AN: This chapter is absurdly long but I couldn't split it organically. Be forewarned.
"There are some people who live in a real world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."
Douglas H. Everett
Calliope knocked Cern's boots off Jareth's desk and then regarded him coolly. "I don't trust that stupid grin on your even stupider face. Tell me what you've done."
"Nothing? Nothing? Tra la la!" But he couldn't stop a wheezing laugh into his ale.
Calli's expression thinned further. "You asked me here. Summoned me, I might add, while I was enjoying a particularly nubile set of twins… not to mention interrupted my late supper."
"Why do I suddenly suspect they are one and the same? Your nubile twins ought to thank me."
"I am in no mood for your games. Tell me or I'll suck the marrow from your bones."
"You know, you really ought to be more kind to me." He boldly patted her cheek, almost losing a finger in the process. "Easy now! Remember your manners."
"You forget that I have none. Tell me or I'll make the Morrigan tell me."
Cern pulled a face at her. "You are ruining my celebration."
"Celebration of what exactly?" She looked about the space dubiously. "And where's Jareth. You know he doesn't like you in his office. Especially when he's trying to work. And even more especially when he's not in it to stop you from raiding his private stores."
Cern waved a hand in dismissal. "Our cousin is otherwise occupied, and his private stores are the furthest thing from his mind right now I'd wager." He raised his glass in a toast. "That or he's mortally wounded. I suppose I might have taught her enough… and a lucky strike?" He shook his head. "Regardless, I think I can safely avoid his ire this time."
"Why do you have hay in your hair?" Her eyes narrowed and then widened. "Oh, Cern… not the sheep again?"
He reached up and pulled a piece free. "So droll. But it's all in the presentation of it. Details matter, my festering fish head."
"I am definitely going to suck the marrow from your bones. Now is not the time for more of your idiotic games. Tensions are high. Lughnasadh nears. Even Morrigan's wrath is not enough to quell them." She pinned him with a glare. "And she'll turn it on you if you've done something stupid. Dag's testes… You've done something stupid, haven't you?"
Cern rose haughtily. "You never appreciate my genius. And anyway, it was your idea… in a way… sort of… so she'll come for you too." He bopped her on the nose.
Calli bit him. Hard.
"Eurrgh! Someone really needs to house break you!" He pressed the bleeding finger to his lips. "Keep your fangs to yourself and follow me."
Calli made it clear she was still unamused, and was still considering eating him, but curiosity had her following him through the castle towards the paddocks.
When they reached the storeroom door, Cern tried the handle and found it opened. The lanterns were still dimly-lit but the room was empty. He looked momentarily disappointed, until he saw the swords abandoned on the floor—along with a scattering of buttons and some abused clothes.
Cern picked up a button, flipping it deftly, and then and grinned back at Calli. The 'I told you so' was unmistakable.
Calli punched him in the face. But not as violently as she might have.
Jareth woke to the welcoming heat of a soft body entangled with his. The slow, even exhalations told him that Sarah was still asleep—and for a minute he simply enjoyed the stillness of the moment. She would no doubt find reason to protest again in the light of day. It was inevitable in a way he'd almost grown to find endearing. Almost.
But she couldn't take back her words—that he wouldn't allow. Even if he couldn't stopper her hesitations and doubts. And it was not yet safe to allay them.
Instead, he would savour the quiet respite. His eyes flicked down. He wondered what her reaction would be when he told her she drooled in her sleep. He grinned. Nothing kind. He looked forward to it.
She fit against him perfectly. His cock thought so too, and he felt it twitch against the lush flesh of her ass, where it was trapped between them.
From his vantage, he could only see the curve of her bare shoulder—the column of her neck and the sleek line of her spine. A striation of light from the part in the curtains bathed her in gold. The downy softness of her cheek—still gently flushed—was similarly gilded. Her tangled hair spanned the pillow and tickled his skin. Hints of auburn in the darker tresses made him think of finest amber. Her throat was lightly mottled with marks he'd left with tongue and teeth. He should probably feel ashamed—mortals were so very fragile. He could heal them before she woke. He didn't. Call him a selfish bastard, but a baser part of him enjoyed seeing a reminder of how thoroughly they'd ravaged one another. He'd wear her stripes proudly too.
His cock gave another hopeful pulse.
His arm was pinned beneath her slack one, but that gave him tantalizing access to her breasts. He stroked across one lightly, feathering his fingers playfully, and felt her nipple furl under his touch even in sleep. To know how responsive she was to him, woke an arrogant grin across his face. He was thankful she couldn't see it, else the silence would surely be broken.
'I love you…'
His hand tightened on her breast possessively and he forced himself to ease.
The look of furious outrage and impatience on her face was somehow fitting for them. No soft declarations from his Sarah.
HisSarah…
Fucking finally.
And not just her body, of which he was planning to explore more thoroughly, but her fascinating mind and her fierce heart. Her infuriating will…
Given freely. All of her.
His.
He'd demanded her surrender and had instead been gifted everything.
Down to every very intriguing freckle. He leaned closer and licked a particularly charming one on her nape. The sun would not be the only thing to kiss her skin.
Jareth felt the moment she shifted towards awake, though she said nothing. The skin on her shoulder prickled to awareness and there was a slight tenseness in her body that gave it away. He leaned forward to flick his tongue more firmly along her pulse. He was rewarded with a delicious shiver. He did it again to provoke another.
"I know you're awake." He watched as the fine hairs of her nape fluttered in the wake his exhalation. He'd been tempted to play along; see how long she could feign sleep before he drew a reaction from her, but there would be other mornings for that. It was an avaricious thought. All her mornings were his now.
"Mmm," she replied non-committedly. Perhaps she too was loathe to face the day.
He stroked her breast again more firmly, cupping her and palming the weight of it. Daring her to stop him. Instead she arched her back, offering herself more fully into his hand.
She pressed back into him. There was no doubt she could feel his erection.
"Careful," he hissed, and then nipped the shell of her ear. "I don't think I properly surrendered last night."
She wriggled against him instead. "Happy to take prisoners this morning." Her voice was husky—still deepened by sleep. It shot like quicksilver through his veins. "Or perhaps you need more rest at your advanced age."
"Is that so?" he huffed against her neck in amusement. He hooked a hand under her thigh to raise it, and used his other to guide his cock into her inexorably slowly; relishing the sharp hitch in her breath when he was fully seated.
He marvelled at how wet she already was —how scorching hot—and the tight, welcoming sheath of her muscles welcoming him. If he'd been greener, he would have embarrassed himself and come from that alone. They'd not bathed last night, both still coated in their spend. It appealed to the baser side of him.
The primal urge to fuck into her was still there too—he didn't think she'd complain if he did—but he wanted to make it last. To take her slowly this time. Maddeningly so. To savour in a way they hadn't been able to last night.
He drew the sheet off them, intent on seeing each goosebump rise on her skin in the light of day—every flush of colour marking her desire. His hand returned to her breast, his long fingers stroking her gently even as he set a torturously slow pace behind her. He relished her almost inaudible moue of protest.
Their position meant he had almost completely unfettered access to her body. Most importantly, there was little she could do about it. He carded his other hand into the tangled mess of her hair, stroking against her scalp for a moment, before angling her head back to press an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. His teeth worried one of the fading marks, bringing it back into sharp relief.
She jerked back into him, the movement making him bottom out. He felt his control slip and he gave her a warning growl.
"Don't make me tie you down, Sarah," he breathed against her neck.
The answering flutter in her pussy, made his lips bow. "Ah…" he pressed another open mouth kiss to her nape, nipping gently. "So you would enjoy that." The hand in her hair tightened but did not pull. "As would I. But not this morning, I think."
"You're trying to torture me," she hissed, but no venom laced her voice.
His hand left her breast, the back of it brushing down her sternum and over her navel—delighting in her sharp intake—to stroke her folds. He done it all backwards that morning. He rolled his fingers over her clit like he she was the finest crystal he'd ever held. "Is this torture?"
"Y-ess!" Her body immediately tensed and then she hissed, "Don't stop."
He smiled into her hair. It smelled of straw, sex and the lingering hint of something spicy, and faintly floral from her shampoo. He had no intention of stopping, but he was happy to let her order him.
"Your wish is my command, my queen."
He felt her tense, at the reminder, no doubt. He was not fool enough to think all the fight had gone out of her. And he was greedy enough to hope it hadn't. But he could feel her buck and arch and wriggle in fruitless impatience to get him to move faster nonetheless. It was torment not to, if he were honest. Agony not to roll her fully and press her down into the mattress so he could fuck her properly.
The taste of her was still too new and he was ravenous.
But he wanted it like this. To draw out her passion and desire. To make love as much as take. Perhaps even leave her mindless for awhile. Surely that would benefit him. He only wished he could see her face as he did. To watch the dance of her emotions play across her flushed face; more revealing than any confession.
Sarah made another wordless sound of frustration. He slowed even further.
She swore, and then apparently she changed tactics.
"You feel so good—so big—but I need you to take me harder," she coaxed brokenly. "You promised I wouldn't be able to walk."
He tensed, his balls clenching at her words and his thrust deepened instinctively. He wanted to snarl words of possession and ownership to her—to stake a claim as deeply as the one she'd laid—but he would not spoil the moment. Later, most definitely. Until she truly understood.
"I… I want my mouth on you," she continued, thrusting back into him. "You've tasted me, I want to taste you." A breathy exhalation. "After you've come. On my knees."
He nearly did.
The thought of her supine before him… looking up at him with those cruel eyes… tasting them both…
He chuckled. "I know what you're doing again, Sarah-mine. And my, what a filthy mouth you have." He licked the corner of it appreciatively. "One I'll gladly put to good use later. Shhh," he hushed when she made to protest more. Her nose—though he could only see the profile from his vantage—screwed up in a way that absolutely charmed him.
His hand returned to teasing her clit, drawing her back to the brink by increasing the pace. "I want to love you slowly. Give me this." He debated on making her beg, but he knew he wouldn't last if even one 'please' escaped her lips.
He felt her go pliant again in his arms at his words. Unusually obedient. Her lids fluttered shut when he withdrew and then pressed into her fully again, relishing her involuntary sound of pleasure-pain. He knew he was… substantial, and she was no doubt tender from the vigorous night before. It was another, perhaps rarely noble, reason he decided to go slow.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he groaned into her hair. "You can't possibly have any idea of what it feels like to be inside you." Another deep thrust. His hand cupped her jaw, fingers feathering to trace her lips—they parted beneath them. One slipped between and she sucked it, almost making him lose himself again. His clever girl.
"Of how this will never be enough." He meant more than sex. More than having her naked and desperately needing him in his bed. Their bed, he amended with relish. Sarah could give him everything and he would still want more. He stopped himself from telling her that he could feel their connection even deeper through their bond. The sliver of magic that bound her wrist to his. She would not appreciate that reminder, and he had no intention of speeding along her objections and irritating sense of injustice. Instead, he silently savoured the heady thrum of power connecting them—unbroken and vibrant, and coursing like lightning in his blood. It pushed him towards the brink.
He wondered if she could feel it too; if she realized that she had tightened the knot.
By loving him.
Or would he get the pleasure of breaking that to her.
She made a desperate keening sound that shot straight to his cock, stealing further thoughts. Her hand, which had been white knuckling the sheets, shot down to grip his wrist, urging his fingers faster on her clit. He obliged—ever a slave to her whims. Her other hand bent back to feather into his hair, holding his head to hers like she needed him closer. Like it would never be enough. Maybe she could feel it too. She was so much more than what she seemed. No ordinary girl.
He felt the moment the string snapped.
Her thighs locked, body bowing sensuously, and her fingers digging almost painfully into his scalp. Her uneven, breathy pants turned into a fully broken wail he hoped was heard across his lands.
Her walls milked his cock and then fluttered in aftershocks that left him defenceless. It was enough to raze the remaining walls of his thinning control.
He shook off her grip to clasp her thigh—hitching it up and forward impatiently further. Perhaps she'd won after all then. His other hand slipped underneath her to grip her hip, binding her in place against him. He thrust up into her sharply, his balls tightening and then releasing—filling her in wave after wave.
Vaguely he realized he was pressing frenzied unknown words in a broken whisper against her throat like a desperate benediction—his mind completely fractured. He rocked a few more times into her erratically and then stilled without pulling out; loathe to untangle himself yet. His hand released her thigh to snake back up her torso and cup her left breast—savouring the wild flutter of her heart beneath his palm.
Only when it began to even again did he allow himself slip out and roll her underneath him gently. She was boneless, but her arms curled around him limply; drawing him down into her and welcoming his weight like she'd already missed it. He ducked his head, catching a flushed nipple in his mouth and whirling his tongue around its pebbled peak. Then releasing it to seek her lips—licking along their seam gently until she opened.
Their kiss was as unhurried as their coupling.
He felt her shudder again—perhaps understanding that it was meant to be one of awe and reverence, as much as passion.
When he drew back her eyes were glittering up at him. Completely unguarded, and yet fathomless. Such a rich shade of green. No… shades… A tapestry of them. The colours of life itself, he thought, and then wondered when he'd become so disgustingly maudlin. At least he bit back what he'd been about to say; he was wise enough to know she'd pull away. That it would bring her back to reality. And as much as he enjoyed sparring with her, and would again—especially if it led to clothes being ripped off—he was in no hurry to break their tenuous peace.
Perhaps feeling it too, she craned her head up and kissed him, her lips soft but hungry.
When she pulled back, he stared down at her—searching her face.
"Sarah kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Sarah kiss'd me."
Her throat bobbed like she'd swallowed something hard. "Did you just make that up?"
"Admittedly no," he shot her a rueful grin, "but it seemed apt."
"Oh?" her expression shifted toward coy, while her nails grazed lazy patterns on his back. "And what would you have done if I had just kissed you when we met?"
"You naughty girl." He pretended to mull it over. "Probably returned Toby right away. Such a pity," he clucked his tongue. "Could have saved yourself quite a bit of time and effort, really. And spared my city."
"Pervert!" She laughed—scandalized. "I was only fifteen!"
"Yes, one whose fever dream fantasy was inviting herself to a fae ball," he replied wryly. "The kind that often turn into an orgy."
Her eyes widened further. "Do they?"
"Mmm." They did, but that was a tale for another time. And he'd said it just to rile—he had no intention of sharing her. Ever. "Too old to turn, too young to keep." His eyes flashed down at her, even as he felt himself harden against the soft flesh of her stomach. "But now you're very naked in my bed and no longer too young to keep. Such an intriguing combination."
"But still too old to turn…" she whispered, her expression shifting again.
And he felt it then.
The moment the ephemeral bubble they'd woken in burst.
A base part of him wanted to lie. But they'd moved beyond that. Games for keeps required a certain skilled hand.
He shushed her, nuzzling her nose with his, even as he sank back into her swollen folds without waiting for her welcome. She was still slick from both their spend, but he heard her sharp inhale and forced himself to go easier. If he was not careful, she might not be able to walk indeed. He couldn't quite convince himself there wasn't merit there...
Her thighs parted nonetheless and her hips canted up eagerly to receive him. At least in that she seemed loathe to fight him anymore. Quite the opposite. He would take victories where he could.
"Trust me, Sarah." He pressed another almost desperate kiss to the column of throat, like a starving man presented with a feast— tracking the erratic beat of her pulse as he moved within her. It would never be enough. "No one will harm you." He needed her to understand, though he couldn't tell her… Not yet. And maybe he also selfishly wanted her trust freely given too. Along with everything else she'd given him… and which could still be lost. Let me play the hero for once.
For the first time he truly felt the inexorable ebb of time and cursed it.
So be it.
It served only to cement his resolve.
That resolve followed him to his office when he'd finally managed to pull himself away, unable to avoid his duties longer.
Jareth glanced up at Cern, who looked away quickly and pretended like he'd not been scrutinizing him closely. For the third time. He returned to his writing. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a very ugly habit of being where you're not wanted?"
"You. Repeatedly. Calliope. Often."
"You have a broken nose, still healing, I see. And as I didn't break it last night, despite enormous provocation, I can only surmise she did."
Cern poked it gingerly, feeling the bones crunch into place again with a sickening squelch. "She might have done worse. I think she was feeling… affectionate. But speaking of injuries," the hunter eyed him slyly, "seems like something chewed on your neck a mite. I see you didn't bother to throw a glamour on it either, hmm."
Jareth's pen stopped its scratching. He read what he wrote unhurriedly, lips bowing of their own volition in a way he was certain Cern would clock, and the added another line. The letter disappeared as he looked back towards his cousin. "Stick to hunting, Cern, you're abysmal at fishing. Always were."
"What?" Cern spread his hands in mock innocence, not even the simplest goblin would believe. "I was only concerned for your well-being after all the effort I've made to keep you alive. Thought the wee poppet might have run you through after my masterful lessons."
Jareth set his pen down with a clink and leaned back, slinging one arm over the back of his chair. "You honed her skills, I'll allow that. But we both know she never stood a chance against me. Against you, Old man? Maybe."
"Dare you to say that to her face," he goaded.
Jareth regarded him blandly. "Don't think I didn't notice my ale, Cern, or the lack thereof."
"Don't think I didn't notice that the ever-effervescent Sarah wasn't at breakfast this morn. Nor you," Cern countered, waggling his brows.
"Don't use words you can't spell."
Far from looking insulted, Cern only grinned wider. "Did you two do a lot of spelling last night then?"
"Do shut up before I forget I like you."
Recognizing he would get nothing further from his unusually tight-lipped cousin, Cern kicked off the desk he'd been leaning on—miffed that he'd not even gotten credit, at least, for keeping his boots off it.
"Oh, and Cern?" Jareth drew a folded note from the desk and held it a lot between two fingers. "The next time you try and plant an anonymous letter, try not to use my stationery and ink."
His cousin whistled appreciatively. "So, you knew then? Despite your grand entrance?"
"I suspected and confirmed this morning. Why do you think you are still alive?"
"Well, you fooled me. Looked right murderous. Almost wasn't sure I should leave her. Though I did go to some effort to set it up, if I do say so myself." He fanned hands. "Thought the straw in the hair was a nice touch. Does she know? Should I be watching my back?"
"I'll gladly hold you down if she asks me to. Stay out of my office."
When Jareth said no more, Cern frowned. "At least tell me if it worked. You can spare me that much."
The Goblin King said nothing, until his lips twitched, threatening to break into a smile—of which he'd hear no end. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
He must be feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous. Cern would be entirely insufferable now.
Immediately proving his point, his cousin grinned and rolled his fingers in a mock salute before leaving.
Jareth raised his gloved hand to his nose and his nostrils flared. Even through the leather, he could smell her. Like she had invaded his senses more potently than any wine.
It buoyed him as he rose, ready to tackle the next order of business—the only thing which could have drawn him from her bed.
When Sarah woke again, she was alone; sprawled across his bed and twisted in the sheets.
Jareth had left her not long after, unable to push off state matters much longer, he'd said. But he'd bid her sleep as long as she wanted, perhaps understanding she needed time to rest. Or perhaps loathe to see her leave his bed now that he had her in it.
She'd stayed awake long enough to watch lazily as he'd dressed, padding naked from the shower and still dripping. Perhaps he'd even done it for her sake, eschewing magic so she could drink her fill. And she had. It was still a novel experience, and such a heady one—knowing he was hers. Her eyes had followed the water as it beaded across the planes of his chest, and then lower… as he'd tugged on his pants, tucking himself away, still half-hard. For her. Apparently Goblin Kings had no need for undergarments. When he'd rolled his cuffs down, she'd decided forearms had no business being quite so sexy. And when he'd fastened his waistcoat, limned by the sunlight behind, she wondered at the unfairness of him being so quite so very beautiful.
But he was hers.
With all that having him entailed. He'd fixed his sigil around his neck, still facing her.
Perhaps the show was also a subtle reminder of that.
Then he'd closed the distance and pressed another famished kiss to her mouth. Her lips had felt swollen beneath his. Though not so swollen as her folds, when he'd boldly reached down and pressed two fingers just within, and withdrawing again as quickly.
"So that I haven't washed all of you away," he at her quizzical look—a flush of irrational embarrassment warming her face. And another one at how much she'd bemoaned him leaving. How much she'd wanted to pull him back to bed and strip him down again.
He shouldn't be able to affect her so… but his words coupled with that voice of his. It was intoxicating to be so wanted. Powerful even.
And his want for her was writ plain on his mercurial face. Even more so when he turned to look once more at her from the door. Like he was committing the image of her to memory—naked in his bed, tousled and aching, in the best possible ways…
It was the only reason she could muster for why she'd so boldly slid the sheet he'd drawn over her back, letting him look his unfettered fill too.
His eyes had immediately darkened, and his body tensed like he might he shut the door again—or vanish it altogether, which for once she wouldn't mind. Her pulse gave a little skip at the thought. But he'd instead inclined his head, like he was acknowledging he'd met his match. His expression suggested he'd more than make her pay for it later.
Which shouldn't have filled her with such delicious anticipation either.
Not long after she'd found sleep again, her body finally relaxing in the bed that smelled of them both.
Perhaps hunger was what had finally woken her for good, because her stomach gave a grumble, reminding her she'd not eaten in quite some time. Stretching gingerly, she finally took stock of her battle wounds.
That hurt. That hurt more. That was fine but bruised. That had definitely left a mark…
Her eyes fixed on the steaming cup of coffee beside the bed, alongside a buttery pastry and single dark bloom. A folded note card lay beside it.
She was embarrassed by the stupid grin that creased her face as she read it while sipping the velvety coffee.
'You've missed breakfast, you lazy girl. If you choose to stay in bed all day like the insatiable wanton I left this morning, please know that I won't at all be upset to find you there on my return. Quite the contrary. I've no doubt you've quite restored my reputation ~ J'
There was a post script. 'I can still smell you on my fingers. Take victory in knowing I shall never recover.'
When she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, still grinning like an absolute fool, she instantly felt them give way beneath her, and was grateful for the plush carpet that cushioned her collapse. She pulled herself up to her knees by the edge of bed and looked around cautiously, convinced he would jump out and say, 'aha'.
He'd actually done it. The arrogant bastard.
Fucked her so hard she couldn't walk. She was fortunate he wasn't there to see. It will be our little secret, she warned the room, unless you fancy more very adult themed troll frescos.
The sensation came back to her limbs with pins and needles, and she made it to the upper floor bath without incident. The hammered -tub filled with water blessedly quickly. When she stepped over the side and sank into the blistering heat, she groaned viscerally.
She let the water ease her aches for a few moments before she began to wash. There was something almost obscene about wiping him away from her thighs. It was somehow too real and too raw in the light of the day.
Bu it had been her confession which had really stripped her bare. The words spoken. Who better than she to know the power of them?
Not that they magically fixed everything either.
Not by far. Complicated really, if anything. But there was some relief in having spoken them. In having stopped fighting that inevitability at least.
She loved him.
And surely from that, nothing could go back to what it had been.
When Sarah later entered the small dining room in search of lunch, still feeling ravenous, and having accomplished her mission, she steeled herself against the knowing looks she was sure to receive. The fae as a whole were a wily lot, who seemed to always suss out secrets. And she wondered if she was telegraphing it all over her face.
For that reason she'd chosen a high-necked gown. Jareth's family were particularly… nosy, with little—no— respect for personal boundaries. In any sense of the word. Somehow, she'd still grown to like them.
True to expectations, the faces that greeted her were transparent in their scrutiny. In fact, they seemed like they were doing a piss poor job over all of pretending they'd been eating. It didn't help that a blush stole across her face almost immediately, like a giant self-inflicted scarlet letter. The only saving grace was that Jareth was nowhere to be seen.
She plastered on what she hoped was a placid expression. "Hello."
Boudicca acknowledged her with a nod. A huge improvement in their relationship, truth be told. It could almost be called warm. Calli, who was draped like a cat basking in the sun in one of the large windows and not bothering to pretend to eat at all, cracked open her luminous eyes and blew a kiss in greeting.
Cern rose to pull out a chair for her solicitously. Something he'd never done before.
"Your nose?"
"Poor dear ran into a fist," Calli tittered from her perch.
Sarah eyed him pointedly. "Oh? Well, you probably deserved it. Don't think I've forgotten that you abandoned me."
He winked back at her. "You're welcome for that."
"What me to hit him again?" Calli offered.
"My turn next if anything."
Boudicca snorted.
Sarah reached for some of the lavish fare, piling her plate gluttonously.
"Hungry?" Cern asked, his voice deceptively solicitous.
"Mmmhmm."
"Chilly?"
Sarah frowned at him.
He gestured towards her neck. "Seems like a warmish restrictive-type gown for a mild day."
"It is… a bit chilly," she lied, the frown deepening between her brows.
"Sleep well?"
"Very," Sarah snapped, mouth full.
"And were you warm enough last night? Didn't catch a cold, I hope?" He sounded more smug than concerned. "I only ask, as it looked like you may have lost some clothes in the store room after I left you." He rolled a button across the table towards her.
She stared down at it and then back at him, defiantly. "No, just fine, thanks."
"And did—"
"Oh, Morrigan's tits," Boudicca interrupted in exasperation. "He wants to know if you two shagged last night. Even though we all know you did. Have pity and put him out of her misery."
Cern whipped a plum at her. "Why is everyone intent on ruining my fun?"
Sarah set her fork down and then regarded the table, torn between amusement and exasperation. "You know, where I'm from… family meals generally don't include conversations about who 'shagged' whom."
"Really?" Cern asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "And what do you talk about instead?"
"I don't know, work… that creepy uncle everyone always avoids," she laughed awkwardly.
"Zeus." Calli nodded.
"Or, I dunno, innocuous… boring things like the weather?"
"I asked if you were cold," Cern sounded affronted. "Mentioned it was mild."
"That's not… never mind." Her expression thinned into one of resolve. When in Rome… best to grab the bull by the horns… and toss it in the pit of no bottom. "Fine. Yes, I banged the Goblin King." She stared them all down when they lapsed into stunned silence. Apparently, the way to shock the fae was to tell the truth. "Banged the ever-loving shit out of him, in fact. And yes, it does hurt to sit down a little. Could barely walk this morning from. All. Of. The. Banging," she enunciated each word. "And yes, I am covering a whole lot of… er, marks… from all that banging—did I mention all the banging?—with this gown. As is he," she added smugly. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Jareth answered in wry amusement from the doorway.
It wasn't the Goblin King and his ever-impeccable timing upon whom Sarah focussed, however. Rook stood beside him, looking wide-eyed and curious. His parents flanked him on their faces, which had been unusually grave, falling to their son in stunned silence.
Cern barked out in laughter.
"Ah…" Sarah trailed off. "Well, isn't this fun." She stabbed a slice of meat. "Should have stayed in bed."
"I agree, you should have," Jareth murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck as he took the chair to her right.
His brief touch elicited a shiver from her—heady and overwhelming. He was so damnably easy in his casual affections towards her. It was daunting as much as it was welcome. She wasn't there yet, and could feel her face heat again—aware everyone was watching them with interest.
She turned her attention back to her meal, telling herself the persistent flutter in her stomach was due to hunger.
FOR FOOD.
It was like gasoline on a smouldering flame.
"So, what did you bang him with?" Rook asked with the precocious innocence of youth; curiosity finally getting the better of him. "Was he naughty?"
Cern immediately choked on his wine; Calli solicitously pulling herself from her window to thump him on the back.
"Very naughty," Jareth deadpanned, though his eyes were absolutely dancing. "I wouldn't be surprised if she had to do it again in fact."
Cern resumed choking. Calli seemed content to let him expire this time, perching instead on the edge of his chair like it was the best luncheon she'd ever attended in her life, which in her case was of impressive length.
"Rook!... Eat something," his mother urged in a strangled tone beside him, looking torn between laughing herself and throttling Jareth. She shot him a quelling look.
"See? This is why we talk about the weather," Sarah glared at Cern.
Rook was still casting them both confused looks, but it was Reina's furtive glances that Sarah felt the weight of once the air cleared again. They were uncharacteristically heavy. Solemn even. As though something pressed on her mind. It left Sarah feeling uneasy, like the rug was about to be swept out from under her now that she'd carved out a slice of happiness.
It hadn't escaped her notice that Lugh was notably absent.
Morrigan and Dag as well, though she'd come to recognize that the elder gods lived by their own schedules.
Lugh was not next to Boudicca because he was planning the festival. Her eyes flicked to his empty chair.
"Yes," Boudicca said in answer to the silent question Sarah had not asked.
Jareth stiffened and he looked pointedly across at the red head.
"What?" Boudicca countered. "Did you think she'd be so lost in you she'd forget? Don't mollycoddle her now."
"Bou—"
"It's fine," Sarah cut across them. It wasn't—not remotely—but nor did she want to be spoken of like she wasn't even there.
Ever the warrior, Boudicca returned his stare. Until they sparked with something and returned to Sarah with renewed interest. "Maybe she's with child. Have you thought of that? Then she could reasonably withdraw from the challenge."
"Could she be?" Reina gasped, eyes flitting over her in a nakedly hopeful way Sarah found as unnerving, as it was wholly unexpected. "Could you be?"
"What?" Sarah sputtered, looking about the table, "No! Not that it's anyone's business." She'd bent enough to their strange ways for one morning. There really had to be some limit.
"I rather like babies," Calli mused, oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Or maybe because of it. "Such tender little things."
"To care for, not to eat," Cern reminded her.
"Oh." The siren screwed her face up. "Then no, no use for them."
"I am not pregnant. Impossible. End of story."
"You could be," Jareth's low spoken words somehow seemed loudest of all. His arm was settled almost proprietorially on the back of her chair.
She turned to stare at him incredulously. Something flickered in his face but he made no move to say more.
She laughed brokenly, not out of amusement but growing discomfort. "Is this a joke?"
"Bou's point is valid. The challenge would be moot by law if you..." Cern looked thoughtful. "And mortals are more… well."
Something cold settled in the pit of Sarah's stomach and shot ice through her veins. Jareth had not mentioned contraceptive last night. Nor again this morning. Not that she had, either to be fair. She had assumed—perhaps buoyed by lust—that he'd use magic to deal with that business on his end.
Now it seemed he hadn't. Perhaps deliberately. She wasn't certain she could count it as a lie—she hadn't asked—but it felt like a trap all the same.
What a terrible reason to bring a child into the world. Surely, he of all people could see that.
"Well, I assure you I'm not," she said evenly, once she trusted herself to speak again. "I'm not a fool, recent choices suggesting otherwise." She let the implication hang. "When I asked Calli to collect my clothes for court, she brought me back my pills. Mortals have pills for that sort of thing."
All eyes turned to Calli. She picked at hers nails indifferently.
"I also went to the castle's apothecary this morning and took a draught." Her mouth was still soured by the taste, and was part of the reason she'd wanted food so badly." As an extra precaution."
Sarah saw Reina immediately deflate. Rook looked disappointed—like he'd no doubt been about to ask to keep one. Cern seemed disappointed, his eyes flickering to Jareth's with concern. Which somehow stung the worst.
She could still feel Jareth's arm behind her and thought very seriously about shoving it off at his continued silence. "Was this what you meant by trust you?" The cold in her stomach had leeched into her voice. "Was this your plan to save me from Rhiannon?" She swallowed down her anger; she'd reserve it for later. "Knock me up?"
Something ticked in his jaw. "No."
The simple word should have relieved her. He wasn't lying, she didn't think. But he wasn't pleased and he looked guarded, which she hated even more. Any lawyer worth their salt would always ask a follow-up. "Did it occur to you though?" She hated how her voice wobbled. "Did you consider it as an option before this moment?"
His eyes finally met hers—so different from the ones he'd look at her with that morning.
She knew the answer—felt it—before he even said it.
"Yes." There was regret in his tone, she'd reflect later. But also defiance, and it choked out everything else in the moment.
Sarah nodded to herself, unable to meet anyone else's stare at the table. She was half afraid they would be filled with pity. And maybe it would be worse if they weren't. She pushed back her chair, shaking his arm off when he tried to secure her. He was strong enough to stop her—they both knew it—but he let her break the hold.
"Sarah—"
"Don't!" she warned quietly, not trusting herself to speak if the lump in her throat was anything to go by. If she cried, she didn't trust him to understand they were from anger, not hurt.
Well… maybe a little hurt.
"I just need… a minute." She was out the door before anyone else could make it worse.
Silence settled like a pall over the room. Even Rook, who didn't understand what had just transpired, nor the conversation which has preceded it, fell silent instinctively.
"Well," Cern said finally, apparently trying for levity, "That must be a new record for you fucking it up. Not sure she's going to be eager to," his eyes flicked to Rook, "er, bang you again."
Calli rebroke his nose.
The Morrigan sat with the Dagdah on the edge of the highest cliff overlooking the Sea of Lir. They were older than the waves that broke against the shore beneath them. They had seen empires rise and fall, and the very stone itself whittled away by the waters.
Dag felt the weight of time. Morrigan felt the weight of decision.
Both appeared ageless in that moment—at one with the elements. If you looked at them one way, they were in the bloom of youth. Morrigan's hair a dark shining sable, matching the bird on her shoulder. Dag, bright eyed and alert.
And if you stared at them the other way, they were infinitely old. Beyond time itself.
They did not speak aloud; they had no need.
The boy plans... I can feel it. Though he keeps it from me. Impetuous and wild thing. He is his mother's child.
And you love him for it. Dag was perhaps the only being bold enough—and powerful enough—to accuse her of feeling anything so benign.
She died all the same. I took her soul as countless others because of her foolish heart.
I still think you should have let me eat him. But alas, you did not. And so it was her choice, Morrígu.
A selfish one.
We are none of us known for our altruism. Jareth has his mother's wild heart and cunning, but he also has your sense of duty. Look at what he has wrought here. He is more powerful now than anyone would have guessed. The match with Rhiannon was in her favour, even if her kin are too sly to admit it, and it is perhaps better broken. Perhaps you even like his little mortal.
The waves crested and broke.
Hmm… I have yet to decide.
It is his choice. He knows full well the perils his parents walked.
Morrigan lapsed back into silence. That was what worried her. His knowing.
And to unsettle death herself was no small feat.
Sarah wandered through the stables for lack of other direction. The fresh air helped temper her anger, if not quash it. She fed her kelpie fresh meat, grimacing a little at the gruesome show of eating it, and then stroked her skeletal flank. The beast allowed the touch—either because she sensed Sarah needed it, or had been temporarily pacified by the gift of food.
"You need a name, don't you girl?" The kelpie regarded her indifferently. Perhaps kelpies were above names. Or perhaps they already had their own and it was a grave insult to try and foist another upon them. Like they were a fat house cat ignominiously named, Snickerdoodle, when really their name was Death Bringer III.
But it was a distraction at least. "How about," her mind whirred uselessly, "…Fury?" Maybe not enough of a distraction then.
The kelpie said nothing, of course. But neither did it eat her, which Sarah took as a good sign. And perhaps it fit. The actual Furies were probably Jareth's great aunts or something. It would serve him right.
"Okay then." She stroked a hand down its neck. "Fury will be your name."
It was the wrong place to have visited.
First, was the reminder that the fearsome mare had been a gift. From him. Second, was the closed storeroom door, to which her mutinous eyes kept training.
It was all tainted now by a confusing sense of anger and betrayal. But worse… it wasn't. She still craved him on a level that couldn't possibly be healthy. He had invaded her in every way. His family too… getting under her skin and beneath her defences.
She could be logical—analytical and detached—and allow that there was merit in it. That a child would ensure the challenge could no longer proceed. As cold a reason as it was. And she could admit that judging the fae by her own mores was an exercise in absolute futility, even when they were on their best behaviour.
She also wondered if she was being too irrational. If all the roiling emotions of the last few days had finally shattered her. He'd not actually broken any promises to her. He'd not lied and then tried to trap her into marriage—the marriage bit had come first after all. And neither of them had paused long enough to speak of precautions.
But she had laid her heart bare, while he still made his plans. The last thing a lawyer should do until you had all the facts. He was playing a game. Maybe he would always play the game…
Reasonably, she knew they needed to talk. Not fight. Not fuck. Just talk. Alone.
Eventually.
Once she had cooled enough. She might not be able to take her words back, but neither could he force her to fully mean them in the moment. And she was having trouble enough parsing her feelings.
Loving the Goblin King suddenly felt like a daunting task.
The ring glinted on her finger. Shut up, you. This is all your fault anyway.
It was also the reason that she didn't mount Fury and ride, if only to escape for a bit. It would feel too much like fleeing. And maybe he would give chase—he would—even knowing she couldn't go far.
They didn't need that dynamic right now… the falling back into old patterns. The way back is sometimes the way forward. But sometimes the way back leads nowhere.
Nor the gossip that would undoubtedly follow, when they'd done so much to allay it. She was not oblivious to the fact that more lives than hers lay in the balance. She was no coward.
She was confused. It felt like they'd done everything backwards.
'No one will harm you.' Such a softly spoken vow masking such ferocity. His words had stirred her as nimbly and inexorably as his fingers had.
The kelpie lost interest with her distracted touches and wandered away. She couldn't quite blame it, but she did envy it in the moment—it could keep its Fury.
Deferential bows trailed her when she passed through the Goblin City. And in what felt to be appallingly unlucky timing, she'd been asked to kiss several babies along the way. Clearly her business with the duel had undone much of the ill will left in the wake of her infamous destruction.
She checked in on her chicken army. The temptation to use them again was certainly there but now that they shared a room, that felt a little like self-sabotage.
When she wandered through the castle gardens, the sound of frenzied activity was unmistakable. Preparations for Lughnasadh were well underway. A livestock market had been set up, the lowing of animals a steady beat in the background. Various brightly coloured stalls had been erected. It reminded her of the bustle of the Goblin Market, and she wondered if many of them had moved their shops to the castle for the festivities.
Garlands of late summer flowers had been strung across the tents, and lanterns were being prepped—proclaiming that the festivities would last well into the nights. The smells of cooking fires permeated the air, with their pervasive notes of spice and ash.
A wooden arena was almost completed, and Sarah could see from the fae youths practicing within, that there would be feats of skills and athleticism performed.
Barrels of summer wine dotted the space in abundance, while carts of succulent fruit were being drawn in by horses. Bushel of grain and husks of corn too.
This was a celebration of the harvest. Of summer. Of endings and beginnings.
There was a current of anticipation that set Sarah on edge. Banquet tables were being set up and dressed to open the festivities with a feast at sunset.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow and she still didn't know what to expect.
She spotted Lugh amongst the labourers, as he supervised the erection of a very odd-looking wooden door—freestanding but with a small hole cut through its centre.
Feeling her gaze, Lugh returned one of surprise, which he then masked with an unexpected smile.
When she drew even with him, he greeted her kindly enough, though he was clearly uncertain of what to do with her.
"I assume this door has some significance?" she asked politely. In truth, she was curious. She knew very little about the festival in his namesake.
"Indeed. It's a Troth Door. Couples, should they choose, stand on either side of it and join hands through here," he gestured at the hole. "The troth lasts a year and a day, at the end of which time, if the marriage has not been broken, they join hands again to seal the bond.
She considered the ancient wood and then frowned. "So, the wedding ceremony..."
"This door is for love matches, not political alliances." He studied her face. "I think you fully understand that was not what Jareth and Rhiannon had."
"One that I interrupted."
"For better perhaps," Lugh allowed, as though he was making a great conciliation. "Or so I hope."
It drew out an unsteady smile out. "Thank you. I guess."
Lugh looked about. "Does Jareth know you are here?"
Her smile flipped. "Does he need to? Is the leash not enough?"
Lugh held his hands up. "No? I just thought…"
"Yes, that seems to be catching lately, everyone thinking…" She trailed off. Rhiannon had entered the grounds, trailed by a small retinue. No doubt she'd come to watch the preparations eagerly. Morrigan must have instilled the fear of… well, herself, in her after the play, however, because she quelled the titters of her ladies with a sharp hand. Her eyes fixed on Sarah but she did not approach.
"I have no idea what her challenge entails," she confessed. "A duel, I know. But nothing more."
Lugh looked uncomfortable. "Jareth has it well in hand, I am sure. Nothing to fear."
"I am not afraid." Only a partial lie. "I am annoyed. Annoyed that no one will tell me anything."
"You should speak to him then."
"I've tried. He won't tell me."
Lugh looked surprised. Sarah read it in his face.
"He hasn't told you either," she whispered.
The god had the grace not to lie. Lugh steered her away, nonetheless, and began explaining some of the games and traditions, as though he could distract her. She only half listened but she let him prattle.
By the time she made her way back into the castle, the sun was low in the sky. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid him for the remainder of the day. That, or more likely, he was giving her space. She couldn't decide if she was disappointed or not. And he had the benefit of time… he could wait.
That was a luxury she knew, regardless of the outcome with Rhiannon, she did not.
He was waiting for her in the master suite—something he'd never been good at. A glass of amber liquid clasped loosely in his ungloved hands, and eyes glazed on the fire just beyond his crossed legs.
They fixed on her as she entered, and she saw relief crease his face.
She crossed to sit opposite him. Wordlessly he poured a second glass and passed it to her. An olive branch perhaps.
When she accepted it, his finger brushed hers in a way that somehow felt as intimate as anything they'd done. To cover her reaction, she sniffed the liquid. "Drugged again?"
"I leave the drugging to Calli." He looked down at his own, dubiously. "Though I wouldn't put it past her to drug us both."
When she didn't say anything, he regarded her over the rim of the cut crystal. "I half thought I would have to drag you back."
"You sound disappointed."
"Perhaps a little," he gave a dusky laugh. "If I am being honest."
Something unfurled a little more within her. "We agreed on no more running." She canted her head. "But are we being honest?"
His eyes were dark but unwavering. "I would like to think so. If you are asking if I thought that getting you with child was one way to keep you, then yes. I did. If you expect me to regret considering it, then you will be disappointed. Do you want to know what I thought this morning?" It felt like a dare.
Sarah suddenly wasn't sure if she did or not, but she inclined her head, taking a sip of the burning liquid to coat her nerves.
"That I hoped one day our child would have your eyes." The warmth in his voice coiled around her with tantalizing possibility. He'd said the same thing to her in his drunken confession.
"One day?" Sarah cleared her throat against the conflicting emotions stoppered there.
"I know you're not a fool, to borrow your so eloquent words. And nor would I foist a babe on you against your will." He sounded almost bruised. "I know too well the formidable power of it. But don't expect me to hate the idea of it. Even as I fully intend to selfishly enjoy you myself before I ever consider sharing."
Something in her relaxed infinitesimally. "Then at lunch…"
His eyes flickered. "You made it clear what you thought of the possibility."
"I didn't make anything clear." She felt his eyes on her—he was apparently waiting for her to continue. "If we are being honest, no, I am not ready for… that possibility. It's too new. But I don't," she swallowed, "hate it." Speaking of the future felt like a dangerous road when so much remained unsettled and unknow. "I just wasn't prepared for it to be discussed… so openly with your family. So soon after."
He looked back to the flames and took another sip. "It was unfortunate. I handled it poorly." He looked like he would say more and then stopped himself. "Suffice it to say, it was not how I hoped today would go. They worry for me."
"Do they have reason to?"
"Do you accept this? Do you accept us?"
Sarah wasn't prepared for his deflection. When she stared at him, he returned it unrepentantly.
"I won't pretend you've had a choice in this thus far. Nor will I pretend it bothers me as much as it should. I do not play by your rules and never will. But I find I want… your happiness."
Sarah pulled a face. "As apologies go, that's pretty terrible."
His lips twitched. "Pardon my feeble efforts. It's my first time." She couldn't tell if he was joking. Eyes twinkling, he added, "You can't begrudge me taking what was offered. Not now."
She did her own pivot. "I asked Hoggle, you know, if you'd tricked me into interrupting your wedding." She saw him start. "But he assured me you hadn't."
"And if I had?" It felt like another loaded question.
"Then it would be… more complicated." She stared at him frankly. "You need to stop keeping things from me. I need to feel like I have choice here and that I am not being managed by you… or by your family."
"I'll bog the lot of them if you ask."
Sarah snorted. "Even Morrigan?"
"I see you still wish for widowhood," he replied wryly. "Remember me fondly at least."
"You need to tell me how we will deal with Lughnasadh. If you ask for my trust, I ask for yours. My life is at stake."
The look he gave her was remorseful but resigned.
"You have my trust, but that I cannot do. Not yet. Only know you are in no danger."
"Then you do not trust me." She tried not to let it hurt.
"It's not you…" He started and then stopped in frustration, and suddenly looked weary. "I trust you. But there are reasons why I cannot."
The weariness made her let it go. For now.
"I want to see my family again," she said softly, hoping he could hear the iron inside. "I won't just forever disappear from my life into yours. This is non-negotiable." She would not deal with the fact she would watch them all die long before her… Not tonight.
Something in him relaxed. He nodded immediately, surprising her once again. "After Lughnasadh. I may play your villain, but I am not that cruel. I had no intention of keeping you from them forever."
Her throat thickened, and she stared down into her glass—swirling the liquids. "Why do you always say all the right things at the wrong times?" Her eyes slanted back towards him accusingly. "I am still mad at you, you know." She wasn't even sure why. For everything and nothing all at once. "You fit into me like a hook into an eye," she started, watching his lips curl. "… a fish hook… an open eye."
His grin did not diminish.
"See? I can recite poetry to you as well."
"I expect I will make you mad very often. In fact, I vow on all my goblins that I will. I shall make it my life's mission. You look particularly ravishing when mad at me." He stood, setting his glass down, and approached her to kneel before her. Limned by the fire. "Now… tell me how madly you love me."
Sarah stared back at him owlishly, acutely aware of his hands on either side of her thighs. "No," she tried for haughty indifference. "You don't deserve it today."
"Cruel thing," he sounded far from disappointed. "And how very goblin-like of you." His hand slid to her knee, sliding up her thigh over the thick fabric of her dress. "Then tell me you need me, Sarah-mine."
"No. I'm still mad at you." But her eyes glittered down at him. "In fact, you should probably find a couch to sleep on tonight. Or the stables. Or the bog."
He ignored her. "While I've been sitting here waiting for you, I've had some time to think. You mentioned that you asked Calli to get you your pills."
Sarah stiffened, not liking the direction of his thoughts.
"That was when you were trying to divorce me. Surely you wouldn't need them here in that case... unless…"
She could feel her face heat and chose to glower at him instead. "You make it very easy to be mad at you."
"It's a natural talent." The hand on her thigh squeezed. "You seem flushed."
"It's hot in here."
He plucked the glass from her unresisting fingers and set it on the table. "On that we can agree." Before she could react, he'd hooked his arms under her legs and scooped her up easily, ignoring her sound of outrage. He looked down at her as he stood. "Are you sure you don't want to say it?"
She shook her head mutinously. "But you may put me back down."
To her surprise he didn't move to the bed, as she'd supposed. Anticipated.
The pang of disappointment was short lived when he kicked open the door to the stairs leading to the bath house.
Sarah began to struggle in earnest. "What are you doing?!"
"You said you were hot. I am trying to be more mindful of your feelings."
"Jareth!" she threatened, but he only hitched her over his shoulder like a sack instead.
She pounded his back. "Lesson number one. This is not how you apologize!"
"Be patient with my learning." He slapped a hand onto her ass in warning when she tried to kick him in the balls. "And you're a very difficult woman to apologize to. I shall endeavour to do better next time."
When he approached the still pool, she pulled on his hair. "Don't you dare!"
But he surprised her once again by setting her down on the iridescent crystal floor. She took a cautionary step back, her eyes tracking him warily.
Without further words, he turned away from her and began stripping. One thing she'd learned about the fae was that for all their elaborate clothing, they had a shocking lack of modesty. She supposed being ethereally beautiful had a way of countering any need for it.
She was presented with brief view of his lithely muscled back and sculpted ass, and then he was diving in the pool like a hot knife cuts butter. The water barely rippled when he surfaced a few moments later, his hair slicking down his neck as he turned to regard her.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" she said, trying to keep her eyes on his face in the clear water.
"Are you coming? The water is refreshingly cool." He stroked towards her. "Or we can continue talking. Discuss the weather even."
She pulled a face. "It's very hard to talk when you're naked."
"All the more reason for me to stay naked then. Come on them, Sarah," his voice rolled over her like a caress—coaxing.
She felt her pulse quicken. "Then we won't be talking I think."
He gave her a devilish smile. "Is that a promise?"
"I'm still a mad at you." But it sounded untrue even to her own ears.
"Be mad at me in the water. If you ask sweetly, I'll let you try and drown me."
"Is that a promise?" she countered. "Be serious."
"Fine," his eyes sparking like he'd gladly accept her challenge. "I would very much like to watch you take that ridiculous dress off right now. I'd like to see you stripped bare and bathed in nothing more starlight, so I may drink my fill of you. And I'd like you to be brave enough to do it right now."
Her stomach did a little flip that did nothing to help her resolve.
"You can stay mad at me while you do it," he added solicitously.
When her hands rose to her collar, undoing the first few buttons, his eyes glittered in approval. He'd already seen her naked, but her fingers shook a little as they descended. When she shook the dress off, stepping out of the heavy folds, she was left standing in only a thin shift. Her skin prickled to awareness, even though the air in the room was pleasantly warm.
His face had sunk into the water until only his eyes skimmed the surface. She was reminded of a predator about to strike.
She slipped the lace straps off both shoulders before she could change her mind, and let it fall, catching for a moment on her hips, to pool at her ankles.
Still he said nothing, but she could feel his eyes sweep over her exposed flesh; the note of hunger in them palpable. Beginning at the column of her throat, where she knew he could see the marks he'd left on her. Lingering on her breasts, as her nipples sharpened beneath his stare. Then down, over her flat stomach to the juncture of her thighs—she was already wet, and she wondered if he could tell. From the shift in his eyes, she assumed yes. And then back up to her face to fix intently. Daring her.
She took a tentative step forward. Then another, until her toes hooked over the edge of the lapis pool. She paused, eyes on his face, and dove towards him.
She broke the surface near him but just out of arm's distance. She could see the sharp planes of his body almost perfectly beneath the small ripples as they circled one another.
"Your blush goes all the way down to your toes I see."
"Only join the depths of your depravity."
"I rather suspect you were fond of my depravity."
"Hmph," she said, and her head canted up at the canopy of carmine and azure, and the first smattering stars through the glass ceiling. She sucked in a breath.
"Now you see what I see," he said, his eyes still on hers.
She stroked away from him, giving him a view of the long line of her back. "Who was the owl?"
"The owl?" She could hear his confusion at the unexpected question. "The one I threw the pillow at that first night."
"Ah," he said. "Do you really want to know."
"Maybe?"
"Faolán. The boy with the violet eyes you were so terribly concerned for," he explained, "the one I let live for some reason that now eludes me."
Sarah's eyes widened.
"Still relieved I didn't end him? He was no doubt coming to see what was I found so appealing." His eyes dipped. "Not that I can blame him. Perhaps that encouraged his challenge."
"Everyone here could do with a lesson in boundaries."
"You told me it was difficult to talk while I was naked. You must have been lying."
She pulled a face at him.
One slanted brow rose. "Still mad at me then?"
"A little," she sniffed tartly.
"Good." And then he lunged for her, cutting through the water as easily as he did on land.
She yelped and turned, even knowing how it would end. She made it to the edge before he settled arms on either side of her, trapping her against the carved lapis edge.
It wasn't lost on her—the similarities to her dream. The one she'd confessed to him in an attempt to win. She didn't think it was lost on him either, and it made her pulse quicken with an answering throb in her pussy.
He licked up her neck, catching the droplets of water that beaded. "This feels strangely familiar."
"Does it?" she shivered, feeling him press into her—the bob of his cock against her lower back.
He snaked a hand around her front to palm her breast beneath the water; his fingers rolling and tugging her nipple. "This too," he breathed into her neck, snagging the fullness of her lobe between his uneven teeth.
She arched her neck for him, hands bracing against the edge of the pool as he licked and nipped his hands until her breathing was little more than fractured pants.
His erection slipped wetly between her thighs as he rocked against her, chasing the friction. One hand dipped down to part her folds, rubbing teasingly slowly over her clit, before pushing two fingers into her to the knuckle. The resistance of the water made it tighter; somehow more and less at the same time. But then his thumb found her clit again—more insistently. His other arm banded around her, still palming her breasts until she could feel her entire body quivering. She was grateful for the water keeping her afloat. She reached back between them impatiently, trying to guide him in.
He canted his hips away, and nipped her neck. "I think I am forgetting something." He surged upwards, lifting her by her hips until her torso was bent over the edge of the pool.
The cool tiles were a teasing torture against her nipples, and she gave a little cry of protest. It was robbed of all its breath, though he spread her legs and pressed his face between them. He blew against her exposed flesh teasingly, before he gave her a long lick—catching the water droplets. One hand spread her cheeks so he could whorl his tongue over her clit, sucking gently.
He pushed into her, and then out again—lapping and curling his tongue as he went—until she was scrambling for purchase on the polished tiles.
Two fingers slid in to pump, while he worried her clit with his teeth—sucking the sting away immediately after.
When she bucked back into him, he growled at her and paused long enough to bit the flesh of one cheek. "You never told me what happened next?"
"I woke up," she choked out.
"What a pity."
Her head whipped round viciously. "Don't you fucking dare!"
Jareth immediately thrust his tongue back into her; her chin bouncing almost painfully off the tiles. The combination of his mouth and fingers drew her to the edge and then tossed her off it, with only a handful more strokes. He lapped at her flesh through her orgasm. Only when she was limp and spent, did he press a kiss to her spine, before hitching her hips further up to slide into her; using the submerged lip of the pool for leverage.
He groaned into her damp flesh, lost in the sensation as though it was the first time all over again.
His hips snapped into her, seating himself fully. The taste of her was still on his tongue, and the feel of her liquid heat rocking back into him had him coming in only a few short strokes.
When he pulled back out it was only to collect her back into arms and return them to their room. He passed the bed, snagging a few blankets on the way, to lay before the fire. He set her down carefully, her wet hair splaying around her like a crown. Faint marks from the tiles were bitten into the skin of her chest and breasts. He used his tongue and lips to soothe them until she was writhing beneath him all over again. Until she had pulled him down in her—demanding and insatiable.
Later, they languidly fed each other strips of cured meat, slivers of cheese and ripe fruit he conjured. They'd missed dinner—by design.
When she sucked the juice of a ripe peach from his fingers—the symbolism lost on neither of them—she saw his eyes deepen again. Without a word she pushed him backwards onto his bent arms, tossing her drying hair over her shoulder, to press open-mouthed kisses down the taut planes of his shuddering stomach.
His eyes were lambent in the firelight as he watched her take him fully in her mouth—first a long lick up the shaft as she cupped his balls, that almost undid right there, and then a whorl of her tongue around the tip, before hollowing her cheeks as she worked her head down. His hands fisted into the blankets so as not to reach for her.
The taste of him was slightly salty, but feel of his skin velvet against her tongue. She basked in the husky sounds she drew from him. His held fell back, but then snapped back up—determined to watch her feast on him. She kept her eyes on his as she gripped him; stroking where she couldn't take him anymore. He bottomed out as he hit the back of her throat and she forced herself to breathe through her nose so she could take him deeper, watching his come undone at the sensation.
He stretched one hand, his fingers brushing the edge of her cheek almost reverently. It occurred to her in that moment, he'd not yet said those same words to her. He'd said so many other things; so many terrifyingly wonderful things that mattered just as much, but not those three. It was writ across his face—just there. It was found in his every touch and every look.
She could feel him tighten and he moved to pull free, but she held him down, knocking his hands away and kept her lips sealed around his cock. His voice was hoarse as he came violently, bucking up into her mouth and watching glassily in wonder as she swallowed him down. When she pulled free, gulping in air and wiping her mouth, he reached forward to cup her face. He drew her forward to slant his lips across hers. When she parted her them, he swept his tongue inside; tasting himself—and beneath that the peach.
She let Jareth draw her down along his front, taking her full weight—relishing the feel of her breasts pillowing on his ribs, of her legs entwining with his. One of his hands splayed across her lower back, while the other curled around her wrist to press her palm to his heart, so she could feel the wild beat of it—so she could understand that she was his and he was hers.
Perhaps feeling his breadth of his emotions, she whispered, "I'm still mad at you," into his neck, then kissed the same spot tenderly. "But you're mine to be mad at."
His arms tightened around her. "May you be mad at me every day of my life."
Credits:
The poem Jareth recites is 'Jenny Kissed Me' by Leigh Hunt. It was in the big book of children's poetry my Poppa (with his rich baritone British accent) used to read me on his knee when I was a child. It always stood out to me.
Sarah's poem was [you fit into me] by Margaret Atwood; I've always dug it and used it as an opening quote on a previous chapter.
The betrothal door really was one of the traditions of Lughnasadh, which is still celebrated in parts of Ireland.
AN:
Me to self: Don't you dare fuck this up for them. Let them enjoy it.
Me: Of course! Well, actually… maybe just a little in the middle. For funsies. And because They. Still. Needed. To. Talk. So, it's like a smut sandwich but I did let them enjoy it…
This was actually not the story update I meant to post. I had already started two other updates on two other WIP stories, but apparently, I am VERY invested in these two 'dipshits in love' now (to borrow a turn of phrase from a reader), so it got bumped up the roster.
I was honestly blown away by your responses last chapter, you randy beasts. Thank you. All of you are absolutely lovely! Now that I've let them 'bang' to quote Sarah, I promise to make them stop (eventually) to move this plot along. They are making up for 3 odd years and some thousands of words later. I swear to Quark, I couldn't get them into bed for 19 chapters and now I can't keep them out of it. Though I assure you some important plot-ty things did happen behind the scenes in this chapter.
Did you all know it was Cern who planted the note? Not just a pretty face who likes to stick his foot in his mouth, that one. And for once Rhiannon wasn't involved. And Jareth of course knew, because he's a tricksty bastard.
So, I hemmed and hawed over how mad Sarah would be over the pregnancy bit. Absolute kudos to authors who tackle safe sex and contraception in their fics, by the way. I tend to gloss over it myself, wishy washy *waves hand* magic takes care of it when needed, et cetera, et cetera. So, I only address it in fics where it's relevant to the plot (or where pregnancy is, like in Goblin Market).
I decided that this Sarah would in fact be a little hurt by the idea Jareth might have contemplated relying on that tactic. And frankly, as much as this Jareth is not dark, he *would* still be capable of it if he thought it was the best way to save her. So put down your pitch forks and torches—I didn't have Sarah throw the baby out with the bath water over this, so to speak. She had every right to be peeved even if he didn't outright lie to her... he clearly wasn't opposed to it either. And I think it's important to remember that this Sarah is very career-oriented (as a working mother of three who was just promoted (yay), I am well aware they are not mutually exclusive!). Not only would she be sure to take contraception seriously, I don't see her rolling around with the GK and suddenly becoming immediately onboard with motherhood—not right away, anyway.
Let's remember that as much as this has taken me three years (sigh) to get here, a lot of time has not actually passed for Sarah or the GK. And she hasn't fully dealt with the fact that she's essentially trapped herself in this new life, and what that fully entail.
But hey, it ended in the pool! No way was Jareth going to hear about that dream and not find a way to make it happen. That was always planned.
And in other news (you absolutely didn't ask for), I *may* have gone and started a new WIP… because I am a terrible, no good, very bad person. But I have sworn a vow to myself to not post it until I have finished three of my existing WIPs (this one, Thrice Bound and the fic that rhymes with Shmanglewood). Tall order. But that means I am *working* on it behind the scenes, so hopefully it will be complete by the time it's posted in 84 years or so. It's also a new direction for me… a Labyrinth AU! With elements of Robin Hood, Scarlet Pimpernel and Twelfth Night… and all that mutual pining, hidden identities (and disguised gender) those entail. It will be set it in sort of a fantasy medieval-ish time period (with magic). I am weirdly excited for it, even though AUs aren't usually my jam. It came out of nowhere and was not the fic I planned to write next by ay stretch, but here we are!
Thank you for your lovely reviews and I hope you all had a spooky Hallowe'en and/or a blessed Samhain for those who celebrate.