Disclaimer: I just got the results yesterday… apparently they are NOT for sale, as Mr. Henson's estate made perfectly clear to me.




Best Laid Plans

- Chapter 8 -


We always have a choice
Or at least I think we do
We can always use our voice
I thought this to be true

We can live in fear
Extend ourselves to love
We can fall below
Or lift ourselves above

Fear can stop you lovin'
Love can stop your fear
Fear can stop you lovin'
But it's not always that clear

--Morcheeba, "Fear and Love"--



"Need me for what?"

Remaining on her bed, Sarah spun in the direction of his voice, and found Jareth leaning casually against her windowsill. For once, couldn't the man appear right in front of her? The element of surprise was one thing, but it didn't apply when she had just called for him.

Despite the poise of indifference, Sarah could almost detect a glimpse of emotion seeping through his mask. But she realized he was not going to make this easy for her. And after what she'd said to him at their last meeting, that was hardly unexpected.

"Hello, Jareth," she said softly.

"Hello, Sarah," he replied, coming forward. "You didn't answer my question."

Sarah shrugged and gave him a wry grin, trying to ignore the instinct to shrink away as he moved closer. Not out of disgust, not out of fear—well actually, yes, out of fear, but not fear of him. "And you never answer any of mine. I thought I'd go for a little equal treatment."

Jareth watched her intently, obviously trying to read through her apparently casual demeanor. By now he stood only just outside of her reach, his amazingly intense eyes boring into hers. "Why did you call me?" His voice was soft and low, his expression serious though it betrayed no emotion.

Sarah's heart thudded in her chest, so loud that she was almost sure he could hear it. She swallowed thickly and glanced at the closed bedroom door before returning her eyes to his. It wouldn't do to have interruptions. "Can we do—this somewhere else?"

Without Jareth ever looking away from her face, she felt a slight shift in the air and found herself sitting in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed. "Better?"

Something about him was different, so unlike all those previous encounters. He had never been so accommodating, and once upon a time he would have half-driven her up the wall with his riddled words and arrogant smile before he finally did comply. Well, Sarah supposed, glancing about the alien surroundings, circumstances had changed.

To answer his question, she merely nodded. Then taking in the giant, lavishly furnished setting, she realized that they had to be in Jareth's bedroom. Which meant she was currently sitting on Jareth's bed. Her eyes widened slightly at the thought.

At her almost imperceptible reaction, she thought she saw his eyes sparkle with amusement, as if he were laughing at her without ever betraying the seriousness of his pose. Rather than dwell on it though, and react as she normally would—and as no doubt he expected her to—she cleared her throat and began.

"I'm sorry." That hint of humor that had previously occupied his face disappeared, to be replaced by another expression, that of surprise. Grudgingly, Sarah wondered what sort f person he thought she was that she should be incapable of admitting she was wrong. "About what I said… last time. And how I treated you."

"And?" Even the surprise was gone now, and it was as if her words had had no effect on him. She may as well have commented on the weather.

"And you were right."

"About?"

Sarah glared at him. If he wanted to hear what she was trying to say, he could at least be more accommodating about it. And she had the feeling that he knew just how difficult this all was for her, which is why she answered in the manner that she did. "I love you, you idiot!"

And then there was a moment, an eternally long moment during which the implications of what she'd said sunk in for both of them. Real subtle, Sarah mentally berated herself as she looked away and forced herself not to bury her face in her hands. There were certainly better ways this could have gone. A little less angrily, possibly even with a little romance… But, what's said is said. The rest was up to Jareth.

Speaking of whom—she glanced back up at his face, anticipation forcing her to push aside her own reflections. He was utterly unreadable and his lack of response thus far was starting to get to her. She began to wonder if it weren't already too late, and as her whole plan came into question, she felt despair begin seeping in.

But abruptly, Jareth crossed the remaining few feet between them and dropped down to his knees before her. It left him just slightly below eye-level to her. "Sarah," he breathed, some of that mask beginning to slip away. "I was beginning to think you'd never admit your feelings, that you'd stay away forever just to prove me wrong."

The relief she felt upon hearing his words was overwhelming, and the devastation of almost losing something that had never truly had a chance to begin was quickly replaced by a feeling of wonder.

So she did the only thing that came to mind as she stared at his face so close—she grasped his head with both hands and pulled him forward into a deep kiss. But it was no innocent kiss—it didn't even start out that way. It was wild and mad and passionate, everything she had been denying both him and herself.

It wasn't long before they tumbled back onto the bed, with her leading the way and Jareth rising up from his knees to follow her. The dark satin sheets reached up to accommodate them and she found herself lost in a sea of sensation between the sheets beneath her, the silky blond hair in her hands, and the feel of Jareth's hard body on top of her.

When he didn't move to next step fast enough for her, Sarah, growing bold from desire, took on of his hands in her own and placed it on her breast sure he could feel the hardened point in his palm, even through the material of his glove. Meanwhile, her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, all-the-while her lips never parting from that delicious mouth.

"Sarah," he groaned, his words lost into her mouth, creating a slight vibration that caused her tongue to tingle.

She snaked out her tongue and ran it along his lower lip, and reveled in the moan he let out in response. Her hands reached up and began tugging at the buttons of his shirt, unconcerned as to whether she was undoing them or merely tearing them off. Already, her mind was wandering to the issue of his pants. Did they have a fly or something… how in world was she supposed to get them off of him? v "Sarah," he repeated more insistently, pulling back from her mouth. "Stop." His hands moved to still hers and in confusion she stared up at him, eyes still hazy with desire, mind uncomprehending as to why he'd halted, and legs still wrapped about his waist.

"What?" she asked, her tone conveying just a degree of annoyance.

Jareth gently pried her legs from his waist, and lifted himself out of the embrace to stand at the foot of the bed. "Now isn't the right time for this," he replied.

What? "Why not?"

Jareth sighed in response. "We have to talk."

Sarah blinked. "Now you want to talk?"

"Sarah—"

"No, don't 'Sarah' me," she interjected, sitting up on the bed and moving back a few feet to put distance between them. "When I was with Michael—" part of her enjoyed the grimace that name produced in him "—the thought of talking didn't even cross your mind. You seemed to think then it was the perfect time for this. But now, when I pretty much throw myself at you, you suddenly decide we should have a little get-to-know-you session!"

"Sarah," Jareth replied, properly rebuked by her words, but still adamant in his decision. "In the time since our last encounter I've had the opportunity to reflect upon the way I was behaving, and now I realize I was going about it in the wrong way."

"So, what you're saying is that you were wrong then, but you're right now?"

Jareth made as if to reach for, but Sarah pulled away. The last thing she needed was to be near him, touching him, if all he wanted to do was talk. Especially since his shirt was still almost open in testament to her impatient handiwork. She groaned, falling back against the soft bed in frustration. "How many guys do I have to try to seduce before someone will have sex with me?!"

Oops. She regretted the words as soon as they were past her lips. Since he had stopped looking in on her, Jareth would have had no idea about what had happened between her and Michael the other night, and it probably would have been better if it stayed that way.

"Sarah?" his voice was a low growl and she refused to look at him. But of course, Jareth would have none of that and he grabbed her by the ankles, pulling her down the length of the bed until she was staring directly up into his face. The movement caused her t-shirt to ride up to just below her breasts and she remembered that she hadn't bothered with a bra after her shower. From the expression on his face, it was clear that Jareth was consciously attempting to ignore that fact and not altogether succeeding.

But still, there were other pressing matters at hand, which he seemed determined to attend to first. His gaze was ungiving as he stared down into her face in obvious expectation of answers.

Sarah gave him a shaky, lop-sided grin. "Can't we just pretend I never said that?"

"No we can't," he replied, leaning over her ominously, a hand placed on either side of her shoulders.

She felt herself torn between the apprehension at his demeanor and the lust she couldn't help but experience with such physical proximity. But then again, hadn't he made it abundantly clear that he felt the same desire when he was near her? A genuinely wicked smile curved Sarah's lips as she decided to use this knowledge to her advantage.

"Jareth…" she said, her voice low and husky. And in that moment, as his eyes widened and all previous anger fled his face, it was clear he'd realized that he had just worked his way into a trap of his own making.




- END OF CHAPTER 8 -