Pas de deux
By Telcontarian
To my lovely guest reviewer who read my fic only to imply that Jareth touched Sarah without her consent when she was unconscious: please do not go looking for dub consent when there is none. If you read that paragraph again: Sarah was half-awake when Jareth tucked her in, and he kissed her goodnight on the forehead. She was not drunk; he did not overstep boundaries; he did not linger. Please do not go looking for and create trouble for the sheer hell of it. Thank you.
Here it is: the chapter that finally earns this fic its explicit rating, and the barre sex that was requested by my online dysfunctional family. My beta almost had to go and take a cold shower when she read over the smut. The action starts with the line: "Sarah sighed in quiet contentment when Jareth kissed a blazing trail down the elegant slope of her neck," so please don't read if it's not your thing.
The poetry that Jareth recites in Sarah's ear is She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.
Chapter Five: Coda
It soon became apparent that Jareth had a soft spot for cats when Sarah woke the next morning to the curious sensation of an oppressive weight on her chest, only to find a black, Oriental Shorthair curled up happily and purring contentedly. She blinked incredulously down at the cat as it stretched its long body out to knead at the soft cotton of the vest top that she had worn to bed.
"Are-are you motorboating me, you little shit?" Sarah raised an eyebrow at her unexpected visitor when the cat pushed its face into the warmth of her chest and rubbed the length of its body against her, meowing piteously for its breakfast.
"I see that you've met the resident arsehole," said an unamused voice, and Sarah glanced up to find Jareth leaning in the doorway, his arms folded, and his hair tousled from sleep as he eyed his traitorous cat with a murderous expression. Jareth was dressed more casually than she had ever seen him, and her eyes swept over the black t-shirt stretched taut over his chest and the loose, navy pyjama bottoms slung low on his lean hips. She wasn't religious, but she thanked whatever deity existed that the man did not seem to own a pair of sweatpants. "You didn't stay long enough on your last visit to meet Goblin," he continued, his lips curling upwards in an amused smirk when she dragged her eyes to his, and Sarah knew that Jareth had caught her casting an appreciative eye over his body. She blushed as she replayed the conversation in her head and realised that Jareth was reminiscing about her sneaking out before breakfast the last time that she had stayed. "I should have reminded you last night to keep your door shut to prevent the little shit from breaking and entering."
Sarah frowned, stroking the cat's sleek fur, and his contented purrs rumbled through his lithe body beneath her fingers. "How is he an asshole? He's adorable."
"To you, maybe; His Majesty has never encountered a female presence in his kingdom before." Jareth blinked, and Sarah could visibly see the understanding that dawned on his face. "It suddenly makes perfect sense that he would prefer women; I swear that cat genuinely hates me." Sarah snorted and Jareth smiled affectionately. "Breakfast, Sarah?"
Much to her surprise, living with Jareth was as easy as breathing. Despite having never lived with another person other than her family, Sarah found herself falling into a familiar routine that practically screamed domesticity. She was almost ashamed to say that the guest bedroom that had been assigned to her was bigger than her entire apartment. The few meagre belongings that she had brought with her fit comfortably into the room, and her possessions slowly began to spread throughout Master Llewelyn's modest home without looking too out of place. They started to learn each other's daily routine: Jareth quickly learned that Sarah was not a morning person. She often emerged from her bedroom in her pyjamas, hair hopelessly rumpled and grumbling until Jareth slipped a freshly brewed cup of coffee to her from across the breakfast bar. Sarah soon discovered that Jareth really was an excellent cook when he managed to coax her favourite dishes from her. Although, she had to endure his good-natured ribbing about her unrefined American palette, gasping in mock horror when Sarah admitted that she had not yet indulged in fish and chips despite having lived in Britain for the past ten years.
They seemed to orbit around one another, moving gracefully around each other in a dance that only they knew the steps to, as they began to adapt to sharing a home together. Their evenings were spent in quiet harmony, nestled comfortably on Jareth's expensive recliner couch—often with Goblin curled between them on the soft throw—while they watched classic movies such as Legend and The Mummy. They often bickered over which Monty Python or Indiana Jones movie was the best, each of them rolling their eyes and pouting in mock consternation when they did not get their own way. Their arguments were soon forgotten when Sarah woke from her impromptu naps hours later, her head pillowed on Jareth's chest and her body pressed against the length of his, his arm wrapped securely around her while he snored softly beside her.
Her classes with Master Llewelyn were cancelled due to her injury, allowing Jareth to accompany Sarah to her rehabilitation appointments that had been scheduled to twice-weekly sessions. The therapist had clucked her tongue in sympathy at Sarah's reawakened injury, and she bit her lip to prevent her tears from falling when the therapist had advised her not to dance for a month while her ankle healed. Jareth remained silent at her side, knowing full well how much the consequences of a month's missed rehearsals would affect Sarah. Relegated to the front row of the Royal Opera House with Master Llewelyn when he did not have classes to teach, Sarah was forced to watch as her understudy took to the stage to perform the dual roles of Odette and Odile. Her heart ached with jealousy and resentment, and Sarah was wracked with grief as she literally watched another principal ballerina perform the role that she had fought so desperately to win. When the tears finally fell, Jareth offered her a handkerchief and when he reached out to squeeze her hand and offer his silent support, Sarah linked her fingers gratefully through his. She never did see Linda Williams at the rehearsals, and she was so thankful that the woman who birthed her was never present to rub salt in the wound while she was incapacitated.
The weeks passed slowly but finally, Sarah was given permission to start performing again, and she threw herself into rehearsing Odile's pas de deux with Peter, determined to spend the last few weeks before opening night perfecting her routine. She was still having trouble, however, portraying Odile's sultry intent, her movements lacking the confidence, seduction and danger that Odile thrived on. She pondered the delicate situation, her teeth biting gently into the rosy flesh of her lower lip as she rode the Underground to Ladbroke Grove Station. She was still distracted when she began her afternoon lesson with Master Llewelyn and he stopped the music, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Is something troubling you, Sarah?" he asked gently. Sarah hesitated briefly and lowered herself to the floor as she busied herself with taking a long draught from her water bottle. To her surprise, Master Llewelyn hitched his trousers a little before taking a seat next to her, his eyes fixed on hers intently. "Did something happen today?"
"Yes and no. The Director and I have both agreed that I need to work on Odile's character; he doesn't feel as if I am capturing her personality well enough in rehearsals." A blush stole over her cheeks and she lowered her eyes to the floor to avoid Jareth's gaze. "The problem is that I don't feel any connection to Peter, so it is difficult to portray Odile's self-assurance and the wildness of her movements."
"And if you were to dance with me?" he asked quietly. Sarah raised her eyes to Jareth's, certain that she had misheard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed under her scrutiny, and he shook his head before moving to stand up once more. "I'm sorry, Sarah, that was inappropriate—forget I said anything."
"Wait." As he began to rise, Sarah reached up to grasp his hand and laced her fingers with his. Jareth's expression was unreadable as he glanced down at their joined hands, before lifting his gaze to hers once more. His eyes were dark as they swept over her face, and time lost all meaning as they studied each other, their hearts beating a wild melody in the quiet hush of the ballet studio. Every moment of self-doubt, every moment of unworthiness and uncertainty faded at the longing and hope in Jareth's eyes as he raised her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against her fluttering pulse.
"Are you sure?"
Sarah offered him a soft smile, and she sucked in a breath as Jareth's knuckles brushed over her jawline, her eyes drifting gently closed at the sensation. "I feel like I've waited my entire life to dance with you."
His eyes never leaving hers, Jareth moved briefly away from her to turn on the stereo, and Jareth and Sarah took their opening positions as the first strains that marked the entrée to Tchaikovsky Pas de deux echoed throughout the studio. The air between them was heavily charged, and it seemed that they teetered on the brink of something potentially wonderful and terrifying and utterly life-changing. The moment that Jareth offered his hand to Sarah—her arm extended to grasp his fingers with hers—electricity began to crackle between their fingertips, and Sarah did not know how she had spent her entire life so far without Jareth's touch. He was a drug; a euphoria that she would crave until her dying day.
The melody slowed into the adagio and his eyes were molten fire, burning into hers when they started to waltz, their movements precise and perfected as if they had been partnered together for many years. Although this was the first time that they had danced together, it seemed to Sarah that Jareth was the partner with whom she was destined to dance with for the rest of her life. Jareth's hands cradled her against his body as if she was something infinitely precious, his hands spanning Sarah's hips as he lifted her, fingertips pressing softly into her skin to reassure her that he would never let her fall. He set her down gently, and his eyes were dark with wild longing as she allowed Jareth to take her hand, luring him into a false sense of security, to guide her through her pirouettes. She slipped gracefully into an arabesque, the warmth of Jareth's hand on her back calming the tempest that raged within her, before ending her movement in the fourth position.
As Odile, Sarah reigned chaos and destruction in his arms when they danced together, and it was almost impossible to tell where she ended and Jareth began when he pressed her against his body, his hands guiding her movements. Sarah winked at Jareth when she slipped her hand from his, moving away from the cradle of his arms in graceful châiné turns across the studio. His eyes burned with hunger, his lips parted and his breath leaving his mouth in soft gasps of air when she smiled seductively at him before returning to his side. His fingers closed gently over her arm, guiding her through a soutenu before supporting her through her pirouettes once more.
She was unable to tear her gaze away from Jareth's leonine form when he left her side to begin his variation, and she could not fathom how she had spent her entire life without seeing him dance. He moved with confidence and grace, his feet ghosting over the polished, hardwood floor with barely a whisper, and Sarah momentarily forgot how to breathe when he took flight. Jareth danced with his heart on his sleeve, Sarah realised—his face a mask of exquisite pain as he performed his pas d'élévations and his pirouettes à la seconde. Sarah had often heard that to dance was to find healing—to speak in the language of emotion—a language more ancient than any spoken tongue, and she wondered at the unspoken hardships and grief that Master Llewelyn must have experienced in his life. The world of ballet could be cruel, and the critics often cast a blind eye to the broken bones and the torn ligaments that have ended the professional career of many dancers in their search for perfectly executed grand jetés and tour en l'air. Ballerine learned early in their careers to manage pain, to use it as a conduit and remould themselves into living works of art.
A light sheen of sweat kissed his forehead, and Jareth's chest heaved with exertion as he turned his eyes on Sarah, watching, waiting. She allowed a slow smile to pull at her lips before perfectly executing Odile's renowned thirty-two fouettés, interspersed with several doubles, using port de bras to extend her arms in a flourish. When she turned to face him, Jareth looked utterly wrecked. His eyes were molten fire; wild with longing and desire, and they finished their pas de deux with a flurry of perfectly executed fish dives before he raised Sarah overhead in an angel lift.
Breathing heavily, Jareth lowered Sarah to the ground, her body brushing against the entire length of his, oblivious as the music faded around them, and she was tethered only to the steady beating of his heart. Jareth murmured her name, a quiet reverence falling from his lips in a moment of weakness, of need as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing the curve of her jaw. Sarah's hands came to rest tentatively on his chest, her hand splaying over his heart and his warm breath ghosting over her mouth, his lips mere inches from her own. Jareth's hands skimmed her ribcage before falling to press softly into the swell of her hips, his fingers brushing over the curve of her backside.
Sarah sighed in quiet contentment when Jareth kissed a blazing trail down the elegant slope of her neck, her pulse beating a frantic tattoo beneath his hot and eager mouth. Groaning, Jareth buried his face in the juncture between Sarah's neck and shoulder, his warm breath on her exposed skin causing molten heat to pool low in her belly. "Say you want this, Sarah," Jareth murmured, and she swallowed thickly at the unmistakable press of his erection against her stomach, and Jareth's fingers slipped under her sweater to brush over her bare skin.
She tangled her hands in Jareth's hair, enjoying the feel of the soft, silky strands cascading over her fingers when she tugged his head up to meet her gaze. Sarah swallowed nervously, her eyes searching his, before finally surrendering herself to the wordless desire that had existed between them for many months. "Yes," she breathed, and Jareth rested his forehead against hers, a cautious hope shining in his eyes even as he exhaled a shaky breath. "I want you so much."
Sarah's soft moan was swallowed when Jareth finally—finally—pressed his mouth to hers, her hands leaving his hair to clutch his shoulders as her knees threatened to buckle from underneath her. She shuddered when Jareth's hand cupped the back of her neck, angling her face to deepen the kiss as he coaxed her mouth open with his, swallowing her sighs with his lips when his tongue slipped inside to brush against hers. Jareth pressed Sarah back against the barre, trapping her against the hard heat of his body. He broke the kiss to tug Sarah's sweater aside and nip at the exposed skin of her collarbone, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. "I've wanted you from the moment that I first saw you," Jareth whispered into Sarah's skin, his voice breaking and half-mad with want. "The way you dance, the way you move… You haunt me even in my sleep."
He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, and Jareth kissed her once more. He was darkness and oblivion in her arms, his sinful lips parting hers to explore the hot cavern of her mouth with his tongue. The heated look in his eyes when she pulled back and gasped for breath scorched her, and his mouth followed in damn near worship of her. Jareth's eyes searched hers, and the memory of his kiss lingered on her lips when his fingers grasped the hem of her sweater and at her nod, pulled it over her head. Sarah shuddered at the intensity of his gaze when he drew back to admire her, and her arms crossed over her breasts in an attempt to shield herself from his view. "Don't hide from me, Precious," he said softly, his hands gentle as they tugged her arms away and turned her around, cupping her chin and forcing their eyes to meet in the mirror. "Flawless," he murmured, his hands drifting lazily down her sides, his fingers brushing against the sides of her breasts. Sarah tangled her hands in his hair and tugged, and Jareth growled against her mouth, kissing her hard enough that her lips ached—and her head spun. Her nails scraped against his scalp, his body thrumming against hers in anticipation, and his movements were softer, slower and sweeter when his lips dropped once more to her neck to press an open-mouthed kiss against her racing pulse.
It was such an odd word to describe her, she mused; he was so close to flawless and she was so far from it. But Sarah felt like stardust in his hands when Jareth's fingers slipped beneath her leggings to brush against her lace-covered core. He sucked a bruise into her neck, and Sarah almost sobbed when his fingers rubbed against her aching cunt. Jareth groaned, his hips pushing insistently against her backside, and he pressed her further against the barre. He already sounded absolutely wrecked even though she had not yet touched him. "She walks in beauty, like the night," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear, and gooseflesh prickled over her skin as he recited poetry, the low tone of his honeyed, sinful voice like molten fire to her over-sensitised body. "Of cloudless climes and starry skies." He dropped to kneel behind her, his fingers grasping the waistband of her leggings and drawing them over her hips to leave the soft material pooling at her ankles. He paused and Sarah raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror, finding them dark with promise and wild longing, and he promised her ruin at his hands. "And all that's best of dark and bright meet in the aspect and her eyes." Her legs shook when Jareth pressed his lips against the back of her knee, kissing a torturous path up her leg to end at her inner thigh, his thumbs tracing intricate patterns over her hip bones. His hand slipped beneath her lace to thumb at her clit, wrenching a moan from Sarah when the tip of his finger eased inside her tight passage without resistance. "Gods above, Sarah, you're already soaked."
Grasping her ankles, Jareth pushed her legs gently apart, and Sarah barely had time to realise his intentions before he mouthed at her lace-covered centre, and he licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit. She all but sobbed at the exquisite feeling of his hot mouth on her, his fingers pressing into her hips to hold her in place while his lips worked their magic between her legs. Jareth groaned against her cunt, sealing his lips around her throbbing clit, and his finger continued to tease her tight hole before he finally worked her panties over her hips and let them fall to her feet. "Lean against the barre; bend over for me, Precious." Her clit throbbed as he nosed at her centre, humming appreciatively before dragging his tongue infuriatingly slowly over her drenched folds, and he groaned against her cunt. "You taste exquisite."
Sarah brought her fist to her mouth, biting down on her knuckles to smother the loud moan when Jareth started to eat her out enthusiastically, feasting on her cunt like a man half-starved. She felt her legs begin to quiver when he worked his tongue into her tight entrance, his fingers dancing over her clit and wringing the most exquisite sounds of pleasure from her mouth. Jareth drew back, his mouth glistening with her slick and his breath hot against her skin, and he caught Sarah's eyes in the mirror once more. "You can scream as loud as you want, Sarah-mine," he said, his pupils blown wide with desire as he continued to thumb at her clit. "I want to hear you when you fall apart on my tongue. There is nobody here but us."
Jareth dove back in once more, groaning around her clit and palming at his bulging erection that strained against the confines of his trousers. He eased another finger inside her dripping cunt, curling his digits, and he knew that Sarah would not last much longer when her legs began to tremble, and her hips rocked back against his face in earnest. She came with a hoarse cry, her climax crashing over her and her fingers clenching around the barre, and she squirmed and writhed against Jareth's clever fingers and eager mouth. Her soft moans echoed throughout the empty ballet studio, and he fucked her through the aftershocks with his fingers, his tongue eagerly lapping up her slick and he—
Didn't stop. A sob was wrenched from Sarah's throat when he continued to pluck at her over-sensitised clit, her nerve endings ablaze with the pleasure that still wracked her body. The aching pulse between her legs turned to spasms as Jareth's fingers and tongue continued to prolong her orgasm for as long as possible.
"I-I can't. It's too much."
Jareth pulled back once more, and a sly smirk curled at the corners of his slick-soaked mouth—his pupils blown and his eyes dark with sinful promise—and he dragged his gaze over her naked body. "You can and you will, Sarah-mine," he purred, drawing a hoarse cry from her when he scissored his fingers within her still fluttering walls, and his thumb drifted lazy circles over her clit as he pressed his lips against her backside. "Just one more and then you can come on my cock." Sarah keened when he returned his mouth to her centre, flicking his tongue against her entrance while his thumb continued to circle against her clit. Where before his movements had been hurried, frenzied even, Jareth drew out her pleasure in a painstakingly slow assault that left Sarah babbling. A second orgasm unfurled in her belly, catching her by surprise and she came with a wordless shout, his name laced with incoherent pleasure.
"Good, so good," Jareth murmured, and a shiver rippled through her body, her toes curling at his unexpected praise. He rose gracefully to his feet, his eyes fixed on hers in the mirror as he licked the last traces of her slick from his lips. Sarah managed to lift her head with great difficulty when the distinct sound of Jareth drawing the tab of his zipper down caught her attention. He splayed his fingers over her belly as he encouraged her to straighten up, and his free hand caressed the swell of her rump, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her thigh as he coaxed Sarah to hook her leg over the barre. Jareth peppered soft kisses down the delicate column of her spine as he notched the tip of his cock at her dripping entrance. He paused only to confirm that they were both clean and that Sarah had been prescribed a form of birth control, before sheathing himself inside her body.
Sarah danced on her tiptoes, the walls of her cunt fluttering and her back arched against the indescribable sensation of being stretched so fully and nothing—absolutely nothing—had ever compared to this moment. Not the life-changing news that she had finally been awarded a place in the Royal Ballet, nor the momentous occasion when she had achieved the role of principal dancer at just twenty-three years of age. Jareth wrapped himself around her, and it was impossible to tell where his body ended and hers began as they gave themselves over to a far more primitive and ancient dance. Jareth's hand rested gently on Sarah's throat when she threw her head back, her hair spilling over Jareth's shoulder like a dark waterfall. He groaned as he slowly worked his way inside her tight passage, the walls of her sex clenching around his cock the sweetest, most exquisite torture that he had ever experienced. "Christ, Sarah," Jareth ground out from between gritted teeth, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead when he paused, his hips flush against her backside. He swore colourfully, withdrawing almost fully and causing a whine of protest from Sarah, before snapping his hips upwards and burying himself inside her once more. Sarah whimpered, and he pressed frantic kisses over her shoulder and neck when she pushed back against his body desperately seeking more friction.
The coarse texture of his suit trousers against her heated flesh heightened her pleasure with each stroke. And it felt so filthy knowing that he was still fully clothed while she stood naked before him, watching herself in the mirror as Master Llewelyn spread her open and fucked her against the barre. His heartbeat thrummed frantically against her back as he swept the dark skein of her hair aside to suck a bruise into her neck, before soothing the angry skin with an open-mouthed kiss. "You promised me one more orgasm and I intend to collect," Jareth muttered hoarsely, his lips ghosting over the delicate whorls of her ear, his clever fingers rolling the taut bud of her nipple while his free hand crept around her body to flick her sensitive clit. "I have not forgotten, Precious."
Sarah pleaded with him, his name mixed with her incoherent babbling when he rocked against her, prolonging the exquisite agony and drawing out her pleasure for as long as possible as his fingers danced over her clit. She all but begged Jareth to fuck her harder and faster, and he released her nipple to press his fingertips into her hips, and she knew instinctively that her skin would bruise. His eyes rolled back in his head and Sarah practically sobbed in his arms when he finally increased his pace, burying his face in her hair. Jareth's rhythm began to falter, sharp gasps and low grunts escaping from his lips as his hips stuttered, and Sarah choked when his fingers stroked the swollen bud of her clit to match his pace. "I need you to come for me," he murmured, and he knew that she was close when her cunt tightened around him and her body tensed against his. Jareth fisted his hand in her hair, drawing her head back to nip at the delicate skin of her throat, "Come on, Sarah," he growled and suddenly, she was writhing and shaking against him. Her body bucked under his hands as she tried to twist away from him, trying to twist away from his clever fingers that continued to stroke her clit, prolonging her climax as long as possible. Pleasure coiled low in his belly, and he knew that he would not last much longer, not when Sarah's tight channel continued to flutter around him in the aftermath of her orgasm. Jareth snapped his hips against her ass once more, and he groaned his release into the juncture of her neck and collarbone, her name a whispered prayer against the warmth of her own skin.
Hours later when they lay hopeless tangled up together in the warmth of Jareth's bed, Sarah lay quietly in the dark listening to Jareth's soft snores, her head pillowed against his chest. She curled into his embrace and he mumbled quietly as he rolled over, throwing an arm around her and pulling her closer against the heat of his body. Sarah cupped his face in her palm, her thumb tracing the outline of his jaw. If she had known ten years ago, she thought sleepily, as her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing began to even out, that Jareth would be the one waiting for her at the end of her loneliness—she would have endured it all over again. For him.