Jareth would not have believed it possible, but he had fallen asleep.
He woke sometime later when he felt Sarah's hands on his face, her fingers smoothing over his forehead, the length of his nose, the high planes of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, tracing each feature like a blind woman seeing by touch.
He lay perfectly still under her roaming hands, not daring to move or open his eyes lest she take them away. When her fingers pressed against his lips, he wanted to flick his tongue out and catch it, but he resisted the temptation and her fingers moved down to shape the curve of his chin and the edge of his jaw.
"Jareth," she murmured, touching the fan of his eyelashes with her fingertips. "Jareth, I know you're awake."
He could feel her breath close to his mouth, and without opening his eyes, he reached out and cupped the back of her head in one hand and kissed her. She tasted exactly as he remembered; like violets and sugar; like honey and sin.
She surprised him by kissing him back, flicking her tongue out to twine with his, a low purr in the back of her throat. When she broke the kiss to catch her breath, they stared into each others eyes from a mere three inches apart.
"I knew you were awake," Sarah told him softly.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Did you?"
"Yes." Her fingernails lightly grazed the linen front of his shirt. She tugged a little at the material, loosening it.
Jareth caught her hands and stilled their restless movements. "Sarah, stop it."
She pulled one hand out of his grasp and pressed it against his chest. "Why?"
He sighed and looked away from her. "Because we are not starting this again if you're going to stop me before we finish it," he said. "Believe it or not, I do not enjoy walking around in a constant state of frustrated arousal."
Sarah covered her mouth with her free hand and snickered.
Jareth smiled humorlessly.
"I'm sorry," she said, trying to control her laughter. "It's really not funny. I know it's not funny, but you have to admit—"
"I do not."
Sarah grinned. "I'm sorry," she repeated.
Jareth lifted her hand and pressed his lips gallantly to the back of it. "Good."
She smacked his shoulder. "You arrogant son of a bitch," she said.
He lifted a brow, unoffended. "You just apologized," he pointed out.
"So?"
"I was just accepting your apology."
"Well, you don't have to be so patronizing about it."
"I'm sorry," he said, grinning in a way that suggested he was anything but.
"You should be," Sarah said, her tone haughty.
"You know," Jareth said, playing with a lock of her hair, "we could do this all day."
"What's that?" Sarah asked. Her eyes watched his mouth as he spoke and remembered what it felt like against her own.
"I could insult you, you could pretend to be offended, then I would apologize, but not as though I really mean it, and then—"
Sarah interrupted him, "Or—?"
He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, tracing the full shape of it, as he watched her eyes slowly darken. "I'm sure we can think of other, more . . . pleasant ways to pass the time."
"Jareth, that is such a . . . line," Sarah said.
"A line?"
"You know," she gestured vaguely, "a line—something you say specifically for the purpose of getting into someone's pants."
He grinned wickedly, "That was kind of the idea."
"Really," she said dryly, "I hadn't noticed."
"Hmm. Really," Jareth murmured, sliding his hands under the hem of her shirt and splaying his fingers over her hips. "I should think it was rather obvious."
This new, playful, teasing Jareth was new to her. But the things he could do to her with the briefest touch and the softest kiss were both frightening and familiar.
She reclined back on her pillow as he began unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up, pressing quick kisses to her belly with each one. When he almost had it completely unfastened, she felt him stop and go still. She opened her eyes and looked down to see him staring at something just between and below her breasts.
Jareth touched the little picture on her skin with one finger and gave her a questioning look. "What is this?"
"A tattoo," Sarah said, a little embarrassed. "I . . . I got it when I was sixteen."
"Why?" He brushed the little owl tattoo again.
She squirmed under him and tried to sit up, but he easily held her. "Because . . . Because I didn't want to forget."
"The Labyrinth?" he asked.
Sarah stilled and met his eyes. "Anything," she said honestly. "I didn't want to forget any of it. Even you."
"Even me," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the spot. "I'm flattered."
"Especially you."
He plucked another button free to find her breasts, covered in pale yellow lace and seed pearls. "Now I am humbled," he said lightly. "That almost sounded like a declaration of love."
She laughed a little at the idea of a humble Jareth. The laugh caught in her throat when his rough cat-tongue darted under the cup of her bra against the underside of her breast.
Jareth finished unbuttoning her shirt, spread the folds apart, and sat back with a hot, yearning look in his heavy-lidded eyes. When Sarah reached for him, he took her hand and laced his fingers with hers, effectively trapping it.
"Jareth—"
"I want you to tell me—Sarah, do you want this, or do you want me to stop?"
She blinked at him. He had to be kidding.
"Sarah, if you tell me to stop, I will," he said. "I won't like it, but I will stop if it's what you want."
Sarah laughed and put one hand over her eyes. He was serious. Jesus. She was laying there with him on top of her, every nerve and cell in her body tingling and burning, and he was asking her if she wanted him to stop. Even had she wanted to make him stop, she was so far beyond the point where such a thing was possible, that it really didn't matter. When she looked at him again, he was watching her with his head tilted curiously to one side.
"Jareth," she said, taking a deep breath around her laughter, "shut up."
"But—"
"Touch me, kiss me, do me—for fucks sake, stop being so damned honorable!" She took a deep breath and glared at him. "It's weird."
He leaned down and trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, pausing every so often to add a light nip of teeth. "Exactly how dishonorable am I permitted to be?"
She pulled his shirt free of his trousers and ran her fingers under it, over his abdomen. "Very," she said with her mouth just below his bellybutton.
More by accident than design, they began with Jareth on top, moving slowly, twining together with the silk and linen until their bodies were sheened in sweat. They ended it with Sarah astride him; her back bowed, arms around her own waist, fingernails digging into her own forearms as her body tightened around him in light, fluttering contractions. When she stilled for just a minute, her head hanging, trying to force breath into lungs that felt swollen, he grasped her hips in his hands and helped her to move, to finish it.
Sarah collapsed on Jareth's chest with an exhausted whimper and lay there panting. Every muscle in her body trembled and she felt pleasantly sore and shivery.
Without lifting her head, she ran her fingers up his sweat dampened body and clutched the gold sickle-shaped pendant he always wore around his neck.
"Sarah?" Jareth said cautiously.
"Mmm?" It was really the best she could manage without some kind of real incentive.
"What are you thinking?"
She sighed and with supreme effort, tilted her head to look up at him. She smiled at him tiredly. "I was thinking of something I once heard a professor of mine recite. By a poet named Sarah Teasdale."
He smiled faintly. "You were thinking of poetry?"
"That, and how absolutely fine you look without any clothes on."
He chuckled and stroked a hand through her hair, which was now damp and full of tangles. "Tell it to me," he said. "This poetry you were remembering."
"For one white singing hour of peace," she murmured, "Count many a year of strife well lost/ And for a breath of ecstasy/ Give all you have been, or could be."
"Is that what you think?" Jareth asked. "That you're in danger of losing yourself? That I would change you?"
"Sometimes," she said. She trailed her hands in light circular motions on his chest.
They were both quiet for a while, listening to the gradually slowing beats of each other's hearts. Outside the windows, the sky was darkening, and the Labyrinth had an ethereal radiance under the silver glow of the full moon. The room had become full of shadows, and they could sense each other only as bodies in the darkness.
There was a soft scuttling sound somewhere in the direction of the door, and Sarah lifted her head to look around for the source of the noise, only to find that she couldn't see much beyond the area of the bed.
"Jareth." She poked him in the ribs when he didn't respond. "Jareth, there's something there."
He swore under his breath and moved to lean on one elbow. Finding that he couldn't see either, he snapped his fingers and the candles around the room lit, casting the room in a faint golden glow.
"Majesty," Midge squeaked. He was wearing an absurdly floppy white fedora with a pink feather in the band. He doffed it and bowed so low that his pointed nose touched the floor. His bright eyes were wide and anxious as he took in their state of undress, the sheets in a tangled pile at the foot of the bed, and the irritated looks they were both giving him. "Majesty," he said again, clutching his little clawed fingers together nervously.
"What!" Jareth snapped.
The goblin shot Sarah a furtive glance, then began speaking in a strange lilting, guttural language. It was actually quite pretty in a barbaric sort of way. Oddly, it had never occurred to Sarah that the goblins had a language of their own, and that this might have quite a lot to do with their inability to grasp English.
As Midge spoke, Jareth's expression became more and more severe. When the goblin stopped, he was practically dancing in place in his agitation.
Jareth carefully eased Sarah off of him and got out of the bed. She stretched and lay back on the pillow to watch him move around the room finding his clothes and putting them on. He sat down on the bed as he put his boots on and she grinned at him, trying to coax a smile from his suddenly stony features.
"Jareth, what's wrong?"
"Get dressed," he said, and tossed her her shirt.
Sarah eyed Midge with amusement as he scurried toward the door ahead of his king. She slipped her shirt on and sent a look of longing toward her bathroom. Sex was all well and good—Sex with Jareth was actually quite a large step ahead of 'well and good'—but even so, she didn't want to go around smelling like it for the rest of the night if they weren't going to spend that night in bed.
"I need a shower," she informed him as he was heading out the door. She finished buttoning her shirt and moved toward the bathroom to do just that.
"Sarah, we have a problem," Jareth said.
She paused. "What kind of problem?"
"A big one," he said. His tone was grave, but he was till looking at her bare legs in a distinctly lustful manner.
Sarah smiled. "How big?"
"You want a list of catastrophes that I could compare it to? It's big."
"Fine." She turned her back on him and headed for the shower. "I'll hurry."
And here is the poem cited in this chapter, for those who wanted it:
Barter
By Sarah Teasdale
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.