"Are you in love with him?"
Sarah thought about Moira's question as she walked to work on Thursday morning. Snow had begun to fall again, cold and wet, and she pulled her green wool scarf up over her nose to keep out the biting wind. Jareth had called her that morning to remind her to wear her scarf and her thick boots. He was like a mother hen at times, fussing over her.
"The weather's turned nasty again, love," he'd said. "You don't want to catch cold and miss our lovely dinner with Moira tomorrow night."
Sarah smiled under her scarf. He couldn't have been more excited for his birthday or Christmas. She wondered how many close friends he actually had. He spoke often of acquaintances and colleagues, but he never seemed to spend much time with them outside of work. When he wasn't teaching or with her, he was at home with his bird and a book.
Of course, Sarah knew she wasn't much better off. Aside from Moira and Jareth, she didn't have many close friends, but then she never really had. She'd always been a bit of a loner, content to live alone in her world of make-believe.
Sarah stopped at the Post box and drew a big manila envelope from her work bag. Careful not to get it wet in the falling snow, she dropped it into the box with a thunk and continued on to the museum. With certain recent developments and the unexpected visit from her family, it had taken her over a month to finish the skeleton manuscript for her second book. She knew her agent Andy was eagerly waiting to tell the publishers the latest news from their current ratings darling, G.K Ibis.
Seeing Jareth again had jump-started Sarah's creativity (among other things, she would often tell herself) and an idea for a brand new, sexy story started forming right away. Of course, with the advent of actually having sex with him, she had found new levels of inspiration and even deeper eroticism. The words flowed easily.
"Having a Muse is not the same thing as being in love," said her rather jaded mind. Her mother had gone through quite a string of handsome Muses and claimed to be madly in love with all of them, only to leave them broken wrecks a few weeks later.
"I am not Linda Williams," she said aloud as she crossed the street to the museum.
Jareth called her again that afternoon. "Enjoying the weather?" he asked.
Sarah looked out the window at the steel gray sky and whipping flurries of frost. "It's lovely," she groaned.
Jareth chuckled over the line and his voice made little tingles run down her spine and between her legs.
"Maybe I can warm you up a bit, love," he told her. "Imagine we're on a deserted beach. The sun is baking the sand, but there's a salty breeze from the sea. You're on your stomach in a lounge chair and I'm just above you with a bottle of coconut oil and a frozen strawberry daiquiri…" He proceeded to tell her an incredibly naughty story that left her flushed and squirming behind the museum reception desk.
The foul weather fortunately kept any would-be patrons away and so Sarah and the other museum workers closed up early and hurried home. She changed into her comfy pajamas, heated up some leftovers and poured herself a healthy glass of wine. She had just seated herself in front of her laptop to dash off a few more pages of her manuscript when her doorbell rang.
Cursing, Sarah yanked her pink robe from the hook on the bathroom door and scurried to the living room.
"If that's Clarkston coming to sniff out all my sins I am going to punch him in the nose," she fumed. She yanked the door open with a scowl and stared down at the man on her front stoop.
Without a word, he grabbed her, pulling her into a searing kiss. Her arms went up and out, searching for a handhold on the doorframe as she was passionately kissed. Pushing her backward from the doorway and into the warmth of the lounge, her attacker finally let her catch her breath.
"Gods, Sarah," rasped Jareth. "I've been thinking of you for three bloody days and I need you right now."
She nodded and took his hand and led him quickly up the narrow stairs.
They were going to wake the neighbors. The barely muffled grunts and impassioned cries coupled with the banging of the headboard against the shared wall was enough to drive out any doubt of what they were doing. Sarah didn't care. Her body roared with bliss. Jareth was all over her, under her and inside her. She rocked against his upward thrusting, feeling the bloom of ecstasy threatening to explode in her center.
She had dreamed of sex like this. She had written sex like this. But she had never hoped to experience this level of sexual gratification.
"Jareth," she moaned low and he responded by flipping her over and pounding hard against her.
"That'll be sore in the morning," she thought with a wince. She could imagine Moira dissolving into hysterical giggles when she strutted cowboy-style into her living room the next night. Jareth, vain peacock that he was, would no doubt be pleased.
"Men," Sarah said aloud just before the tidal wave of pleasure plowed into her, stealing her breath and short-circuiting her brain activity. Jareth followed soon after, bucking and shuddering against her before crumbling to the patterned sheets beside her.
"Oh Sarah," he said in a long sigh. He curled in toward her and wrapped himself around her, holding her tightly against his lean frame. She relaxed into him, letting his even breathing lull her into drowsiness. Her last thought was of how funny it was that he snored. Not a deep guttural snort that some men had, but a soft buzz in the back of his throat, like the purr of a cat.
He woke her again in the darkness, reaching for her, caressing her curves and dips with his nimble fingers. It felt different somehow. Their other sexual encounters had been fiery surges of heat, grasping, pawing and rutting, but this was slow. Deliberate. His hands explored her, not squeezing or groping, but tenderly touching, gently kneading.
His mouth on hers was soft, searching. He kissed her lips delicately and with purpose. Their bodies moved slowly together, a back-and-forth motion of give and take. When she came it was deep and powerful. Pleasure surged up from the soles of her feet to the ends of her hair. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her chest heaved against the weight of her emotions and Jareth's trembling body. He pulsed inside her, shivering as he found his exquisite release.
Sarah kissed his mouth and realized in one vivid moment of clarity that, yes, she did love him.
She loved him with every cell of her body, every breath, every thought. She always had. She couldn't have said at fifteen what the strange emotion was that surged up in her chest and down into her belly the first time he'd cocked that wild head and smiled at her. She might have said it was fear or panic or desperation. But now Sarah was fairly certain that she had fallen in love with him the moment she'd seen him standing shadowed in the doorframe of her parents' bedroom.
She'd wanted him then. She'd wanted him in the tunnels and in the ballroom and again in the crumbling castle tower. She'd wanted to say yes, but had known it was impossible. She couldn't let Toby down, even if it meant turning away from the promises of her dark fairy prince.
She stroked his cheek and jawline and he nestled against her.
"I love you, Sarah," he whispered to her. "I loved you then, with your brave face and noble heart. I knew you wouldn't, couldn't say yes, but I asked anyway. I wanted you to know…"
Sarah silenced him with a quick kiss. "I love you too," she told him.
The buzz of the doorbell made Jareth glance up from his reading. Sarah hadn't said anything about expecting company when she'd left for work that morning. Sighing, Jareth shooed Sir Lancelot from his lap and went to the door and opened it.
He looked down into the ruddy face of an older gentleman in black. The man's pale, beady eyes grew wide as he looked him over and Jareth realized he was bare-chested and in only his lounge pants.
"Is Miss Williams here?" asked the man.
"Sarah is at work," Jareth told him. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The man frowned and tried to glance around him and into Sarah's living room.
"Are you a relative?" the man asked, his eyes betraying his suspicion.
"No," Jareth answered simply and the man's frown deepened.
"I'm Reverend Clarkston," he said, drawing himself up against the imposing figure of the half-naked man before him. "Miss Williams is one of my parishioners. She was not at Sunday service and I'm simply trying to check on her."
"Oh, Sarah's perfectly fine," Jareth told him. "She was in London this past weekend. With me."
The reverend blanched at Jareth's admission. "Who are you and what was she doing?"
Jareth gave Clarkston a sly smile. "I'm Jareth. And what do you think she was doing, Reverend?"
Clarkston huffed and looked away. "I'm not the sort to judge," he muttered.
"Aren't you?" asked Jareth, cocking his head to one side.
The reverend looked back at him and flared his nostrils. "I'll be going," he said, "But tell Miss Williams I stopped by."
"Most certainly," Jareth said as he gave a little nod and closed the door.
"Well," said Sarah, "I guess that means I have to move again."
Jareth laughed. "Nonsense, Sarah. Don't worry about that ridiculous reverend. He's a small man in a small town."
They were walking up the path to Moira's cottage, Jareth carrying a bottle of wine and Sarah bearing a box of rich fudge for Kevin and Lily. Jareth had taken advantage of the short walk to tell Sarah about the visit from Reverend Clarkston.
"Exactly," said Sarah. "This is a small church-centered town and that man is basically the mayor. Whatever he says goes and he's not above bullying and intimidating people."
"Why do they put up with that? That hardly seems in line with the teachings of your carpenter-prophet."
Sarah shrugged. "He means well. He truly thinks he's doing the right thing for the people he's in charge of."
"So did Hitler," Jareth mumbled.
Sarah gave him a little smile before reaching up to press the bell on Moira's front door. The cobbled cottage that belonged to the Dabneys was small, but charming. It sat at the end of Church Street behind a hedge of boxwood and a rustic stone gate. The inside was cozy and warm, with a large stone fireplace and an assortment of mis-matched but comfortable furniture.
Moira greeted them at the door, cheerfully embracing Sarah and Jareth.
"It's so nice to finally meet you," she gushed to him. "I've heard so much about you!"
"Likewise," Jareth replied.
Moira ushered them into the living room which smelled of savory meat and vegetables.
"Dinner's ready," she told them, taking their coats and gloves and scarves. "I'll go bring the children down. Make yourselves comfortable."
Moira's husband, Brant, entered from the kitchen and there were more introductions. Brant showed them into the dining room, a homey room with blue toile wallpaper, a large glass cabinet full of dishes and a rectangular table set with a blue plaid tablecloth.
They made polite conversation as they settled into their seats: How's work? What do you do? What are your Christmas plans? Do you like lamb?
Finally, Moira could be heard shooing the children down the stairs and into the dining room. Lily was the first to bounce into the room, her long red curls bobbing up and down over her shoulders. Her brother followed her, silent and solemn, eyes cast down to the floor.
Sarah heard Jareth gasp at her side and turned just as the boy looked up and across the table. His eyes met Jareth's and he froze. Sarah watched as the blood drained from his face, his eyes grew wide with terror and he gripped the doorway and emitted a bloodcurdling scream.
A/N: Thank you and welcome to all the new followers of this story! I hope you will all continue to read and comment and ask questions. Speaking of questions...
Any guesses as to why Kevin and Jareth reacted the way they did to one another? What do you think will come of Rev. Clarkston's conversation with Jareth?
Please tell me what you think, give me your ideas and/or your questions. I'll do my best to answer without giving too much away!
Thanks!
~Fanny~