Disclaimer: I could own them, if I wanted to, I really could. I just don't want to. So I don't. Really.
- Chapter 5 -
In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.
--Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan--
A week passed with no sign of Jareth, and if it weren't for the fact that Michael had seen him too, and she wasn't quite sure where she stood on the whole "mass hallucination" possibility, Sarah could almost have believed she'd imagined the encounter entirely.
The one thing that had definitely changed over the course of the week, however, was that she was now thinking about him more than she had in almost three years, as much as she had back when she'd just returned from her ordeal.
Too often she caught herself drifting off into her daydreams, thinking thoughts that had no right being—at work, at home, when she was hanging out with her friends. Not that they were always pleasant daydreams, mind you. She still harbored a great deal of resentment over the invasion of her privacy. But she wasn't sure which daydreams were worse since the angry ones would leave her irritated and snappish at anyone who had the misfortune of coming near her during those periods, and the others were just plain… disturbing.
It was exactly one week after their reunion, and Sarah had agreed to stay home and baby-sit while her father and Karen went out. Sarah wasn't quite the footstool she used to be at fifteen, and ever since she'd begun dating Michael, her stepmother had been much more understanding when she turned down a night of babysitting because she "had plans." Not that she minded the duty all that much anymore. After almost losing her younger brother to Jareth, she had come to realize just how much the little guy meant to her. And now that she would be going away to college in just a short while, she wanted to make the most the time they had left under the same roof.
At eight-thirty she put the four-year-old to bed, reading him his customary bedtime story, and then made her way down to the living room to relax. She was especially tired today, having worked extra shifts at the library during the week. It cold get very warm and stuffy in the stacks where she was working out a new cataloguing system, despite the cooler temperatures that were beginning to appear outside now that summer was coming to a close.
So, when she plopped down onto the recliner with a novel, it wasn't long before she drifted off into sleep, her book sliding closed, onto the carpet. She didn't know how much time had passed when she became aware of a slight tickling sensation across her bottom lip. Too tired to bother lifting her hand, she ran her tongue over the lip, hoping it would be enough. A moment passed before she felt it again, this time across her cheek. Now a little perturbed, she did lift the hand, and brushed it over the cheek absently.
Then she heard a deep chuckle and her eyes shot open. Before she could scream, as she fully intended to do, a leather-clad hand clamped gently, yet firmly, over her mouth.
"Now, now, Sarah. Wouldn't want to wake young Toby, would you?"
When Sarah saw her unwelcome visitor, her panic died down, and all the anger she had been experiencing during the past week returned in full force. So she did the first thing that came to mind.
She kicked Jareth in the shin. Hard.
Not as hard as she would have liked to, given the angle at which her leg had been resting, but judging from the look on his face, certainly hard enough.
Jareth fell back from her, a look of utter disbelief on his face, but it was quickly replaced by outrage. He immediately got to his feet.
Sarah knew she should be frightened—one did not anger the Goblin King and live to tell about it. Yes, she should be, but she was just too damn pissed to waste time on fear.
"Sarah, that was most unwise," he growled.
"Save it," she snapped in return, leaping up from her seat. "You've been spying on me," she accused, taking a step closer to him. "For the past three years, you've been watching me and invading my privacy."
Suddenly, the angry glare gave way to the customary sardonic smile. It was amazing how quickly his emotions seemed to shift. "And why all the outrage now?" he asked, taking a step closer. "Why didn't you say anything at our last meeting?" Another step. "Could it have been because you had… other things on your mind?" he asked, leering at her suggestively.
"In case you've forgotten," Sarah replied, gritting her teeth and holding her ground, "You kissed me. I didn't kiss you." God, how she wanted to just walk over there and smack that grin off his face. But in truth, she was held back by her fear of the mere idea of being so close to him. Instead, she had to rely on her words. "And if I remember correctly, I told you to leave me alone."
"Yes, you did," Jareth conceded as he began to circle her within the living room. "But, as you yourself proved once not long ago, you are in the habit of saying things you don't mean."
Deciding not to let herself be baited, she instead replied, "You're avoiding the original issue."
"About me watching you? Yes, I have been in the habit of doing that from time to time," he answered unrepentantly.
Sarah gawked in disbelief. Okay, it was bad enough that he'd been doing it, but he didn't even have the decency to look at least mildly contrite about it? When she could finally open her mouth to speak without sputtering incoherently, she asked, "What do you mean you've 'been in the habit of doing that from time to time'? What gives you the right to spy on me like that? How long have you been doing it?" Then, quieter, as if she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the answer, "How often have you been doing it?"
"So many questions," Jareth declared in mock exasperation, taking a seat in the recently vacated recliner. "But I do distinctly remember you telling me to go away…"
"Look, Jareth, we both know you're not going anywhere anytime soon," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.
He raised one eyebrow, looking for the all the world as at home in the seat as he might in his own throne. "We do, do we? And how would we know that?"
"Because," she replied, watching him with annoyance, "People don't sit down just before they leave."
"Hmm, you forget, Sarah, that I don't need my feet to leave." And with that, he was gone.
Sarah blinked, staring at the seat he had only a moment ago occupied. "Jareth? Jareth!" she hissed into the air.
"Miss me already?" Warm breath grazed the back of her neck.
To her credit, Sarah didn't scream, she didn't flinch, and she didn't run away. She did, however, turn around and kick him. Again. Boy, she was really glad she'd worn her runners tonight.
But this time there was no shock in Jareth's face, only anger, simple and pure. "You really must stop doing that," he said through clenched teeth.
Sarah gazed back at him unapologetically. "Must I?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh no, don't tell me," she continued, raising her hand to her mouth in mock horror, "I've angered you and now you're going to leave. Again."
Abruptly, Jareth smiled, but it wasn't his usual mocking grin. No, this was much too predatory for that. In fact, mocking would have been a welcomed upgrade right about now.
Sarah suddenly realized how close they still stood. She took a hopefully discrete step back.
"You got my message, did you not?"
The sudden shift in the conversation left his momentarily disconcerted. "Um, yeah."
Forcing her to step back as he moved closer and closer, he asked in a husky whisper, "Should I show you just what I meant?"
Not waiting for an answer, he tripped her up with a fluid motion, causing her to fall back in a manner that seemed to at least challenge the laws of gravity, if not openly defy them. She landed, rather gently, on the recliner, which had been subject to a great deal of activity in the last several minutes. Grudgingly, she thought had she performed that maneuver by herself, she would probably have ended up with a fair number of bruises. But all thoughts disappeared from her head when Jareth pressed down onto her.
His mouth clamped down onto hers, while his left hand grazed her side, from her hip up to her breast. Vaguely, she wondered what the right one was up to, but that thought too left her as his tongue entered her mouth.
Sarah realized, with some dismay, that try as she might, she couldn't seem to pull away from his mouth. Traitorous body. But at least she was not actively participating—her hands were not on any part of him, and her tongue was still waiting to be found in its game of hide-and-go-seek. It was like Gandhi with his nonviolent resistance, right?
But even the weight of his body on top of her wasn't enough to keep her still when she felt Jareth's other, previously MIA, hand come up and cup the area between her legs. Despite two layers of jean and leather between them, she swore she could feel the heat from his flesh. It had to be the single most incredible sensation she had ever experienced, and it scared her beyond belief.
This is wrong, wrong, wrong, her mind screamed at her. Even Michael had never touched her there, and only a week ago they had been prepared to have sex. Thinking of Michael suddenly brought up feelings of guilt and shame, allowing her to finally put an end to this. Her own hands came up and pushed up against Jareth's chest, hard enough to cause him to fall back so he rested on his knees before her.
"Stop it," she hissed, her voice a mixture of pain and anger, shaky even to her own ears. "I want Michael, not you."
Jareth watched her for a moment, face expressionless but for the waning desire, before responding. "If you choose to go back to that—boy—you'll be making a huge mistake."
Sarah shook her head, angered by his words, confused by the feelings he was invoking in her. Anger won out. "The biggest mistake I ever made was saying the words that brought you into my life."
Even in the dimly lit room, she could see the way his eyes darkened in response. Jaw clenched, he spoke, "So be it, Sarah. But maybe one day you'll see that the biggest mistake you ever made was saying the words that took me out of your life."
Then she was alone in the room, left to ponder the truth of what he'd just said.
