Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story.
In sleep his face lost much of its sharpness but none of its strange beauty. His eyelashes were dark and thick where they fanned over his impossibly high cheekbones, his upswept brows relaxed, his lips slightly parted. He was so beautiful. He was holding her, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him, and it suddenly occurred to her how very male he felt. His muscles, even in sleep were solidly there beneath her head and under her hand where it rested on his chest. His white shirt was open to the bottom of his sternum, and she slowly slid her hand under it, until it was resting over his heart. His hips were bony, but his thighs were tightly corded with muscle, and she suspected he was much, much stronger than he looked. He smelled of leather, and spices, and magic, and she had to bite her lip to resist the urge to lean over and taste his skin, to know if he tasted as good as he smelled.
She'd never had a man in her bed before, and certainly never a King. What was the proper etiquette here? Did she wake him up and demand he leave (that is, if she wanted him to), or did she pretend to go back to sleep and let him decide how to handle it when he woke? Only that wouldn't work, because she needed to get up and shower, or she would be late.
Carefully, she tried to wriggle out of his grasp without waking him, but his arm was tight around her and all she succeeded in doing was rousing him a little. He made a low, protesting growl in the back of his throat, and drew her even more firmly against him, rolling to face her, and wrapping his other arm around her, his gloved fingers twining in her hair. This new position left absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was, in fact, very, very male and that she was very, very female, and even if he wasn't awake, his body was more than aware of her. Her face was buried against the column of his throat, and she wasn't sure which was softer, the silk collar of the shirt he wore, his silken hair, or his silky skin. No human had skin like that, she thought. But then, no human had eyes like he did, or the ability to pull dreams out of thin air. She almost laughed to herself, it was no wonder she was disinterested in most men, they were just so human.
She felt him wake up. One moment, he was snuggled tightly against her, his face in her hair, relaxed; and the next he'd gone incredibly still. His heart sped up. His breathing stopped for a moment, then resumed, a little shallower than before. He didn't move away, though, just held her against him, and the fingers in her hair caressed it gently.
"Jareth," she whispered.
"Mmmm?" He purred.
"I have to get up. I have to go to work. I wish I didn't have to, but...," she caught herself. "You don't have to grant that," she said quickly, "I didn't mean..."
"You say that so often about your wishes. You should be more careful, if you don't want them to come true." His voice was low and sarcastic, and it made her push away, or try to, anyway, but his arms were like steel around her, and she couldn't move. "Besides," he said, more softly, "it's already done. Look." He allowed her to raise her head enough that she could see the window.
"That's impossible!" she said, trying to sit up, but he pulled her back down beside him, and tucked her head beneath his chin. Over his shoulder, she could still see the impossible snow falling thickly outside. "It doesn't snow in October," she said.
"Apparently," he said dryly, " it does. I think I can say with absolute certainty, that there will be no work for you today." His fingers traced lazy patterns over the small of her back, and she shivered at the sensation. No one had ever touched her in such a way, nor could she ever remember being held quite so intimately. It seemed strange, but right, somehow, that it should be him. His fingers were long and thin, and he stroked them delicately up her spine. She trembled. "Frightened?" he asked, and she could tell he was smiling that predatory smile again just from the lilt of his voice.
"No," she said. He chuckled, and the sound traveled through his body to hers, making her ache. He drew back enough that he could see her face, his fingers making small, light circles over her spine. He was smiling, somewhat smugly, and although he was holding her gently, he still managed to look arrogant and cruel. "Please," she said, "I don't want to argue."
"Oddly enough," he said, "neither do I." The smile slipped away, and his eyes darkened dangerously. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her by pressing his lips to hers for the first time. She knew she wasn't dreaming this time, because even in her dreams, it hadn't felt like this. She could taste him and he tasted... like chocolate and peaches and blood red roses. He tasted of cool winds through dark forests, and of high glittering waterfalls. He tasted of everything decadent and delicious and dangerous. He tasted forbidden, and she drank it in deeply, filling herself with it. Parts of her soul that had longed for a taste of the Underground again were filled with the sensation of his lips against hers, soft as velvet. His tongue parted her lips, and he tasted her even more deeply. She felt, more than heard, him growl with need, pulling her under him, until she was pinned to the bed, and the whole length of him was holding her there. His hands clenched to fists in her shirt as he held her tightly, plundering her mouth, claiming it for his own. His teeth, which were very sharp, nipped at her lip, making her whimper into his mouth. Was there ever a feeling more glorious than being kissed, she wondered, completely forgetting any other kiss that had come before. None of them could touch this one. None of them had made her whole body come alight, as though someone had just flipped a switch within her, turning on every nerve ending she possessed, and then tuned them into his frequency. She was aware of every inch of him that was touching her, and she knew that it wasn't enough. Her hands came up, to tug at his shoulders, and he obliged her by releasing her mouth and trailing his lips down to her jaw.
"Oh," she said, surprised, as fire blazed over her skin following his kisses from her jaw to her ear and then down her throat to where it met her shoulder. This was bliss, pure and incandescent, and she wanted to drown in it. Nevermind that he was not human, nevermind that he was only truly kind to her in dreams, nevermind the games and the tests and arrogance and the past. All that mattered was here, now, in her bed, in his arms, with his mouth teaching her things she'd never truly known she'd been craving until that moment. She wanted it to go on forever.
Then the doorbell rang.
They both froze.
It rang again. He lifted his head and, shuddering, ran a hand through his hair.
Someone knocked on the door, loudly.
"Sarah!" she heard, a bit muffled through the door. "Sarah, it's your stepmother! I know you're home, your car's out front! Let me in, I'm freezing out here!"
"Dammit," she groaned, and he rolled off of her enough that she could wriggle away from his warmth. She quickly brushed her hands through her hair, pulled on her robe over her pajamas, and then froze, looking at him.
He was lounging on the bed, looking perfectly neat and tidy, as though he'd not just spent a night sleeping in his clothing. And he was smirking.
"Well," he said. "Don't be rude. It is awfully cold outside." She cringed a little, knowing that it was, in a way, her fault. The pounding on the door resumed, and giving him a last, pleading look, begging him silently to stay where he was, she left the room and closed the door behind her.
She opened the front door, and a gust of wind caught it and slammed it open, huge white snowflakes swirling into the room. Her stepmother brushed past her, shivering and bouncing a little to warm herself. Sarah quickly pushed the door closed and locked it, then turned. Karen was brushing snow from her light jacket and stamping her feet, trying to warm them up.
"What took you so long? Have you ever seen anything like this? Snow in October! On the radio they were saying it was some freak storm, it was raining before and then the temperature just dropped forty degrees! I was on my way to go shopping with Rachel--you know Rachel, don't you Sarah? She runs the Women's Club--and I figured I'd stop by here and borrow some warmer clothes. Well for heaven's sake girl, turn on the heater and see if you've got anything in my size, will you? What is wrong with you?"
Sarah stood, frozen. In order to find her stepmother clothes, she'd have to go back in the bedroom, and... oh, it was too horrible to contemplate.
"Why don't I make you some coffee first," she said, stalling, "to warm you up."
"That would be lovely dear, but I'd rather be dry. Tell you what, you go make the coffee and I'll raid your closet. I should be able to squeeze into something of yours, maybe a sweater..." She headed for the bedroom door.
"No!" Sarah blocked her path, putting her back to the door and holding the knob before Karen could turn it. She blushed when her stepmother gave her a penetrating glance. "I mean, let me, I... I know where everything is."
"What are you hiding?" The look on Karen's face was all too familiar, and Sarah knew things had just gone from bad to worse.
"Nothing," she lied, rather lamely. The door suddenly swung open behind her, and she stumbled backward into a pair of strong arms. He caught her easily, and steadied her, then leaned down and said low in her ear, "Nothing, hmmm?"
"Steady, darling," he said, a little louder, then turned to Karen, who stood stock still, her mouth open and eyes wide with surprise. "You must be Sarah's wicked stepmother," he said, disarmingly. "You don't look wicked at all." Karen shook her head, blinked, and then closed her mouth with a snap. The change that came over her then was incredible. Her eyes widened, she licked her lips and smiled sweetly, her hips shifted forward, her shoulders shifted back, and she laughed a sparkling little laugh.
"And you must be Jareth," she said, and Sarah turned to look at the man standing beside her in amazement. Gone were the tight breeches and flowing shirts, gone the high collared leather vest. He wore a fitted black leather jacket over a black button down shirt that gaped open at the neck enough to show that amazing skin of his, straight legged black slacks, and black shoes. The clothes fit so well they looked tailor made, and by a very expensive tailor at that. His wild blond hair was shorter now, still a bit wild on top, but in a normal, tousled, human way. The rest of it was trimmed close, making his throat look very long and masculine. The discoloration around his eyes and nose that marked him as fey was gone as well, his eyebrows were more human shaped, and his teeth were white, yes, but not so sharp looking. His face, as a whole, was a little fuller, not quite so sharp in its planes, but still gorgeous none-the-less. He glanced at her, briefly, and she saw that his eyes were still mismatched, with the one dark eye and the one bright blue, but it was harder to notice in this human face. What was most disconcerting to her was not that he looked human, but that she could see partially through the glamour that he'd cast over himself, and see him as he really was beneath it. This double vision, of the human male superimposed over the Fae Lord, made her blink, until her eyes settled and got used to it. He twitched an eyebrow at her, then smiled at Karen again, and put out a black leather gloved hand and shook hers.
"Madam, you're freezing," he said. "Why don't you have a seat here at the table, and I'll put on a pot of coffee while Sarah finds you something to wear, hmmm?" He led her to the kitchen table, and pulled out a chair for her, which she accepted gratefully, as though he were a prince come to her rescue.
"Sarah never told me how charming you were," she said, and Jareth smirked at Sarah from over her stepmother's head.
"Oh, she didn't?" he laughed, a little coldly, Sarah thought, but Karen never noticed.
"Er... the coffee is in the..." she said, wondering if he knew how to use a coffee maker.
"Second cabinet on the right, dearest. I remember. I am fully capable of making a pot of coffee. Now go find your stepmother some clothes, and I'll take care of the rest."
Author's Note: Once again, thanks so much for all the reviews and encouragement. I hope this satisfies those of you who were craving some mushy bits, and some dialogue. I've written more, but there's two different possibilities for what happens next, and I'm still wavering between the two... so this is where I'll leave you for a bit. Don't worry, though, there's still more to come.