Author's Note: This is a flashback to explain why Jareth lost it the other day to the extent that he hurt someone just because Toby called him a whore. I should probably explain this in the chapter, but there have been a lot of references to a second time that Jareth approached Sarah. This is it.
"What do you want? I never wished anyone away!"
She looks so beautiful in the moonlight, still half-asleep and yet hissing like a tiger cub. Claws extended to rip at him. Her cheeks are flushed and he wonders why for just a moment until she visibly shivers and pulls the covers tighter around herself.
"You must be cold," he says inanely, "Here. Let me shut the…"
"What do you want?"
He smiles a little to himself but ensures the catch is fastened securely before turning back to her. He clasps his hands lightly behind his back and tries to think of how best to broach the subject.
"I'll- I'll call my Dad!" Her voice is rising. Fear? Perhaps. Annoyance and aggression certainly.
"I need to talk to you," he says bluntly. Best to tell her the truth and get it over with. The sooner she knows, the sooner he will have his answer. Rather, the sooner he can persuade her to see things his way.
"I never wished anyone or anything else away," Sarah insists, "And why are you wanderingaround my bedroom in the middle of the night, anyway?"
"Dear Sarah, you have no need to wish away anyone just to see me," he tells her fondly, "And I am wandering around your bedroom, as you put it, because I have a very important matter to discuss with you. One that you are interrupting."
"Oh."
"As I said, this is a matter of great importance. Sarah, do you remember the night you wished your brother away? And no, this does not involve any of your family or friends being wished away. Though I would be happy to take anyone you wanted gone?" He phrases it as a question, but drops the topic when she gives him a dirty look. "As you like."
She seems to be struggling internally with some doubt or another but eventually she seems to think that just playing along will make things clearer. Certainly Jareth does not intend to give her any more information that he needs to at the moment. Not just yet.
"Most of it," she admits cautiously.
"I see. Do you remember that story you told him?"
"I… yes. A- a little; why?"
She is scared now. Her green eyes wide and her knees hugged tight to her chest. Dark hair against cream bedding. Could she look any more delectable? Possibly. When she is older. When she learns to know the spell she weaves so unconsciously. So prettily.
Jareth walks closer, hands still clasped behind his back, eyes trained intently, hungrily, on her face, waiting eagerly for any sign at all that this is not an unfavourable suit to her. "What no one knew," he recites softly, "Was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl." He waits, apprehensively, for her shock exclamations.
"You're joking," she replies at last, "This is some kind of trick, right? You're trying to make me say that you do have power over me. And then you'll take Toby away again. Is that it?"
He is standing in her bedroom and all the silly chit can think of is a squalling baby! He growls and pounces at her, losing patience and composure in one fell swoop. "Are you really as stupid as all that?"
She might even be amused at such an honestly frustrated comment, except the Goblin King is on her bed, less than a foot away from her and licking his lips as if he is about to eat her alive. Intimidating and dangerous. The only light from the street outside shining in a glorious halo around the wildness of his hair, briefly lighting one side of his face as he tips it to look at her.
She leans away, breathing hard as her heart pounds in her chest. She had been asleep, dreamlessly resting until some quiet voice had woken her up. Or had they? Is this all just another dream? Just another weird side effect from that fantastical trip through the Labyrinth?
"You're not real," she snaps, "You're just another nightmare. I don't have to listen to you."
"I am real, Sarah. Open your eyes and look at me."
"No."
"Open those pretty green eyes." He leans even closer, dangerously close to being intoxicated. Will she flinch if he were to put his hand on her cheek? Will she scream if he tries to steal a kiss? She is young. But then she is also mortal and mortal youths start very young these days, or so he hears. It would be just a kiss. Just for her benefit. "Open for me."
Softly crooning her name as he restlessly strips off his gloves and tosses them behind his shoulder. Raising his hands to cup her face and she does not fight him! She wants this; he can tell. Good! It makes things so much easier when she is malleable. It thrills him to think that she feels the same. She must! Something this right, this enormous- it is fate or destiny, not just a flash of attraction. She must feel it too?
She does not open her eyes. She shakes her head but he wilfully refuses to interpret that as anything to do with a negative sentiment. If she feels the same way, she will not say 'no' to a kiss, to a touch. He will not bed her, here, oh no! He will wait. She is young and she needs to grow. But he will be there to guide her, to love her, to help her with all those annoying little obstacles that nature places in the path of life. She will not want for anything; he can tell her that now.
"Just a kiss," he whispers, "Just to taste you."
So he does. He tastes her. Because she is there and near-perfect and warm beneath his fingertips. She tastes of sleep and probably the taste will improve in the morning when her lips are not cold and her mouth is not dry. But it is still a kiss that makes his head spin. Because this is Sarah! He cannot possibly kiss Sarah and not feel his wild nature slip its leash. She does that to him. She chains him to her, and then drives him beyond what he can endear.
And he repays her for it with a groan. One hand sliding down to wrap around her waist and the other hand roughly gripping the back of her skull. The kiss deepens and he can feel her breath hitch as she allows him, feels her lips open just a little more very uncertainly.
Those damned knees are still clasped to her chest!
Jareth breaks from her very reluctantly, blood singing in his veins and confident that this cannot have gone better. He has won! She could not kiss like this and not want him too? She could not match this fervour in him if the feeling does not stretch beyond lust to love? Savage need that threatens to make them both the centre of the other's universe?
"Sarah," he calls softly.
She eventually opens her eyes finally. Pure, soft, moss green eyes. And she takes a deep breath and licks her lips. "What did you do?"
"I kissed you, dear Sarah." He feels magnanimous in his happiness. "Did you like it?"
"I've never been kissed before," she confesses, looking a little frightened by such an admission. "I don't understand."
Jareth sits back and uses the arm around her waist to pull her close to him. He hums comfortingly against her hair, knowing that it is a restful sound to make to soothe nervous females. She seems to like it. She relaxes, resting softly against him. "I know. But there will be time for words later. Lie with me."
She does, slowly uncurling from her little cocoon and trusting him.
He smirks at her and then sighs in satisfaction as she awkwardly tries to find a comfortable spot on his shoulder.
"You're all skin and bone," she complains, lifting her head to glare at him.
In answer, he only kisses her again briefly and laughs softly at her fire, at the blush that stains her cheeks. "And you are a very soft little bundle, my Sarah." Daringly he lets his hand trail up and down her waist. Not rotund, but she still has her puppy fat.
"Are you trying to tickle me? Because I don't get ticklish."
"No, I am touching you. And I am doing so because I like touching you."
She blushes again- and he is convinced he will never stop being amused by that- and wriggles a little against him. "That's alright, then," she says.
Alright? His touch is alright? His hand moves without his permission, rises from her waist to gently cup her breast. "Is this alright?" he asks huskily.
"No!" Her gasp is shocked and he removes his hand immediately.
"Sorry. I won't do it again. Not until you ask me, at least," he says, apologizing with a joke, trying to tease her into laughing. He didn't mean to scare her like that.
The bed is awfully small and during the long silence that ensues, Jareth just holds her but wonders if it would be permissible to wish them elsewhere. Perhaps to his bedchamber? His room is warm and they could have the windows open. He likes fresh air. Hates stuffy rooms and closed spaces almost as much as he hates drunken goblins.
"Jareth, what is going on?"
Her question startles him, it comes so unexpectedly from the darkness. He was certain she had gone to sleep, her breathing was so regular and her form so still. "We're enjoying each other, luv. Not as much as we could be, but this is nice. Isn't it?"
"Yeah. Nice. What do you mean- 'not as much as we could be'?"
He chuckles lightly but shakes his head. "All in good time."
Her warm fingers reach up hesitantly to touch his lips and he kisses them. "Ever had a man in your bed, Sarah?"
"Just Lancelot," she giggles.
"I take it you have not, then. Good." He sounds far too pleased with himself. But in all seriousness he cannot help himself. He will be the first to draw her out of herself, to taste her and touch her and make her feel as if the entire world exists just to fit between her legs and give her pleasure.
"I'd think you'd want someone with experience. You know, like all those women at that ball. They seemed to know something I didn't."
"Oh, you need not feel jealous on account of their knowledge, Sarah."
"No? Why?"
"They are not as skilled as you might think." He catches her hand again and raises it to his lips, pressing greedy kisses into the warm flesh and licking the dipping lines in her palm. Clearly the topic bores him. He would rather be using his mouth for other things.
"But how can they not be? Look at what they were wearing!"
"Sarah, whether they wear low bodices and tight corsets, whether their skirts are slashed to the hip or dangerously diaphanous, the truth is that most females in the underground are a prudish lot." And he does not mean in a good way.
"Are you?"
"I? A prude? You must be joking!" He laughs, making sure to keep his voice down so no one else in the house is woken. He holds her tighter, loving the soft feel of her in his arms. "I warn you, Sarah, I am no saint. A fallen angel, I, if you must know."
"Vain too," she comments dryly. She pulls away a little, self-conscious about the fact that she is pressed against him and he can probably feel the outline of her down the length of his body.
"I think I have a right to be," he preens mockingly, "Have you ever met anyone with my handsome face, my charm of manner and exquisite sense of dress?"
"Nope. Not sure I want someone who spends more time on his hair than I do."
"Have a heart, Sarah. With my hair, I think the time well spent!"
She giggles again and nudges him in the ribs, trying to tell him to be quieter. Her Dad finding a strange man in her bed is something she does not want to experience. "About those women," she whispers, not satisfied with something she cannot quite grasp about the way he speaks of them, "What do you mean, they're prudes?"
Jareth sighs in irritation. He does not want to be talking about this. He has only just gotten the love of his life into bed and she wants to talk about other women! Usually, this might be considered a dream come true, but he will not share Sarah with anyone else. Even a figurative, imaginary woman. "They seem to be experienced and they are not. Very simple."
"How do you know this? Oh, wait- you're the Goblin King."
"It has nothing to do with my being King. I know the women. Some of them will allow one to seduce them, but will then tearfully deny all active participation. Most will say no and be very shocked that the man being treated to a show of most of their bodies artistically draped with lengths of gauze will contemplate trying to see more. Bloody cows."
"Ouch. That's not very complementary."
"I don't like hypocrites. I like a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to use her body for the ways in which it was intended."
"You like women who say yes?"
"It is easier to make love to a woman who says yes, I think you agree." He is being facetious, but only because this situation has nothing to do with such things.
He is unprepared to have Sarah wrench herself out of his arms and switch on the bedside light, tight-lipped and angry. He brings up a hand quickly to block his eyes from the light and blinks disorientedly at her.
"Get out," she spits, "I can't believe I trusted you. I can't believe I thought you could be trusted!"
"Sarah, what are you talking about?"
"How many of those women have you slept with?"
This is ridiculous. They have barely shared two kisses and she is already accusing him of cheating on her? Why should she? He has not said anything that implies that he plans to cheat on her. "Sarah, those women are in the past. If I slept with any of them, and I will not deny that I have, it will never happen again."
"Because they're prudes?" she yells, "Because you're bored with them?"
"Ssh! Your father and step-mother are in this house."
"Then let them come. I don't care! I don't! And don't touch me or I'll scream rape." She is furious, with angry spots of red in her cheeks and her eyes flashing fire. She has dropped the covers and her t-shirt is all that is left on her slender frame. "Get out!"
"Sarah…"
She slaps him across the face... hard! "No! You got bored, so you thought you'd come up here and have some fun? What kind of pervert are you?"
He is shocked. "Sarah, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You- you touched me." Her voice breaks, just a little. "You only want me to- to… you know. So you can be happy you got the last laugh. 'Poor, naïve Sarah! Wasn't she a barrel of laughs?' Well, I won't! So there!"
"You're making a mistake…"
"No. You know what, you're nothing but some egotistical old queen who gets his kicks out of being nasty. I can't believe I thought you meant… and if you really need all those women to keep you satisfied, then you're nothing but a cheap whore who doesn't know any better."
Her lip is trembling, but she is lashing out in her anger, in her betrayal. Jareth's face has blanked out all emotion and he is just watching her, poised in the moment before stealthy flight. He simply waits for her to finish. And then he bows to her and looks quickly at her door.
"I have to go," he says coolly, "Your parents have heard you. Just know this- if you ever change your mind and decide to trust me, just wish to see me. If there is ever any way I can be of assistance, know that I am completely at your disposal."
She waits for him to leave before she stumbles to her bed and collapses in a teary heap. She cannot believe that he had come to her in the night, offering her such hope and adventure and then burst it all in such a cruel way. And all for the sake of revenge. Why else could the Goblin King possibly want anything to do with the mortal girl who beat his Labyrinth?
