Sarah watched Jareth from the doorway of the lecture hall as he taught his 10:30am European Mythology class. He was propped on one arm, leaning slightly back against a desk as he spoke. He wore a smart navy and green argyle sweater with a lighter blue button-down beneath it and brown slacks and he had a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose.

Sarah noticed that the front two rows of the class were entirely made up of female students and that they were hanging on every word he said. She took a deep breath and bit back the sudden surge of jealousy that had risen up in her core.

When the class finally ended and the students slowly filed out, Sarah entered the room and was perturbed to see a group of co-eds loitering around Jareth's desk. They giggled and cooed at him and Sarah fought the urge to whack them with the picnic basket she was carrying.

At last, straightening her back, she surged through the giggling gaggle and approached Jareth.

"Hi, Jareth," she said, emphasizing her use of his given name. "Are you almost finished? I brought us lunch."

Jareth beamed. "Judy, darling!" he purred. "I am done and I am famished." He turned to the co-eds. "If you'll excuse me, ladies."

He gathered his leather satchel and took Sarah by the arm and walked to the door. It took all of Sarah's willpower to not turn around and stick out her tongue at the gaping girls.

They walked outside and down the path toward a green space between buildings. The mid-October sky had darkened considerably and thunder rumbled in the distance.

"I'm afraid you picked a poor day for a picnic, Judy dear," said Jareth. Seeing Sarah's disappointed frown he brightened. "But don't fret. Follow me."

He led them around the corner to a large alcove with benches and a statue of John Keats sitting under a curved stone awning.

"Keats won't mind if we take our al fresco lunch here," Jareth smiled.

They sat on the bench and Sarah opened the basket and took out the assortment of delicious treats she'd picked up in town: peppered sausage, olive salad, deviled eggs, a block of stinky but delicious cheese, a crusty baguette and a cinnamon and peach parfait.

"This is lovely, Sarah. Thank you," Jareth said as he cut off a slice of cheese.

"I-I'm sorry about ducking out on you the other night. I was tired and a little confused…" Sarah told him.

"It's quite all right, Sarah, dear," Jareth replied.

"No, it isn't," Sarah admitted. "I got the feeling that maybe you… maybe you wanted to kiss me and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Jareth smiled. "I assure you, Sarah, I did want to kiss you."

"Why?"

"I like you. I can be myself around you. Not to mention the fact that you looked quite delectable in your smart pinstripe suit. Every man in that room wanted you."

"Okay…" Sarah said, slowly processing his comment. "I just need…"

"Sarah, do you find me attractive?" She looked at him. There was no question. He made her insides delightfully squishy.

"Yes," she answered.

"I obviously find you attractive as well. I think the proper course of action is to explore where this attraction takes us."

"Well that's just the thing," Sarah told him. "I'm not sure I'm ready to do that."

"Is there someone else?"

"No."

"Is there a religious objection?"

"Hardly."

"Then what is the issue?"

Sarah paused. What was the issue? "Oh yeah," she remembered, "He's the fucking Goblin King who stole my baby brother and made me run his hell-maze and tried to mow me down and gave me a roofied peach and danced with me in his lurid masquerade…"

"Sarah," said Jareth, "That's not who I am anymore."

Sarah blanched at his apparent reading of her thoughts. "Maybe not," she said. "But it still makes things complicated."

"No, Sarah," Jareth retorted. "You make things complicated. Stop being so bloody scared and open up for once."

He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and took a hard drag from it.

Sarah sat back on the bench and looked at the ground and Jareth sighed, exhaling gray smoke into the air.

"I forget who I'm talking to sometimes," he said quietly. "You're the girl who played make-believe alone in the park and felt forgotten and ignored by her family."

"I'm not fifteen anymore, Jareth," Sarah sullenly replied.

"No, but you're still playing a role, aren't you, Sarah?" he asked. "Not that it's your fault. It's difficult to be burdened with secrets you can never share. You can try to shove them to the back of your closet and ignore them, but the threat of their discovery is always there."

"You sound like you have experience," said Sarah.

"We all have secrets, but yes. I understand how you feel," Jareth answered. "That's one reason I'd like to spend more time with you. It doesn't have to be in terms of a romantic relationship if you don't want that, Sarah."

"I didn't know you smoked," she said.

Jareth took another long drag before answering. "Only when I'm agitated," he admitted. "I'm trying to quit." There was another long pause. "Can we be friends, Sarah?"

Sarah looked up at him and nodded. "Sure," she said. "I'd like that."

Spending more time together came to mean hanging out, usually in the evenings in each other's living rooms. On Tuesday afternoons, Jareth came to Great Missenden and he and Sarah had supper at The Cross Keys before returning to Sarah's house to watch a movie or just sit and chat. Sir Lancelot took to Jareth right away and enjoyed curling up in his lap to snooze. While Jareth didn't mind the attention, he was less than pleased about having his dark slacks covered in orange fur.

"I've brought you a gift," Sarah said one evening after listening to him complain again about Sir Lancelot's shedding. She held out a cylindrical object with a handle toward him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a lint roller," Sarah answered. "If you turn it this way and run it up and down your pants, it'll remove all the unwanted fur."

Jareth took the lint roller and smiled, genuinely moved by her thoughtfulness. "Thank you," he said. He slid the roller over his pants and was pleased when the orange fur was transferred from his pants to the sticky surface of the roller. "Brilliant," he said.

"Tell me about Luca," Sarah said. It was a Tuesday night in early November and they were in her lounge. Sarah relaxed in her ratty, but comfortable chair and Jareth was draped over the small sofa, smoking a cigarette. He'd given up trying to quit. He leaned back against an embroidered pillow and looked up at the ceiling.

"Luca…" he sighed. "Luca was something. He was the stereotypical Italian pretty boy: dark hair and eyes, olive complexion. He was attractive and he knew it, though not in a conceited way. He was merely confident in his sexual magnetism."

Jareth paused and took a drag from his cigarette. "My first cooking lesson was an utter fiasco. I threw a rather nasty temper tantrum and stormed out. I thought that would be the end of it. But Luca was… well, tenacious. He came to me later and told me what an utter ass I was and that I was spoiled and disagreeable and a complete waste of his time… and he offered to continue teaching me. I was flabbergasted, to say the least."

"I'll bet," giggled Sarah.

"Anyway, after I solemnly promised to try to behave myself and not throw any more sharp objects, our lessons continued and I kept my word. I was determined to do well. The man had been far more than gracious to me and I wanted to be worthy. I was the model student…"

"How did the two of you… get involved?"

After another puff of his cigarette Jareth answered. "Oh, there was chemistry between us from the beginning," he said. "We kept things professional for quite a long time though. However, after one particular evening had proven rather tedious and I was cross and covered in marinara, Luca had moved to wipe a smear from my face. But then he leaned in and kissed the sauce off my cheek. Needless to say, the lesson was forgotten and I dragged him upstairs and we fucked each other senseless."

"But there weren't feelings between you?"

"There were tender feelings, yes, but not the kind where you turn your life upside down and start buying two of everything." said Jareth. "At least, not on my part."

"Luca felt more," Sarah offered.

"Yes. It was a rather sore spot between us. He wanted things I wasn't prepared to give him."

"Like what?"

Jareth turned on the couch to face Sarah. "My secrets," he told her. "All of them. I couldn't…"

"You couldn't tell him about being the magical former king of the goblins."

"Among other things," Jareth remarked cryptically.

"So… how did he die?" Sarah timidly asked.

Jareth grew solemn. "He fell victim to a gang of thugs who felt they were doing the world a favor by ridding it of 'freaks and queers'. They beat him to a pulp and left him to die in a back alley."

"Oh god, that's horrible!' groaned Sarah.

"Yes, and I was the one who had to come and identify him," Jareth told her. "We hadn't seen each other in over a year, but my number was still listed as his emergency contact."

Sarah moved from her comfy chair and sat on the floor next to the sofa so that she was eye-level with Jareth.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that, Jareth," she said. "Whether or not you had feelings for Luca, it must have been very traumatic.

Jareth sighed. "Trauma seems to my lot in life, Judy dear."

On Friday evenings, Sarah closed up the museum and took the train to London. She usually stopped by her favorite wine shop to pick up a nice bottle to go with whatever dinner Jareth was cooking: a delectable Pinot Noir to go with Jareth's braised lamb, a fine Merlot to pair with the bolognese, a bold Cabernet Sauvignon for the seared tuna with risotto.

The dinners were exquisite and the company was pleasant. Jareth didn't have a television, so after the dishes were washed and put away, he and Sarah usually retired back to the lounge to talk. Sometimes, if Jareth had reading or grading to do, he would put some music on his old-fashioned hi-fi, usually jazz or classical, and he and Sarah would sit quietly reading and listening to the music, happy to inhabit the same space without the need for constant chatter.

Jareth often fell asleep sitting up in his chair, his book or grading in his lap. Sarah would take his books and papers and set them aside, carefully remove his reading glasses and lay them on the side table and cover him with one of the colorful throws from the sofa before letting herself out. On one of these occasions she felt compelled to place a light kiss on his marked brow. She wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, and she was more than relieved when he didn't stir. Still, she did it again the next time she left him. And the next. It became a habit she looked forward to, the brief, sweet moment of her lips against his cool skin.

On one particular evening as Sarah got ready to lean down and place her ritual kiss on Jareth's brow he suddenly arched upward and captured her lips with his. The kiss caught her off-guard, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned further into him, relaxing into his embrace as his mouth gently moved over hers. It wasn't a furious, fiery kiss, but rather a slow, intentional one, but it made Sarah's body tingle and her nerve-endings sing. When their lips parted, Jareth stared up at her.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," he grinned.

"Have you been faking sleep this whole time?!" Sarah exclaimed with feigned surprise.

"Only half of the time," Jareth admitted.

"I thought we were just friends," Sarah said, moving away to sit on the sofa.

Jareth sat up and studied her. "Judy dear," he said, "I recall asking to be your friend. I never asked to be only that."

"Oh," Sarah grunted.

Jareth sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It's late, love," he said. "I have a symposium to set up tomorrow…"

"Right," said Sarah glumly. "I'm going."

"I'll see you later, Judy."

"Yeah. See ya, Chips."

Sarah thought about the kiss on the train-ride home. It had been sweet, but it had also carried an undertone of passion. Jareth's lips were soft and tasted of wine and tobacco and butter-mints. He hadn't stuck his tongue down her throat or tried to grope or paw at her. He'd merely draped one arm lightly over her waist as his mouth had explored hers. The thought made Sarah's insides do a flip-flop. She had liked kissing him. She hadn't wanted to stop. She wanted to jump off the train and run back to his flat and let him kiss her until she couldn't think straight.

"What is wrong with you, Sarah?" she asked herself.

Jareth had proven to be more than a gentleman. He listened intently when she spoke and remembered mundane details about what she told him. He often brought her strange and amusing things when he visited: a newspaper clipping about a supposed goblin sighting in the subway station at Earl's Court, a pressed metal bookmark in the shape of an owl. One evening he'd brought her a prayer candle from a novelty shop. It had Roald Dahl in the guise of a saint emblazoned on it.

"So you can pray to your patron saint for continued inspiration," he'd told her with a sly grin.

Sarah sighed. There was no use denying it. She and Jareth had crossed over the line of "just friends" and were headed out into deeper and murkier waters.

She picked up her phone and sent a text.

"Sorry I've acted like such a weirdo."

She sat back and waited for a response. She didn't wait long. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at it and smiled.

"Lucky for you I have an affinity for weirdos," read the reply.

"It was a nice kiss," she texted back.

"Yes, quite," came the response.

"Goodnight, Jareth."

"Goodnight, Sarah."

A/N:

I have taken a bit of artistic license and moved the Keats alcove from the King's College School of Medical Education campus at Guy's to the KCL campus at the Strand.

pinkdynamite: Plenty will be revealed about the book soon, so stay tuned.

Keep it here guys because the next chapters really heat up!

~Fanny~