Authors' Note: This story takes place between You, A Violent Desire and Draw Your Swords. Sarah is a little older and a little wiser than the first time she demanded that the Goblin King live up to his promises of valentine evenings ... and this time, he summons her to their dreams.
The bass line thundered in the club, and Sarah felt her heartbeat fall into rhythm with it. It was finally Friday night, and she could let her worries fall away for a while. She was twenty-one years old, and closing in on receiving her bachelor's degree in social work after having switched majors from acting. Living on her own in a tiny apartment was much better than staying in the dorms, even if she needed her father's help with the rent. Her good grades justified the investment; Sarah tended to put studying above partying, at least during the week.
Friday was her night to cut loose, though, and she'd headed out to the new club everyone was talking about. Well, everyone who owned black lipstick, at least. The place had been a warehouse, like a lot of clubs, and the external decor hadn't changed other than the neon sign reading Banshee. Something about the name had sent a prickle of unease down Sarah's spine, but she'd ignored it, summoned inside by the music and the scent of clove smoke.
Now she danced, losing herself in the rhythm of classic Goth bands and new ones, mingled together with a generous helping of industrial music. She felt carefree and weightless, her long black hair swinging, the corset cinched around her waist enhancing her bust and hips. Her boots had five inch heels that made her almost intimidatingly tall, and the dress she wore ended at mid-thigh, leaving plenty of fishnet hose on display. Along with dramatic makeup and her fierce green eyes, Sarah looked amazing, and she damn well knew it.
She danced for hours, with whoever caught her fancy. Tall, pale, lanky young men in more eyeliner than she wore, and delicate, pale, beautiful young women with hair dyed every shade of the rainbow. As the night wore on, Sarah found herself sitting at the bar with a young man whose peroxide-blond hair was artfully spiked up, and whose blue eyes were intense on hers. He leaned toward her as she sipped another Purple Haze, and told her, "There's something fae about you. I like that."
Something fae, and the name of the club mocked her now. Fae-touched, words she'd heard whispered in the back of her mind, and she shrugged them off aggressively. The Goblin King wasn't real, anyway, and her sex dreams were just that: dreams.
So she smiled at him, and said, "I like confidence. What's your name?"
"Ransley," he replied. "Yours?"
"Sarah." She had never chosen a scene name, as so many Goths did, and she highly doubted his parents had picked 'raven meadow' from the baby name book. At least it wasn't Obsidian. Or Azrael.
"So, Sarah, you wanna get out of here?" Ransley asked, with a charming smile and a lift of one brow. She decided that yes, she did want to get out of there, and rode the subway to his apartment. Good red wine, candlelight, and something a little slower and more melodic on the stereo all set the mood, and as the next hour or so progressed, Sarah found herself quite happy with the night's events.
Never mind that, somewhere in the middle of it, as she rocked in time with Ransley, Sarah caught herself thinking about that 'something fae' again. And feeling a flicker of hesitation, one she quickly buried. It wasn't possible to cheat on a dream.
They curled up together, contented, Ransley smiling like he'd discovered some great secret of life. Except she was drowsy, and she really didn't do mornings-after. Walks of shame in the glaring light of morning were always dreadful. So despite Ransley's offer to stay over, she gathered up her stuff, got dressed, and slung her boots over her shoulder, pulling on a spare pair of ballet flats she kept in her purse for just these occasions. She took his phone number down, but didn't offer hers; it had been a good night, but she wasn't looking for love. And good wasn't the same as stellar.
I'll leave my love … between the stars, a fragment of an old song in her mind as she stepped out, but New York's skies were too hazy for stars, and Sarah ignored it.
Three in the morning on the subway was a weird, liminal time. Nothing felt quite real. Sarah shared a car with a couple of cleaners headed home after a long shift, and a couple young people like herself coming home from the clubs. All of them were quiet, focused, ignoring one another in the New York version of polite etiquette.
The car's lights suddenly dimmed, leaving them all with just the emergency lights, and the section of tunnel they were in was dark, too. Sarah's head snapped up, her nape tingling, and she could almost hear her name in the wind the train created. The next moment, the lights had come up again, and the rest of the car's occupants shared chagrined smiles and shrugs. Sarah found herself too rattled to do so.
Her stop was only a block from her apartment, and she hurried there, feeling better with a door between her and the rest of the world. She drew her drapes, showered, and fell into bed, still a little buzzed from the wine. Tomorrow would be a leisurely day, she could sleep in, there was nothing to worry about.
She drew the blankets over her, and slipped into sleep.
…
Her eyes opened to candlelight, and firelight, and the cool silvery light of an iridescent crystal, spinning on Jareth's fingertips. "You vexing little wench," he sighed, and Sarah knew then that she'd truly heard his voice speaking her name. This time, he had come to her.
Her smile to him was knowing, taunting in a way that was still new to her, revelling in her knowledge of his whims. This dream was as familiar to her as every step in their waltz, and fired her heart just the same. Even as she denied them in her waking life, Sarah couldn't resist the pull she felt to return in her dreams. Here, she was someone, a power in her own right. She was Champion here, welcomed by the kingdom and irresistible to its king for exactly that reason.
The connection between them didn't always work, the passage between their worlds sporadic, likely in tune with the high-holidays of the fae themselves. She always found her way to him once a season or so, more at times when she was lonely or stressed, likely his doing. Deny it in the light of day though she did, Sarah knew she would lose something of herself if they were ever to stop.
This time, she found herself in the grand ballroom, though now it was empty and shadowed, a fire burning low at one end. It was chilly in the room, as it should be in mid-winter. At the other, a throne, flanked by candelabra, and the Goblin King himself seated there with a crystal shining in his hand.
"Are you really complaining at my appearance, Your Highness? You once very willingly offered me my dreams. I denied you, yet I'm still here," she reminded him, walking forward. Her boots clocked on the marble floor, and she looked down to see the outfit she'd worn to the club gracing her body. Except this time, trails of shadow followed the swing of her skirt, and dark glitter shone on the corset.
The crystal spun back and forth on his deft fingers. "That I did, and I've granted them, every time. Even when you come to me at inopportune times."
Sarah felt the cat-like smile curve her lips at that. The mere thought of thoroughly interrupting his life as he did hers did her proud. Her voice was deliberately low and teasing when she murmured, "Are you implying unfairness?"
He looked her in the eye before he spoke next. "Even when you summon me to mind in the midst of making love to someone else, Sarah mine."
With those words, Sarah fought her hesitation, her guilty wince. Her surety was momentarily scuttled to realize that she had called out to him, too. And at such a moment. It seemed cruel somehow, to make him aware of her Aboveground lovers. "I … I don't think I'd call that 'making love'," she murmured back, trying to keep her expression neutral while she tried to push away her mixed emotions.
He was a dream, she knew he was, but clearly her conscience was hurting her for whatever reason. Maybe. because here, away from prying eyes, what she did and how she felt was her own. And here, in her mind, in her dreams, he was hers. And she had never been cruel to anything that was hers.
That said, there were certain rules she held to, even in her most thoughtful moments here. Tonight was not one of those evenings where she would cede to him easily. "And not yours," she warned then, chin lifting defiantly.
"Mine tonight," he countered, with a wicked smile that made heat bloom low in her belly. God, what just that look could do to her.
"Are you so sure?"she challenged, crossing her arms, looking more teasing than she suddenly felt. He would have his way; after so long, Sarah knew he would, but she wouldn't make it easy for him. She would also never admit to herself that she was relieved that he had not stuck to Ransley and earlier tonight.
"Have you ever left my realm unsatisfied?" he asked, his voice a suggestive purr. All of a sudden, Jareth was beside her, those strange eyes looking into hers intently. "You do not slip from my bed in the night. I daresay you would find it difficult to walk."
That released the breath she hadn't known she was holding. Again, the dance, the steps to this one still new, more heated and knowing than their pretty waltz. More dangerous. "Oh, how you do love to boast," she retorted, unable to resist smirking at him. Just being this close to him already had her blood singing. "Just because I can feel you the next day doesn't mean I can't get along just fine. You're impressive, Goblin King, but you have yet to handicap me."
"It is not about handicapping you, precious," he drawled, and the crystal winked out of existence. Then Jareth's gloved hand was beneath her chin, making her look him in the eyes, and he added, "You do not leave me because you do not want to. The fact that I weaken your knees with overwhelming pleasure is simply a welcome side effect."
Oh yes, he was most certainly feeling like playing with fire tonight. "To be fair, Your Highness, I have yet to hear a lack of satisfaction at any point since I first returned to your realm. Most especially not my last visit. I hear the results every time, when you cry out the same as I do, because you taught me so." Just saying the words stoked the fire in her.
Jareth smiled then, stroking her cheek gently. "Oh yes, I have taught you well, haven't I? And you've thoroughly enjoyed the lessons. I don't doubt your skill, precious, for you have been as eager a student as I was a teacher."
"And you won't keep me out because you don't want to. How many times have you summoned me and warmed my nights of your own accord? Tell me, Jareth, how many times? How many times have you growled my name between your teeth?" Despite herself, Sarah could feel the tension rising in the room and tried not to lean into him.
His eyes turned opalescent, and Jareth caught her arms, leaning close. "One less than I want to," he answered, and stole her lips in a kiss.
As always in the last year, she returned the kiss like for like, kissing him as if to steal his heart, his soul. Before, there had been sweetness in every bedding, Sarah charmed, curious, and overwhelmed but in the last while, the hunger between them had been growing. Her knowledge had grown in the last few years and now the sheer lust for one another was stronger, eager and simmering and addicting. The need in him, the sheer intensity of his regard burned her, and she had found she only wanted more.
Jareth pulled her even closer, his mouth leaving hers to nip at her jaw and down her neck. "I do rather enjoy this aesthetic," he murmured, his hands framing her narrow waist in the corset.
Sarah had to grin at that, laughing huskily, knowing what image she made. "I'm utterly unsurprised. It's rather dramatic, even before your adjustments. I hate to tell you, sire, that 'princess' has gone on hold for the next little while."
He laughed, soft and welcoming, and then the room spun around them. Sarah found herself in the bedroom she knew so well, once again. Oddly enough, there was a very princess-like gown of blue silk tossed onto the floor, but she quickly ignored that when Jareth began unlacing her corset. "A noble heart such as yours cannot be hidden, no matter what you choose to wear. You will always be Sarah, regal, indomitable, and lovelier for that."
Sarah frowned for a moment, that noble heart momentarily hurt and confused at the glimpse of the silk gown. There could only be one reason for a gown in this room and it was one she had never worn. As her waking mind would, Sarah couldn't help wondering if maybe he himself was not sleeping with others…
Don't be an idiot. He can't be, Sarah. These are your dreams. Do you want him to be? Let it go.
It was impossible that that could be the way of it, as these were simply dreams. Her own conscience was just nagging at her. Though it still unsettled her, Sarah made herself nuzzle into Jareth's neck, breathing in the scent of him possessively while he unfastened her. "But you've grown to prefer the unclothed version, I know. At least since I went up a cup size or two."
She had grown into her body since her run, curves and roundness arriving in the years since their first meeting, to Sarah's relief and Jareth's wicked delight. The first time she had come to him as she was now, the romp they had had then had been nearly enough to short-circuit her mind.
Thinking about it, she nipped him on the neck, a little harder than she usually would. "To be fair, I do too at times like this. I can feel you better that way." No, no jealousy here. No need to make him see her as a rebellious, grown woman able to meet him lust for lust, no matter who that gown belonged to. Not at all.
He tugged her close again, and kissed her to silence before drawing back to state, "You have a saucy mouth, my Sarah. Be careful I do not insist you put it to better use." The corset came free then, and he pulled it away from her body, his hands tracing her curves. The dress he somehow removed with magic, leaving her nearly bare to him.
Oh yes, he was very much in the mood to burn this evening. God, his hands felt delicious on her, smooth leather on soft skin. It was no wonder she couldn't give him up, not when the mere feel of him made her blood feverish. Giving him her best wide-eyed look, trying for the innocence of her younger self, she taunted with an air of haughtiness and asked as if shocked, "Are you daring me, Your Highness? Also, if it is saucy, I wonder quite who taught me so?"
"I may have given specific form to your desires, precious, but your wickedness is entirely your own," he countered. A gesture, and Jareth's own shirt was gone, leaving his pale muscular chest free for her touch.
As much as it drove her mad, she only stole a ghost of a kiss before pulling back to shamelessly grin at him. "And my wickedness was brought on by you, who are just as much so and who have greatly benefited from it. You sound as if you're complaining again, Majesty. Shall I leave you to your own revels? I wouldn't want this to be yet another inopportune moment."
At that, one hand started at his cheek, caressing his warm cheek before she leaned in again to brush another kiss across his neck, her hands making a meandering path across the paleness of his chest, fingertips tracing the lines of his body until she was at his waist-band. "You could always tell me to go…" she whispered hotly.
With that, she paused and pulled back to look up at him with darkened eyes before her heated touch slipped down to touch him just there, giving a growling little sigh at the proof of his own hunger. "Mmm … but it feels as if you don't want me to."
…
Jareth had spent a quite lovely night with Lyselle, the princess of Galeraessian, until the face and form and voice of a certain human runner crossed his mind. He'd very nearly said her name as he spent himself in the violet-haired princess, and given Lyselle's quick temper, that would have been disastrous.
Afterward, with Lyselle asleep in the guest room, he'd gone in search of dear distracting Sarah. And found her, still hot-blooded, with memories of a blond boy in her mind. Not terrible, but no competition for him, of course, and Jareth called Sarah into their shared dreamspace.
She arrived with fire in her eyes and challenge in her heart, and as always, he thrilled to see her. How could he possibly expect to fall in love with anyone else and break his curse, when this tempting vixen prowled his thoughts? Jareth pushed that aside; he would take all he could get of Sarah while he had her.
She cupped him through his breeches with teasing words, and Jareth smiled wickedly at her. "Oh, precious Sarah, on the contrary – I want you to come, often and loudly. But that too is your desire, is it not?"
At that, her hungry mouth was on his, her free hand burying itself in his hair as her fingers caressed him slowly with a boldness that had only been common in the last few seasons. And he treasured it as he had her first mostly-innocent explorations, wide eyes and desperate sighs. Sarah kissed him as if she meant to devour him, moaning wantonly as her lips moved against his.
He met her with equal fervor, his gloved hands greedy on her skin. In the first dances between them, Jareth had been patient and gentle; now he could be more passionate without any concern of frightening her. He caught her lip between his teeth for an instant, making her hiss with both pleasure and pain, and then spun them both to the bed. His mouth moved to her throat, wanting that pale skin thoroughly marked by his lust.
Sarah hissed at that as well, gasping at the sensation while winding her fingers into his hair. Even as she groaned, he felt her push herself closer, pressing her throat against his lips. Jareth smiled, and bit down, loving the way she gasped and writhed beneath him. She never pulled away, only tightened her hands in his hair so he too felt the sweet burn of pain.
There had been no bra beneath the dress, the corset serving that purpose, and Jareth grazed his way down to her nipple, leaving purplish love-bites in his wake. "I've missed you, Sarah," he admitted, his voice rough, and then closed his lips over the sensitive peak, teasing it with teeth and tongue.
The way her head arched back on a broken moan, every time, heated his blood. There were few things that ruined Sarah's attention utterly beyond this. Her whole upper body arched up to him, her hands more gentle in his hair now, as her hips began to rock against him slowly. Eyes closed against this tender assault, the proof of her pleasure flitted across that beautiful and still so innocent-looking face, Sarah's breath coming faster. "This close … you can't miss," she gasped out, fighting a whimper. But with that, one hand came down to stroke his cheek, her fingers shaking. "Jareth…"
He smiled against her breast, and let her have the last witty rejoinder. His tongue was too busy for taunts, and her gentle hands said what she could not let her lips reveal. Jareth teased one nipple until she was whimpering shamelessly, then kissed his way across to the other, laving it with equal attention.
By then her hips were swiveling under him, and he slipped a hand between their bodies to stroke her through the thin satin of her panties.
Oh, the wanton moan from her then, her expression almost pained as he teased her with his fingertips. Wet, so wet, as she always was when he touched her. And this particular combination of sensation was always just a little more than the little vixen could manage. Need broke through that knowing facade and she arched into him, moaning his name. In that moment, he saw the girl who had first had the courage to come to his bed five years before, all starry-eyes and heartbreaking need.
"Sweet Sarah," he purred, and with a touch of magic, the panties were gone. He left the hose, though, liking the look of them, and being attached to garters they were not in his way.
Her hips rose at that, just that brush of magic, lighting her up with another soft cry. How could he deny that entreaty, Sarah whimpering for his touch, all pale skin and black, black hair, naked in his bed and begging wordlessly for his touch? Her moan was almost tortured as he stroked her, leather against hot sensitive flesh, and Jareth would not have hesitated to ruin the gloves even if this were not a dream. She craved the feeling of it, and her vivid imagination had never portrayed him gloveless. So he kept them on, and eased two fingers into her.
Her eyes opened with a shudder, so dark a green in this light, her hips bucking instantly up to his thrust. He watched her knot her fingers into the sheets meeting his every movement, flexing against his fingers boldly. The hunger in her, the sheer intense heat of her skin, of her sex, as she gazed up at him wildly, eyes as round in wonder as ever. "More," she whispered with so much need, her brow furrowed. "Oh … oh God… More, Jareth, don't tease…"
"But it is such a delight to tease you, my sweet, sweet Sarah," he murmured, crooking his fingers up to find the place that made her cry out. Given his way, he would taunt her like this until she bit her lip to keep from begging.
Her eyes fell closed again, hips snapping instantly up, her jaw clenched on the wail he provoked. And yet, she didn't move away, rolling her hips even as she whimpered. He knew her, knew her desires. She would protest, but never stop, her blood growing hotter and hotter as he denied her. "Not … fair. Jareth…"
He laughed indulgently at her predicament, and added a third finger, twisting his wrist to add to the sensation. "And what would you find fair, my lovely Sarah?"
The cry then, a near-scream of ecstasy, Sarah reaching up to grasp his shoulders, holding him tightly. That set her hips to arching in time with him, breath coming in pants. After a moment, one hand snaked down her body to clasp his wrist, holding him to her, again squeezing his fingers inside of her in time. One leg drew up along his side as she rode his fingers, Sarah settling back more into the pillows so his thrusts went deeper. "You know what I want," she breathed, lost to her need. "Give me what I want."
"I do," he replied, his voice just as hushed. "I still enjoy hearing you tell me your desire." And with that, he thrust harder into her, crooking his fingers again.
The cry that erupted from her then was hot enough to scorch the air itself. That in itself seemed to be more than Sarah could withstand. Again, once, twice, thrice, she arched against him in desperate need. The last had her burying her face in his shoulder, screaming out her fulfillment.
He had not meant for her to go over so quickly, but Jareth could only chuckle in delight, easing her through the aftershocks. She'd done that on purpose, the little minx, and he meant to make her punishment sweet.
Once her breathing slowed, he withdrew his hand and gave a theatrical lick to the ruined glove. "Well then, you wicked creature, now it is my turn." Magic took care of his breeches, and he moved atop her, kissing her shoulder.
Her eyes still held that sultry, starry look when she moved slightly to accommodate him, her thumb tracing his lower lip before brushing his cheek again. "Not half as wicked as you," she managed, her voice still breathy from her climax. Never looking away, he felt Sarah slip those long legs around him, nudging gently against him as she did so. "Come to me then, Goblin King. Claim your reward."
He did, and gladly, claiming her in a deep thrust that made her fling her head back and cry out again. "You are mine now, precious," he murmured darkly.
He felt a shiver run through her at that, hear her gasp in reaction, before she could manage her protest. "Mine. I'm mine, even here, even … now." That said, her legs tightened on him, half-closed eyes on his before she caught his chin and kissed him deeply.
"I want you, Jareth, I want you inside me. Just like this, deep, so deep, where I can feel how much you want me," she panted when she pulled away, thrusting hard again him before reciting breathlessly into his ear, "One began to weave a crown, of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown, one heav'd the golden weight, of dish and fruit to offer her. One must not stare at Goblin men…"
Jareth gasped, his hips moving more sharply against her. "Oh, but you have looked long and well, and tasted deep of all my fruits, 'til your thighs were slick with forbidden juices. Quote not such to me, my love, for it was I who suck'd, and suck'd, and suck'd the more, at your throat and breasts and betwixt your thighs…"
She moaned, lost and loud, and a shudder twisted through him. Gods, how he loved to hear the hunger in her voice! It inflamed him like nothing else. "You wish to feel how much I want you? That is a wish I am glad to grant," he told her breathlessly, quickening his pace. "And at least while you moan so eagerly for my cock, Sarah, you are mine to ravish and to pleasure."
Her back bowed at that, her grip on him tightening for a moment as she cried out. As saucy as she currently was, Sarah still reacted with startled lust whenever he spoke so, always the wetter for it. Her arms rose around his neck then, her legs slipping slightly from him as he sank deeper into her, so lost to the feel of her that he never suspected what happened next.
In a trice, his Sarah had somehow managed to roll him onto his back, crying out again once seated. For an instant, they both lost their breath to the feel of depth they need now reached. "You had a taste of my fruits earlier and now I find myself atop you, Your Highness. In that case … that makes … you mine now." With that, those green eyes gazed down on him impertinently as she settled more firmly on him before experimentally rocking her hips.
Jareth groaned, Sarah following him, tipping his head back, and for the moment he allowed her the mastery. How could he refuse, when she was so gloriously slick around him, the movement of her hips irresistible? "As you will, Sarah," he breathed, and settled his hands on her hips, the better to guide her into a rhythm that would satisfy them both. He arched up into her, proving that he was no more passive than she, even with their positions reversed. "Take all you will, and pay only in the coin of pleasure shared."
She gasped at that, the movement rocking her head back, long hair dancing in the firelight. The way she moved against him now, tentative but still needy, told him that he was the first she had attempted this with. As always all heated curiosity even as she burned, Jareth felt her carefully rise up on him before letting herself slide back down then, biting off a curse. Again, she let herself rise and fall, rise and fall, so slowly and careful, crying out softly each time. "I give all I have," she gasped breathlessly, small hands moving to settle on his chest, beginning to rock against him again.
"Then take what you want, Sarah," he whispered to her. His hands on her hips moved her in a slow swiveling circuit, something she could sustain that would bring the length of him against her sensitivities again and again. Jareth arched up slowly, letting her feel her way, but he couldn't hold back a sinful smile.
Picking up the rhythm, she kept her hands planted on his chest even as she moved with him, gasping at every thrust. Her eyes stayed closed, likely from the sheer level of pleasure, but her body rocked in perfect synch with his. She had come here tonight to show herself a power to be reckoned with and, as she rode him with increasing confidence and irresistible beauty, he couldn't quite argue the point. Like a queen upon her throne, even…
"Lovely, regal Sarah," Jareth groaned, and raised his hands to her breasts. He could be almost rough with them now, and that edge of wild passion was precisely what he wanted, as Sarah lost herself to desire. "You are so good, my Sarah, you feel sublime like this…"
Her hips rocked faster at that, breath in whimpers as he teased her. He knew all of her weaknesses, Sarah arching into his teasing touch with soft pleading, so low he could barely hear her. Her nerves were so sensitive now, he knew her surrender would come soon.
For once, she had not the wit to argue his words, shivering with need. "Oh God," she murmured out, as the seam of his glove brushed the tip of a nipple, teasing it past her will to withstand. Those soft, curvy hips increased their movement then until they were very near pistoning, Sarah's hands reaching for his, curling her fingers into his. She was all need and heat and sound. Close, she was so breath-takingly close, he knew. "Please, Jareth. Oh God, just this once, please."
"For you, my love, anything," he replied, his own voice hoarse. He could not resist her pleading, so gloriously gratifying. Jareth bucked into her, harder, faster, driving her relentlessly toward climax, his hands at her breasts echoing the rhythm. His own pleasure was close, building like molten gold pooling along his spine, heavy at his groin as he tried not to finish too quickly. And fierce, lovely Sarah drove herself mad atop him all the while.
Then came the moment when it was all too much; Sarah's breath stuttered then, her body beginning to shake, and those beautiful eyes flew open to his, no mask for the storm of emotion there. He would never tell her how much he could see in her eyes at such a time. Trembling, she leaned forward, pulling him up to her, catching his mouth in a kiss before crying out her first throes against his lips.
As his own climax broke over him in storm-waves of pleasure, Jareth moaned her name. He returned the kiss, more tender than wanton, and when Sarah drew back for breath he already missed her. "You are a wonder," he managed, his body shuddering with ecstasy.
At that, Sarah whimpered and kissed him again, still rocking against him. They both continued riding the rhythm, breathlessly, through the aftershocks, both shivering in reaction. At last they found themselves in stillness, hearts beating together, breath shared between them. "You are magnificent, my queen," Jareth murmured, and kissed her brow.
That earned him a hazy, sleepy smile from Sarah, who was even now slipping off of him to curl at his side. For all of her issues about trust and her heart, he had been telling the truth earlier. As always after they finished, Sarah slept in his arms until the waking world tugged her away from him again. "So are you," she murmured softly, cheek nestled against his chest.
"Then stay–" he started to murmur, but before he could finish, Sarah sat up and stopped him with a kiss, her lips tender and final on his. When she had to pull away, she pressed two fingers to his lips, her eyes haunted. They stared at each other for a moment before Sarah carefully pulled away to curl against him again, nuzzling her cheek back against his chest.
Ah well, it had been a foolish fancy, born of lustful thoughts. Jareth cuddled her close, running his hands over her lovingly. Sarah sighed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest as she began to doze. As soon as she slept, she would disappear again, as always, but Sarah's arm curled around him while she remained. Gathering her in, he could smell the warm, smokey-sweet scent of her perfume. As he held her close, as she slipped into sleep and his connection to her started to fade, Jareth heard her whisper softly, "Mine."
He smiled softly, sadly, knowing her words for the truth. Here in the dark of his bedroom, Jareth could not deny it any longer, though he would lie to himself by dawn. This obstreperous runner – this stubborn, beautiful, brave, fierce human girl – had laid her claim on him, and none but her would ever capture his heart. No matter how he tried to replace her, Sarah would always be his love.
And his doom.
The warm, soft, mortal body of his lover turned misty, and as always, Jareth ached to see her vanish from his realm and from his side. She would return, she always had, but the times between visits were far too long. He did not try to grasp at her, to keep her here, as he once had. Jareth had learned better. But he could not yet bring himself to turn away as she dissolved like the dream she was.
She left him awake, in his rooms, his clothes flung about and a hint of sex beneath the sorrow in the air. Jareth lay back on his bed, looking up at the painted ceiling, and wished he might find some answer to this riddle.