Night Of A Thousand Deaths

by FangamerBowiextreme

Sarah gets ghosted at a Halloween-themed rave. Typical. What's not typical? Goblins falling from the ceiling and a very fae-miliar foe who won't stop gawking at her tits. Halloween one-shot/potential holiday chronical. Rated M for a reason. *wink*

3. Chapter 3

A/N- omg I made it. I actually forgot Easter was so early in the month this year. I started this beast on Monday, and have been consistently panicking throughout the week. Alas, kudos to me for banging out almost 28k words in 6 days lol. *phew*

So...I'm thinking one more chapter. Potentially at Midsummer or Lughnasadh? Hm...we shall seeeee.

P.S. Those following the timeline know that, at this point, Sarah's pregnancy is in full swing. This story is basically a PWP, so...you know what I'm saying lol. If such depictions are not your cup of tea, I may suggest shying away from this chapter. That said, I'm trying to continuously write things I've never written before, so this was...something =P

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Night of a Thousand Deaths: Beltane

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(kind of)

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A bird twittered —was twittering —had been twittering —badly —for an hour, at least. No. No, that was too generous. Scratch that. All morning (to be accurate) the incessant thing prattled.

A sourceless falsetto —practicing for its orchestrative debut, no doubt— replayed the same chipper, chirping chord over and over until, eventually, a cluster of its fettered, feathered, flustered friends cut it short —screaming in frustrated protest the thoughts they all must have shared in a cacophonous vocalise. After a moment, all would fall silent. Sarah would take a breath. —And then the damn thing would start up again.

On multiple occasions, she found herself scanning the lawn for a rock. One good throw would shut the thing up. Thankfully, however —lest she commit an egregious act of avecide— she wasn't invested enough to move from her seat. Let the critics handle it, she told herself. Creatures that could speak its language and were, without any loss of translation between their two species, well at work belittling the poor thing on its most notable and appalling lack of pitch.

And so she tried to just enjoy it. It was a beautiful day, after all, with beautiful weather, and beautiful scenery, and all those other stereotypical descriptors that usually accompanied a crisp and sunny spring morning.

She tickled a spot behind the ear of the rabbit that lounged in her lap —but more on that later.

She took a deep breath of fresh, sweet smelling air —warmed by the sun yet still sharp in the nose. A trace of winter remained, fleeting on the breeze along with a vague humidity and droplets of dew that still littered the lawn.

But soon those would leave. Soon, that bird would shut up. Soon, this cute little bunny would hop down from her sweaty, overheating lap.

She heard a giggle. A flttering, gay echo. It came beyond the hedge just ahead. A woman, undoubtedly. Next, she heard a snap of twig underfoot and a shuffle of skirt. She heard the voice of a man next, uttering a cordial "careful now" from somewhere beyond.

They were getting close. About to spring the final trap. Sarah wondered if they, unlike so many others, would be smart enough to evade it.

"Ah!"

A scream. A shrill, yet wildly excited shriek. And then laughter. So much happy, disappointed laughter.

Nope. They did not evade it.

The bird had lulled for the moment, either resting its voice for the second act, or had been beaten into violent submission by its (also suspiciously silent) peers —alas, she'd stopped paying attention.

The bunny kicked its leg rapidly on reflex against Sarah's teasing touch.

She was alone. Well, effectively. If the rosy cheeked bun bun on her lap was not considered sentient company, then neither were its three dozen or so siblings currently lazing about the lawn.

One of them had thumped up to her podium, tickling her bare toes with its curious nose and whiskers and making her twitch.

There were more cries to be heard in the distance. More tricks and traps sprung on this most tranquil spring day.

She was encased by hedges, preened and cut in a circular fashion. They stood at six foot two —the most ideal of heights, she was told— and obscured from her any manner of deranged entertainment beyond her own wild imaginings. Cries of joy, some of those were. Others...of fright.

Between she and them were bushes and barrels of pink peonies, planters of periwinkle hyacinths and pale, yellow daffodils. The lawn was dappled with the floral freckles of some very insistent snowdrops, pastel sprinkles of delicate anemones, and even the odd buttercup or two.

The lawn itself was level, but hardly flat. No, it too had its aesthetic place in the garden. Patches of actual blue grass painted the green slate in a wash of muted celeste, cadet, and turquoise. To the skating eye, it might look like an actual sea, ripples of wind moving as crested highlights over the tightly clipped blades.

She was on a chaise, a ceremonial ornament without question, but still suitably plush and accommodating. It was white, with a cushion of deep, maroon velvet, and stood atop a rectangular, marble stage of sorts —boasting three little steps at just the right height for the ease of her cluster of coney, cottontailed friends.

Her dress was also white, another ceremonial ornament —as was she. A loose A-line, made of gossamer draping in just enough layers to render certain areas opaque. The sleeves were thick straps, featuring pinned, silk flowers with beaded opals for stamen. They matched the dainty crown of paperwhites and daisies she wore in her hair.

She wore a thin silver chain around her neck and a matching anklet, dangling a white metal charm of foreign meaning —a gift from Jareth those had been, and most certainly not ceremonial ornaments.

"Oh my goodness. Please tell me this is the exit," she heard a woman say. Sarah sat up straight as the couple came into view.

There was a break in the hedge directly across from her, a gateway, where so many fae couples with identical looks of both immense joy and relief came forth to greet her. The woman, with her arm laced with her partner's, squeezed it tightly, and she even bent forward as a hand pressed firmly to her heart.

The look on her face spoke for itself, as did the haphazard, unintentional, and presumably unknown, crown of sticks and leaves that jutted out from the sides of her once perfectly fixed hair.

"Sweet Ostara, thank the heavens. We've made it," she said on a long exhale. Her partner, a man Sarah vaguely recognized, laughed to himself and helped the poor dear along.

The bunny, a fluffy snow white with spots of black and taupe (who Sarah had internally named cookie dough), was roused by the commotion and erected its ears as it leaned up on her lap, looking sharply over at them.

Sarah held back a laugh of her own as she settled the rabbit down.

The couple, a pair of low ranking courtiers Sarah had seen but not necessarily met, approached her platform and knelt readily before it.

"My Lady, good morning. You look beautiful today," said the man.

"As she does every day," said the woman —to him— with a curt arching of brow.

"Thank you. Did you have any trouble finding me?" Sarah asked.

"Indeed yes," the woman readily replied, keeping her look of horror directed at the ground (they were still kneeling). "His Majesty is quite ruthless this year. We heard much screaming in the maze."

"We almost fell prey to a few of those traps ourselves," added the man.

Sarah bit on a grin.

"So I can tell. Regardless, you've made it to the center. Congratulations."

Her words and her smile were heartfelt, conveying both amusement and pride, and she dipped her head towards them respectfully. The couple, peering up at her, bowed their heads as well.

Knowing what came next, Sarah angled her feet towards the marble saucer that sat below them on the final step. Both the man and the woman took turns gently washing and drying her feet, then stood from the ground.

Sarah, so fucking grateful to finally get this hot water bottle of a rodent off her lap, picked the critter up and handed it out to them.

"May your house be blessed with a plentiful bounty," she said, and the couple lowered their heads as the woman accepted the rabbit.

"And yours as well, My Lady."

Then they turned and left, heading to the right towards another break in the hedge (the much sought after exit). Sarah stared after them absently as they receded, watching the way the noblewoman cooed and nuzzled the hot, tightly squeezed bunny like it were her own child.

Well….another one down —and she glanced around the lawn— only….fifty-seven more to go?

She sighed as a new bunny hopped up into her lap, filling its predecessor's glaring and still heated vacancy.

Today was Easter, if it wasn't obvious. First in her world, and now in this one. Originally, it seemed the fae did not celebrate this particular (*cough cough*, commercial) holiday, but instead honored the traditions of Beltane and the changing of the season —which was drawing near in a mere three weeks. Upon learning how close together these two holidays fell, Jareth had the positively grand idea to combine the two into a three week —yes, three week— long celebration. A festival of accordance. Of coming together. Of unity between the two realms! —as Othello, Jareth's effective public relations advisor, had so emphatically said.

Needless to say, the royal party planning committee could not have approved of the idea more. (it, of course, had a much more distinguished and official sounding name, but Sarah was not one to devote too many brain cells to remembering such things, at least not when she had such delightful things as sciatica and rampaging heartburn to occupy the more trivial compartments of her retention)

Centuries old religious, cultural traditions aside, the fae were a modern people always evolving and adapting, eager to take on new customs and grow alongside their Aboveground brethren, she was told. Or, in other words, no one —not even the most devout druid or diehard— would dream to turn down a near month long bender.

Court had lit up in pure exaltation! at hearing all the strange and contrary customs performed by the humans in the mundane world —as told by Sarah. Stories of church and Jesus were all well and good (with of course a raised brow of intrigue at that one resurrection bit), but what really sparked the highlight on their eyes were tales of the hunt, and the treasures, and the employment of some very pagan and potentially spicy fertility symbols.

Ooh Sarah should have known what she was getting herself into; but, of course, irony would have her overlook the fabulously crimped hair, and the outlandish make up, and the opulent attire, and the wild sex parties, and the brutal, always near (sometimes actually) fatal parlor games, and every other less than subtle clue to the gratuity and sheer excessiveness that was, by definition, these people.

But, in retrospect, she supposed it could have been worse —from her limited perspective at least. They definitely went a little overboard with the rabbits, though, she told herself.

Oh well. T'was all in good fun. And they did seem to be enjoying themselves…

Another scream. A loud one. And a snap —a bear trap? And then the outrageous laughter of goblins. Oh dear...

She'd been sitting there all morning. The game, the opening ceremony, as it were, was a quite perilous and very on brand adaptation of an egg hunt. Jareth's court had coupled up and set about in a massive hedge maze, needing to outwit and overcome a number of —what she could only imagine were— ridiculous and deadly traps. Fae were of course more durable than humans, however, so what was a little Sunday maiming, really?

Those who made it to the center were greeted by her —the Easter Princess, or whatever the hell stage name Duke Ergi had dubbed her in jest. Jareth had said it was only fitting. She was, after all, six months and now very noticeably pregnant —not to mention the mother of the King's child. Who better to represent the goddess of fertility on this quirky and vastly ill-conceived new holiday?

In a ritual of respect and purity, victors were to wash her feet in the bowl before accepting her blessing —a bouncing, bonny bunny. Sarah assumed the rabbits were to serve as an idol, bringing good fortune to the home. She'd given out a few dozen already, and, as she looked upward at the rising sun, wondered exactly how long this game was to go on for.

They had plans at noon, after all. It was freaking Easter.

She glanced over at the hedge when movement suddenly caught her eye. She hadn't heard any fumbling, so was surprised to see someone walking towards her.

She pursed her lips in a smile when she caught his eye, pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth as she tried not to shake her head.

"So, you finally made it?" she asked, cocking a brow as Jareth drew near.

He was dressed more informally than usual, fit to kill in a loose white tunic and tight black trousers. His hair was down today. It swayed in the breeze, causing him to run a hand —sans glove— sensuously through it.

"I've been lurking," he said, with a provocative grin. Sarah huffed through her nose and shifted in her seat. A hand rested over her stomach, subconsciously rubbing it.

"I thought maybe you'd fallen on your own sword," she said, teasingly. "I feel like it's been hours."

He was standing before her now, at eye level despite her being seated. His eyes quickly scanned over the ridiculous centerpiece she'd been reduced to, and then his grin etched wider.

"It has been," he confirmed, ignoring her quip as he briefly glanced down to her hand on her stomach. "Why? Are you tired? Sore?"

Oh, so doting. Such a frank tone and piercing gaze. She had to stifle a grin at his expense.

"No," she replied and stretched on a deep breath. "Just...a little bored."

Jareth tilted his head at the way her dress moved, or —more specifically— at the way her breasts strained the thin material on that inhale.

"Hm, in that case, allow me to stimulate you."

She giggled in the back of her throat as Jareth knelt down before her. She'd drawn her feet away from the bowl, suspending them close to the chaise with toes curled inward —keep away! they teased. What a shy little gesture, he thought. So becoming and yet absolutely nothing like her.

He reached out and took hold of one pale, bright foot and pulled it towards him without any effort at all. A naked thumb brushed over the crest, a feeling soon replaced by a kiss.

Sarah rolled her lower lip over her teeth. Oh, what a fine position for him to be in.

"A king on his knees is a sign of the end," he mumbled, his attention fixed on her delicate arches as he pulled forth her other foot and kissed it as well. "Did you know that?"

Sarah, in the effort not to curl her toes, was forced to press her knees together instead as she stared down at him.

"I did not. Sounds rather ominous," she replied.

"Indeed," said Jareth, placing another kiss to her ankle. Oh, what audacity. No other parishioner dared to take such liberties. "Although...today's instance...is, thankfully...less...dire," he spoke between slow, gentle kisses, and then pulled away to peer up at her. "I have made my way over hill and dale, through briar and brush, and now bow at your feet —alas, the game is over."

He spoke rather dramatically, with a little twirl of the hand which had her fighting back another chuckle. Sensing her amusement, his grin cocked on one side as their eyes locked.

"No one else made it through?" she asked with a hint of relief (she'd been previously briefed that Jareth would be the last runner —something to do with tradition or symbolism and the like).

"It seems not," Jareth said, cocking a brow at a few colorful memories that flashed behind his eyes. "You should see some of them —skulking out of the topiary all defeated and defiled. It's horribly undignified. Rainir did very well."

Yes, very well indeed. Rainir, the master of games and a veritable head honcho type figure on, not just the party planning committee, but Jareth's own inner circle, was something of a savant when it came to unique and imaginative ways to fuck people up —his place as the head of interrogation well beyond tenured. He was an intense individual, and deceptively cheerful, the type of person you needed to count both your words and your bra straps with —lest you find yourself in a position far more compromising than innocently running around a labyrinth after wishing away your baby brother.

But, thoughts of torture or its afflicter were the furthest things from Jareth's mind. He'd since taken to caressing her calves, trailing those long careful fingers down her ankles before dipping her right foot into the bowl.

She watched him wash her feet, in the same reverent manner as all the others, and yet...

"How are you? The rabble treating you well?"

Sarah ceased her salivating and blinked, reflexively glancing around. Huh?

"The bunnies?" she asked dumbly. Jareth exchanged one thoroughly cleaned foot for the other, then peered up with a smirk. That silent look let her know he knew exactly what had been on her mind —the bastard. "Heh. They're treating me just fine," she said, with nonchalance. Then she turned her head away, kept herself poised. Jareth let go of her foot, then leaned up on the step.

She felt his hands move up the length of her shins, over her knees, bunch up the hem of her dress as they snaked upwards of her thighs. Those thighs spread instinctively to accommodate his torso as he came nearer.

She was just glancing back when his hands grasped the sides of her waist, saw his eyes close just as a kiss was pressed to a spot below her navel.

"Good," he murmured, and, through the thin layers of her gossamer gown, she felt the heat of his breath.

His closed eyes painted him in a look of calm and comfort. She smiled as she reached down and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Careful now. You might make my harem jealous," she teased, speaking softly and leaning forward when he glanced up. "Rumor has it they can become quite vicious."

He was partially obscured beyond the round of her stomach, but she caught just enough of his sudden grin to know that it was wicked.

She felt his fingers flex as he moved to kneel on the second step and angled his head up towards her. She leaned down that extra inch, parting her lips just as he whispered, "So can I," and sealed it with a kiss.

Sarah closed her eyes and held him there, debating whether or not to make the moment satire by announcing the pure sacrilege he was performing. Here she was, trussed up in white and ribbons, on a cleanly cut stage with a court of plush, quibbled-nosed innocents. And here he was, taking this goddess as his own with those damned hands of his creeping back up her thighs…

To her surprise, and admitted disappointment, Jareth pulled away from her and the kiss at its natural end. He stood and took one of her hands, helping her to her feet lest poor humpty dumpty lose balance.

He was always very careful with her. Very considerate. After nearly four months, she was still surprised by it.

He held her by the hand as she stepped into the grass, then released her to walk by her own faculty as they headed, side by side, towards the exit.

"What's going to happen to all those rabbits, by the way?" Sarah asked. Jareth looked over at her. "They going to keep them as pets?"

"Pets?" Jareth repeated, and then laughed. "Pf. What a waste." And then he angled a brow down at her. "They're going to eat them —naturally."

Sarah stared back at him, and just uh...just blinked.

"...oh," she said. Jareth, trying not to laugh at her innocent reaction, laced their arms together as they abandoned the garden in favor of a courtyard.

"How else would they embody the sentiment?" he asked. Sarah shrugged.

"I uh...don't know, apparently." And then she looked back at the hedges. "So the hunt is over? What time is it?"

"It's nearly eleven."

Sarah's head shot back towards him.

"That's it?" she asked, then did a double take on the sun. "God, that felt a lot longer than four hours. I thought we were late."

"No such thing," Jareth said, shoving his shoulder lightly into hers so she would look over at him. "I wouldn't allow it."

Sarah arched a brow, her expression a familiar deadpan.

"Uh huh," was all she said, and glanced away.

For being such a supposed rare privilege, Mr. I-Move-The-Stars-For-No-One, sure did like to boast about his ability to do so. Was it irony, or hypocrisy? Oh well. She couldn't tease him too badly. It'd come in pretty handy a couple of times —on the days she'd double booked appointments across worlds, especially.

She was off musing in her own little world, and so did not realize Jareth was still staring at her.

"You look very pretty," he said. Sarah blinked out of her daze.

"Thank you," she said with a reflexive smile —one that immediately turned to bashfulness as her eyes turned away. "Nella put it together."

Nella, or Adrinella, was a female cousin of Jareth's. She was also on the planning committee, and had subsequently taken a vested interest in all things Sarah. Sarah was thus made both muse and canvas, subjected to whatever vision of fashion or fancy that very high maintenance fae lady felt like dolling her up with. —That said, it wasn't something that bothered Sarah. No, she actually enjoyed it. It made her feel she was making friends, like she actually belonged there in that crazy, fantastical place.

There were a few sets of bunny gropers loitering about the courtyard, sharing the proof of their victories with one another. They each bowed with a polite "Your Majesty, My Lady," as they passed.

"I like you on an altar," Jareth said, once again pulling Sarah from distraction —hormones and lack of quality sleep were making her a little absent minded these days. She looked over and caught his eye.

"Oh?"

Jareth nodded.

"Mhm. I was surprised to come around that corner and see you there —veiled in white, looking so very statuesque and intimidating as you slowly stroked your heavy footed harem."

Sarah laughed. Jareth had a knack for innuendo —and alliteration.

"Intimidating?" she repeated with a raised brow. "Your Majesty, you flatter me."

She glanced away with a smile, playing him off in that flirty way of hers. The way the corner of her mouth creased her cheek was a sight one was not allowed to look away from. She commanded admiration —took the attention of all those around her by unsuspecting force.

Gods, she practically glowed in the sunlight. Her skin, paled by the winter months, shone like alabaster —nary a blemish to be found. It made her lips look all the more pink and her hair all the more black. And when she looked at him, every time she looked at him, those bright irises enchanted him utterly —pulled him beyond the depths of the green-gray meadows and forests splintered there.

It astounded him how quickly his life had changed. How one, slight look —under the guise of flashing, pink neon— could spell out, so beautifully, the end of his days.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Jareth asked. Sarah, smiling and waving at some friendly fae, turned the look over at him and squeezed his arm as they entered the castle.

"I did. It was kind of funny, watching them all come out of the bushes like they were staggering away from battle," she said with a laugh, then tilted her head at him. "Are you sure it's okay to leave today? —with it being the first day of the festival, I mean. You don't have to be here?"

They'd already had this conversation, but brewing nerves compelled her to ask again. The impromptu, last minute change in national happenings had sent the castle residents into a whirlwind, every able bodied busy body well at work finding ways of stretching a quaint, three day fete into a bonafide, three week festival. Needless to say, Jareth, at the helm of all this, was very busy. She almost didn't bother bringing up her own plans, or her ambivalent desire to have him be a part of them. Still, it was something that needed to happen at some point and, given the circumstances, better now than later.

Her parents were, what the colloquials called, Casual or Convenient Catholics —those who only practiced (what they considered to be) the two most important masses of the year, Christmas and Easter. After mass, it was tradition for her entire extended family to attend a luncheon/tea party/picnic/bbq/egg hunt at the centrally located Chateau Williams.

Given the difference in scale between her rinky dink family reunion and the fae's Beltane bonanza, she was actually surprised when Jareth had immediately agreed to go with her.

She almost back-tracked. Almost spit out a panicked Oops! Nevermind! and ran clear away. She could not imagine Jareth mingling amidst her cousins and aunts with their upturned noses sniffing for blood, nor palling about with her uncles and their unbalanced six packs with their icy blue mountains.

What she couldn't imagine even more was the moment she finally introduced him to her parents. And that moment...was fiercely approaching.

"I have twenty more days of festivity to be here for. We may drink and feast on any one of them," Jareth said, pulling her train of thought back onto its rails. Sarah huffed and quirked a brow.

"Well, you certainly can."

Her tone was spiteful and not without reason. She'd never realized how intimate a relationship she'd had with Wine Night until it'd been barred from her. —Not that she had any type of dependence on it, but still. She was missing out on all the fun.

Jareth, regarding the pout on her lips, flickered his gaze downward to the hand she'd unknowingly placed atop her stomach.

"Would you like to rest for a while before leaving?" he asked. Sarah shook her head.

"No. No, I've been sitting this whole time, so I'm actually kind of restless. I want to stretch my legs," she said. Feeling a prickling and sudden awareness in the air, she turned sharply and locked straight into Jareth's poignantly suggestive eye. "Not like that," she asserted and, despite his throaty chuckle, went on her way.

---

Sarah stepped through the mirror and entered her apartment. It was quiet. Shrouded. She clicked on the lights and walked over to pull back the living room curtains.

A quick glance to the clock on the wall showed it was quarter past eleven. They were scheduled to be at her parents at twelve-thirty so, thanks to the wonder of magical, transdimensional teleportation, they had plenty of time.

She'd changed out of her Easter frock and into a robe. Such an ostentatious (and rather lewd, if she was being honest) outfit was definitely not suitable for the flannel/floral/khaki vibes that were sure to await her at the Fourteenth(!) Annual Williams Easter Bash.

She walked into her bedroom and pulled out a pair of dresses. She'd picked these up a couple of weeks ago, but hadn't been able to decide. At the rate her gut was expanding, she wouldn't be surprised if they were now too small anyway, but...such as it was.

She frowned as she stared down at her bed, rubbing circles over her stomach and trying to catch the fluttering kicks that would jut into her palm. Maybe I should ask Jareth's opinion...she thought.

And then reality dawned on her, again. Jareth, The King of Goblins, her baby daddy and presumably boyfriend, was coming home to meet her parents. To meet...everyone.

She cringed on that last word.

This was weird. This was going to be weird.

She shook her head and stormed out of the room, half cursing herself and that damn phone call she'd made the mistake of answering two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago…

She'd just gotten back from an appointment. Before setting one foot in the Underground, she'd made it clear to Jareth that she would be seen by an Aboveground obstetrician —to which he had no objections. She'd since learned another one of her certain powers, that being the ability to freely travel between worlds —as Jareth had said. Like her friends, she was able to use mirrors. Her oval standing mirror was a perfect gateway.

By this means, she was able to make all her regular appointments and keep up with a seemingly normal daily life with a foot in both worlds. Of course, there was no cell service in the Underground, so she had to pop in pretty frequently to check her messages. A few frustrated friends and family had asked why she was suddenly so hard to get a hold of, to which the vague and perfectly applicable excuse of "I've been busy with work" was employed.

Work, however, was a fallacy. Initially, she'd put in for a leave of absence, but after only a couple weeks in the Underground did she realize she was never going back to a nine-five if she didn't have to. Those people treated her like a freaking princess —and she was definitely not above living in the lap of such luxury. In the beginning, she really had no idea what to expect, and had been bracing for all sorts of Hollywood dramatics and gossip and bitterness. But, once again, as Jareth had said, they were nothing less than excited.

They were kind, generous, and pleasant. If ever a foul word was said about her, it was kept far away from Sarah. They welcomed her openly, like her brooding womb was an oasis in that vast and lonely desert.

But, for as much of a relief as all of that was, it also made things….confusing.

She had no idea where she and Jareth actually stood. What label was to be applied to their relationship. His courtiers called her My Lady and bowed in her presence. They catered and pampered and played her friend. A few of them, she thought, might actually mean it. She was given trinkets and bobbles and fine wares galore, and dresses and furs and shoes and god awful hats with stupid dyed feathers. She was invited to tea parties and carousals, early morning hunts upland and late night, drunk jamborees. She was offered everything readily and they expected nothing. No explanation. No justification. Nothing.

And Jareth was the same. He was like Santa and Darcy and Don Juan all in one. He did everything he'd promised: took care of her, helped her subdue the magical fits when they were at their worst (they started to fade after twenty weeks and by now had, seemingly and thankfully, gone away completely), ensured her happiness in every possible way. It was too good to be true, and every day a part of her waited for the punchline. Everyday she waited for the disillusionment that she'd lost her soul, or was being fattened for the next Yule feast, or something else equally wild and nefarious.

But no such things happened. And every day, every day that passed in that quasi phantasm, with them and with him, made her happier and happier.

He was a kind person. Devilish and perverse, no doubt, but kind. And he was funny. She thought she'd laughed more over those last few months than she had in the last few years. He did not hold back from her, and she liked to think she now knew him quite well.

He asked her questions. Got to know her in return. He smiled when they talked and kissed her in between sentences like it was natural. Because it was natural. It'd been a long time...since she'd been in a relationship like that.

Which was why she needed to rip off the band-aid. Official status aside, they were together and she could no longer hide the state of her being. Fate had read her mind, it seemed, for Karen had called the moment she entered her apartment.

It was still two weeks ago. She was still looking at the sonogram when she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Sarah? Is this you? It's not your machine, is it?"

Sarah stared at the wall where the hole used to be.

"Uh...yeah?"

"Thank God. It's Karen—"

And now she closed her eyes.

"Yeah. I know. Caller ID, remember?"

There was a pause, a frustrated huff was restrained on Karen's end.

"Yes, yes, I remember," she said. Sarah restrained a huff of her own. "Listen, I'm glad I got ahold of you —finally. I wanted to ask if you're coming down for Easter this year."

Sarah blanched. Fuck. Was it April already? She felt a tiny pool of dread welling as she glanced down to the button nose and tightened fists rendered for her in greyscale.

"...Easter?" she repeated, then started to pace. "When uh...is that again?"

"In two weeks."

Sarah stopped. Shiiiittttt.

"Um...hold on. Let me check my calendar." And she scuttled into the kitchen.

She'd completely forgotten about Easter. Completely forgotten about the mandatory gathering of the many Williams and Sheys, all of whom would be just dying to know exactly what was going on with her abdominal cavity.

She hadn't told anyone yet. Six months in, and neither friend nor foe had a clue (excluding Rachel who, in perfect stride, was damn right proud of this particular origin story). She hadn't seen any family since Christmas, so it was easy to avoid. Maybe she'd been irresponsible, but it was just soooo much better keeping it to herself. Stupidly, the last thing on her mind was telling her parents, explaining how it happened and yes, the father is in the picture. No, we are not getting hitched.

At least, she didn't think. They hadn't had that conversation yet…

Panic set in as she realized her procrastination had backed her into a corner. She could make up an excuse not to go to the bbq, but what would she say three months from now when the kid was born? She hadn't intended on hiding it forever and yet….oh, the temptation posed by that unsuspecting mirror.

But no. No. She needed to woman up. She was going to be twenty-eight pretty soon. Hardly a bonnie lass making poor life decisions. Her parents would be fine. Her father...would be fine.

"Yeah. Yeah, that should be fine," Sarah said, continuing her train of thought and inadvertently also replying to Karen's question. She had a hand pressed to her temple now.

"Oh good. I know you said you've been busy at work, so I was worried you wouldn't be able to make it. Your cousin Mable is bringing her baby —fat little thing," Karen prattled. Sarah actually snorted.

"Cool," was all she could say, grinning and shaking her head in spite of herself.

"Do you think you can come up Saturday? It'd be nice to see you at church in the morning," Karen asked. Sarah rolled her eyes. Oh, how the priest must weep.

"Yeah...probably not," she answered, then turned around to slump against the wall. "I have some things to wrap up, so I'll just drive up Sunday morning. What time is the picnic?"

"Twelve-thirty."

"Gotcha."

And then the baby kicked. And then she glanced down to the series of sonogram snaps she'd, five minutes previously, been so excited to show Jareth. That's right. That wasn't the only thing she had to tell them about...

"Actually...Karen…"

"Uh-oh," Karen cut her off. Sarah pouted. "I know that tone. What is it? What's happened?"

She'd gone on the offensive in the span of a blink. Sarah, knowing full well the inquisition that was coming, actually flinched away from the wall and paced briskly around her kitchen.

"Geez. Nothing! Nothing's happened!" was her knee jerk response. And then she stopped. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth with a sigh. "But...no. That's a lie. I do have something to tell you."

Silence. Heavy. Expectant. Silence.

"I'm uh...I was thinking, actually...of maybe...bringing someone with me this year," Sarah said through a wince. "—If that's alright."

Another silence. Sarah darted her eyes from left to right as she waited.

"Someone? You mean Rachel?" Karen asked. "Why? Did she get kicked out of another apartment?"

Sarah huffed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"No. No, not Rachel —and, no, she did not get kicked out again. That only happened once."

Poor girl. Forget to shut the tub faucet off one time and suddenly the whole world was against you.

"Well then…" Karen mumbled, the gears in her mind clearly operating at full capacity. And then it clicked. "Wait a minute—" Sarah braced. "Sarah Williams, are you bringing home A BOY?!"

Sarah grimaced and sat down on the floor, drawing up her legs and huddling against the door of the fridge.

"...yes?"

"Oh my gosh!" Karen squealed. Sarah moved the phone away from her ear. "—Oh God. Tell me everything. I need to know everything about him. What is his name? How long have you been dating? Is it serious? Do we know him? What does he do? Does he have money? Is he handsome? Oh, what am I saying, of course he is. Does he—"

"Karen!" Sarah shrieked, feeling more mortification than could ever be described. Panic was turning her stomach —or maybe that was the baby. Regardless, the precipice of the conversation she was about to have made her want to barf. "Karen just—just chill out for a minute. Please."

Sensing distress, Karen quieted down.

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling," she said, perfectly calm. "I'm just so surprised. You haven't brought a boy home in years."

"Yeah. I remember," Sarah quickly replied. Oh geez. She was regretting this already. Where the fuck to even begin... "Listen, I'm glad I'm talking to you, actually. I think...it's definitely time you and Dad meet him, but...there's some things...Dad isn't going to like. I was hoping maybe you could...be a buffer for me."

Saying that was a struggle. Her nerves prickled as another broody silence stretched.

"...is he a musician?"

"God. Karen—" Sarah snapped, readjusting her legs and wondering why she was sitting on this hard linoleum floor instead of the couch a few paces away. "I'm being serious. And, no, he's not a musician." And then she rolled her eyes. Professionally, anyway…

"He's um...well, he's a little older for starters," she continued. There was a crackle in the connection, Karen readjusting the phone in a, probably, very conspicuous attempt at discretion.

"Older? How much older?" she asked. Sarah blanched. Shit. Would Karen laugh if she said a few centuries?

"Um...twelve years?" she ended up saying. To her, Jareth looked to be about forty, so...yeah.

Silence.

"Well...that's not that bad," Karen finally replied —much to Sarah's surprise. She actually pulled the phone away and glared at it. "So long as he's not closer in age to your father as he is to you, I think it'll be okay," Karen went on. Sarah huffed. Oh, the things she could say... "How long have you known him?"

"Um...for a few years now, actually," Sarah replied, then straightened her back against the fridge and stretched out her legs. "But...we didn't start dating until recently."

"How recently?"

Sarah pondered.

"A...round Christmas?"

"And you're already bringing him to meet your father?" Karen asked. Sarah could sense her brow reaching new heights. "My, it must be very serious."

"Yeah...you could say that."

"Well, what's his name?"

"Um, Jareth."

"What?"

Sarah inhaled sharply through her nose.

"He's foreign," she stated, and shifted about anxiously. "Um...British, actually." And she face-palmed. What the fuck? She was just straight up lying now. Oh God. She was about to dig herself into a hole, wasn't she?

"W...you mean, from England?" Karen asked.

"Is that not what I said?"

"Well, does he have an accent?"

There was palpable excitement in those words. It sizzled through the phone line as a bit of static on the T.

"Yes?" was Sarah's uncertain reply. Then her hand gripped the phone tighter. She could hear nothing but somehow felt the swooning of her step mother. "Karen?"

"What does he do for a living?" Karen suddenly asked. Oh yeah, she'd been triggered.

"He's um...he works for the government."

"Oh? For theirs or ours?"

"Um, theirs?"

"Ooh, doing what?"

"It's...it's kind of confidential. I can't say."

Oh Lord. Oh lordy lord lord...

"Mmmm mysterious," Karen murmured with Sherlockian intrigue. Sarah got a vision of her pressing a knuckle to her lower lip. "—You're right, though. Your father definitely won't like him," she added on. Sarah had to laugh.

When the moment died and the tension returned, Sarah dragged a hand down her face as she stared at the pictures now littering the floor.

"There's one more thing," she said, giving in to hold her stomach for comfort. "Actually...the only thing, really. You should probably brace yourself."

"Because that's not worrying," was Karen's curt reply. "What, are you about to tell me he's in the mob or something? Ooh, better yet, MI5? Is he like James Bond?!"

Sarah stared outward at the legs of her kitchen table, deadpan and silent.

"...let me know when you're ready," she said after a moment. Karen hummed herself into submission.

"Okay okay, I'll stop," she said and then took a sharp breath. "Tell me."

"I'm um….well...don't be too shocked by this, but...I'm pregnant."

Another crackle. This time, accompanied by the closing of a door.

"What," was Karen's hushed response.

"Yeah. I figured I ought to tell you before you see me in two weeks. I'm uh...getting kind of big."

"Big?" Karen repeated, in disbelief. "Well how far along are you?! We just saw you at Christmas and you were as thin as a pencil!"

"Yeah. I was only about eight weeks then." Sarah's frank tone was a perfect contrast to Karen's fevered one. There was a brief silence. Sarah filled the void. "I'm at six months right now—"

"Six months?" Karen cut her off. "Six months?! Sarah, what the hell?!" And she heard some things shuffling. "Why am I just hearing this now? Oh, I bet you expect me to be the one to tell your father about this, don't you? Ohhhh he is not going to be happy, young lady."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

"I'm almost thirty. Please don't call me young lady."

"I just— why haven't you said anything?" Karen asked in a huff. "Congratulations, of course. I am as excited as I am shocked. But...why didn't you tell us at Christmas? It would have been a perfect time to celebrate!"

"I don't know," Sarah said, a bit petulantly. "I've been...busy. I had some...minor medical issues, so—"

"What? Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine," Sarah quickly assured her. Medical, magical...potato, potahto, right? "I just...had a lot to deal with. My life has been all over the place the last few months."

All over the place. Yeah, way to play it up. More like on vacation living out a fairytale fever dream. Hearing the worry and disappointment in Karen's voice had her feeling a twinge of guilt now. Flying off into the sunset without a care had been nice, but...maybe she should have told them sooner.

"So...you were eight weeks at Christmas?" Karen asked, deliberating on a different wavelength. "So who's the father then?"

Sarah furrowed her brow and blinked.

"It's Jareth." Obviously. Geez. What was Karen getting at, exactly?

"But I don't…"

And then Sarah realized where the miscommunication formed. Oh. Well this was awkward...

"Alright, I'm just gonna lay it on you," Sarah said, crossing ankles and bouncing an anxious foot. "I ran into Jareth at a club on Halloween. Some things happened. No, I did not use protection. I found out I was pregnant around Christmas and reached out to him." She paused in case Karen wanted to add her two cents. She didn't. "—We've been together since. He's...really stepped up, and I'd like to think it's because of more than just this pregnancy," she explained. Karen remained silent. "I really like him. I guess...I'm going to start a family with him. So...I want to have you and Daddy meet him."

Sarah braced for anything, and then she heard a sigh.

"You know I don't care about things like tradition and all that..." she said, then sighed again. "—but your father…"

"Yeah, I know," Sarah cut her off. "That's why I'm telling you first. I don't want to show up and have him try to shotgun wedding us, so please talk to him for me? Please?" Oh God, was she begging? "If it's that big a deal, I just won't come up. Or...I'll come up a different time when there won't be so many people—"

"No. No, don't start avoiding us because your father gets stuck in his ways," Karen quickly said, huffing all the while. "I will talk to him. It will be fine. We will be seeing you on Easter. I promise."

Sarah forced a smile. Karen's conviction actually made her feel a little better.

"Alright...thank you."

"Next time, you better not wait no six months to tell me this, missy." And Karen's tone suddenly turned aggressive. "Six months. Six months. How the hell am I supposed to plan your baby shower with such little time?"

Sarah laughed. There was no other reaction to have. She shook her head and stared downward, bewildered by how close she and Karen had actually become.

"I don't know. I'm sorry," Sarah said, then smiled upward at nothing. "But, if there's anyone capable of the task, it's you."

And so it was. Sarah had, very tentatively, posed the prospect to Jareth, who had all but immediately responded with an "alright." The promised two weeks had gone by. And now here she was, alone in her apartment again, on the day of days….or whatever.

She walked to the center of her living room and folded her arms. He was probably wondering what the hell was taking her so long. Oops.

"I wish Jareth, the Goblin King, was here, right now, and would accompany me to my family's barbeque this afternoon."

She'd learned the art of wishmaking in the interlude, ways of phrasing her desires so Jareth would be able to pass over without becoming either trapped or immediately sent back. It wasn't just a wish, but a contract that needed to be formed. His kind needed purpose in her world, excluding Samhain, or else they could not stay. Jareth had told her twas the work of some wizard long ago, determined to correct the balance between the two species —or so legend said.

Regardless, presently all was well and good. She stood patiently as she waited.

A moment later, caught between blinks, he was there. Just like that. Oh so casual.

He tilted his head as he regarded her, eyes falling low on the falling v of her neckline, before moving back up.

"You're not ready yet?" he asked. Sarah shrugged.

"I can't decide what to wear," she said, then turned around to head back to her bedroom. "I like the white one, but the Catholic in me feels it's kind of tacky for an unmarried pregnant lady to wear white to a religious function," she said, holding a dress in each arm as she re-entered the living room. "This blue one is nice too….I'm just not sure about the fit."

She paused and glanced up. Jareth was staring at her, one brow arched.

"The white," he said, matter of fact. Sarah lowered her arms.

"...you sure?"

"I prefer you in white," he stated, then cocked a canny brow. "Irony be damned."

Sarah pursed her lips, then nodded.

"Alright then," she said, and turned on a dime back into the bedroom.

She tossed the dresses back on the bed and grabbed a bag that was sitting on her dresser, reentering the living room only a few seconds later. She was thus caught unawares when she looked up at the sight that greeted her.

Well, he didn't actually greet her. He was preoccupied with the fussing of his hair as he stared into a mirror. Still, Sarah was nothing less than affected.

He was standing in profile, back straight, feet confidently planted. Contrary to the poet's ensemble he'd arrived in, he was now wearing a nicely pressed, navy blue button down with grey slacks, and a pair of high-end brown oxfords(?). The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and his collar left unbuttoned just low enough to remain casual. Of course, this paled in comparison to what really caught her attention when exiting that room —that being his now shortly cut and finely feathered hair, tousled in a style far too modern and far too dashing for her weak, overburdened libido to handle.

She just stood there for a moment. Too shocked to acknowledge the hot knot twisting in her nethers.

"Oh my God," she said, and dropped the bag as she rushed him.

He turned towards her, revealing a shiny wrist watch on his left wrist that she had no idea he even owned. He glanced down at her, his brow twisting in a manner she should have been insulted by. But that didn't matter. Go ahead and laugh. She was too caught up to care.

"What did...where did you get these clothes?" she asked, picking at his sleeves and his buttons like one would a doll. Jareth grinned in amusement.

She was nothing short of awed, moving around him in a circle while openly gawking. Jareth turned with her, wondering what exactly all the fuss was about.

"What happened to your hair?" she asked and impulsively reached up to touch it. It was so short. It was terrifying how well it suited him. "How did you change so fast? You didn't cut it, did you?'

And now he laughed. She was like a toddler fondling a new toy. He reached up and pulled her hands away, holding them in the space between them.

"No, I did not cut it," he said with a grin. "It's a glamour."

Sarah's widened eyes widened more, filled with stars and confetti and a growing sense of excitement.

"So it's...it's not real?"

"Does it feel real?" And he let one of her hands go to resume her petting. The tips of her fingers moved lightly through his scalp, seeming to gloss over each strand.

"Wow," she said in amazement. "Magic is nuts." Pressing the advantage, she pulled her other hand free and moved them both down his front. The material of his shirt felt nice. Expensive. It was all she could do not to rip it clean off of him. "I actually...picked up some things for you for today," she said, referring to the shopping bag she'd abandoned in the doorway, and then spied the brand of his shirt embroidered on the collar. Oh. "But...this is much nicer."

And now she was embarrassed. She darted her eyes away as her hands fisted on his open collar.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

He was teasing her. She could hear it. She wanted to let her pride take over and snap back, but she couldn't. She was standing too close. His outfit had disarmed her. Down libido! Down!

"Yeah I just….you caught me off guard." And she found the composure to look up at him. "I've never seen you in such modern clothes before. Or...with short hair and….no markings."

Holy Balls, she hadn't even noticed his eye markings were gone too! Fuck. He looked down right human, only...much better. A part of her was confused by her own reactions. Obviously she wasn't expecting him to show up in full goblin garb, but….oof.

"You look….very, very good. Seeing you as a human is really...throwing me for a loop. I wasn't expecting it."

"You said your parents are rather conservative. I figured the situation would benefit from a more conventional appearance," he said and then arched a brow. "Believe it or not, this isn't my first picnic."

"I know," Sarah said, pursing her lips as her fingers tightened. "I just...didn't realize you were so familiar with Aboveground fashion —considering how little time you get to spend here."

"On the contrary," Jareth replied, angling his head as he scrutinized all of her less than subtle mannerisms. "—If we are to quantify the length of time I've spent in this world over the many years of my life, I dare say I have more experience with this realm and its changing trends than you."

Sarah peered up from the hollow of his throat to see he was giving her an eye.

"Touché."

A pause followed that word. One second. Two… Three... They were standing motionless. Sarah was still gripping his shirt. Jareth's eyes flickered down.

"Are you going to get changed?" he finally asked.

Sarah bit her lip.

"Uh huh…"

Oh. The mist. The telltale shade on her eye that he'd come to crumble under. He watched it build in real time as she stared at him. His posture shifted in reaction, making him taller, more imposing. His own gaze lowered to her mouth as his head inclined.

"Well?" he spoke in a near whisper. Sarah leaned up on her toes, holding onto his shirt for balance. Her eyes were slow to close, hovering open as slivers as their lips just barely touched.

"In...a minute."

She kissed him and, despite her impulses, she did so slowly.

Jareth closed his eyes and brought his hands to lightly hold her arms above the elbow. There was a sensuality to the movement of her tongue, a carefulness about her lips. It would be quick to seduce him if he let it.

She broke from the kiss and looked down as she undid the first two buttons on his shirt. He stared vacantly at her fanning lashes as she did so. It was dead quiet in the apartment. With each passing second, Jareth felt his jaw tightening.

"Take away one more of my buttons, and you'll be late," he warned. She was at his navel now. One more button and the halves would be freed. She paused only in reaction to his voice, then turned her head up as that final button came loose.

"No such thing, remember?" she whispered into his lips, teasing him with their proximity, and pulled the ends of his shirt from his pants.

This was bad. Well, no, not bad, but potentially inconvenient. Sarah's sexual appetite had increased considerably in recent weeks. Now it was near ravenous. Heaven forbid a sly grin, an artfully cast shadow, a casual stance caught at the perfect angle, or, you know, a dramatic new haircut.

A lesser man may not have been able to satiate such cravings. Or at least, that's what Jareth had said.

His hand, with fingers splayed, pressed to her lower back, bringing her to him so their bodies touched. His mouth opened wider as his other hand moved up into her hair, holding her in place as he kissed her more passionately in return.

Sarah's hands, so eager and greedy, felt up his bare torso and all its undulations of muscle. The round of her stomach made it impossible to flatten herself against him like she used to. Even being this close, sometimes it just felt too far away.

He made a soft noise in the back of his throat as they kissed, as it deepened and slowed. The sound of his belt clinking distracted him from it —she was well at work removing it from him.

A bold hand grasped his erection through his slacks, squeezing and working it down his thigh. His hips instinctively rocked into her hand, the murmur he fed into her mouth a heated one.

He throbbed. Lengthened. She felt it acutely in her strong grip. She stroked him a little harder and then—

Fuck all this build up.

She grabbed him by the shoulders with both hands and pushed him down. He obeyed —as if he would ever not— and let her guide him towards the floor. Once there, she quickly straddled his lap and bent forward, her back awkwardly bowed as she avidly kissed him.

Hands on his chest, then grasping his face, then clawing into his finely sculpted hair as she consumed him with that kiss.

He leaned up on an elbow (making it easier for her) and held her by the nape of the neck as he returned the gesture. The robe she wore —and nothing more— began to spread apart and fall down her shoulders. He leaned up further and helped it along, placing a wide hand on her bare back and pushing the silk down.

His mouth found her neck. Bit it, nipped, and gnawed. Moved down to her clavicle and then the hollow of her throat. She arched her head back, swallowing hard as she fought back a rise of heat in her chest.

Kisses moved south and found her cleavage. His hand left her back and pushed up one breast. They'd gotten slightly larger over the last few months. She was a tad self conscious about it —not that he'd ever complained.

She slumped a shoulder so the robe fell completely, exposing her breast and it's taut, pink nipple. His tongue curled and flicked around it before drawing it in, sucking in that very precise way that always—

She gasped. Made a little moan. —Right on cue. He did it again, and again, teasing her and taking full advantage of the way her pleasure points had become even more sensitive.

It really wasn't fair, she might say. Then again, neither was the power those breathy moans had over him.

He pulled the robe away from her other shoulder so she could remove her arms, then fondled the other breast. She clutched him by the shoulder and the back of his head, moving in a rocking motion as he held her pressed close.

She pushed him back. Forced him down until his shoulder blades touched the floor. She was getting impatient. —They also had a schedule to keep.

She pulled his belt loose from its straps and undid the fly of his pants. Throughout, she could feel his erection, rock hard, pressing against the base of her thigh.

It was sad how severely that alone turned her on these days.

He lifted his hips when she yanked down his slacks, then freed his cock and gripped it firmly at the base. If she wasn't so greedy, she'd have taken her time and played. Her mouth watered with the desire to take him in her mouth and make him moan for her. But, as it was—

No. Fuck it.

She maneuvered down his legs and bent forward, paying him no consideration whatsoever as she dropped open her jaw and sucked him deep into her mouth.

His head arched back, that little jolt and groan of surprise being everything she'd wanted. She pulled back, lapped the head, jerked him with her fist, then sucked all over again.

Jareth closed his eyes, trying futilely not to, but she was persistent. He let her go on like that, to his own detriment, as he gradually lost the battle of whether or not to give in. She was dangerous when passion hit her —even more so, now, because he was obliged to show restraint.

Oh, how he would have loved to rip her off of him and fuck her into the floorboards.

While he was distracted, Sarah felt the sway of impulse again. She pulled her mouth away and moved back up, holding him at her entrance as she leaned down and kissed him messily.

His hands were on her shoulders. In her hair. His hips pulsed up as she lowered. The sound of her breath in his mouth swarmed him —the frequency rising in pitch as he spread and filled her. Her knees widened. She was gasping now. A euphoric kind of heat bloomed around his cock. She was so fucking wet. Gods. It was all he could do not to thrust brutally up.

She held him by the sides of the face, keeping their foreheads pressed together between kisses, as she gently rode him. For as savagely as they'd rather tear at each other, she'd recently reached the point in her pregnancy where they needed to be careful about such things. If ever she made a sound of discomfort or pain, he immediately snapped out of any lustful torrent no matter the intensity. Of course, such careful petting had only left tensions higher for the both of them. He couldn't quite push to the hilt like he did before, and neither could he toss and bend her around in all those fun, awkward, titillating positions.

Contrarily, this more mellow form of fucking may have actually been even more satisfying. Slowing down made the build up more intense, more intimate. He wondered if she knew how much he adored her in such moments.

His hands moved to her hips and then forward to find the knot in her belt. Reflexively, her hand shot down and stopped him. He turned his hand in order to hold hers instead.

"Take it off," he said, brushing his nose against hers. There was a tension about her brow now, and a pout that was not the result of the kiss. She hesitated to comply.

Jareth had noticed, over the last few weeks especially, that she'd become weirdly insecure about her changing body. He didn't understand why. She was beautiful, only becoming more so, in his eyes. Watching her grow, seeing her body bare and round with his child gave him a feeling of pride, of admiration, of yearning that was soon to hit a dangerous threshold. And he was more than happy to tell her these things. More than happy to gaze upon and worship her with all her aches and fusses and expanding waistline.

"I like looking at you," he whispered while placing a kiss on her ear. The ambivalence in her relaxed, he could sense it, so he let go of her hand and went back to untying the knot. It fell away readily, as did her silk robe. He leaned away from her and gandered at her shamelessly. Sarah became very stiff for a moment, a blush blooming across her cheeks and nose. "Well?" he said, raking a wolfish gaze all over her. "Don't stop."

Sarah swallowed, her fever of arousal nearly broken. She didn't like being exposed like this. Didn't like the way she must look from this angle. Blankets and dresses and shadows had become her friends.

To her, it was only logical that she'd become less attractive. She'd put on more weight than she cared to admit, and of course now had a silhouette fit for a Looney Tune skit. Being surrounded by all those pretty beanpoles in Jareth's court had put a definite crack in her self confidence. —not that there had been any external factors to support it.

Because, for all her squirming, Jareth did not merely like, but loved to look at her. He was eager to touch her —and he'd acknowledged no one else since they'd been together. His singularity was comforting and surprising and still...hard to believe.

She felt his hands snaking up her thighs, one halting on her hip while the other pressed circles around her clit.

She flinched on a moan, yanked back into the moment. She looked down at him, watching with hungry eyes as he hungrily watched her back. She started moving again, lifting and lowering her hips at a pace and to a degree that was on the cusp of being too much. She felt his hand on her hip constricting, felt him getting harder. Her breath quickened, and she looked up at the ceiling as she closed her eyes.

Fuck, this was agonizing. All she wanted was to slam herself down. But, after the last time such abandon took over, she knew it was better to persevere. Doctor's orders and all that. She clawed her hands into her own hair and held it tightly, focusing on the feeling as her pace quickened and Jareth moaned.

The heightened tone of her voice pushed him to his limits, the sight of her riding his cock with such vigor testing his restraint. He gripped her hips with both hands now, rocking her more sharply and daring to thrust back just a touch.

He cast his head back and groaned through a clenched jaw. He was going to come like this. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass.

"J-Jareth—" he heard her say so fucking beautifully. He looked back to find a most provocative grimace on her face: a tightly furrowed brow and hot opened mouth. He heard her shriek. Felt her rhythm falter. On impulse, he sat upright and embraced her, clutching her by the back of the neck and fiercely biting down on her lower lip as he came alongside her.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to the smooth material of his shirt and pulling at it. They settled down on labored breaths, still locked in a painful kiss as their hands gradually relaxed on one another. Sarah was huffing and puffing, looking about ready to pass out as she quickly smiled.

"I like this look on you," she said, and ran her fingers through his hair. Jareth grinned when he found there was still a trace of awe about her. "A lot," she added on, then thumped their foreheads together.

A few seconds passed. They were still catching their breath.

"I'm...going to get dressed now," she said, with palpable uncertainty. Jareth held back a laugh.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Sarah nodded as she let go and pulled away.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm good now."

Jareth cocked a brow. His hands were now resting on her hips, his cock still half hard inside of her. She was looking away from him, looking positively bewildered by her disheveled state and the whatever that had just come over her. She would probably blame it on hormones if he teased her. —but he knew better.

"Glad I could be of service," he said, and helped keep her steady as they stood to their feet.

---

Sarah winced as she stared up at the house.

She was standing on the sidewalk, and from that angle the old Victorian looked downright fiendish. Its vinyl siding had been freshly power-washed for its spring debut, and, while the gardens were still bare and the rose bushes yet to bloom, all were neatly cleaned and preened in preparation.

Colorful pinwheels littered the front lawn, half spinning, half stuck, all metallic and glittering. Some wind chimes played loudly in the breeze, its bobbles getting tangled in the many pastel streamers that had decorated the face of the front porch, but where now drooping and coming loose under the less than gentle insistence of that same breeze.

There were ceramic fixtures of bunnies, squirrels, and foxes lining the flagstone path leading to the door. They stared up at the two of them with wide, dead eyes. The laughter of children could be heard from the backyard, the spraying of a sprinkler, and the hollering of half drunk men.

Vague silhouettes moved in and out of view beyond the shrouds of the first story windows. She recognized a few of them. Cousins. Why did that word make her cringe?

She held onto Jareth's arm tighter as her toes curled in her flats. The street was littered with cars from one end to the other. They, of course, did not use a car. She wondered, amidst all her other worries, if anyone would notice.

Jareth glanced down in reaction to her quiet fidgeting and flexed his arm.

"Still want to do this?" he asked when she peered up at him. She nodded, biting her lip all the while.

"Yeah. I'm just…nervous. I haven't told anyone except Karen."

"Your father and brother know as well, yes?"

"Yeah, but Karen was the one who talked to my dad," she said and glanced away. "It...took him a couple days to process. And when he called me...it was kind of curt."

She loved her dad, really, she did. And he was kind —most of the time. But, there were just some things that couldn't be helped —and those things usually pertained to his only and precious baby girl. He was a little old fashioned —if his preference for rotary phones was any indication. So, honestly, she had expected a far worse reaction to this startling new development. He had congratulated her. Asked her how she was. Confirmed that she was in fact bringing Jareth with her. Confirmed that he was foreign (why her parents cared so much about that, she would never know). And...that was it.

She hoped actually seeing her would loosen him up. But, then again, she would have Jareth by her side…

She glanced up at him discreetly, internally thanking him for taking preemptive measures with his appearance.

"Well...let's get to it," she said and took a step forward.

The heavy front door opened in silence, whatever sound it made being overpowered by the delightful chatter of the occupants beyond. There was a littering of people in the foyer dressed in pale, colorful tones, flared skirts with clicking heels, khaki pants with neutral plaid button downs. There were finger foods on the bar tables on either side of the room, those being the focal points of congregation.

No one noticed them right away. She was glad for that—

"Oh my God. Sarah?!"

Shit. Two seconds. They'd made it two seconds.

Subduing a cringe, Sarah slapped on a big ol' smile and turned towards cousin Jennelle.

"Hey, Jen," she said with some strain. Jennelle, without taking her eyes off of Sarah's stomach, took several quick steps towards her with a gape.

"What the ef? You're pregnant?! When did that happen?!" she asked, announcing it to the entire house. Sarah laughed nervously and tried not to fist her hands.

"Ah….a few months ago. I haven't been promoting it too much," she said, stepping out of the way so Jareth could finish closing the door. The action caught Jennelle's attention, which now fixated, intensely, on Jareth.

"Oh…" she said, though whether or not that was in response to Sarah, or an absentminded exclamation, was anyone's guess. "Annnnddd…..this is?" And she turned her eyes back to Sarah imperatively. Sarah's twitchy smile twitched again.

"Oh. Um. This is my boyfriend(?) —Jareth."

Oh no. A label. And a really fucking awkward and suddenly adolescent one at that. She felt the burn of panic as she smiled and gestured at the man in question.

Jennelle, blatantly comparing the two, arched a brow as her eyes finally settled on Jareth.

"Jareth? That's an interesting name—" she said and offered out her hand. Jareth accepted and shook. "—but I'm sure you hear that a lot. I'm Jen, Sarah's cousin."

Jareth's hint of a smirk was tactful but all too transparent for Sarah. He was laughing at her. Oh geez.

"A pleasure," he said, revealing an accent Jennelle was clearly not expecting to hear. Her brow shot up as their hands parted.

Before Sarah could internally combust, she broke the moment with a deflection.

"So, we just got here. Have you seen Karen and my dad?"

Jennelle blinked out of her stupid gape and looked over at Sarah.

"Yeah. Your dad is out back grilling. Last I saw your mom, she was putting platters together in the kitchen."

Sarah, though smiling perfectly, felt her teeth grinding. Despite the current state of her and Karen's relationship, she still found it grating when people mistook her for her actual mother. —and Jennelle damn well knew that.

"Okay. Thanks," she said and, with her arm possessively locked with Jareth's, led him away from Jennelle and towards the back of the house.

She said a few hi's and hello's along the way, but avoided making any real eye contact at all costs. Mingling was all well and good, but the thump in her heart would not settle until she got this introduction business out of the way.

She brought Jareth to the kitchen. It was quieter there, devoid of people —aside from the much sought after Karen.

She was standing behind the counter, neatly folding and arranging sliced cold cuts and cheese on a slew of acrylic platters.

Sarah stood awkwardly in the doorway, squeezing Jareth's hand tightly before letting it go altogether and pressing onward without him.

"Hey," she said.

Karen looked up sharply.

"Sarah? Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness, just look at you," she said, near teary eyed as she dropped everything and dashed around the counter towards her. Sarah braced just in the nick of time, standing rigidly as Karen and her greasy fingers hugged her tightly. "You look so pretty! My goodness, you're glowing!" And she pulled away excitedly. "I can't believe it. I feel like it was just Christmas. You're right, you are getting big!"

Oh, she was ecstatic. Practically bouncing as she stared all around Sarah's person and back again. Sarah's smile was so strained she feared it may get stuck like that.

"Yeah, yeah….I told you," she said. Karen, gripping her by the biceps, held her at arm's length as she shook her head.

"This is far too becoming on you," she said affectionately. "God. I wish I looked half as good when I was pregnant."

Sarah huffed then glanced away bashfully.

The turn of her head revealed the figure standing behind her, casually leaning back against the frame of the doorway. And now Karen's fervor renewed. Now it was tenfold.

"And this must be our Sarah's mysterious beau," she said, basically turning Sarah out of the way as she set her sights on Jareth. "Jareth Davidson, yes? I'm Karen Williams, Sarah's stepmother."

Jareth, taking the time to spare Sarah one very arched brow at her impromptu and previously unmentioned choice of surname, dipped his head as he took hold of Karen's hand in a disarming show of chivalry.

"Yes. A pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Williams."

Karen froze —just like Jennelle, but...maybe a tad less obvious. Her fingers curled as they pulled away from Jareth's light grasp. Clearly, her Middle American family had never experienced someone east of Hoboken.

"Oh. Please, call me Karen," she said —with an effortless return of well practiced decorum. Jareth's grin twitched again. Sarah tried not to roll her eyes.

And, whether it be to her favor or destruction, it was at that very moment that the sliding glass door opened and one unsuspecting Robert Williams entered the scene.

He wore a grease stained apron over his Sunday Best, currently wiping his hands clean with a checkered hand towel at which his attention was fixed.

"Karen, do we have any more of that sea salt?" he asked, and made the mistake of looking up.

He paused mid-step, his eyes landing directly on Sarah as she stood in bulbous profile, then looked her up and down as his countenance took on that of surprise.

Sarah swallowed her nerves and turned towards him.

"Hi, Dad," she said, sounding like the meek teenager she'd been mentally reduced to. Robert, finishing the cleaning of his hands at a much slower pace, took a step towards them and then set the rag down on the counter.

"I didn't know you were here," he said. Sarah shrugged.

"We just got in a few minutes ago."

He nodded as he stared, clearly at her figure, but whatever judgement he was making was indiscernible to her. She was pouting as she waited for his verdict, looking all kinds of nervous and vulnerable. After a second, he scowled and removed the apron to join the rag.

"Don't want to get your white dress all dirty," he said, then made a come hither gesture with his hand which was nullified by the extra step he simultaneously took towards her. "Come here," he then added, and pulled her into a hug. Sarah stood like a plank. That...was not what she'd expected. "It's good to see you again. You look lovely. ...Congratulations."

He squeezed her for emphasis, creating a moment Karen was silently, and literally, clapping over. Jareth gave her and her jubilant twisted face a side eye.

Sarah, totally blindsided, gradually lifted her arms and returned the hug.

"Thank you…"

Wow. She'd have to treat Karen to a cruise or something for managing to pull this one off. And, from a quick glance back to the woman in question, she was well aware of this fact and in full agreement. She looked like she'd just won a beauty pageant, grinning so happily and with ostensible pride. Sarah, with wide bewildered eyes, tried to ignore it. —Saying hi to her dad was the easy part.

Robert sighed through his nose as he pulled away and looked over her again, clearly holding back a myriad of thoughts he would unleash on Karen as they readied for bed that night. Still, Sarah was happy. He even gave her a grin as he patted her on the shoulder.

"So, the drive up went smooth?" he asked, moving around the far side of the counter to search for, presumably, the salt. Karen, with her hands steepled together in gleeful anticipation, drifted towards him.

"Yeah. It was fine," Sarah said, and stepped forward to lean against the counter.

"Robert," Karen said, in that most leading way. "Sarah has brought someone for us to meet, remember? This is Jareth."

Robert paused in his rummaging and straightened. If she didn't know her father so well, she'd have thought he was ignoring or acting spiteful towards Jareth. But he wasn't. He genuinely hadn't noticed he was there.

"Right," he said, and looked up straight at Jareth. "You're the one dating my daughter?" he asked, and abruptly reached out across the counter to shake his hand. "Robert Williams. Nice to meet you."

Golly. What an attempt at cordiality. Sarah felt her jaw clenching in embarrassment as her eyes looked anywhere but at them. This was too freaking weird. The way Jareth smiled and confidently shook her drunk father's hand was way too weird.

"Likewise," Jareth said, perfunctory.

With that out of the way, Robert went back to his more important task. Sarah peered out her peripheral just as Jareth did the same. She felt so freaking on edge. He, however, looked perfectly composed.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Williams. I dare say Sarah's recounts do not do it justice."

Karen smiled bashfully and waved him off. Sarah wondered how he had the gall, and where she could get some of it, to initiate small talk.

"I told you, call me Karen," she said with a little giggle. Robert peered up from the drawer he was digging through. "But thank you. You flatter us, really." With the ice apparently broken, Karen pulled out a stool and sat on the edge, leaning forward with an elbow on the counter as she spoke. "I hear you're not from around here. Is the style of living you're used to any different from all this?"

God bless her. If Karen knew anything, it was how to feign class. Her entire aura changed, took on some of that long faded debutante charm. The foot at the end of her crossed legs was, without a doubt, bouncing in a flirty circle.

"Not really," Jareth said, pleasantly, seeming to pick up the same vibes Sarah was. "I've lived in many different places. After a while, a house is just a house."

"Ah, yes. Sarah mentioned you travel a lot. You work for Her Majesty's government, yes?"

Jareth paused. Only Sarah noticed it. And only because of the way, in that split second, his grin widened to light up his entire face. Sarah had given Jareth a brief rundown of all the lies she'd told, but maybe not all their details. Dear lord. She was mortified.

"Indeed," Jareth replied, finding a genuine kind of revelry in furthering this game. Sarah stared fiercely out the window.

"And what is it that you do, exactly?" Karen asked. Jareth glanced shrewdly at Sarah and her tightly pursed lips.

"I work in diplomatic relations. I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to divulge anything more than that."

"Sounds pretty serious," Robert interjected. Sarah looked over at him. "How exactly did you meet my daughter again?"

Oh no. She'd left this part out. She panicked a little as she looked sharply at Jareth. What would he say? What would he say?!

But, because guise was a quality practically bred into his people, Jareth answered readily.

"We met at a college seminar," he said. Sarah blinked. "I was in the area, and heard a literary scholar I like was speaking. Apparently your daughter had the same affinity."

Oh. That was a good one. Her father didn't know jack squat about books. He wouldn't press this issue, lest he make himself look uneducated. She wondered if Jareth somehow knew that, but couldn't recall ever telling him.

"I see," Robert said, moving on as she'd predicted. "So you're from Europe? How long have you been in the states? Do you have a….a work visa or whatever it is?"

The level of interest her father suddenly took in Jareth worried her, but, again, Jareth only smiled.

"I've come and gone for most of my life. I have dual citizenship, actually."

Ooh. Score two.

Robert paused to give Jareth a scrutinous eye.

"So how is that going to work then?" he asked. Sarah blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she countered.

"You travel for work, right? You're gone a lot?" Robert asked Jareth, folding his arms over his chest. "How often do you plan on really being there for my daughter and grandchild?"

Oh no. The tone. The aggressive, no approval for you, tone. It had frightened away more than one partner in Sarah's younger days. Hearing it now was equally intimidating for her and yet, to have it directed at Jareth…

A huff so miniscule not even Sarah noticed preceded the slyest of grins before Jareth replied.

"My schedule operates at my own discretion, and, actually, the majority of my work can be done from anywhere. Only in an extreme instance would I be forced to leave her side."

Oh, he was talking about wishers —instances when he would be compelled to the Aboveground. No such thing had happened since she joined him in the Underground, but he'd mentioned it did happen from time to time.

Robert, not quite sure whether he wanted to be relieved or displeased further, only stared with a hard look.

"In that case, what are your plans?" he asked, and this time turned the question to Sarah as well. She blanched.

"Plans?" she repeated.

"Yeah. You've only three months left before your baby is born. I'm curious about how you're planning to raise it."

Sensing a bit of tension building in her husband, Karen tried to disarm it by facilitating.

"What he means, dear, is...where are you going to live? We've been…a little worried. Are you going to stay in the city? Are you...living together already? We just hope you plan on rooting down somewhat local rather than moving back to England."

Sarah stared through Karen's forehead and out the far wall. She hadn't thought of lies to cover for any of this. Stupid. She was blanking hard. Jareth, the only one to notice her anxiety, took the initiative.

There were a row of stools hiding under the lip of the counter. Jareth pulled one out for her.

"Here, why don't you sit," he said, his focus, entirely, on her. Sarah blinked and looked over at him, not realizing how close to a meltdown she'd just been. She swallowed and accepted the gesture, sitting herself down as she tried to think of something rational to say.

Robert, watching this quiet little moment unfold, felt his antagonistic urges lull at the look of stark concern he saw on Jareth's face.

"Leaving the states is a possibility," Jareth said, frankly. Sarah's eyes shot up at him. "I have roots in many countries, and I would not oppose taking Sarah to any of them, should she wish it." Sarah curled her toes. That was not the right thing to say— "That said, I personally have no preference in one way or another. It's her decision."

Oh. It was? Well, this was news. She and Jareth hadn't actually talked about the explicit details that might paint their futures together. She'd been operating more on a day by day kind of mentality. She assumed she'd be staying, predominantly, in the Underground, but...but how much of this was just BS for her parent's sake?

Sarah, with a perturbed kind of scowl, roamed her eyes to the side as she pondered.

"I...don't know," she said.

Now that was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't know?" Robert repeated with a hint of derision. "You don't have a whole lot of time left to figure it out."

"I know," Sarah snapped —a bit of repressed teenage angst working through. When she looked up at her father, they were making the same face. "I guess...Jareth's right. Leaving the US is a possibility."

It would be better to be frank, if not honest, she determined —as Europe or Chicago or freaking Timbuktu were all residences easily interchangeable for the Underground. Her father's expression remained unchanged. *Sigh*

"But, regardless, that won't impact how often you see us," she added on.

"Well how do you figure that?" Karen asked, leaning up off the counter. "You'll be half a world away!"

"Yeah...but we can just travel back."

Karen blinked rapidly in disbelief.

"Oh? It's that simple? Do you have any idea how expensive a plane ticket from England is? I do. I've been looking, you know—"

"Mrs. Williams," Jareth interrupted. All eyes went to him. "What Sarah means is...well, don't think this bumptious, but commercial standards need not apply."

"Excuse me?" Karen asked.

Jareth averted his eyes, trying to think of the most tactful way to put it.

"I come from a rather...affluent background," he said, testing out the words as he said them. "Travel, its frequency or its expenses, is not a factor."

Sarah stiffened when her father snorted curtly. —And the awkwardness seethed.

"So...yeah. It doesn't matter where we live," Sarah said, trying her best to ignore what just happened. "We can come visit anytime you want."

Karen, caught somewhere between concern, disbelief, and elation at the mere mention of the word affluent, looked quite disconcerted as her mouth hung open.

"...well, at least there's that."

Karen spoke with a sigh, turning her head away to hide the hand she pressed to her temple. A rather heavy silence was about to fall over the room —thankfully, they were interrupted.

"Aunt Karen? You got those platters ready yet?"

The four of them looked over to greet an unsuspecting cousin Courtney (Jennelle's younger sister) crossing the threshold into the kitchen. Whatever worry Karen's expression may have been about to betray, it was slapped well away by the impromptu smile that spread across her face.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, here," Karen said in a fluster, pulling a couple trays closer to her. "Sorry, I got a bit distracted."

Courtney, in blissful ignorance, broke up the brood party by inserting herself between Karen and Jareth.

"It's alright," she said, and took hold of a platter just before glancing up and noticing Sarah's presence. "Oh. Hey Sarah. I heard you're expecting. Congratulations."

She sounded nearly genuine. Not that it mattered. What concerned Sarah was the indication that she was now a topic of conversation among the proles. Great. So they were gossiping already? *Double Sigh*

Karen, for whatever reason feeling the awkwardness more acutely than anyone, balanced a tray on each hand and promptly turned to flow after Courtney. She stopped on a dime, however, glancing back at Sarah with her polite smile.

"Goodness, I went a little wild with the hors d'oeuvres, didn't I? Sarah, would you mind helping us bring these out? We can make it in one trip if the three of us go."

Sarah glanced around conspicuously.

"Oh. Um...okay…?"

She stared at Jareth via nervous side eye as she stood from the chair and took up the final platter. Jareth said nothing, of course. She wondered why Karen was acting so suspiciously.

Karen grinned in that formal way of hers as she gestured for Sarah to precede her. The left quietly, leaving the two males alone.

A few seconds passed. Jareth made sure the ladies were out of earshot before speaking.

"So, have I answered all of your questions?" he asked. He glanced over casually, locking eyes with the man in a way that was a touch less courteous than before. Robert, operating on the same wavelength, actually appreciated the change in tone.

"Not really," he answered, then turned around to rummage through the fridge. Jareth stifled his grin to a twitch

"Well, ask away."

Robert closed the fridge and turned back with several beer bottles in hand.

"My wife told me you knocked up my daughter months before actually dating her," he said —a question of some kind woven therein.

"Yes?" Jareth replied, generously supplying the missing inflection. "—Accidents happen, as they say."

His tone carried faint impertinence on that last bit, his commitment to the current role weakened without Sarah as witness. Robert acknowledged it duly, snapping the cap off a beer loudly during the break in conversation.

"Just because she's an adult, doesn't mean it stops being my job to protect her," he said, sternly. "I promised Karen I wouldn't be so blunt in front of Sarah, so I'll say it to you instead. I don't like this situation you're in. It screams impulse and irresponsibility. This is something that is going to change her life forever. I don't want to see her hurt."

Oh. That felt like a challenge. Look how these mortals puffed up their feathers and brandished their tusks. He wondered just how pathetic this man's reaction would be should he learn just who it was he was talking down to.

"This situation?" Jareth repeated, going on the defensive. "What exactly do you disapprove of?" And he arched a dangerous brow. "Impulse —in the beginning, yes, perhaps. But irresponsibility? Would you rather I have walked away?"

"I'd rather things be done properly."

"Properly," Jareth repeated with a snide, condescending huff. "What a word. If it's my commitment to her you're questioning, perhaps by the order of certain events, then let me assure you, I am more than willing to make things proper should she wish it," he said with a snap. Robert eyed him carefully. "But, lest my intentions be misconstrued as some act of obligation, I'd prefer to wait until any and all such insecurities are well and gone from her mind. Is that not in her best interest?"

He was getting frustrated now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to defer to anyone, least of all for the benefit of someone else. Sarah's depiction of her father had been far too accurate. No wonder she'd been so anxious in coming here.

"My American isn't the best," Jareth went on, giving into a baser impulse. "—But I will try to use as much candor as possible: she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and I have no intention of guiding her any which way. To assuage your concerns, let me state that I am more committed than even she has yet realized. I would marry her here and now if she only said the word —and it has absolutely nothing to do with our accident."

His voice turned a little nasty as he spoke, as he held Robert's eye and, by that connection, made it abundantly clear that he was not a piddling boy to be snorted at.

Whether or not a pissing match was really in anyone's best interest was a question left to the heavens, for, as fate would have it, Karen chose that very second to reenter the kitchen.

"The Williams sure do like to eat, don't they?" she said, fully anticipating some manner of tension and preemptively charging straight through it arms akimbo. She stood in awkward silence at the counter as Jareth and Robert continued to glare at one another. "Everything alright in here?" she asked.

She was surprised to see Robert crack a grin. Left downright shocked when he started laughing softly to himself.

"Yes. Jareth here was just explaining how much he loves our daughter," he said, with a misplaced kind of amusement that unnerved Karen to her bones. That feeling peaked when he suddenly popped the cap on another bottle. "Here," he said, and offered it to Jareth. "Have a drink."

Jareth accepted without a word. Karen, meanwhile, was too shocked to enjoy the endorphins that accompanied her well internalized swoon.

---

Jareth walked alone down the hall leading away from the kitchen, a finger taping in time against the neck of an ice cold —and yet to be tasted— beer. It wasn't like he was above a good ale (emphasis on the good), but this was, without a doubt, not.

And yet still he carried it. T'was a trophy of sorts, he assumed. Hopefully, Sarah would calm down now.

And where exactly was she? —the little minx. Oh, feign the doe all she may, but he knew she'd very consciously left him to the slaughter. Sorry, no room on my raft, she might say.

But alas, he'd come out unscathed. Now, she would have to answer for her crimes…

He was imagining a myriad of delectable scenarios when he reached the entryway to the living room. He stopped and leaned against the wall, taking in this presumably modern and trendy decor. As his eyes roamed from one side of the room to the other, he found himself wondering how, while the standard of living had only increased, the collective tastes for how to best flaunt such had crashed, burned, and died.

"Have you seen Sarah?"

Jareth's ears flexed at the mention of his missing minx, and came back from his musing.

"Oh my God, right?"

"Huh? What are you talking about? I haven't seen her yet. What happened?"

There were three of them, at least, and all females. He could hear them chattering (sitting on the sofa he'd seen when they first passed through) just around the corner.

"Oh, you're not going to believe this. She's pregnant!"

T'was the first woman who spoke, now in an excited whisper-yell.

"*Gasp* No…"

"Uh huh. She's freaking huge. I can't believe we haven't heard about it."

"I guess she hasn't been telling people. —Because that's not suspicious, hmmm?"

"That's crazy. That is the last thing I would have expected to hear—"

Really? Jareth wondered. Not to insult his —truly delightful— little belle, but she wasn't what one would call conservative —let alone conscientious— on the night (in all its terrible infamy) in question…

"How far along is she?"

"Oh, I don't know. She looks about ready to pop, though."

"Didn't we see her at Christmas? She didn't look pregnant to me."

"Right? She can't be that far along. She must not be carrying it very well —poor thing. I feel bad for what she'll look like at term."

"I guess the more weight you gain, the harder it is to drop afterwards. Just look at Mable—"

And now Jareth's eye twitched. It wasn't that he was offended by what they were saying, because they were clearly wrong, but was genuinely confused. The only place Sarah had put on weight was in her stomach (excluding the minor, but downright sensuous, additions to her bosom and backside). In curiosity, he thought over every supple inch of that woman, trying to find even a hint of what they were deriding, and —completely inadvertently, mind you— only felt himself stirring.

In an effort to distract himself, he took a sip of that god awful beer.

"So who's the father? I didn't know she was seeing anyone. She and Henry looked pretty chummy at the Christmas party."

Oh? And who was this? —he'd save that inquiry for later.

"No way. At least...I don't think? Janelle said she brought some guy with her, so I assume him. I didn't see him, though—"

"Oh, I did," said the second woman.

"Yeah? Well? Spill!"

"He's pretty hot. I wasn't expecting it. I always pictured her shacking up with some short, scrubby guy."

The expression Jareth made in reaction to that had no proper name. He only shook his head to rid himself of it.

"I guess he's foreign. From Europe or something—"

"Whoa. What? Seriously?"

"Uh huh. I guess he talked to Janelle and he's got a super hot accent n' everything."

"He was really well dressed too. Like, seriously. You know what that means."

There was no reply to that. If Jareth had to guess, which he did, he'd say the girl speaking was rubbing her fingers together in the universal, and rather crass, signal of wealth.

"Where did she even meet a guy like that? Isn't she kind of stuffy?"

What? Who were these women even talking about? Certainly not his Sarah.

"I don't know. Good for her though. Got him bagged n' tagged with that baby."

Jareth arched a brow. He'd give them that one.

"I wonder how long it'll last," said the third girl, the only one whose tone sounded sympathetic.

"Pff. God if I know. She probably had to beg him to come here today. I wouldn't have bothered if I was her. I'd be mortified to bring a guy like that home to...this."

His brow slowly tightened at that. There was a point when jealousy became just plain ugly.

"Ha! As if you'd ever even have the choice," exclaimed the second woman. "Good for her, I say. So what if she keeps a few extra pounds? She's got that guy for life now."

Why were they so invested in her weight?

"Where is she anyway? This house isn't that big," said the third.

"In the dining room, I think. I saw her laying out food with Courtney."

"Wait. You mean in the white dress? That was Sarah?"

"Did you forget what she looks like?"

"No. I just...saw her from behind. I couldn't even tell she was pregnant."

"Yeah, the dress flatters her, I'll say that much —even if it is tacky as all get out. I mean, it's kind of funny when you think about it. Unmarried, pregnant, wearing a white dress on Easter of all holidays."

"Yeah, but Sarah doesn't practice, does she?"

"Clearly not. I didn't see her in church —probably afraid Father Devros would scold her."

Ah, this again. Sarah had mentioned something similar earlier. What exactly was the correlation? He never cared for Aboveground religions, but was now wondering if it was something worth investigating. White symbolized purity —that he knew was shared in both their cultures. So...did being unmarried and pregnant make her impure in their eyes? How ridiculous. To his people, there could be nothing more pure than the propagation of life.

Ugh —humans.

All this commentary was starting to irk him. Perhaps he should step forward and explain to them the truth of the matter…

"Oh, look! There she is. Sarah!"

One of them (the second woman?) called out Sarah's name loudly across the room. Jareth glanced over sharply. She'd just entered the living room from the far side.

"Hey! Oh my God, come here!" The second woman beaconed Sarah over with, to him, a completely transparent sense of enthusiasm. He felt his mouth form a hard line, though he had yet to step out of the hall and make his presence known.

Sarah, on her way back to save Jareth from the kitchen, stopped mid-step at the sound of her name. Her cousin Isabelle was waving at her —sitting with her sister Stacy, and their cousin Marie (yes, Sarah had many female cousins). Surprised to have been called over, Sarah smiled as she promptly joined them.

"Hey guys. It's been a while."

"Clearly," Isabelle said, darting wide eyes at Sarah's stomach. "I had no idea you were expecting. Congratulations."

Sarah smiled quickly and placed a bashful hand to her stomach.

"Oh...yeah. Thanks."

"How far along are you?" asked Stacy.

"Um...six months, give or take."

"Oh wow. You've still got a ways to go."

That comment would have been innocent had Jareth not just overheard the hidden insult threaded within. He started to scowl at the floor.

"Yeah...yeah...I feel huge already. I am not looking forward to week thirty-nine." Sarah laughed, but it was a hollow sound that Jareth had come to recognize as self-deprecative.

"I like your dress by the way. It's very pretty. Where did you get it?"

"Oh. Thanks. Um...Macy's, actually. It's nothing special—"

Oh women. Why could they not just be honest with their bitterness? He would have had more respect, at the very least, for that. He set his drink down on a decorative table and walked into the room.

"Ah, there you are, darling," Jareth said, calling over Sarah's (and everyone else's) attention. Sarah turned to greet him. "I've been looking for you, you know. I was starting to suspect you abandoned me."

He smiled and took hold of both her hands —the farcical display of pleasantry lacking one actual halo. Sarah's brows knitted in the center as her eyes widened. What in the…

"What? Of course not. I was just on my way to find you," she replied, forced to keep her eyes to the side to cover up the reality that, yes, she may have kind of pounced on the opportunity to scuttle the fuck out of that awkward ass kitchen. Oh, how that foreboding smile of his unnerved her. The fact that they could see through each other so easily wouldn't have phased her...if they didn't have an audience.

Jareth's hands let go of hers and lightly held her hips instead. Sarah felt herself blush —if not from that, then definitely from the shameless way he was looking at her. Oh God, was this her punishment?

"...what?" she asked, shying away and glancing at her gaggle of cousins, each of whom were watching with a cinematic level of anticipation.

"Nothing," Jareth said, then flickered his eyes down. "I just like looking at you."

Oh —that subtext. Sarah felt it readily. She clenched her jaw as visions of her apartment floor sped feverishly behind her eyes.

With a gulp (and a hand unwittingly pressed against his chest), she turned starkly away and addressed the crowd.

"Um, so this is Jareth," she said, awkward as fuck, with an equally awkward hand gesture. Jareth placed a hand to the small of her back as he also turned towards the trio. "Jareth, these are my cousins: Isabelle, Stacy, and Marie."

Jareth's eyes moved like razors over the three seated women, quick to identify the owner of each duplicitous voice and thus the order in which he detested them.

"A pleasure," he said, short but not sweet.

The three ladies gawked, each bearing a slight, yet different, resemblance to Sarah.

"Hi," was the general response.

The oldest of them, Stacy, whom he'd determined was also the most distasteful, looked somewhat irritated as she stared, brazenly, at him. Alas, years of being surrounded by court women taught him that was just her face. He actually cracked a grin as he looked away in favor of Sarah.

In a very unbridled, though not particularly uncharacteristic display of public affection, Jareth took hold of her by the waist again and turned her towards him, casually embracing her as he spoke.

"Why don't you give me a tour. I'd like to be alone with you for a bit."

If Sarah was a tea kettle, she would have boiled over. Wh—what the hell was he doing? Did he not realize how embarrassing this was? And...was he playing up his accent? Why was he radiating princely? Was he secretly mad that she'd left him? What a freaking sadist!

"Um. Okay. Sure," she said, meekly brushing her hair behind her ear as she took his hand and led him away. She spared an apologetic and thoroughly mortified shrug to her cousins, who only stared back with deftly arched brows and two happily gaping mouths.

Sarah, knowing the last thing Jareth cared for was a tour of her old house, brought him to a secluded hallway leading to the guest bedroom. This area of the house was quieter, safe from prying eyes and ears.

"So um, what the hell was that?" she asked. Turning around to face him had been a miscalculation. He grabbed her by the jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. She murmured in surprise, bracing her hands against his chest before pushing away. "W-what has gotten into you?" she asked, looking concerned more than anything. "I'm sorry I left you alone with my dad. He didn't say anything stupid, did he?"

Jareth laughed. It was soft and subdued, but a laugh nonetheless. The hand holding her face moved upward, his thumb stroking her temple as his free hand joined to mirror the gesture on the other side.

He didn't answer her questions, merely pulled her forward —more gently— into another kiss.

She didn't fight back this time, closing her eyes despite curling her fingers into his shirt.

He held her there, in that position, until she acknowledged his intentions. The feeling conveyed was not retaliation, but relief. She ended up sighing as her shoulders relaxed.

He brushed his nose against hers when they pulled away.

"Everything is fine," he said, then tilted his head. "Though I will seek vengeance for your treachery."

Sarah's eyes widened immensely on a sharp inhale.

"I know. God. I'm sorry. I hate when he gets like that. I suck for leaving you there with him. But...you survived, right? I didn't hear any screaming, so…"

"He cares about you a great deal," Jareth said, turning her head back to face him when she looked away. "As do I. It's only natural there would be some...friction."

That look was dead serious and much too close to her face. Sarah blinked as she stared into his eyes, only feeling more insecure.

She bit the inside of her lip before responding.

"I know. That's why...I thought it would be okay to leave. Karen told me my dad wanted to speak with you in private at some point, so...can I ask what he said?"

The look on her face said she had plenty of her own ideas as to the possible answer to that question. It would be rather tactless of him to grin right now, wouldn't it?

"He expressed his views on our current relationship and asked my intentions."

Sarah swallowed, her eyes lowering as a quibble of nerves sprung forth.

"Oh," she said, with considerable restraint. Then, after wetting her lower lip, looked up at him tentatively. "So...what are your intentions?"

Jareth quirked a brow. Sarah let go of his shirt to knot her fingers.

"We've just...never actually talked about that," Sarah went on, recoiling ever so subtly as uncertainty took hold. "I've...been thinking about it recently. I was worried he may ask you something like that, so…"

"So?"

"So...I get if everything you told them was just for show," she said, changing directions out of pure cowardice. "All that stuff about moving and traveling and being there..."

Jareth tilted his head very slowly.

"Do you think I was bolstering?"

"I...um…" And then, amidst her skepticism, she managed to look up and lock eyes with him with a contrasting sense of conviction. "I don't know."

Jareth was still grasping her face; she removed his hands from her and took a step back.

"I'm...very appreciative of everything you've done for me. The way you've opened up your home has been….incredible. The people there have been nothing but kind. It's been...more than I could hope for. So…" And she glanced away with a wince. "So I haven't pushed my luck. I've been….trying not to think too much about it."

"About what?"

"Our current relationship," she replied, mimicking his tone. "And your...intentions."

She peered up like that word might sting; her hands, holding his low in the space between them, squeezed tighter.

"I...I don't want a shotgun wedding —as much as it would please my father. But...the more involved this gets...the more I would like to know...where we actually stand in all of it. Am I...your mistress? Concubine? Am I just some random chick who's going to give you an heir? Your people all call me My Lady and bow like they need to. And...well...the way we've been living has been pretty...intense. So I just...I don't know if I'm getting ahead of myself or if—"

She cut herself short at the sound of him laughing at her. It was low, repressed to the back of his throat. Regardless of its volume, the way she found him smirking down at her was amply inciting. She frowned and scowled, afraid she'd just made a huge fool of herself—

He quieted down when she started to puff up. Oh, how those lips loved to pout.

"It's about time you started showing some interest," Jareth said, surprising her by reaching up to tenderly stroke her hair. Sarah fought off a gape.

"I don't understand…"

"I honestly didn't think it would take this long," he went on, still so delighted at her expense. Sarah's scowl worsened.

"What?"

"For you to realize that answer for yourself. For you to even ask."

"How...how can you expect me to just ask?" she countered, frowning despite the way his hand trailed affectionately down her arm. "You've been so good to me. Like, so good. I can't help but worry...it's because of that wish." And she folded her arms defensively. "I keep thinking you're only with me in order to fulfill my wish —ensuring my happiness and all that. I don't want...to compel you."

"So, what you're really saying is that you still don't trust me?"

"What? No—"

"Sarah."

He spoke candidly but with intention. Sarah looked up at him.

"It's been a long day, so I'll disregard this very silly attitude of yours," he said, and gave her a knowing eye. "Firstly, I agreed to the contract. I'm the one who told you to form it, remember?" She was pouting again, looking so young with round eyes and a reddened lower lip. He held her by the waist and tugged her closer. "Secondly, I hope that, by now, you've come to know my nature. I wouldn't agree to terms that don't align with my interests or that, in this case, I wasn't already planning on fulfilling anyway."

The stiffness in her posture waned, but her skepticism remained. Jareth exhaled softly through his nose, then tightened his grip as his hands moved higher up her back.

"Third, fourth, and fifth," he said, speaking more intimately as he inclined his head down to her. "—I like you. I want you. And, I dare say, I may even love you."

His hands splayed possessively on the center of her back as they moved up over her shoulder blades. Her own hands had gone back to his shirt, by now wrinkling it beyond salvation. He had her pressed flush against him now, her head tilting back as he leaned down as if to kiss her.

He did. And it was chaste. It wouldn't have been, but she didn't react. She was too caught off guard. Too triggered by that word and the hot stirring it caused in her chest. Her heart thumped loudly. She wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready and stupidly about to cry.

She licked her lips when he withdrew, her expression not nearly as demure as he'd expected it to be. She looked livid. —now that was more like her.

"You mean it?" she asked. Jareth grinned.

"Who better suited for the privilege than you?" he teased. Sarah smiled and peered away.

"No one," she said, reliving dangerous caresses under broken shadow and green, laser light. Her hands released his shirt and moved up around his neck. "I love you too," she said, and leaned up on her toes.

This kiss was longer, without care. Karen and her cousins could have been there taking snapshots and it wouldn't have mattered. Her hands moved into his hair. Her head turned to accommodate new angles. She would have let it drag on and on, but, at some point, he pulled away.

He smirked at her, eyes filled with mist and lingering amusement. Sarah didn't get why he was still laughing at her.

"I'd like to answer your question now," he said, so cheekily. Sarah drew back.

"Which question?"

"About my intentions and our current relationship."

There was peculiar emphasis in those words. Sarah turned her head slightly as she regarded him.

"...okay?"

"I have no plans of marrying you," he said, point-blank. Sarah's eyes darted to the left.

"Oh. Okay." —those words were also point-blank, but with a higher (now guarded) pitch.

Jareth's grin widened devilishly.

"Care to know why?"

Sarah hesitated. Did she?

"Um...sure?"

He reached up and pinched the corners of her jaw, bringing their faces closer together so he could stare her in the eye.

"Because we're already married."

Sarah blinked.

Huh?

"You never once questioned why my people have been treating you with so much deference?" he asked. Sarah's eyes darted to the right. "—Why they're nothing less than eager to please?"

"Um. I mean, I have…"

"I told you, your arrival was going to be seen as exciting."

"W-wait a minute," she cut him off, raising a hand between them and taking half a step back. "When exactly did we get married? I don't recall participating in anything like that." —nor did she recall Jareth ever asking, but she'd get to that in a minute.

Jareth tilted his head and looked at her in a way that was not at all in accordance with her bewilderment.

"My people generally live for a very long time," he said. Sarah nodded.

"Uh huh…"

"It is understood that, because of this, we have difficulty reproducing. Nature must be balanced."

"Okay…"

She stared at him on the precipice of some internal epiphany or meltdown, and the way it translated through her tight expression and guarded, highly expectant words, he thought, was adorable.

"There is a practice among my people. A rather...romantic bit of sentimentality," he said, intentionally building up her nerves as he took half a step forward to replace the one she'd taken away. "We believe that the person with whom we are able to procreate with is designed by Fate, or Nature, or whomever. They are our...soulmate, if you will."

She was looking very skittish as he said that. He grinned on one side and lifted his hands to stroke her cheeks.

"I told you, I have no children. And, believe me, there have been many opportunities." He glanced down as some thought came to mind. Sarah waited for him to continue attentively. "I was shocked when you called for me on Yule. Those words —from anyone— let alone you, My Champion, were the last thing I expected."

Sarah's jaw clenched. His proximity and hushed tone were making her emotional. It didn't help that the baby had started to kick.

"Okay. But...that still doesn't answer—"

"My kind believes in this grand design without question," he quickly replied. "There is no ceremony. No politics. No propriety. You may consider the conception as our wedding." Sarah shut up. This was a lot to unload on her at a family picnic. "With that said, because I am royalty, there is an odd interlude in regards to your coronation. As of now, you are my wife, but not my queen —which is why they call you My Lady. The coronation….will be regarded as the moment you give birth."

Sarah blinked. Some kids ran by the mouth of the hallway, but she didn't care. He was still embracing her, lightly by all description, but still compromising to the wandering eye. And yet, she just blinked. Totally blindsided.

"I…" she started, and then her brain caught up. "Well, what if you don't actually like your soulmate? You're telling me you're forced to be together just because some happy swimmer got lucky?!"

Oh my, she sounded a little flustered.

"You make it sound irrational," he said sardonically. Sarah scoffed.

"What if you don't want to be together? What if you knock up one person and then fall in love with another? You're just...just stuck for life?"

"Because such practices are so uncommon in your world."

"This isn't funny, Jareth," she said, conveying real vexation. "I just said I didn't want a shotgun wedding. I just told you I was afraid that you're only with me out of obligation or compulsion, and now you tell me that is exactly the case? Jesus…" And she shook her head as she glared to the side. "And what about consent? Did you not think I might want to be asked to marry you? Or, you know, just be clued in on what was happening? Oh my God. They must all think I'm an idiot—"

"Sarah…" Jareth said, his tone placating but not without the faintest inflection of amusement. She scowled when he turned her face to look at him again. "I didn't tell you because I did not want you to feel obligated," he said. Sarah arched a brow. "You're a human and a Champion. Me or mine cannot force you to do anything, and neither do I want to. I cannot stop you from leaving if this is a path you do not wish to take. With that said, in my people's eyes, we are married. Period." And his eyes followed the movement of his hand as he lightly stroked her hair. "Your concern for compatibility is valid, which is why I'll say this again," and his eyes shifted over to look her straight in the eye. "I'm glad it was you."

Sarah frowned. He looked so sincere. She, however, had no idea how to feel. This was nuts. This was...monumental. And it was….the end she was probably hoping to head towards anyway…

"So...we're soulmates? Seriously?" she asked, then shook her head. "What does that even mean—"

"That hardly matters," Jareth said. Sarah pursed her lips. "I can't say whether or not there's any truth behind the custom. The fact that, after five centuries of living a definitively decadent lifestyle without any manner of fruition, I happened to conceive with someone —whom I also had an unwarranted and peculiarly erotic interest in— could be mere coincidence. Regardless, it's extremely convenient —as far as precedents go."

He paused to give her the chance to respond. She didn't.

"You look disappointed," Jareth said, arching a brow at her. "Would you rather something different?"

Sarah glanced down. Oh geez. Here comes more of that pesky, leftover teenage angst again.

"I just…"

She couldn't say it. Even in her own head, it sounded incredibly spoiled.

A canny smirk flickered one corner of Jareth's mouth.

"You were hoping for more romance, weren't you?" he asked. Sarah's cheeks flushed red. "A grand proposal? A field of flowers? A galaxy filled with fireworks? ...A nauseatingly loving design?"

He was teasing her now —hovering on the border of laughing with and at her. Sarah scowled in displeasure.

After a moment, he withdrew. His expression humbled and his touch turned tender.

"Very well then." And he blinked slowly. "Tell me what you want."

Sarah looked down at his throat. She was fiddling with the button there. To be honest, she was still reeling from their first I love you, and now he'd gone and dumped all this on her too.

So he really meant it? This was...okay? Being with her...by Fate or not...was what he wanted?

"I...want to have a proper ceremony," she said, matter of factly. "—and it will probably be weird and uncanny and farcically Catholic. And I want a house in this world —nothing too fancy— somewhere close enough for my parents to visit but….far enough away that they have to schedule ahead first." Her train of thought slowed and her eyes widened as she said that last bit, then got back on track. "I want to live with you in the Underground, but...I also want life in both worlds to be normalized for our kid."

She refused to look at him while she made her demands. It was all for the best. She would have smacked him for the way he pretentiously nodded along.

She seemed to hit a wall after that. Jareth smirked and gave her a push.

"Anything else?"

Sarah scowled.

"I...I don't know right now," she said, then peered up guardedly. "—Maybe."

She didn't trust the way he was looking at her. Didn't trust it precisely because she knew what it meant, and that it had absolutely no place in the current atmosphere. His hands moved down her arms, then gripped her by the hips, the fabric of her dress inching up because of it. He pulled her a little closer —and she let him.

"Hm...and what will you give me in return?" he asked.

"...what do you want?"

Oh, so cautious she was. Still so very skeptical and untrusting. He taunted her by averting his eyes and taking two seconds too long to deliberate.

"Show me your room," he said.

Sarah's brow furrowed.

"Huh? You mean here?"

Jareth nodded.

"Why?"

"I want the rest of my tour. Surely, a small price for all those lofty desires of yours."

Sarah drew back. Turned her head and narrowed her eyes. Such terms were highly suspect and clearly baited. Her little eyes did their best to burrow deep into his psyche and pull out whatever it was he was planning.

"Okay…." she finally said, and slowly turned away.

---

The way she led him through the house was casual yet entirely conspicuous. She held his hand, walking slightly in front of him like a woman on a mission. Really, her only thought was for the stairwell. It was, rather flagrantly, located in the foyer. There were a lot of people there when they'd first arrived, and she had no good reason to be bringing him up upstairs.

Thankfully the room was empty. The house, curiously, was now quiet. Her ears tensed on an echo from the backyard. It seemed they were all preparing for the kids' scavenger hunt.

She brought him up the stairs and into further quietude. The door to her old room was closed. The knob creaked obnoxiously as she turned it.

She pushed it open, then suddenly turned back to Jareth with an edge of accusation.

"...you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, right?" she asked.

Jareth's grin, so coy, could not be discerned.

"Tell me what you're thinking and I'll decide."

Their locked stare conveyed a challenge. Sarah gulped as she turned back around and ushered him into the room.

"So...this is it," she said, with an anticlimactic hand gesture. Jareth took two considerably aloof steps into the room.

It was different from when she'd lived there —converted into another tasteful guest room. The walls were bare, and the fixings plain and pleasantly floral. The only clue to the room's history was the furniture —the bed, dresser, and vanity being Sarah's own.

Jareth looked all around as Sarah closed the door quietly behind them, then made a contemplative hum.

"I was expecting...more," he said. Sarah cocked a brow.

"Expecting or hoping?" she countered, crossing her arms as she came around to stand next to him. "I moved out ten years ago. I think Karen chucked all my old posters and teddy bears by week two."

She started to grin as she stared at Jareth —his mouth pursed in obvious disappointment as he openly mused.

"You look a little put off," she teased him. "Was there perhaps a reason you wanted to come here?"

Jareth, eyes flickering in accordance to her tone, peered at her from the side.

"Nostalgia," he said, vaguely. —And then he turned towards her, tilted his head as some new scheme came to mind. "Close your eyes," he said. Sarah, suppressing a cheeky grin, complied.

"Okay."

"Now, imagine this room the way it used to be."

One of her brows arched but she said nothing, doing as he said and mulling over which version of her adolescence she preferred best. A few seconds passed, and then he spoke again.

"Good. Now open."

First the left, then them both. Sarah opened her eyes and peered curiously from left to right, not at all surprised by what met her.

The paper on the walls was different —obscured by a collage of taped and cheaply framed posters. Behind her hung a cabinet of pseudo-collectible plushies. Her old school work desk was idling in the previously bare corner, her vanity once again littered with a chaotic assortment of makeup and loose hair ties.

She nearly huffed when glancing over at the bed. She remembered that quilt —its actual self was folded in a storage bag shoved into the depths of her closet back at her apartment.

"Hm…" Jareth hummed again, pulling her from her gander. "That's better."

"Is it?" Sarah replied, rolling her eyes as she laughed to herself, and took a couple large steps towards him. "I think I know why you brought me here. You're a little fucked up, you know that?"

Jareth shrugged innocently.

"I have no idea what you mean," he said, then tilted his head languidly. "By the way...have I told you how lovely you look in that dress?"

Oh, he wasn't even trying to defend himself. Sarah's smile widened while her feet took the final step forward.

"No, I don't think you have," she replied, staring at him cannily as one brow arched.

Jareth reached out and unfolded her arms, slyly maneuvering his own behind her back as his face lowered to her neck.

"I prefer you in white," he whispered, and her neck arched against a sensual kiss. "And black. And green striped with red. But…" And those shrewd, warm lips moved slowly up to her cheek. "I prefer you most in nothing at all."

His breath made those words rumble in her ear. Her hands, with designs of their own, had moved around his back. She blinked slowly and tried turning her head towards him.

"You seriously...want to mess around in my childhood bed?" she asked —without the least hint of disapproval. Jareth grinned into her hair.

"Mhm…"

He traced his nose along hers while moving to the other side of her neck, planting soft kisses there as his hands worked up the skirt of her dress.

"That's kinda messed up...I think."

"Are you objecting?" he asked. Sarah, managing the discomfort building between her legs, scowled as she nuzzled his neck and then nipped it.

"Hardly."

No sooner was the word uttered did the sharp sound of a lock startle her. She glanced over at the door, oblivious to the backpedaling of her own legs as Jareth guided her towards the bed.

"Did you…" she murmured, then had to clutch his shoulders when she nearly lost balance. "There's no lock on that door."

She pulled back and looked at him quite sternly. Jareth's grin curled as his thumbs dipped under the hem of her underwear.

"There is now," he said and gently tugged.

Sarah gulped. This was more dangerous than the basement. The walls up here were thin. The view of suburban street outside was left unobstructed by the large window and its bright, crystal-clear pane.

She licked her lips and shimmed out of her panties as Jareth inched them down her thighs —catching a bit of perverse thrill from the sight of black, glass eyes staring back at her from the wall behind him. Oh, what if? she caught herself wondering. What if that night had somehow played out differently and ended...well…

Oh, how scandalous.

And maybe he was thinking the same. Maybe such nastiness was precisely why he'd agreed to come in the first place. You know my nature, he'd said. Yes. The King of Goblins accepted terms only that aligned with his interest. A fair price, she determined —wondering what daydreams he would offer her next if she took initiative and dug out her old school uniform.

His tongue curled into her mouth as he kissed her, his eyes closed while his hand grazed up her thigh.

She whimpered when the pad of his middle finger touched her clit, then moved back in a little jolt as that finger pressed harder before moving down to spread her. The back of her knees were hitting the bed, though his hand at the small of her back kept her from sitting.

She shifted in her spot, her breathing turning audible as his hand curled and he slid one long finger inside.

She'd been told some women preferred celibacy when pregnant —but she was not one of them. Whether or not that was a good thing, however, was still up in the air. It didn't take much —if her attack on him earlier that day was any indication. She thought about it constantly, her mind melting day by day into some crass, Freudian fantasy. She even thought she might be perpetually wet —a big thank you to those oh so lovely hormones pumping in violent excess through her hotblooded veins. It made her vulnerable and volatile, unraveling her inhibition at even the slightest caresses.

And oh, how Jareth loved to tease her about it. To play with her and her new sense of carnal delicacy. He moved his hand slowly as her fluids built around him, coating his knuckles and making the rhythmic sound both louder and undeniably wet.

Her breathing picked up, forced through her nose lest she moan. When her cheeks began to flush, he pulled his hand away and turned her around.

"Grab that pillow," he said, apparently unable to do so while his hands instead groped at her ass. She leaned forward across the bed and pulled it back —then felt him help her situate it under her stomach.

Sex had become inventive in recent days —books and recommendations from friends being her godsend. She was limited in the number of positions she could comfortably be in —but, thankfully, that hadn't seemed to dull the experience.

She let her weight rest against the pillow, keeping the pressure off her midsection as she held herself on bent elbows. Jareth lifted each of her legs and wedged a knee into the edge of the mattress, then took a moment to admire that wanton view, with its particular setting, for all it was worth.

Her fingers curled into the quilt as she listened to the sound of him undoing his belt.

She felt his hand on her ass pushing the skirt of her dress up and out of the way. Made a sweet noise of surprise when the other spread and explored her. Two fingers now. Moving in and out. Fucking her deep as she undulated back to meet each thrust.

"Do you want another pillow?" he asked. Sarah swallowed hard as she tried to respond casually.

"No. I'm good."

Jareth withdrew his fingers, ran them up and down her slit, and then pushed back in again.

"Really? Not even that adorable blue dinosaur?"

Sarah lowered her head and chuckled.

"I think you just want to see me hug it while we fuck," she said, glancing back wryly. Jareth tilted his head, his ghostly smirk steeled.

She arched a brow at him.

He popped open the button on his slacks.

"I think…" Jareth said, then slid the zipper down. "For all your deriding little quips, this particular fantasy is turning you on just as much as I."

He was still moving his fingers inside of her, staring her dead in the eye as he freed and stroked himself. Sarah's mouth opened and she licked her lip, eyes wide and darting between his face and his hand as she rocked.

He was hard. Well, obviously. But still, it was a sight worth noting. His left hand fisted around his cock and pumped it, twisting at the head before going back down. She got to watch him lengthen. Got to watch his brow tighten and the veins in his wrist expand.

She turned around sharply, hands fisting in the quilt as she stared ahead at that stupid stegosaurus.

She braced herself, pushing back instinctively when he pressed the head of his cock to her entrance and moved it in a little circle.

"Well?" she heard him ask. "What say you, kitten? Is this too obscene for you?"

He stared down at her open cunt as he pushed just one aching centimeter inside. It frustrated her. He could tell from the way her knees fidgeted. Focusing on the way her tender flesh spread for him was an act of self sabotage. He forgot that he was supposed to be teasing her and thrust deeper inside.

Sarah moaned —louder than she'd anticipated. Immediately, a hand sprang to cover her own mouth as she smothered her face into the bed. Jareth groaned, gripping her ass with one hand as he fucked her with just the head.

"What was that? I don't think the neighbors heard you."

Sarah grumbled through her nose and tried pushing herself back, but every time he was quick to do the same. She was getting bothered now. Irritated.

"Jareth—"

"Yes?"

"Please just—"

"Just what, love?"

Oh, that arrogance. If she had an adequate center of gravity, she'd have flung herself around and tackled him to the floor.

He thrust in even deeper —just once— just to hear the high-pitched squeal he knew she would make. Her insides left him hot and coated. Left him tense and equally frustrated. He was not ready to reveal this to her, however. He wanted her seething.

"J-Jareth— I want you to—"

"To what? Stop?" he said, and paused just shy of anything she might be able to find stimulating. "Because this is pretty fucked up, right—"

Sarah, so thoroughly exasperated and ready to murder him, reached out, yanked back that mortifying maya blue reptile and clutched it for dear life as she angled back and, with a clear cut glare, said,

"Shut the fuck up and just fuck me already."

Her fingers dug into the flesh of that pillow as his did her ass. She was practically snarling at him. Seething. Ah. There she was.

Jareth's wicked grin touched his eyes as a low rumble of laughter moved his chest. He took hold of her hips with both hands and pulled her back as he thrust fully inside.

Sarah braced against the pillow, turning away as she closed her eyes and focused. God, he could be infuriating. But, fuck, did he know how to mollify her. He filled her just right —just enough— with every thrust, his grip moving her to his pace so she was freed to just take it and enjoy.

She grimaced into the quilt, trying her best not to audibly moan lest someone reenter the house. Her knees inched further apart against every one of his movements, inadvertently pushing her stomach more firmly onto the bed.

Her muffled breath enflamed the polyester skin of her pillow plush —which she aggressively shoved out of the way. She pushed her face into the bed and bowed her back instead, reaching down to brace her stomach before the position became uncomfortable.

Seeing this, Jareth lifted her lower half and hoisted her into a higher stance.

The old springs in the mattress squealed, which sent a jolt of panic down Sarah's spine. Shit. She hadn't accounted for that. What if—

She was distracted by thoughts of exposure, so gasped in a delightful startle when he suddenly reared over her and dropped his weight onto the hand that sank into the bed just shy of her face. One of his knees had joined hers at the end of the mattress as well, their thighs firmly touching as they bracing together.

She wanted to do something. To reach out. To turn. To touch him. —but she couldn't. Her center of gravity was now in her head, her one hand now pinned between her abdomen and the pillow weakly supporting it.

She could hear the strain in his breathing now with his head so close. Feel his torrid breath flush over the back of her neck. He leaned down, falling to his forearm, and kissed the back of her shoulder.

He moaned so only she could hear, grasped her free hand with his and squeezed. She felt his other hand moving up and down her side, bunching up her dress in order to get at the skin underneath.

Sarah knew this part. Knew exactly what that hand would do next. He reached down, felt firmly around her rounded stomach, and held it. She didn't really get it —such fixation made her weirdly self conscious— but it was also empowering. He didn't become aroused despite her condition, he —quite often— became aroused because of it. He adored her growing body. Whether it was because of some form of primal male pride, or a genuine fetish, she would not ask. Regardless, the way he looked at her when in the throws was, at times, frightening in its intensity. Looking at her, touching her there, like this, turned him on. And, seeing him act so shamelessly, turned her on too.

She felt his heated chest pressing against her back as their figures contoured to one another. Heard his breath turn to moans as his hips moved in smaller, more poignant undulations. Feeling so constricted, so trapped, so enveloped by a man who apparently loved her, was enough to send her over the edge all on its own.

She reached down and placed her hand over his on her stomach, trying to harness that same provocative titillation that was unbridling him so wantonly. She was disturbed to find she succeeded —as fleeting a thought it was. Her muscles contracted, and they felt the baby kick under both their hands, and it— it was—

Sarah's entire body curled as she grimaced into the mattress and cried out, suffocating the sound of her orgasm to something (hopefully) only the threads of the quilt could hear..

And he was the same. His eyes were closed, and his body tensed, and he was being so fucking careful not to hurt her that it was sure to cripple him.

Her noises —her sweet, sensuous noises— oh, they undid him. He curled his head down and pressed his forehead flat against her shoulder, sweat beading on his brow as he came closer and closer to—

STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

"TOBY!"

Sarah shrieked. She covered her mouth and, with a mousy yelp, lurched forward on the bed. Jareth, so very fucking close to coming, actually flinched just as violently —ripped clear out of the beautiful haze of impending orgasm to the shrill sound of Karen.

"Toby?! Are you up there?!"

The yell came again, as did the sound of her feet rising several more steps up the stairs. Sarah panicked. The door to her room was just a few feet from the top of the stairwell—

Jareth, about ready to burn this fucking monstrosity of a divine comedy to the ground, gritted his teeth and growled into her hair.

"Tobias Williams! You better not be playing on that goddamned play station while all our family and friends are here!"

They heard, in perfect clarity, Karen and her immense displeasure as she stomped up the remaining stairs. The floorboards in the hall —just outside her door— creaked underfoot. Sarah gulped. They hadn't moved. And, as she shifted her attention back to Jareth, realized that he probably couldn't.

Oh dear.

She covered her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"Toby!" Karen yelled just outside of their door.

"What!?" a voice yelled back —surprisingly deep. Sarah's ears flexed at the sound of something being thrown on the floor in her brother's room at the end of the hall. "What do you want? Why are you yelling?"

Toby's voice became clearer when he opened the door to his room. Sarah gulped again, so very thankful Jareth had the forethought to install a magic lock on the door.

"Did you not hear me? I've been calling your name for hours!"

Oh, hours, was it? Sarah quirked a brow.

"I had my headphones in. Jack and I are playing games. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that you don't need to be holed up in your room while your family is together celebrating. It's a beautiful day outside! Why don't you go throw a football or something."

"Ugh—"

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, young man!"

Sarah was listening to the bickering in the hall rather than the frustrated sighs of the man who still had his dick idling inside of her. —That was a mistake.

She didn't catch what Toby said next, too surprised by Jareth's hand suddenly clamping tightly around her mouth while he pinned her hip and carried on.

The sharpness of his movements commanded back her attention —one of her hands escaping down below to dart upward and grasp his wrist.

Her fingers made contact with the cold steel of his wristwatch, and she flinched back as if it'd shocked her —oh...well that's an odd thing to be aroused by, she thought.

"Fine. We'll come down after we finish this race—"

"No. No. You'll come down now. Your father is about to start the egg hunt —or are you suddenly too grown up for that?"

Jareth buried his face in the hair covering Sarah's neck, eyes screwed shut and focusing on anything that wasn't that incessant squawking. Twice now he'd been interrupted by that woman. One more inconvenience, and he'd zap them straight into a black hole if it meant he could finish in peace.

There was a moment of silence. Just one.

"Fine," Toby eventually said. "We'll come down. Happy?"

"Elated," Karen stated. They heard Toby huff and then the door to his room closed. Footsteps belonging to a third person could now be heard —presumably Jack, who lived a few houses down.

The floor groaned obnoxiously loud in a spot dangerously close by. Sarah stiffened as she judged that all three of them were now loitering directly outside her door.

She tried her best not to even breathe. One accidental shift, and a bent spring would ruin Easter a la Williams for all years to come.

"Hm…"

"What?"

"I thought your sister might be up here with you. Have you seen her? I'm worried your father might have scared her off."

"Huh? Sarah's here? Did she bring her new boyfriend?"

Fuccckkkk why were they just standing there? Jareth scowled and grimaced and snarled and fisted that ugly starched quilt in his hand. His cock was throbbing. Near in pain. There was no way he was stopping. No fucking way—

"Jareth…"

The sound of Sarah's voice distracted him. It was a whisper, a light caress that moved across his ear. He breathed heavily through his nose, focusing on her quiet, conscientious breaths. In actuality the sound was barely audible, but they were just so close. She kept her pitch high and subdued, playing up her arousal for his benefit. He didn't mind. No, in this instance, he might actually thank her.

Those little sounds, as soft as butterfly kisses, were soon to replace the prattle going on behind them. He felt his vexation lessen, felt her hot insides clenching around him, felt the throbbing of his cock and the pressure in his balls turn from stagnant pain to building pleasure.

She inched her hand up and grasped his, weaving her fingers through his tight fist until it yielded. His large hand enveloped hers and clutched it fiercely. He was rocking his hips acutely, serving himself as he hovered on that dangerous edge.

"Jareth...please…"

And he bit her.

He had no choice. A moan threatened to escape him with a compulsion more powerful than he would ever dare admit. His eyes screwed tighter shut, his body stilled and went rigid over hers. Her shoulder was squirming in the effort to escape his teeth, but it was futile. He had her locked like a dog.

He breathed laboriously through his nose as he silently came inside her, his right hand (still holding her stomach) supporting her upright lest the pressure of his body crush her. Oh, what a selfish moment that was —and so thoroughly satisfying.

His head cleared, coming out of the moment to the sound of footsteps receding down the stairs, and, simultaneously, heard Sarah sigh in relief. All was well, apparently. —as if being walked in on was something he even remotely cared about at this point.

"That was close—" he heard Sarah say in a hushed tone. Jareth unclenched his jaw and rested his forehead against her back.

"Your family irks me," he replied —bitterly.

Sarah chuckled.

"I'd be concerned if they didn't."

She shifted her hips, which prompted Jareth to pull out of her. He stood gradually, situating his pants before reaching down to take her hand.

"Was that alright?" he asked as he helped her to stand. Sarah, stiff from being locked in position, wobbled a little as the feeling came back to her hips.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

She placed a hand atop her stomach and smiled. It was a sweet vision. Innocent. The total opposite of the face she'd been making just minutes before.

"Good."

He ran a hand through his hair, which directed her eye to the sweat on his forehead and at the well of his throat. She had her own mess to take care of as well, presently running down her thigh. —Good thing her room had an adjoining bathroom.

She picked up her panties and headed for it, coming back and tossing Jareth a wetted hand towel.

"Here," she said as he caught it. Then her eyes glanced down to his yet to be buttoned pants. "—in case you need it."

She left the door open as she turned and went back inside, wiping down her thighs and analyzing the state of her face in the vanity mirror.

Jareth came to watch her a moment later, leaning against the frame of the doorway with his arms casually crossed.

"I can't believe you were able to keep going," she said, cracking a grin in the mirror. "I swear, you have loins of steel."

She gave him a flirty look via her reflection. Jareth grinned and tossed the used towel in a hamper beside him.

"I would say you flatter me, but alas —I am, literally, inhuman."

Sarah huffed and glanced down while turning off the faucet. She dried her hands and was about to step away —when she suddenly twitched. He watched her scowl in profile and raise a guarded hand to her stomach. Instinct compelled him to straighten, his attention focusing as she stepped back and winced.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Sarah forced herself to smile through it.

"Yeah...yeah."

"You sure?"

He was alarmed. She could hear it. She fought back the lingering ache and looked over at him reassuringly.

"Yes. It was just a kick —hit a nerve or kidney or something," she said, rubbing her hand over the culprit in question. "He's probably just mad he had to endure that twice in one day."

She smiled down at her stomach, which was enough to convince him. He huffed, taking a couple steps towards her and then kneeling down on the floor.

The action caught her off guard, leaving her to blink expectantly when he reached up and angled her hips towards him.

He held her by the waist, eyes fixed on her cotton covered navel as if he could actually see the little bugger wreaking havoc inside.

Her expression softened as she regarded the wayward look in his eye and the gentle touch of his thumbs caressing her sides.

He closed his eyes as he kissed her there, let it linger, then pulled back just enough to speak as he whispered into her skirt.

"Settle down, little one," he said, then, lest the moment be mistaken for something heartwarming, slanted his eyes up at her edaciously. "...or I'll do it again."

Sarah held back a laugh, for, as playful as he seemed, she knew he was dead serious. To add insult to injury, they felt a hard kick jab him square in the mouth in response. And now she could no longer hold back. She laughed as she reached out and ran her fingers though Jareth's hair.

---

"Alright. Alright! Quiet down! Is everyone here? Maddy? Jacob? Where's Matthew—oh, there you are. Okay. I think that's everyone….Now, are we ready to find some eggs?!"

Karen, glowing golden from atop her concrete step, positively beamed as she orchestrated the semi-manageable chaos of children and pre-teens viciously awaiting her signal. This was her favorite part of the day, without a doubt, seeing the children running so happily like in days long past.

The small crowd of siblings and cousins cheered, holding up their bags and baskets in tightfisted salutes as they jittered. Karen clapped her hands together, then thrust a pointed hand into the air.

"Annnndddd go!"

The children screamed, turned around and took off in a mad stampede. The Williams's yard was larger than most on the block. But, even still, no one doubted this spring time slaughter in patterned pastel would last longer than five minutes. But, oh, what precious five minutes those were.

Robert, having tied nephew Jeffry's shoe, achingly stood and sighed at the sight of his poor, disheveled lawn being brutally treaded all over.

"Isn't this nice, Robert?" Karen asked, sounding so dreamy. "Soon we'll be sending off our own grandchild like this. Won't that be nice?"

Robert stood stiffly with pursed lips.

"Uh huh."

"Hm...speaking of, I still can't find Sarah," Karen went on, oblivious to her husband's grumpy attitude. "Or Jareth for that matter. You don't think they left, do you?"

She looked at him worriedly. Seeing that expression made him feel like an ass. Well, more of one. His eyes flickered away, passed Karen, and landed on movement by the patio door.

"Isn't that them, there?" he asked, pointing with the tip of a beer bottle. Karen turned around with a heightened brow.

"Oh. Well look at that. Now what have they been doing?"

She watched them intently as they entered the yard, watched the way Sarah smiled and Jareth smiled back while shutting the door. She was holding his hand. Holding his one with both of her own. He said something that could not be heard and she laughed. She lit up. She stared up at him as he took a step forward, grasped the side of her face, and kissed her.

Karen felt her heart go a genuine flutter before reaching back and poking her husband.

"Do you see this, Robert?" she asked. Robert glanced back unguardedly —a countenance which immediately hardened when he saw a man's hands and mouth all over his daughter.

He made a noise of displeasure which Karen sharply glared back at.

"Oh, stop it. She's not a child," Karen snapped, actually reaching out and slapping his arm. Ne'er to be deterred, she ignored him and went back to spying. "Just look how happy she is. I haven't seen her like that in years. And doesn't he look just crazy about her?"

Karen was swooning, and swooning shamelessly at that. She placed a gentle hand to her heart and made that twisted pucker of a smile that only came out when she was genuinely pleased. Despite his conviction, that look affected Robert. He glanced over again impulsively.

Sarah was saying something sassy. He could tell by the arch in her brow. And that man was grinning like a scoundrel as he humored her.

Robert huffed and looked away.

"You really are a lost cause, aren't you?" Karen said with a huff of her own. "Well, I thought he was very charming. And so polite. He's got that old world feel about him—" Realizing bragging about Jareth's finer attributes wasn't going to win her husband over, she sighed through her nose and turned to address him more seriously. "Did you hear what I said? She's no little girl anymore. She knows what she's doing. So please...just try to be happy for her?"

Robert's brow drew together as he gripped his drink tighter.

"She'll always be my little girl, Karen," he said. Karen frowned.

"I know. But even still—" and she spared one more glance back at the happy couple.

Sarah had sat down in a wicker lawn chair while Jareth stood behind her. They were watching the kids but still talking. Jareth's hands gripped the back of her chair, he was looking down as he spoke. And Karen watched, with such ease in her heart, as Sarah tilted her head far back, smiled, and closed her eyes as he leaned down and kissed her. Oh goodness…

Karen looked away, feeling a peculiar satisfaction as she reached up and patted Robert on the back.

"Loosen up, dear. She's going to be just fine."

---

Sarah held onto Jareth's hand as she stared out over the lawn. She felt fine, but he'd insisted she take a moment to rest. He stood behind her, casually blocking the sun lest it offend her, so she was free to grin at his expense.

Her eyes traveled from one skipping, sprinting, tumbling child to the next, taking note of every carefree smile and exclamation of glee like the priceless, fleeting moments they were. She tugged on Jareth's hand and looked up at him.

"Pay close attention," she said, then pointed outward imperatively. "This is what a freaking egg hunt is supposed to be."

---

A/N- so yeah, this had absolutely no relevance to Beltane lol. #notsorry. Happy Easter!