Never Let a Kiss Fool You

Sarah leaned back on a fallen tree stump and tried not to choke on her dinner as she laughed. Not only was Grosvenor a wonderful guide, he was also proving to be an entertaining storyteller. He seemed to have had an unlimited number of rollicking adventures, some of which Sarah thought maybe he'd embellished for her benefit, but were amusing nonetheless.

"—she held me up at knife point and demanded my horse," Grosvenor was saying.

"And then?" Sarah asked.

Grosvenor shrugged a shoulder. "What else could I do? The lady was being quite stubborn on the matter," he said. Sarah put a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles, and the hunter sitting across from her grinned. "I decided I valued the more...delicate parts of myself more than my horse, so I graciously allowed her to take him. Meanest I've ever met, by the way," he added with a mock somber shake of his head.

"The lady or the horse?" Sarah asked around snorts of laughter.

Grosvenor's smile turned playful, but he didn't answer. "I came upon her an hour later, sitting next to the road and covered in mud," he said. He poked the fire between them, making it crackle and snap. "My horse was a little farther along, happily eating a patch of clover he'd found."

Sarah leaned forward. "What did you do?"

"I threw the lady over my saddle and took her—yelling and screaming, mind you—to the nearest constable. Told her, the next time she decided to steal someone's horse and all their worldly possessions, she'd better make sure she could get away with it."

Sarah chuckled. "Is there anything you haven't done?" she asked.

Grosvenor shrugged and poked the fire again. A log collapsed, sending up ribbons of bright sparks that illuminated the smoke. "I've always wanted to try my hand at sailing," he said. When he looked at her, the flames made his eyes dance. "Although, I'm not a very good swimmer, so..."

"Storms could be a problem," Sarah said, grinning. "All that water everywhere."

Grosvenor laughed. "That they would," he agreed with a nod. "I think I'm better sticking to land."

"So, what's in the box? If you don't mind me asking, that is," she hastily added, apologetically. She hadn't been able to stop the query. She'd been eyeing the small object most of the night, wondering what it contained and why the hunter seemed so protective of it.

Grosvenor held up the box, allowing the firelight to play off the swirling designs carved into it. He slid the top off and Sarah shifted forward as he tilted the container in her direction. The contents reflected the red-orange glow around them. Sarah's brow furrowed. "Is that...a mirror?"

"A piece of mirror," Grosvenor said, sliding the top back into place.

Sarah kept her sigh internal and propped her chin on her hands. "Does this have anything to do with the girl you're looking for?" she asked.

Surprise filled Grosvenor's eyes. "Yes," he said. He set the box down and rested his elbows on his knees. "This is part of my queen's looking glass—my former queen's," he corrected with a grimace. "She was killed by her stepdaughter who, in a fit of rage, shattered the mirror and drove a piece through Her Majesty's heart. Before anyone knew what had happened, the girl had fled."

"Well, that's an interesting twist," Sarah murmured. "What do you plan to do when you find her?" When he didn't answer right away, Sarah swallowed. "Are you going to kill her?"

Grosvenor's expression became stony as he stared into the fire. "I'll do what I must," he said, softly.

The fire snapped in the silence that sprang up between them, as though emphasizing the hunter's words. A chill touched the back of Sarah's neck.

"You never told me why you're out here on your own," Grosvenor said, finally breaking the eerie tension in the air. He looked her over through the flames separating them. "You don't look like you're from around here."

Sarah gave a short, dry chuckle. "I'm not," she said. "Nowhere near here, as a matter of fact. I'm...looking for someone," she said. "A king who seems to have gotten himself into some kind of trouble. All I know is he's somewhere unpleasant, being held against his will, and he may be a little off his rocker."

"A king?" Grosvenor's expression shifted.

Sarah sat up, a spark of hope making her ask, "Have you heard of the Goblin King? Do you know where he is?" in quick succession.

Grosvenor's eyes widened. "You're searching for the Goblin King?" he asked. Sarah nodded and the hunter let out a soft breath. "Then that makes you the Travel—"

"Don't say it," she warned, holding up a hand to cut him off. "I'm not anything, I'm just Sarah."

The hunter blinked. Then leaned back and laughed. "Fair enough," he said. "Well, this is certainly a first for me." When Sarah gave him a questioning look, he smiled. "Not every day I get to sit in the presence of a heroine." He tilted his head to the side and his smile widened. "And a particularly lovely one, at that."

Sarah grinned at the compliment, but shook her head at yet another title being given to her. "I'm no hero, either," she said, firmly. "Why would you say that?"

"You really aren't from around here," Grosvenor murmured. "My mother would tell me and my siblings of the hero as a bedtime tale. As a lad, the story fascinated me; I always imagined a woman riding up on her white steed to save the world."

Sarah leaned back and laughed. "I'm not here to save the world," she said. "Just a crazy king. Once that's done, I'm outta here," she added, jerking her thumb in an ambiguous direction.

Grosvenor contemplated her for a long moment, then shrugged. "I would suggest heading for the Black Tower," he said. "There have been rumors around it for years of strange happenings; people disappearing, the area around it twisting into something unnatural."

Kidnappings and screwy landscapes? Yep, that sounds like the Goblin King, Sarah thought.

"It's quite a ways from here," Grosvenor added. "It will take you at least another three days."

"Three days?" When the hunter nodded, Sarah stared into the fire. If she was doing her math right, that gave her a two day cushion, which was better than she'd expected. If Jareth wasn't there, though...

I wonder what will really happen to me if I fail. Will I be stuck here or just return to my own world? Or will Jareth make good on his threat to kill me? Sarah frowned. How can he kill me if he's locked away? Or dead himself?

"You think serious thoughts," Grosvenor murmured, breaking into Sarah's reverie.

She shrugged and smiled. "Not really," she assured. "Just wondering when my life became part of a fairy tale."

"You should rest," Grosvenor told her. "We'll start at dawn tomorrow."

Sarah winced at the thought of another long day of walking. But she nodded and curled up on the ground, pulled her emergency blanket over her shoulders and fell asleep listening to Grosvenor settle down for the night.

"Who is he?"

One dark eyebrow rose as Sarah looked at the Goblin King. "Who?" she asked.

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Ignorance has never looked good on you, princess," he said with a sneer. "You know precisely whom I'm talking about."

Sarah turned her face to the sky, seemingly drinking in the light of the silvery moon, while trying not to let her amusement pull up the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, you mean Grosvenor?" she asked, nonchalantly. She raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. "He's a hunter," she said. "He's helping me through the forest." She paused, tilted her head down and considered Jareth from the corner of her eyes. "He's very..." She trailed off, then sighed dreamily. Dramatically.

Jareth's nostrils flared, his lips pinched into a tight, white line. "He's a pretentious, arrogant, overbearing, bumbling fool, that's what he is," Jareth snapped. "And he'll probably get you killed."

"Maybe," Sarah said. She glanced behind her in the direction she knew her camp lay. "But I don't really have any other choice. And, right now, he's keeping me quite warm." She looked at Jareth again in time to see gold lightening crackle through the ice blue of his eyes. She barely held back another grin. "What does it matter to you, anyway?" she asked. "Are you upset he's traveling with me?"

"Hardly," Jareth bit out. "I'm merely concerned for your safety. It would be most unfortunate if you died before finding me."

"Ah," Sarah murmured and nodded. "Of course." She turned around and started back to camp.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She glanced at Jareth sharply, not appreciating his tone. "Back to sleep," she replied, tartly. "Early start tomorrow and Grosvenor says we should travel as long as we can through the day." She gave Jareth a tooth-achingly sweet smile. "I'm sure you want me to be well rested."

Jareth's eyes narrowed until they were mere slits and his bare fingers curled into fists at his side. "Fine," he said, shortly. And rather like a petulant child, Sarah thought.

She let her expression soften, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in a show of uncertainty. "Unless..." She paused, lowered her gaze. "Unless you don't want me to go."

Silence.

Then, "I could really care less what you do, princess."

"Except when it comes to finding you."

"Exactly."

"You have absolutely no desire to spend time with me."

"The very idea bores me."

"Which is why you feel the need to invade my dreams almost every night."

"Precis—"

Jareth cut himself off. Sarah struggled to keep her expression bland as his mouth hung open for a moment before snapping closed. His pursed his lips, cocked his head. Contemplated her.

A heart-stopping smile broke over his face. A throaty laugh of genuine amusement breached the fine line of his lips, shimmered through the air. Sarah gasped in a breath, swore she tasted the smooth sparkles of his mirth. Good gods, no wonder he hid emotional responses behind that masks of indifference. He had to be careful throwing those smiles and laughs around or someone—namely Sarah—might start thinking of him as human.

Her lungs took a crash course on how to properly function again. Her brain and body fought about what she should do—remain where she was and wait out the wave of chuckles or give into the temptation to feel them flutter against her skin. Sarah was left rooted to the spot, trembling with indecision, liquid heat blossoming in her stomach and shooting through her veins.

"You have it backwards, Sarah," Jareth said. The smile still graced his lips, made his eyes twinkle. "You're the one who brings me here." A step in her direction. "Which makes me wonder if perhaps you are the one who wishes to spend time with me." Another step.

"Keep your ego in your pants, Goblin King," Sarah said, feeling wildly out of control the closer he came. "I have about as much desire to be around you as you do me."

His smile didn't fade—it simply ceased to exist. And a small part of Sarah was a little more comfortable in the face of his customary stoicism.

Except a strange light entered Jareth's eyes, one that highlighted the stormy grey-blue with streaks of curiosity. The longer the silence lasted, the longer he stared at her, the more uneasy Sarah became. But she felt she'd lose a game she didn't know they'd been playing if she moved or looked away.

"If you don't want to see me any longer, then all you must do is banish me from the dream," Jareth told her, the soft, husky tone of his voice sliding over her skin.

"It's that easy?"

"Yes."

Sarah closed her eyes and thought about how much she didn't want to see the Goblin King when she opened them...

"You have to wish for it, Sarah."

One side of her mouth twisted into a frown as she opened her eyes. She looked at Jareth, who still stood in front of her, patiently waiting. "I don't make wishes anymore," she said.

Silence again. And that curious light in his eyes shone a little brighter. "Never?"

"Never," she repeated, firmly.

Jareth stared at her for another long moment before shaking his head and shrugging. "You must want it, then, with all your being," he said.

Her eyes closed again—flew open when a feather-light touch brushed her cheek.

"Since I'm still here, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe my previous assertation was correct," Jareth said, fingers slowly withdrawing. Lingering against her skin for as long as possible.

Sarah's heart got all caught up in her voice, making her voice raspy as she said, "You wish."

"Perhaps," he whispered.

And she forgot how to breathe all over again.

"Were you telling the truth?" she asked, suddenly. When Jareth's brow began to crinkle, Sarah clarified, "When you said, before, how you'd thought of me every day since we'd last seen each other." A muscle in Jareth's cheek jumped and his eyes jerked away. "What did you mean?"

He looked at her—looked startled to find her so close. And, when he moved back a step, Sarah didn't know whether to feel triumphant that she'd forced him to retreat or chagrin that he didn't pull her against him.

"You love me."

Sarah opened her mouth to give an indignant retort—She most certainly did not—then snapped it shut. Because Jareth's eyes were calm pools of midnight silver and there wasn't anything derisive about the line of his mouth.

"Not now," he added, almost offhandedly. "Later. After...all of this. It's why I'm here. Partly."

Just when I was starting to think he was sane, Sarah thought, a little ruefully. "Are you saying you think I'm going to fall in love with you?" she asked.

"I know you are."

For a moment, Sarah could only blink in the face of his bold statement. "Wow, that's not at all conceited," she finally managed to sarcastically mutter. "You do realize it's highly unlikely I'm going to fall for someone who only gives me partial truths, has a history of being untrustworthy, and whose idea of a good time is terrorizing teenagers, right?"

Jareth closed his eyes and shook his head, his mouth pulling taut. "It's hard to explain."

"Of course it is. Of course you would make a completely random—and, I'll have you know, arrogantly presumptuous—statement, and then tell me it's hard to ex—"

Jareth's long fingers tangling in her hair startled her into abrupt silence. He pulled her into him so she pressed against him from chest to thigh.

And he kissed her. Thoroughly.

Sarah always imagined Jareth would be an exceptional kisser, but her imagination hadn't prepared her for the reality of feeling his lips against hers. He took immediate control, just like she'd thought he would, and not just with his mouth. As the tip of his tongue slid teasingly against hers, his hands tilted her head at a better angle, encouraged her to melt into the long, firm line of his body. Her fingers curled into the loose material of his shirt, knowing she'd need something to hold onto when her knees gave out.

But she remained easily upright, which confused her. Because she's always thought kissing Jareth would be an all-consuming, breathtaking experience. Lightening, thunder, fireworks, something earth-shattering and life-altering. She thought his kiss would be a drug she'd become instantly addicted to; that he would leave her craving more. And, while she could feel sparks of attraction flickering between them, that was all she felt...aggravatingly faint sparks.

As kisses went, it was good—better than good—but it wasn't particularly extraordinary.

When Jareth pulled away, Sarah tried to hide her disappointment. He rested his forehead against hers and let out a low growl, voicing her frustration perfectly in the sound.

"You feel it, don't you?" he whispered against her lips. Sarah kept her eyes closed, refusing to make any noise because she knew it would fill the air with an aching need that hadn't been satisfied. "Like an annoying hum, just below the surface? An itch you can't scratch?" Sarah nodded. "It's the dream, the space between us," he said, softly. "I'm the one you love, but not the one you fall in love with."

Sarah opened her eyes and looked at Jareth with a puzzled expression. "That doesn't make any sense," she said, wincing when her voice came out husky. She cleared her throat and ignored Jareth's small grin. His kiss may not have knocked her socks off, but it still had an undeniable effect on her. "The unlikelihood of it aside, how can I love you but not fall in love with you?"

Jareth's grin widened. "One day," he told her, "after you've found me and I'm feeling particularly chatty, I'll explain everything." A teasing gleam entered his eyes as he gave her words from two night ago back, and Sarah couldn't help but smile. He reached up to twirl a lock of her hair around his fingers. "I promise."

She raised an eyebrow. "You promise?" she repeated, with mock incredulity. "One crappy kiss and suddenly you're making promises?"

Jareth pulled her against him again as he tilted his head back and laughed. The sound swirled around them warmly, vibrated deliciously under Sarah's hands and cheek, and she wondered how it was his laughter had more effect on her than his mouth.

"Why are you acting so different?" she asked.

His fingers paused in her hair and she could feel the cool weight of his gaze as he looked at her. "Because you wished it, Sarah," he said.

She tipped her chin up to frown at him. "I did not," she said. "I don't—"

"Make wishes. Yes, I know." But the way he smiled when he stepped away made Sarah think he was teasing her. "Time to sleep."

"You have an amazing ability to leave me with more questions than answers, Goblin King," she told him, ignoring the way she instantly missed his warmth and the feel of his fingers gently twining through her hair. "And I'm still not sure if you're telling me the truth or trying to manipulate me."

He kissed her again, a quick, soft brush of his mouth over hers. "Good morning, Sarah," he whispered against her lips.

Sarah opened her eyes and scowled at Grosvenor.

"Not a morning person?" the hunter asked.

Sarah kept her curses to herself.

Only to aim them toward the sky when it started raining.

He hadn't lied to her—he had never lied to her. She was the one responsible for bringing him into their dreams.

What he failed to tell her was he came of his own accord because he couldn't resist. Because it was so tempting.

Because she was so tempting.

He spent most of his time in a muzzy haze, only vaguely aware of where he was and what was happening around him. And he desperately tried to escape into something less horrifying whilst he slept.

In his dreams, he could see her. She started as a tiny speck of light on the edge of a dark horizon. A speck he was inextricably drawn to...for the promise of reprieve from the bone-numbing cold, for the hope she would chase away the shadows where his nightmares lurked.

For the company...

And as soon as he stepped into the circle of her light, as soon as it licked against him, it shaped him. Made him into a little more of what he'd once been. He couldn't help but feel some sort of gratitude toward her, even if she would never know. Because he wouldn't tell her. Couldn't tell her. Could never put into paltry words how much she did for him.

How much she meant to him...

He had felt the wish—because she wished, no matter how hard she tried not to—as soon as it had flitted through her mind. And he'd felt the change. He'd felt the king, the villain, the Other, float away as carelessly as if they drifted on butterfly wings. He'd been left standing before her as nothing more—but certainly nothing less—than a man. And it had made him say things he shouldn't, made him do things he shouldn't. But he hadn't been able to resist tasting her, just to remind himself...

That was her magic; her ability to reshape the world around her. She had done it over and over again in his labyrinth. And it wasn't so much the wishing, it was simply her own force of will, her belief that whatever she imagined would come true.

It was fascinating and wonderful. And beautifully terrifying.

He had to redefine himself every time he was around her. And he loved it. Craved it. It was always a new and exciting game. A new challenge, seeing if he could keep from her just how much she made him feel, how much he felt for her. Because it wasn't the right time. She didn't even really know him in this time, was still struggling with all her memories of him from when she was fifteen. He knew because she'd told him before...after...Had it been tomorrow that she'd told him? Or yesterday?

Past, present, future became convoluted as consciousness burst harshly around him. Dull blue eyes opened to darkness and tremors gripped his muscles. With a shaking finger, he began compulsively tracing invisible patterns on the cold, damp wall.

"Her power over his powers..."

Chapter Title: The original is too long, but it was supposed to be "Never Let a Fool Kiss You or a Kiss Fool You," one of my favorite chiasmus :)