and, to her surprise, she noticed that he was holding it the same way that you would hold a small bird—gently, protectively, almost reverently—his thumb carefully stroking the tin foil case. He was holding it as if it were something infinitely precious rather than a simple little cake that was identical to a dozen more in her kitchen.
Sarah puzzled over the contradiction between what he was saying and the way he was holding her gift, and then…
…just like that…
…she had what could be called a 'moment of clarity' and realized that he was still living up to her expectations. She smiled at him rather fondly.
"Still playing the villain?"
Jareth stilled. She could practically see the next insult die on his lips. He tilted his head and looked at her as if he was actually seeing her, and it was clear that what he saw both pleased and surprised him. He gave her a rare smile.
"It passes the time," he said conspiratorially.
Sarah's smile widened in response. "I'm sure it does. With all the bogging, and the goblin kicking, and the baby snatching, I bet you hardly get a moment to yourself," she said mischievously.
Jareth sighed rather dramatically. "So true. I am exhausted living up to everyone's villainous expectations."
"But surely there have to be some perks…?"
Jareth appeared to ponder the question. "Well, there is the bogging, and the goblin kicking, and the baby snatching…"
To her surprise, Sarah laughed. She noticed that Jareth looked oddly pleased by her response. He tapped his finger against his lips and gave Sarah a considering look.
"So, if I am not to be the villain this evening, who am I? What role shall I play?"
Sarah considered that for a moment. "Well, if you like, we could swap roles. You can be the plucky heroine and I'll be the villain."
His lips twisted into a half smile. "Hmm, possible. Surely it can't be too hard to be the plucky heroine."
He brought his hands up in a rather girlish gesture and raised the pitch of his voice in a mocking imitation of Sarah's. "'It's not fair'…'piece of cake'…'you have no power over me'…'come Hedgewart, let's cause an extensive amount of damage to the Goblin City and let the King foot the bill'…'oh look? Is that a chair? Let's find a ballroom to smash up'." He lowered his hands and shrugged elegantly. "I believe I have it down pat," he said in a rather bored tone, though there was a hint of challenge in his mismatched eyes.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. Right. So that's how it was going to be. She picked up a heavy round paper weight from her desk, stood up, and began strutting toward him, pelvis-forward, in a very Goblin King-esque manner.
She held up the paperweight before the King. "Do you want it?" she asked in a clipped British accent. "It's a crystal…though, if we want to get really specific, sometimes it's a snake, or a ballroom filled with perverts, or a large steel machine that will try to smear you all over the tunnels. Though it's not a gift for an ordinary girl who likes to bust up ballrooms with a chair. What's that? You want nothing to do with it? Nothing, nothing tra la la? Don't defy me! You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth…oh no, make that ten. Such a pity."
Jareth looked at her fondly. "It's like looking in a mirror," he remarked dryly.
Sarah smirked. "Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to swap roles."
"Perhaps not," he agreed.
He watched her as she walked back across the room, noting the sultry movement of her hips under her loose black pants and the silken swing of hair around her shoulders. When she bent over to put the paperweight back on her desk, his was suddenly very pleased that he had made the trip to see her. He tilted his head and admired the view.
Sarah sat back down on her computer chair and turned to face him; he quickly replaced his devilish leer with an expression of polite interest.
"My goblins tell me that you are now a writer," he said in as conversational a tone as he could muster in his current state.
Sarah was stunned. She hadn't realized that the goblins had spoken to their King about her. She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. "I write fantasy stories. I've written three volumes of short stories, mainly about the creatures in the Labyrinth. They're pretty simple really, but they sell well and people seem to enjoy them."
Worried that she was babbling, Sarah stopped talking, but the Goblin King seemed genuinely interested.
Sarah would have been stunned to know that the King had a copy of her books locked safely away from the goblins in a silver box engraved with stars. She would have been completely flabbergasted if she knew that each night, he would sit on the window ledge of his tower room with one of her books, impatiently flicking past the stories of dwarves, and beasts, and brave knights, and resourceful heroines, to the parts where the villain appears before the heroine—the villain who was typically cruel and cunning and taunting, but also beautiful and mesmerizing and the proud owner of a rather fabulous wardrobe. To his complete delight, the villain and the heroine even shared an embrace in one story; though he was always careful to stop reading immediately after the embrace so that he avoided the part where the heroine vanquishes the villain by saying a few magic words and beating him quite mercilessly with a chair. Such a pity.
Jareth gave Sarah one of his most charming smiles. "Given that we have outgrown our previous roles, why don't you use your story-telling skills to spin us a new story?"
Sarah inclined her head graciously and pursed her lips. "Maybe we should start with something simple." She settled back in her chair. "Once upon a time, a young woman placed a gift on her window ledge for an old friend," she began, smiling at his incredulous expression. "When he arrived to collect his gift, they spoke, quite pleasantly," her lips quirked, "about old times and mutual acquaintances…"
Jareth raised a delicately arched eyebrow. "And that is all? Forgive me for saying so, Sarah, but this story is distressingly bland."
"It's a work in progress," she said pertly.
Jareth tapped a finger against his lips. "It would be greatly enhanced by the addition of an oubliette or two."
"No oubliettes," Sarah said firmly.
"Bog?"
She shook her head.
Jareth snorted. "My story was much better," he said, inclining his head toward the small red book sitting on her dresser.
"It's a work in progress," she said a little defensively. "I'm making it up as I go along."
Jareth inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Old friends," he said slowly. He rolled the words around in his mouth, savoring them, testing them for sharp edges and finding none. He gave her a considering look. "You have far more experience in matters of friendship than I, so you will have to instruct me on what this may involve."
Sarah smiled in return. "I'd be happy to do so, your Majesty."
"Tell me, will we be the kind of 'old friends' that meet up regularly for quaint little chats where we discuss the events of the day?"
Sarah pretended to ponder the matter. "Sure. That sounds like something that old friends would do."
He appeared to consider that. "And will we be the kind of 'old friends' who play chess and other games of skill and chance, gleefully reveling in light-hearted competition?"
Sarah's lips quirked. "I don't see why not."
He tapped his finger against his lips. "And will we be the kind of 'old friends' who indulge in carnal acts of unbridled passion for hours unnumbered, to the point where we are both insensible to anything but our mutual pleasures and desires?"
Sarah blinked. Her eyes widened at the thought, and then narrowed rapidly when she saw the challenging gleam in those mismatched eyes.
"Don't push it Goblin King, or you'll be the kind of 'old friend' who is forced to leave abruptly after receiving a nasty blow to a sensitive part of his anatomy," she said, rather pointedly.
Jareth tapped his finger against his chin. "I have rather sensitive earlobes, though I gather those were not what you were threatening."
"Definitely not your earlobes," Sarah confirmed.
He sighed. "Pity. I was prepared to engage in such vigorous acts of friendship, if only to liven up the story," he said generously.
Sarah merely snorted.
In an impossibly elegant motion, he swung his legs off the ledge and gave Sarah a mocking little bow.
"Very well then. Here am I, an old friend, who has come to collect his non-drugged gift," he raised the cupcake, "and to talk about old times and mutual acquaintances. In a pleasant fashion."
His smile, with its bared canines and a touch of predatory menace, said otherwise. But unfortunately for Jareth, his pointy predatory smile was completely wasted on Sarah; she was too busy looking at his clothing. It was not his leather pants that first caught her attention, oddly enough. Nor was it the beautiful, goblin-fashioned, high-collared brown leather jacket. Rather it was his t-shirt. The fact that the mighty Goblin King was wearing an Aboveground t-shirt rather one of his customary borderline-indecent, silk poet shirts, was in itself an oddity. The fact that the elegant Goblin King was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the slogan You know you want it in jaunty gray letters was practically inconceivable. Even amidst her shock, Sarah wondered why the Goblin King had thought it necessary to start advertising.
Jareth noted Sarah's surprised expression and smiled a rather sardonic smile. "Well?" he said, gesturing to his shirt. "Laugh?"
To her surprise, Sarah realized that laughter was not her first response to the t-shirt slogan…but she quickly repressed that rather dangerous train of thought and twisted her lips into a tight smile.
"That's a new look for you," she said. "Though it's a little more 'frat boy' than 'fairytale king', don't you think?"
"Sometimes subtlety can be grossly over-rated," he said with an elegant shrug.
Which explains the pants, Sarah thought, looking at his flashy crystal belt buckle which had a tendency to catch the viewer's eye and draw it downward. She quickly caught herself as she inadvertently made that downward journey. She looked up and noticed that Jareth was looking at her…looking at parts of him.
Quickly, she spoke before he could say anything. "So, did you fit in a shopping trip the last time you snatched a child?" she said, gesturing to his t-shirt.
The King glanced at her flushed cheeks knowingly and smirked. "'Snatched' is such a vulgar word, Sarah. I prefer 'collected' or 'acquired', or better yet, 'liberated'. Actually, what you see here in all its glory," he said sardonically, gesturing to his t-shirt, "is one of my more exotic birthday gifts…gifts which you so generously obtained for my subjects. I came to thank you for your assistance, if not your taste." He looked down at the shirt and sighed tragically. "Really Sarah—cotton?" he said, fingering the fabric in mock distaste.
"Oh no," said Sarah, shaking her head. "All I did was order them. I'm not taking responsibility for that shirt."
Jareth walked across the room and sat down in the comfy armchair opposite her chair. He carefully placed his cupcake on the desk. "Believe it or not, the shirt was the best of the presents you ordered."
Sarah raised her eyebrow. "You're kidding."
Jareth settled more comfortably in the chair, hooking a leg over the armrest. "I only wish. The brownies bought me a slingshot. Would you like to see it?"
"I'm almost afraid to," she confessed.
"Clever girl. You should be very afraid." He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out the g-string.
"What?!" screeched Sarah.
Jareth stretched it out so that it was displayed in all its lingerie glory. "They were rather proud of the floral motif," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "They decided that it must be a flower-killing slingshot."
Sarah started laughing. And after a surprised minute, Jareth joined her. It's rather nice, he thought, to be laughing with Sarah, rather than sending heavy pieces of machinery hurtling toward her down a tunnel.
Sarah pulled her hair back from her face. "I thought it odd that they were looking through the women's lingerie section. I was starting to suspect that you may have some hobbies that I wasn't aware of," she said slyly.
Jareth gave her a dull stare. "None that require a slingshot," he said pointedly. He idly spun the g-string on his index finger. "I was infinitely grateful that they didn't insist that I try it out…or try it on. Can you imagine?"
Sarah did just that and started laughing again, picturing the goblins cheering Jareth on as he put on the lingerie. She looked up and noticed that he was giving her an odd look—a look that slowly scanned the length of her body, from her tips of her bare feet to the top of her glossy dark hair, lingering on all the curves in between—and with a start she realized that he was picturing her trying it on and clearly found the vision quite pleasing. She stopped laughing.
He tilted his head. "Do you want it?" he asked, holding out the slingshot, a rather devilish gleam in his eyes.
Inadvertently, she looked at the slogan on his t-shirt. "No thank you, your Majesty. I would hate to deprive you of your birthday gift," she said primly.
Jareth inclined his head gracefully, though there was still a gleam in those mismatched eyes and a rather hungry slant to his smile.
Sarah took a deep breath. "So what was the third present?"
The hungry smile quickly disappeared as Jareth snorted. "A book."
"Books are good."
"Some books are good," he corrected with an icy smile. "Others are so appalling that one develops an indescribable urge to shove burning coals into one's eyeballs so as to avoid reading the next passage. My birthday book falls into the latter category."
With a flourish he pulled out A Rake's Wanton Lust and handed it to Sarah.
"Oh…that's…that's…" Sarah started laughing again.
"Yes. Yes it is," he said dryly.
"Why did they get you that one?"
"Apparently I reminded them of the hero." When Sarah raised an eyebrow, Jareth leaned toward her. "We both share a love of wearing pants," he answered conspiratorially.
Sarah looked at the hero, then over at Jareth. "So you do! Wow, the resemblance is remarkable…"
Jareth leaned back into the armchair. "I thought so myself. And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, they insisted that I read a passage from it. Do turn to the top of page fifty-six," he instructed with a rather regal wave of his hand.
Sarah quickly flicked through the book. "Why do I think this is going to be bad?" she asked.
"Because you have noticed a trend in my birthday festivities."
Sarah read the passage and her eyes widened. "How much of this did you read to them?"
Jareth grimaced. "Thankfully I stopped after "throbbing love wand". If I had read any more, they would have asked questions that I was far too sober to answer."
Sarah smiled slyly. "I can imagine."
"Even so, one of them asked what kind of wizard carries a love wand."
Sarah started laughing so hard that she almost started crying.
"It really wasn't funny at the time," he noted.
"Oh I bet it was," Sarah said, gasping. "I bet I would have found it hysterical."
"No doubt you would have, you minx," he muttered.
Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh Jareth, I'm sorry you had such a lousy birthday."
Jareth. He inhaled sharply at the sound of his name on her lips, and then tried to cover it up with an elegant shrug.
"There have been worse. There was one birthday where the goblins staged a play of my life-story. That in itself is a horrifying thought, though it was made infinitely worse when one of the cretins had the brilliant idea of casting chickens in the lead roles. Given that my life-story is quite lengthy, and that the chickens were understandably quite poor at learning their lines, the play went for three days straight, after which I relocated them all to the bog. Except for the chicken playing me—it was surprisingly charismatic, for a chicken," he mused.
Sarah grinned at him. "So, with that as a basis of comparison, this birthday isn't so bad?"
Jareth rolled his eyes. "Nothing is as bad. Being dipped in the bog isn't as bad. Besides, this birthday is definitely looking up, old friend," he said, smiling at her graciously.
He looked down at his t-shirt and grimaced. "Of all the gifts I received, this t-shirt was clearly the winner, heaven help me. Though the goblins, imbeciles that they are, seemed to think that the slogan had something to do with chickens."
"Why would they think that?" asked Sarah.
"Apparently there was a chicken next to it on the screen—that was why they chose it."
"A chicken?" Sarah said incredulously. "This I have to see."
She spun her chair around so that it was facing her computer and quickly clicked onto the website where the goblins had bought the shirt. She felt rather than heard Jareth rise from his chair and stand beside her. He bent down and placed his head just over her shoulder; his face was so close that she could feel the warmth of his cheek against hers. The long tips of his gold-spun hair mingled with her own around her shoulders, the feathery wisps of gold tickling her temple. She took a deep breath and almost cursed when she inhaled the leathery scent of his jacket and something else…something crisp, and fresh, and almost sharp. Moonlight would smell like that, she mused. Sarah pushed down that fanciful notion and clenched her jaw. She quickly flicked through the website, trying to ignore the fact that the King's cheek was only a hairsbreadth away from hers.
She eventually found the picture of the King's birthday t-shirt and blinked.
"Well what do you know," Jareth drawled. "The cretins were right." He paused. "For once," he amended.
Next to the shirt, was a picture of a chicken that, inexplicably, was saying "Chicks will find this shirt irresistible!"
Jareth grimaced. "Let's hope this chicken is misinformed; given the poultry population in my kingdom, wearing this shirt could be catastrophic."
"You'd end up with quite the chicken harem," Sarah said grinning.
Without thinking she turned to him. He was so close that her eyelashes brushed against his cheek, and for a moment... a rather delicious moment…she had the oddest impulse to brush his cheek with her lips to see if it was as velvet soft as it looked. She quickly pulled away, but not before she heard him inhale sharply. For some reason, that made her feel better.
She quickly looked back to the screen. "So," she said a little shakily. "The mystery of the chicken is solved."
"Evidently," he said.
It may have been her imagination, but Sarah thought that his voice sounded just a little huskier than normal.
Jareth looked over the t-shirts, bemused. "Actually, after looking at some of these, I do believe that they bought me one of the least offensive."
Sarah nodded. "It could have been worse—they could have bought that one," she said mischievously, pointing to a t-shirt that had Your boyfriend wants me written over the chest in bold red letters.
Jareth snorted. "How very droll. I can only count my blessings that the chicken wasn't standing next to that one. Though, I would have much preferred this one," he said pointing to I'm with stupid. "It would have been appropriate regardless of whom I was standing next to…present company excepted," he said graciously.
"Many thanks, your Majesty," she said dryly.
Jareth laughed and moved away from her and, for a moment, Sarah missed the warmth of his body against her back. She turned her chair so that it was facing him and watched as he looked around the room.
"It's so quiet here," he said, closing his eyes in pleasure. "There are no goblins chewing on my boots; there are no chickens being wrestled under my throne; there are no screams of 'no, not the bog, Sire!'."
Sarah smiled and took a good look at the king. She noted the faint purple shadows under his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth.
"You look…"
Beautiful…broken…supremely ravish-able in leather.
"…tired," she finished lamely.
Jareth sighed. "I am tired. Every day it's the same thing—'your Majesty, he stole my chicken', 'your Majesty, such-and-such is on fire', 'your Majesty, I've fallen down an oubliette.' Your Majesty, your Majesty, tra la la. My life is a never-ceasing routine where my subjects fight and squabble and I kick or bog them. And if it isn't my subjects, then it's the summoners with their cries of 'I wish the Goblin King would take so-and-so away right now', followed by their utterly predictable amazement and disbelief when I actually appear. The same scenarios again…and again…and again. And there is absolutely no end in sight. So yes, I am tired—completely tired of my existence, or tired of existing; frankly, I can't tell the difference anymore." He rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. "Lately, I've been thinking about how pleasant it would be to be rendered unconscious on a permanent basis."
He said it without even thinking; he was merely just saying out loud what he had been ruminating about all day—what he ruminated about every birthday. So it was with some surprise that he felt something soft hit him in the face with considerable force. He opened his eyes and realized that he had been hit with a pink throw cushion that, oddly enough, seemed to have a set of bite marks on it. He looked over at Sarah. She was staring at him angrily, her hazel eyes blazing.
"There is enough time to think about the joys of being permanently unconscious when you are dead," she said pointedly, and threw another cushion at him.
He ducked. "Good lord Sarah, I didn't ask you to assassinate me!"
"Then stop saying things like that!" she said angrily and threw another cushion at him. "Or I'll do it with pleasure."
"Really Sarah, you are acting like a barbarian," he scolded, though he looked rather delighted by her barbarous ways.
"And you are acting like a drama queen!" she said, launching another cushion toward him.
"That's 'king', Sarah," he said patiently, catching the pillow. "Not 'queen'. King. Heaven forbid that I need to enlighten you on the anatomical differences between the two."
"I'm sure that the differences would be small. Negligible even," she said. For a second, she wondered if she had crossed the line. Then she mentally shrugged; an enraged Goblin king would surely be better than a morose one. "Certainly nothing worth boasting about," she added for good measure.
Jareth looked completely affronted and dropped the pillow. He quickly began to weigh up the pros and cons of settling the matter, once and for all, with a visual display, when he suddenly noticed Sarah's suppressed grin and the sly calculating look in her eyes. Minx, he thought.
Jareth shook his head in a pitying manner. "Tsk tsk, Sarah. It appears that your knowledge of anatomy…kingly anatomy…is lamentable. Apparently you will require a lesson after all—one with many diagrams…drawn to scale." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Though where shall I find such large sheets of paper? I'll have to have them made especially..."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary—I have some Post-it notes on my desk. They should suffice," she said, trying not to laugh as she gestured to the small yellow notepad.
Jareth took one look at the tiny yellow stationary pad and his expression darkened.
"That," he said in a cold clipped tone, "is a declaration of war."
Sarah gasped as the pillows that had been scattered on the floor began to levitate. She looked up at Jareth and he gave her a smug look that seemed to say Small adhesive sheets of paper, hey? and waved his hand.
The pillows attacked.
Sarah yelped and ran to her bed, ducking for cover.
Jareth threw back his head and laughed. Oh but this was marvelous! He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, burning away his boredom. He felt so energized. The challenge…the defiance…the battle—how he had missed this! How he had missed…
Damn.
Here we go all over again, he thought in despair. He shook his head ruefully. You have no sense of self-preservation do you, my fine fellow?
Nevertheless, he watched in delight as Sarah fought her way through the pillows, flinging them across the room. She'd be throwing them at me if she knew just how close I was to whisking her away to my Castle, he thought with a smirk. Even though she was on the other side of the room, the floral scent of her hair was driving him to distraction.
"You are still a dirty rotten cheat, old friend," she huffed while wrestling a rather persistent pillow.
Jareth made an elegant little gesture with his hand and smiled his pointy smile. "It's important to practice."
Throwing the final pillow to the ground, Sarah grabbed a stuffed bear off her shelf of childhood keepsakes, and threw it at Jareth as hard as she could. Jareth deftly pulled the bear from the air and threw it back to her. Reflexively, Sarah caught it, but as she started to throw it back, the little brown bear came to life. Sarah watched in utter amazement as the small bear stretched luxuriantly, growling a little. She laughed in delight as the little bear snuggled up against her shoulder, growling loudly in pleasure as she stroked its back. She looked up at Jareth and noticed that he was smiling at her…a strange wistful little half smile that was completely at odds with the haughty mask of the Goblin King. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then stopped.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You would care?" he said simply. If I ceased to exist.
She could tell that he had tried for indifference, but there was something so raw about the look in his eyes that it made a complete and utter lie of his tone. Sarah's heart twisted a little over the fact that he even had to ask her that question.
The little bear stilled in her arms. With a final, distracted pat, she turned and put the bear back on the shelf, taking the time to compose herself.
"Of course," she said carefully, her back to the King.
When she turned back to him, he was looking at her as if she were a puzzle that he could not quite fathom.
"Would you like to share my birthday cake with me?" he asked rather regally.
Sarah shook her head. "Oh you shouldn't share it! I made it just for you," she said as she moved off the bed and sat back down in her chair.
Jareth tilted his head. "You made it especially for me?" he asked, inordinately pleased.
Damn. She hadn't wanted him to know that she had taken the trouble to make the cake herself. It was a little too revealing. Sarah quickly tried to cover her tracks. "Well, it's not lik-"
Jareth quickly leaned forward and put a gloved finger over her lips. "Sarah." It was a caress not a spoken word. "Considering the day I have had, I ask that you be generous and let me have this small victory."
Sarah took a deep breath and nodded, the movement causing his finger to shift over the surface of her lips.
"Fine—but just this once," she conceded.
He gave a short laugh and gently traced the curve of her lower lip with his gloved finger. She stared at him in surprise, but before she could say anything, he gave her an enigmatic little smile and dropped his hand, turning to look at his cupcake.
"So, shall we verify if this cake really is as non-drugged as you say it is, old friend? You, of course, will be taking the first bite," he said slyly.
Sarah rolled her eyes, and tried resist the impulse to lick her lower lip to see if it tasted of leather. She watched as Jareth conjured a small silver knife. Just as he was about to cut the cake, she put her hand over his.
"You can't do that."
Jareth looked down at Sarah's hand, so pale against his black glove. "I beg to differ," he said, a trifle bemused. "I am quite capable of using cutlery, I assure you."
She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she said patiently. "You can't cut it until you blow out the candle and make a wish."
Jareth looked surprised. "You want to grant me a wish? No-one grants my wishes."
He looked so happy that, for a moment, Sarah wished that she had the power to grant him whatever he wanted. She sighed a little regretfully.
"Jareth, the last time I looked I wasn't a genie, or the tooth-fairy, or your fairy godmother."
Jareth gave a short laugh. "I would say that was obvious, given that genies are typically obese males, the tooth-fairy was decommissioned after she was caught performing unnecessary dental procedures on several mortal children, and my fairy godmother went to the dark side and was having a splendid time until a house fell on her."
Sarah blinked. House fell on her? Hang on. She shook her head, not wanting to be distracted. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I don't have the power to grant you a wish, Jareth. And even if I did, I'm a little worried about what you'd ask for—a bigger bog, perhaps?"
The edges of his mouth curled up in a smile. "What if you did have the power to grant my wish?" he asked curiously. "What if it was something small, something you would not consider valuable, something you would not miss; would you grant it?"
Sarah thought about that. "If it was small, something that I don't consider valuable, something that I will not miss, then I would agree to grant your wish." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "But hear me, Goblin King; if your wish is to have me put on that slingshot, I will throw something at you that's far pointier than a pillow…"
Jareth looked at her in surprise. And then the surprise became something dark, and sultry, and distressingly carnal, and all at once she felt the need to both move away from him and to move closer. Closer was winning when he spoke.
"Damn," he said ruefully. "I didn't even think to wish for that. I am clearly out of practice when it comes to being lecherous. Which is probably a good thing, given that I only have the goblins to practice on…"
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself," she said, smiling sunnily. "You're doing pretty well for a lecher past his prime."
Jareth raised an eyebrow at her. Before she could even blink in return, his booted leg shot out and curled around the base of her computer chair. Sarah let out a surprised squeal as he dragged the chair toward him, her knees suddenly trapped between his, his forearms leaning on the armrests of her chair. Smirking triumphantly he leaned forward until his face was a bare inch away from hers, the pupils of his strange mismatched eyes dilating as he stared at her. She swallowed but held his gaze. He noticed her refusal to cower and smiled a slow pointy smile, his tongue running along the tips of his canines. He leaned forward even further so that his lips were just above her ear.
"Just give me a moment, precious thing," he whispered silkily. "I'm sure it will all come flooding back to me."
She couldn't help it. She shivered. The feel of his breath against her throat, the warmth of his mouth against her earlobe. Damn it, she shivered again. If this is him out of practice, I would be in huge trouble if he was at full strength, she thought a little breathlessly.
She heard him laugh in response to her shiver. And then she gasped as she felt him blow gently along the delicate skin of her throat, his warm breath tracing a path from her earlobe down to the hollow where her throat met her shoulder.
"Yes," he said huskily, the tip of his tongue flicking out to taste the skin over her pulse. "It's all coming back to me." He entwined his fingers around a lock of her hair.
The cool air from the room hit the moist spot where his tongue had touched her skin and she shivered again. And just as she decided to start enjoying this rather pleasant turn of events, she felt him move away from her. As he sat back, he let the silky strands of her hair slide between his gloved fingers.
"Though I still have a long way to go," he said thoughtfully, looking critically at her flushed cheeks and rapid breathing.
"You're closer than you think," she said a little unsteadily. And then cursed when she realized that she had spoken out loud.
He gave a short bark of laughter and Sarah shook her head to clear it. Get a grip, she thought sternly.
She cleared her throat. "Shall we cut the cake now?" She was proud of how steady and nonchalant her voice sounded.
Jareth nodded, amused. "But of course—I'm anxious to get my wish."
She pulled her chair backward, away from his. Out of his reach. You idiot, she thought, you practically dared him to nuzzle you. She bit her lower lip and shuffled through her desk draw until she found a book of matches. Try not to dare him to ravish you senseless while he cuts the cake.
In her current state, the idea was not unappealing
Sarah finally looked at the King and, despite her better judgment, she found herself smiling. He was looking at the little cake with an expression that could only be classified as excitement.
"Ok, make your wish. A small wish that doesn't involve nudity," she warned as she lit the candle.
He sighed tragically. "There go all the good wishes."
Jareth closed his eyes and paused, obviously taking his wish very seriously. He then quickly blew out the candle, smiling when Sarah clapped her hands. He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "And now may I cut my cake?"
"Now you may cut your cake," she said graciously.
With a flourish, Jareth cut through the cupcake and handed her half. She watched as he carefully removed the candle from his half and placed it in his pocket. He then took a bite.
"Ok?" she asked, a little self-conscious.
He nodded happily. "Much better than ok."
She felt irrationally pleased. "Well, I'm sure you're probably sick of cake by now. The goblins said they were making a special cake for you."
Jareth rolled his eyes. "Yes. It was a little too special; it was stuffed full of firey and it ended up on my throne room ceiling. The piece I was offered had been scraped off the floor and contained bits of my subjects, so your gesture is much appreciated," he said, taking another bite.
Sarah smiled. She had only just taken her first mouthful when Jareth made an impatient gesture. "I would like my wish now, before you conveniently change your mind."
Sarah finished eating before answering. "Tell me again, which of us said "you have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth" and then changed it to ten?" she asked pointedly. "Of the two of us, only you have the tendency to change your mind."
Jareth smiled with infinite charm. "Exactly. Which makes me an expert on such matters. Hence why I would like you to grant my wish now."
Sarah saw the rather calculating gleam in the King's eyes and swallowed. It was one thing to say she would grant a wish, and another thing entirely to actually do the granting. And she couldn't help but remember…
… will we be the kind of 'old friends' who indulge in carnal acts of unbridled passion…?
Still, a promise is a promise. She lifted her chin. "Very well, old friend, what did you wish for?"
He stood up gracefully and held out his hand to her.
"You want to dance with me?" she said incredulously.
He only smirked and pulled her to her feet. "Well of course, precious thing. Whatever were you expecting?" he asked in mock outrage.
She had been expecting carnal acts—well, given her stipulation, nudity-free carnal acts, which, admittedly, would have been difficult, but possible, if one had sufficient imagination—and by the look of his smirk, he knew it.
"I'm not really dressed for it, I'm not even wearing shoes," she said inanely.
Amused the Goblin King looked down at her bare feet.
"Hmm, it appears that you have some kind of disease," he said, pointing to her toenails which were painted a shade of red so deep that it was almost black. "In fact, the color of those nails suggests that they may fall off at any time. Poor Sarah—soon to be toe-less. Such a pity," he said sympathetically.
"I'm not diseased!" she said indignantly, looking down at her toenails. "I'm wearing nail polish…"
But when she looked up, his eyes were full of mirth. "You are insufferable," she said, sighing.
He threw his head back and laughed as he drew her into his arms. He dipped his head, his lips just above her earlobe. "I think they look positively delectable. Kissable, in fact," he purred.
Sarah swallowed. Hard. "I see your lecherous ways are returning in force."
"It's all coming flooding back," he said silkily, his breath causing her hair to flutter. "Are you ready?"
She straightened her shoulders. "Of course, old friend."
He looked down at her with a smile that said Old friend? How deliciously naïve! Why, I am here to devour you, little girl.
"There isn't enough room to dance in here," she said a little breathlessly.
"You are just going to have to trust me, Sarah, because I'm going to waltz you through every room of your house," he whispered caressingly.
And then they were dancing. The room was small and yet Jareth gracefully spun them around so that they danced through every inch of spare space. He deliberately maneuvered Sarah into a tight area between her bed and the desk, giving him an excuse to pull her closer—so close in fact that there was not a sliver of light between their bodies. He noticed her quick indrawn breath and the flush on her cheeks with a great deal of masculine satisfaction. He looked over at the Post-it notes and gave them a triumphantly smug look. The Post-it notes had the good grace to concede defeat.
It turned out that there were a lot of tight spaces in Sarah's room and by the time they had visited them all, both of them were breathing quite raggedly. Needing a respite, Jareth led them out into the living room, waltzing them around the couch and the coffee table in graceful arcs. By the time they had danced their way to the kitchen, Sarah was enjoying herself immensely. She looked up at Jareth and noticed that he was smiling down at her.
"You were really serious about visiting each room, weren't you?"
"But of course. I only have one wish—I want it to last," he said, moving her between the fridge and the kitchen bench, and then swinging her out again.
Sarah started laughing and he joined in as he danced them gracefully down the small hall. Smoothly, he removed his hand from her waist, opened the bathroom door, and led her into the white-tiled room without missing a step.
"Ok, now this is ridiculous," she said laughing.
"Really Sarah. I wouldn't scoff at your wishes," he said sternly.
There was barely enough room to turn, so he had them move in sliding steps up and then back down across the tiles and then out the door.
He waltzed her back up the hall to another door.
"That's just a broom closet," Sarah said.
Jareth tsked. "Really Sarah, where is your faith?"
He turned the handle and Sarah closed her eyes, expecting to be hit by the games, and brooms, and old textbooks, and unwanted Christmas presents that she had crammed inside and shut the door on. But when nothing fell on her from above, she opened her eyes and gasped. They were not in the broom closet, but were dancing in the crystal ballroom. It was just as she remembered it—draped in white and pearl, with candelabras filled with perfumed candles—but this time, there were no other dancers. She looked at Jareth and then down at herself, and realized that their clothing had changed to fit the room; she was now gowned in the sparkling white fairytale dress of her peach dreams, whereas he was wearing his blue bejeweled coat…and a smug smile.
"Funny, I don't remember this being in here the last time I looked," she said archly.
"Tsk tsk Sarah—after your time in the oubliette, you of all people should know that broom closets are never what they seem."
"Cheat," she muttered.
"Cynic," he responded.
"Romantic," she said accusingly.
Jareth rolled his eyes. "What a cruel thing to say."
He led her around the dance floor, spinning her in ever faster, ever more dizzying turns, until she was holding onto him for dear life, laughing joyously. He took her laughter as encouragement and spun them faster still, until she felt as though they were flying, floating, falling, and rising all over again with every turn. She held his gaze—his laughing, triumphant gaze—and he became the only solid thing in the room, the very center of their spinning little vortex.
After he danced them around the cushion pit, they found themselves back at the broom closet, and they waltzed through the door back into the hallway. She felt the second that her fairytale gown dissolved back into her black pants and singlet top, and watched as the King's finery became his leather outfit and provocative t-shirt. Despite the fact that they had lost their fancy clothing, they were both grinning at each other, drunk on the dance. Sarah noticed that it suddenly felt very natural to drape her hand around his waist rather than place it stiffly on his shoulder, and even more natural to rest her head against his chest and let him lead them wherever he wished.
Soon, all too soon, they had danced their way back through the hall, and the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the living room, until they were standing in the middle of her bedroom where they had started. With a final turn, Jareth brought them to a stop. Sarah lifted her head from his chest, expecting him to step back but he did not release her. Instead he looked down at her intensely, as if he were savoring the moment, storing it away.
And then slowly…ever so slowly…he pulled away, and there was something in his eyes which said that this simple movement had cost him something very large.
Sarah looked up at him and felt her heart pound even faster than it had when they were dancing. "Is that all you wanted?" she asked breathlessly.
He gave a rather strangled laugh. "Oh, precious thing, I'm old, not dead. The wishes that I could have made would have curled those delightful toes of yours." He brought his lips right above her earlobe. "I have had such dreams about you, Sarah—dreams to build many a wish on," he purred in a voice that was shaded with longing and more than a hint of sin.
He moved back until he was looking down at her, and slowly began to trace the curve of her cheek. "But given our past, I thought that even a dance would be more than you would ever grant your child-snatching villain." he said simply. His lips twisted in a self-mocking little smile. "Wishes are precious and I couldn't afford to waste a single wish when it comes to you, Sarah. I was content to wish for so little if it meant that it had a chance of coming true."
And at that moment, Sarah felt her heart began its strange little origami game with a vengeance. It was twisting twisting twisting so viciously that she pressed her hand against her chest.
"I didn't give you a present," she said breathlessly.
He smiled. "You gave me non-drugged cake and a wish."
"But I didn't give you a present."
"It wasn't necessary."
"I should have given you a present,"
"Really, Sarah this is getting repetitive,"
"Happy birthday," she said, reaching up and curling her fingers into the wide lapels of his leather jacket. She had a moment to register his look of complete surprise just before she kissed him.
It was a brush of lips, something almost chaste yet many degrees stronger than platonic, full and freely given, and just so sweet. To her complete and utter surprise, Sarah discovered that Jareth's lips were tingling, almost as if they were humming with an electric charge. It must be the magic, she thought groggily. It was like kissing raw current; it brushed along her lips and made them shiver and the sensation was just so delicious, so different from anything that she had ever felt that she leaned in closer and kissed him more deeply, feeling the current begin to flow down the length of her body until she too, felt electric. As an experiment, she allowed her fingers to wander over the bare skin of his neck and, with a little thrill of pure pleasure, she found that the magical current was there too. Touching his bare skin made her shiver. The carnal possibilities of such a discovery made Sarah moan against his lips. She entwined her fingers into his feather-soft hair and pulled him closer to deepen their kiss.
Jareth had moved long past his initial surprise; he felt Sarah's lips on his, her fingers in his hair, and her moan against his mouth and heaven help him, his heart almost leapt from his chest. He shuddered.
Shuddered.
As if he were a novice when it came to kisses. As if this was his first. Though, he conceded, in a very important way, it was; it was his first kiss toward forever with his Sarah. She tasted like chocolate. She smelt of flowers and vanilla. She felt utterly perfect in his arms. He growled low in his throat and let her go long enough to quickly strip off his gloves. He slipped one bare hand through the silken strands of her long dark hair until he was cradling her head, pulling her closer; he slid the other under the back of her singlet top, running his long fingers in languid circles over the smooth skin of her back.
At the touch of his bare hands against her skin, Sarah tore her mouth from his with a gasp and shuddered so violently that she would have collapsed if he had not been there to hold her up.
"Shhh," he whispered consolingly, brushing his lips back and forth against hers.
"You tingle," she gasped.
He smiled as he trailed his lips along her jaw. "I've noticed on occasion."
"You could have warned me," she said accusingly as he began to kiss all the shivery places behind her ear.
"And spoil the surprise?" He gave a low laugh against her skin. "Not to worry, precious, you'll get used to it."
"I certainly hope not," she said, and brought his mouth back down to hers.
This kiss was exponentially better than the last, and even in her hormone-drenched state, Sarah was able to calculate that if one kiss made her tingle, and a second made her burn…then surely a third would make her incandescent…and a fourth…well, that would probably be worth bartering her soul for.
After several such soul-bartering kisses, they were forced to break away to catch their breath.
"When is your birthday Sarah?" he asked huskily, scattering kisses along her throat.
It took her a while to register the question. "You missed it."
"How lax of me," he said, running his lips over her collarbone. "Then I owe you a wish and a present."
Sarah gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her throat. "I wish for more kisses," she said, tilting her head back.
Jareth brushed his lips against hers. "How many? This is a wish, precious thing; you have to be specific."
"Many," she said softly, as he dropped kisses at the corners of her mouth, on the crest of her cheek, on her temple.
"How many?" he whispered against her skin.
"Hundreds…thousands…millions…"
"…as many as there are stars in the sky?" he asked, a smile in his voice.
Sarah nodded, reaching up to run the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.
He moaned. "But precious thing, that would take a very long time. Possibly even forever."
She nodded distractedly, closing her eyes as his fingers caressed the back of her neck. "Yes."
He sighed and pulled away a little. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, coaxing her eyes to open. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes glazed, her lips red and bruised with kisses, her skin flushed, and he almost cursed himself for what he was about to say.
"Sarah," he said, making her name sound like a melody. "Do you know what it is that you are asking for? I will offer it to you, but you must be sure that you want it before you accept. Wishes are binding, and as much as I want to grant your wish—and I do, good lord how I do!—I do not want you to accept merely because I 'tingle'," he said with a rueful smile.
Sarah noticed that the King looked concerned. Beautiful, and wild, and lust-crazed, and concerned. It was a lovely surprise, really. She opened her mouth to answer him, but he covered her lips with his finger.
"Say nothing. I'll grant you the time to think about whether or not you want this."
"But I wish-"
He quickly placed his whole hand over her mouth. "Good lord Sarah, I'm trying very hard not to play the villain but it is far more difficult than I expected. I want to be villainous right now but I'm trying very hard to be the hero."
"Who made you the hero?" she mumbled under his hand.
"Humor me; I'm trying to see how the other half live."
"But-"
"Don't defy me."
Before she could protest, he quickly moved his hand and replaced it with his mouth, kissing her till they were swaying dizzily on their feet.
Sarah eventually broke away from the kiss and looked at the slogan on his t-shirt. "Look, you can try to be as heroic as you want but your t-shirt is daring me to accept you."
Jareth sighed. "Sarah, this shirt was recommended by a chicken. It should hardly dictate the course of our lives."
"I'm with the t-shirt on this one," she said firmly, laying her hands over his chest.
She reached up and brushed her lips against his, taking his lower lip between her own and biting it gently. With an almost reluctant moan, he kissed her again. Smiling a little against his lips, she ran her hands down his shirt, tugging a little till it came free from his leather pants. She slipped her hands beneath the material, until she felt warm bare skin humming under her palms. Mesmerized she slid her hands …slowly…over his lightly muscled abdomen, her thumbs caressing the hollow of his navel. A rush of electric current tore through her palms and up over her body, lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck. The sensation was just so glorious that she couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to lie against him, skin-to-skin.
Jareth tore his mouth from hers and shuddered. "It appears that you and that shirt are conspiring against me."
She smiled impishly up at him.
"Be that as it may, I am not backing down," he said in strangled whisper as she explored the muscles of his back with her fingertips.
"Really?" she said, her fingernails lightly coursing his skin.
He inhaled sharply and cupped her face in his hands. "Really," he said firmly.
He bent his head and kissed her savagely. It was a kiss that burnt and branded; it tore through her defenses and seared his very soul into hers. It was a kiss that gave her a taste of an immortal's desires and the intensity was so completely outside the realm of human experience that it should have made her tear her mouth from his and run from the room.
Sarah pulled him closer. She wound her fingers into his starlit hair and dragged him down, her mouth claiming his in return. With a feral growl, he pulled her hips hard against his body, sliding his hands under her top and over satiny skin, tracing shivery paths over every inch, every curve. She began to shake uncontrollably from the strange pleasure of it, moaning against his lips as the tingling beneath her skin became a hard pulse that beat through her veins in time with his heart.
Overall, it was too much.
Far too much.
Her mouth fell away from his and she slumped against his chest, boneless. She tried to breathe. "Fine. Be the hero," she shuddered, letting her head fall back so that she could look up at him.
His eyes were dark and wild and he had never looked more inhuman. "I'm glad that you've seen my point of view," he rasped.
He placed his forehead against hers and they stood that way for several long moments, trying to catch their breath.
Sarah licked her lower lip. "How long do I have to wait before I make my wish? The standard thirteen hours?"
Jareth nodded tightly. "That would seem fitting."
"Though technically you only gave me ten."
"How villainous of me. Perhaps we'll make it ten—for old time's sake."
She pulled back and looked at him shrewdly. "Ten Underground hours or ten Aboveground hours?"
"I would think ten Aboveground hours."
"Damn," she said.
"I couldn't agree more."
She very deliberately slid her hands under his shirt, rubbing her thumbs in slow circles under his pendant.
"Make that Underground hours," he hissed.
Sarah smiled a rather triumphant smile.
Jareth gave her a look of rather reluctant admiration. "No more of that, precious thing." He gently broke their embrace. "I'm leaving now before you seduce me into granting you only ten minutes to decide." He snorted. "Being a hero is exceedingly overrated."
Sarah laughed and touched his cheek. "Don't get too used to it—I think I prefer you as the villain."
Jareth smirked. "What a relief. Being noble is such a bore. All that chivalry and self-sacrifice…" He made a dismissive hand gesture. "I'd rather just ravish you."
As he turned toward the window, he caught sight of her desk and grimaced.
"In the meantime, would you do something for me?"
Sarah smiled. "I guess I can afford to be generous to my hero."
He gave a short bark of laughter and then became quite serious. "I would like you to get rid of those yellow pieces of paper," he said, looking at the Post-it noteswith extreme distaste.
Sarah laughed. "Whatever did they do to you?"
"Offend my vanity," he said regally.
"I'm surprised you don't just bog them."
He tapped his finger against his lips. "That would be a fitting punishment …"
Sarah looked at him incredulously. "You would be so vengeful toward a defenseless pad of paper? I guess what you said earlier was true—you really are heartless."
Jareth looked over at the Post-its. "I wouldn't say that I am without a heart. More that it seems to have been misplaced."
"Oh that's convenient! Where ever did you misplace your heart, your Majesty?" she asked impishly.
He rolled his eyes. "You should know, you minx," he said taking her hand and pressing it against his chest. "I left it in your keeping."
Before she could say a word, he bent his head and gave her a brief searing kiss.
And then…just like that…he was gone.
And she was left with just the taste of his kiss on her lips, the feel of his heartbeat against her palm, and, oddly enough, a floral slingshot in her hand.
AUTHOR'S NOTE #2:
Sarah didn't realize until the next day that her Post-it notes were gone. They now reside, quite happily, in the bog. Such a pity.
(Oh dear. I feel an epilogue coming on. I keep thinking about that karaoke machine…in the hands of the goblins. What do you say—will Vanilla Ice's Ice Ice Baby echo through the throne room? Will Jareth gyrate to I'm too sexy? Do review. Stop the madness before it begins)