And this is the part where I really ought to faint. Faint, damn it! Faint!
The human mind, however, is notorious for ignoring direct orders and so Sarah had not the escape of unconsciousness as she stared back up into Jareth's eyes. Her brain, not at its most brilliant, formed just one thought, which passed uncensored from her lips: "What the hell are you doing here?"
His eyebrows drew together and the lips—oh, God, don't look at those lips—pressed together. "My dear, I think I should be asking that of you," he hissed, his hands drawing her forward easily despite her resistance. She could see the simmering anger in his eyes. "What fool's sport is this?"
The wrath of the Goblin King was infamous and during her thirteen hours in the Labyrinth, Sarah had encountered many a reason to fear that anger. But since being rational was not Sarah's strongest quality, she instinctively shoved away from the Goblin King's grip and spat back, "Get off me! I'm not some little child you can bully around!"
This approach, not surprisingly, did not help the situation. Sarah half-turned, as if to flee towards the center of the ballroom, but Jareth's hand snapped forward and caught her wrist, spinning her back to him. His voice was ominously low, vibrating with barely restrained anger. "Nor am I to be provoked, girl. Explain now, or you will not enjoy the consequences."
"Let go!" she snapped back, tugging at her wrist ineffectively, before switching to another tactic. "Your mother will—"
The gloved clamp on her wrist abruptly loosened as did the anger in Jareth's face. His eyes were still narrowed, but his attention shot briefly to the dais, before returning to her, she noticed. "My mother will what?" His tone was rough, before shifting into his trademark sneer: "Do enlighten me."
His grip had eased sufficiently for her to at last extract her wrist from his hand. Sarah glared. "Well, for one, I'm sure she wouldn't be too happy that you're manhandling her guest!"
"Her guest," he repeated with open disdain, eyebrow arching.
"Isn't that what I just said? If you have a problem with her inviting Hoggle, take it up with her, not me—I wouldn't have come if I'd known you would be here!"
His features formed a cruel smile. "Why, still afraid of me, little Sarah? Afraid I shall turn your miserable little self into a goblin after all these years?"
"No, just afraid to run into an asshole! Let me alone and I'll find Hoggle and get out of here, and you can go back to bullying those who can't fight back!"
She spun on her heel and again made as if to march away, but this time, a hand came down softly on her forearm. "Sarah, wait." She glanced over at him; his face was still cold, if not as harsh as before. "You say you had nothing to do with this, correct?"
"Yes," she responded impatiently, stomping her foot.
"I see," he murmured absently, glancing over again at the dais. Sarah bit her lip and glared in the opposite direction; it wasn't fair, the man not only was ferociously beautiful, but he had the world's best bedroom voice, too, even when he wasn't even damn trying.
She blinked, as he suddenly slid to his knee next to her. "What the heck are you doing?"
He looked up at her, eyebrow lifting, an ironic twist to his mouth, as his hand swept swiftly under the hem of her skirt and then out again. "Did you mean to leave barefoot, then?" She saw then what he held in his hand, the shoe she'd dropped a minute ago. Sarah stared at him in confused silence. He shrugged lightly and a gloved fingertip tapped her ankle, her skin burning from the whisper of that touch; her body obeyed automatically, lifting her foot to allow him to slip the shoe back on.
Sarah snapped out of her reverie as she heard Jareth's voice. "There," he said, and her foot was released. He rose to his feet and regarded her.
"Why did you do that?" she asked bluntly.
Jareth shrugged again negligently, his profile to her as his gaze searched the crowd of dancers. "That is the way it is done, is it not?"
She had no idea what the hell he was talking about, why he no longer seemed enraged with her (not that she was complaining), or why she was not grabbing her skirts and fleeing for her life given his momentary lapse in attention. Oh, all right, she knew perfectly well why she wasn't making a run for it—the same sick part of her that had obsessed about this man, despite what he had done to her and what she knew him to be quite capable of doing, too. Sarah sighed internally at her own weakness. It wasn't every day you ran, literally, into the man of your dreams.
She swallowed and tried to think of something safe to say, something that wouldn't sound too inanely stupid while she decided what to do. "Umm….ahh…So the Underground celebrates Christmas, I see?"
His eye, like that of a waking dragon, slid over to her, eyebrow arched inquiringly. "They celebrate everything here. It is a miracle there are any working days at all."
"Is Christmas here like…we have it?"
Amusement sat in the curve of his lip. "If you mean gifts and whatnot, not necessarily. But Nicholas is coming by later, so I imagine you will see festivities more like your Aboveground ways then."
"Nicholas?"
"That would be Saint Nicholas to you, I believe," he grinned, facing her, as she gaped. "To us, merely an obese old man with a penchant for velvet." For the first time in their conversation, Jareth smirked with his old mocking humor in place. "What, did you think he wasn't real, too? Forgot to leave the cookies out again?" His eyebrow lifted and his eyes twinkled devilishly. Suddenly, Sarah feared that twinkle far more than the flame of his rage. "Why do I think the Williams household has seen a lot of coal over the years…hmm…Do tell, Sarah," and suddenly he was just in front of her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Naughty or nice?"
She jumped back, stunned, and batted his hand away as he again tapped beneath her chin with his finger. "At least I don't abduct my presents, thank you very much."
"Yes, but the presents given me are certainly well-wrapped, I must say," he purred by her cheek. "Did you miss me, my Sarah?"
She stiffened with shock and shoved him away again. "Look, I have no idea what you are up to, but go play with someone else's head for once. I'm not into games."
He grinned mysteriously, stepping forward again as she retreated a pace. "And what if I said neither am I?"
"Bull—" she began, before a man's voice loudly interrupted her.
"Have a care to where you stand, Your Majesty—the mistletoe!"
Regardless of what Jareth had said about the Underground's conception of Christmas and the lack of Aboveground traditions, Sarah looked up with a feeling of dread. Sure enough, the poisonous berries were dangling from the edge of the archway, right above them. Worse, because the on-looker had been so horribly loud, a significant part of the room was now staring at them expectantly. And God, she didn't even want to look at Jareth's face right now, but she did and regretted it immediately. His eyes sparkled wickedly at her and he spread his hands in a mocking gesture. "Come, come, Sarah, am I really that frightening?"
Wanting desperately that they were alone, so she could slap that smirk right off his damn face, she jerked him forward with a clutch of his shirt and hastily pecked his cheek, valiantly resisting the urge to just lean in and revel in the dark and spicy warmth of his scent, to nuzzle the taunt masculine texture of his skin. Despite her inner demon's desires, she retreated at once, flushing, glaring up at him defiantly as their audience laughed and booed.
His mild face of surprise now shifted into a grin that grew with her hostile gaze. "Why, Sarah, I never knew you had it in you. I daresay such a standard will be hard to beat." He stepped forward purposefully and she jumped a half-step back, dimly registering the ballroom's laugh at her expense.
"There's no need, that's enough, it's—it's done," she stammered, catching his sparkling gaze and cursing herself.
Her momentary confusion was sufficient for Jareth's arm to sneak around her waist and for Sarah to feel herself bodily propelled forward. She found herself now gazing directly upwards into those eyes and the utterly devastating smile beneath them. "But they do say it is better to give than receive, do they not?" And before she could answer, before she could do more than form an "O" with her lips in protest, his molten mouth was upon her.
* * *